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jesuistrestriste · 6 months ago

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♡ Nice Guys Finish Last; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: soft dom!art donaldson, sub!reader, afab/fem reader, porn w/ a little plot, penetrative sex, unsafe sex/pullout method, slight edging (reader!receiving), equal desperation, praise, general filth, art is a softie until he's not

wc: 4.2 k

*does not include challengers spoilers!*

prev. art donaldson fic : <3 here <3

It was currently 11 PM in the state of New York, and Art Donaldson was in your hotel room.

Earlier today, you had competed in a long singles tennis tournament for a cash prize, and had beat every other girl in the bracket. You walked away from it with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket than you had walked in with, and a smug grin on your glossy lips.

Art Donaldson had competed in a similar tournament at the same venue, except it involved doubles teams playing against one another. He had played with his typical partner, Patrick Zweig, and they, too, had beat everyone in their bracket.

Tomorrow, they would be playing against one another to determine the ultimate winner.

You had watched them play, and they had watched you play too.

After the venue had shut down for the night, you had begun to wander back to your hotel a few blocks away and coincidentally bumped into the two boys heading back to the same building.

You three talked--or rather, they had buttered you up with compliments as you all went up the elevator, and suddenly you were in their hotel room drinking cheap beer from cold metal cans.

They both flirted relentlessly with you for about an hour or two, before Patrick had called it a night (and had given up on trying to woo you) and told you and Art that he was going to sleep.

Art had given you a look and nodded towards their room's door with a small smile, silently suggesting something. Thirty seconds later the both of you were standing alone in the hotel hallway. He chatted you up and praised your tennis-playing for about ten more minutes, his blue eyes staring into yours with an earnest desire to hold your attention. You had laughed and flushed with a nervous heat while he sang your praises, and then a bout of silence came over the two of you. He looked down to his shoes, letting out a soft chuckle, and then back up to your eyes.. and then down to your lips. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above made the silence seem more tense than it already was.

After tossing the reality of this interaction around in your head, you had realized that his kind, sensitive, charming persona was effectively rendering you weak in the knees..

"You're really pretty, by the way.. i don't know if i've said that yet, but you are," he had spoken in the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the wall as a lock of his strawberry-blonde curls hung in the center of his forehead.

And that was it.

Five minutes later he was in your hotel room.

The both of you kicked your shoes off in the doorway, and then moved to sit on the edge of your hotel room bed. Your chest and hands felt strangely hot as the young, talented tennis player sat there next to you. After a few moments of shared bashful glances, you started to notice things about him that you hadn't before.

Sometimes when he smiled, only one corner of his lips would lift up. When that happened, it looked more like he was smirking than he was smiling, which made him seem either disingenuous or disinterested -- even though it seemed that neither of those things were true.

He smelled like generic aftershave, faint sweat, and warm skin, which was a pleasant contrast to the smell of the hotel room. While the hotel was clean, it was also old, which made the permeating scent of the carpet akin to something like the stale basement of a childhood home.

He fidgeted subtly with his hands, staring into your eyes before averting them to look around at your luggage and tennis bag on the floor.

"So.. you said you're going to Stanford this fall, right?" you say, leaning back on your palms.

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, turning his head to look back to you again with a sheepish smile, “and you’re going to Harvard?”

“Mhm,” you hum, smiling back at him, “is Patrick going with you?”

He laughs a little, his brows furrowing, “Patrick? Hell no.”

You shake your head, “why not?”

“Patrick isn’t the college type. He wants to go pro immediately.”

“Ohh.. right, i forgot he mentioned that.”

“Yeah,” Art shrugs, still giving you a soft look as he shifts a little in his spot on the end of the mattress.

“I think you’re better off at Stanford without him,” you tease slightly, a playful smirk on your face.

He smiles wider, “Why?”

“I think he’d just get you into trouble,” you chuckle.

Art laughs again, a tiny bit harder than he did before, and you’re not sure if it’s because he genuinely likes your playfulness or if it’s because he’s a little nervous.

"You don't think I can cause trouble?" he asks with a small smile.

You shake your head after letting a soft giggle bubble up and out of your chest in response.

"Nah, not really."

"Why's that?"

"You're just so.. so nice."

He scoffs lightly and gently rolls his eyes, reaching up to tuck some of his messy hair behind one of his ears. He chews a little on the inside of his cheek.

"What?" you laugh.

"Everyone me and Patrick meet thinks he's this cool 'bad-boy' and I'm just this.. meek little 'nice guy'," he chuckles, matching your body language now by also leaning back on his palms.

Your smile falters slightly when he does this, but only because now the sleeve of his gray tee shirt was brushing against your bare shoulder, and your faces were a short distance apart. If you tried, you could probably just lean in and kiss him..

"It's not a bad thing to be a nice guy," you smirk, continuing your guys' little back-and-forth.

"Yeah, but there's, like, connotations behind that idea of a guy."

"What 'connotations'?"

He lets out a stiff chuckle, averting his eyes down to his legs before he returns your eye contact once again as he speaks, "I don't know.. that I'm 'shy', or that i 'cant be assertive'.."

You smile, feeling another wave of warmth creep over your stomach just from the way he was looking at you. His eyes were soft but steadily looking into yours, and each second felt like three years.

"So you're saying that those assumptions aren't true?" you tease gently, subtly moving to lean your shoulder against his. He noticed this immediately.

"God!" he laughs, slightly offended but still playing along, "do they seem true?"

"No," you say a bit softer with a smile, your eyes unintentionally drifting down to his pink lips. He noticed this too.

"Okay, good," he leans in a little more, your lips only a handful of inches apart now ".. 'cause they're definitely not."

"Really?" you chuckle, still teasing him.

He nods, "Really, really."

You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your ribcage, and then you started to wonder if he could hear it. Your lips part, little breaths being let out as you lean in an extra two inches. He smirks, and then you feel him move his right hand off of the bed and over your thigh. Its gentle and almost hesitant; giving you the opportunity to say 'no' if you wanted to.. but you didn't. you definitely didn't want to say no.

Your breathing hitches a little and your thighs shift slightly to capture his fingers between your limbs, and he looks steadily into your eyes as his digits squeeze your flesh softly.

"I'm not that shy," he murmurs lowly.

And then his lips are on yours, hot and hungry and eager to please. Your brows furrow as you kiss him back with equal ferocity, and his other hand moves to gently cup your cheek.

His tongue lathes over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth wider so that he can slide it in and taste you better. He groans softly against your smooth, parted lips, his hand between your thighs sliding up to press his palm against your clothed heat. A shaky, barely audible moan escapes your lips as this happens, and he swallows it down as he kisses you harder.

Art's hands then move to slide under your athletic tank top, and he pulls away with lidded eyes to mumble lowly and warmly against your jaw, "can I take this off?"

You nod feverishly, breathing heavily, as you lift your arms above your head while he pulls your shirt up and over. He tosses it aside once it's off like it's trash to him, and then he's diving back in to kiss and suck and nip at your neck. You're sure that he'll leave marks, but you can't find the strength or willpower to deny how hot it would be to look in the mirror later and see all of the little red blotches that his pretty mouth left behind. A few soft "ahh"s and "oh"s slip from your parted lips as his tongue flicks over your pulse point like its a clit, and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. Without further warning, both of his hands slide up to grope your breasts over your sports bra, and your back arches instantly.

"I want to see more of you," Art whispers against your neck, one of his hands moving back to gently grope your thigh right under the hem of your shorts, while his other starts to hook one of his fingers under the elastic band of your bra.

"Yeah, yes," you mumble and nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his silky tongue lap gently over the sensitive spot on your lower neck again.

He pulls back, his lips shiny with his own saliva, and he lets out a small huff of air as he stands up from the bed and shifts to stand in front of where you're trembling on the edge of it.

Your eyes meet his, and you now fully realize that his whole "nice guy" thing was a facade.. maybe it was just a protective cloak he put on until he got comfortable..

Regardless, he looked different now as he stood in front of you, breathing heavily as his gaze drank in the sight of your body. He takes a step closer, his knees touching the end of the bed as his legs stood steadily between yours. He looks down, shifting his left knee to push your legs farther apart, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a whine.

Not a moment later, he's reaching down to pull your tight sports bra over your head. It drops from his grasp onto the floor, his breathing hitches as he looks down at your exposed chest, and then his hands are moving to roughly knead and squeeze at your soft flesh underneath his palms. You shudder and bite your lip. He thumbs your nipples.

His eyes move back up to return your gaze, and he leans down and starts to crawl on top of you, his body gently coaxing yours to lay back flat over the patterned comforter. You don't need a verbal cue from him to know what he wants and what his goal is; his body did all the talking -- just like it did when he played tennis.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his erection straining against the inside of his boxers as it presses against your bare abdomen. A lift of your hips is all the indication he needs from you to tell him that you're as desperate for this as he is right now, and so he gingerly begins to slide one of his hands down the front of your shorts. His touch dips under the waistband, and then before you can process the sensation, you realize that he's moving down into your panties too. One thing that you are painfully aware of, though, is the fact that he never tries to break eye contact while he does all this..

"Ahh.." you moan, your brows pinching up as you feel his warm fingertips brush over your throbbing, sensitive nub. He was hardly touching you, but it was enough to get the fire roaring in your guts. It was more than enough. He knew all the right ways to touch you.. and all the right spots to squeeze and caress.. which seemed crazy considering you two had never spoken to one another until about three or so hours ago.

He smiles gently, his eyes now moving to gaze down at your lips. The pads of Art's fingers begin to play with your clit, rubbing soft and incessant circles over the ball of nerves as you start to squirm on the bed. His head leans back down to kiss your neck and your hands shakily grab onto his shoulders. A laugh escapes him, coating your flesh in a bath of warm air, while he feels your nails dig into him. Even over the fabric of his cotton tee shirt he can feel this, and he winces slightly before the sting of your grip dissolves into pleasure and he starts to moan along with you.

A few more minutes of this go on, and the band in your stomach is stretched more and more until it feels like it's about to snap, and then-

"I really want to fuck you right now," Art murmurs against your skin, his fingers coming to a pause as he pulls his face from the crook of your neck to look down into your dazed eyes.

You blink a few times, feeling the numbing pressure in your pussy start to fade as he unintentionally edges you.

"yes, please.. I want you to.." you softly whimper, your hands reaching up to needily tug at his shirt.

"I don't have a condom," he whispers breathlessly, shaking his head softly as his gaze falls onto your lips now.

"I.." you pause, taking a second to breathe as you attempt to think over the predicament you're now in, "uhm.. I- well, I don't really care.. as long as you pull out.."

It's almost as if just the idea of him being able to be inside of you-- skin to skin; raw--sets him off, because the moment the words leave your mouth, he's letting out soft breathy moans and grinding his clothed pelvis against your thigh. You can feel him throbbing through the fabric, and now you're certain you can't wait much longer. Neither can he.

Your hands pull on his shirt again, forcing his face back down close to yours, "I want you inside of me.."

A groan and a grunt later, he's scrambling to pull his shirt off, and then his shorts, and then his strong calloused hands are gently tugging yours down as well. Art doesn't want to waste time on the act of undressing. Sure, he liked being tender and going slow most times, but this occasion was different. The more that he felt himself leaking into his underwear, the more he needed to feel your silky cunt grip around his cock. Maybe if he got your number after all this, he could go slow next time, but not now. Not when he's like this and you're like that.

When your panties are pulled down with your shorts, Art lets out a groan as he sees the fabric connecting with your delicate flesh via a glistening string of arousal from your heat.

"Jesus Christ," he huffs, his tongue moving to dip out over his bottom lip involuntarily. He pushes your shorts and panties down the rest of the way, and you urgently kick them off onto the room's carpet.

After he moves back up, one of his hands reaches down once again to your cunt. His fingers gently brush over your slicked-up folds, causing your body to jolt and shudder as you struggle to remain quiet. In the next instant, you feel his touch leave your body and you watch in awe as he brings his digits up to his lips and sucks your juices off of them. He rolls your wetness around over his tongue and his eyes roll back a little. He can't help it -- you just taste so fuckin' good.

"Art," you whisper, your voice dissolving into a soft whine, "c'mon.. just- I want you to-"

You're cut off when the man hovering over your form moves his fingers from his mouth and down to yours, effectively shutting you up.

"Suck," he whispers.

You do as you're told instantly, parting your lips to engulf his middle and ring finger in wet heat; your drool pools over his fingertips as your tongue swirls around them and tastes the mix of his saliva and the remnants of your arousal.

He watches with bated breath as you do this, his eyes never leaving your face, and he cant stop himself from pushing his hard, clothed dick against your bare cunt. Your eyes flutter. A string of whimpers echo out into the room from your chest, and you can feel more of your wetness slide down from your entrance.

Art keeps his fingers in your mouth as he uses his other hand to pull his hard-on out of his black boxer briefs, groaning as he taps your clit with the tip of it a few times. Each time his leaking cockhead touches your sensitive parts, your hips buck up. He didn't think it was physically possible to get as turned on as he was right then.

He shifts his pelvis back so that he can slide his dick over your sticky body, not pushing in quite yet, but just teasing your greedy hole. The feeling of your heady moans around his fingers cause them to vibrate, and he leans down close to your face on instinct.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes blink open and you whimper as he uses his digits to gently force your lips to part so that he can shove his tongue past them. Art licks at the inside of your mouth, groaning while he subtly removes his fingers and brings them down to your clit once more. He slots your bundle of nerves between his index and middle finger, sliding them up and down to effectively stroke over your most sensitive area as you feel his cock prodding at your hole.

While his tongue laps over yours, his mouth eagerly swallowing the obscenely loud moans you're letting out as your climax approaches once again, he begins to slide his tip into you. Your eyes instantly open wide before your face scrunches up in pleasure and your hands desperately paw at his shoulders.

He slides in another inch.

And another.

And then two more.

And then he bottoms out completely, filling you wholly with his twitching length as he pulls his face back from your lips to gasp softly.

You look up at him as his brows furrow, and you wriggle underneath him as he lets out a soft growl.

"You're so tight.. shit, you feel so good," he murmurs lowly, his eyes on yours as he starts to slide himself slowly back out before thrusting back in. You can feel him hit your cervix. You'd let him bruise it if he wanted to.

And he wants to.

"Fuck me harder," you moan softly.

"Yeah?" he smirks, breathing heavily.

"Yeah."

He leans up so that his back is straight, and he gazes down at you while he slides his hands under your form to gingerly cup your lower back.. and then he's pounding into you without further warning.

Your back arches up from his hold, and every thrust of his thick cock into your cunt is sending explosions of numbing heat throughout your lower half.

Each movement of his hips results in a lewd squelch as his pelvis slaps into the underside of your ass, and every movement sends you closer and closer to the edge. He's groaning and moaning above you, watching your every move as you squirm around and take him properly. You want to be good for him; he can tell.

Whimpers and needy whines are forced out of you as he fucks you with abandon into the mattress, and your mind is forced back into reality once you feel his hands move from your back to your sensitive tits.

"Are you gonna cum? You're squeezing down on me," he breathes out, a loud groan cutting his words off as he tips his head back. His thrusts grow sloppier, "oh god, oh fff-u-uck.."

"Ye-- Uhh- Ahh-!" you hoarsely and brokenly moan out, unable to fully give him an answer. Your hands fist the cool sheets under you as your legs start to involuntarily squeeze together with the onslaught of your impending orgasm.

Art brings his head back up to look down at you, and he shakes his head, sliding his hands down from your breasts to your legs to lift them up and spread them apart gently but forcefully.

"Keep them spread.. I know you're close," he says softly to you, "I promise I'll let you come.. just keep being good for me.. I'm almost there.."

Once his words fill your fuzzy head, you can't help but let out an obscenely loud---borderline-pornographic---moan as your thighs shake in his hold. His cock slams into you faster, but with less and less precision. He bites his lip before his jaw slacks and he lets out an equally loud moan to accompany your filthy noises.

"You're so fucking pretty... you're so-- you feel so damn good," he babbles gruffly, his touch digging into your legs as his hips rashly thrust his throbbing length in and out of your sopping pussy.

You nod, unsure of what to say or how to even respond in the state that your body is in. You're somehow limp and tense at the same time, your body shivering as your back arches up again.

"I-- I'm gonna--!" you gasp out in a shaky whimper.

He moans at your words, fucking you deeper and messier, before he leans down over you and you can feel his broad toned chest press against yours.

"Say it.." he breathes out against your ear in a soft groan.

You moan, shuddering under him as your cunt starts to rhythmically tighten around him.

"I'm gonna cum," you whine, nearly sobbing.

"Fuck," he groans, "yeah? Say it again for me."

"I'm gonna cummm-!"

"You wanna cum on my cock?"

You nod helplessly, your arms wrapped around his flushed upper back as his cock slides in and out of you; his tip constantly brushing up against that special spot in your velvety walls hidden just a couple inches inside.

"Yess-s-!" you moan, your body absolutely writhing on the bed under his heavy form.

"Okay.. alright," he breathes out hotly into your neck, "go on and cum for me."

Before you can process what's going on, your body is overwhelmed with an overpowering heat as the last thing you distinctly feel is one of Art's hands moving down your lower abdomen to then rub circles over your swollen bud with his thumb. And that's all it takes -- You’re thrown over the edge.

"Fuck! OH MY GOD, OH--!" you cry out, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you through your climax.

He groans harshly and loudly against your warm skin before his hips stutter with the feeling of your hole pulsing around him. He keeps his digit rubbing incessant, soft circles over your clit to prolong your orgasm as he forces himself to pull out with a gasp.

His balls draw up and he reaches down quickly with his other hand to stroke over his length just as he feels his release start to rise up.

As you moan tremblingly and bask in your afterglow, you try to catch your breath as you shakily push yourself up onto your elbows just in time to watch Art squirt out a thick load over your torso. Rope after rope of sticky white fluid drips and gushes from his cock and between his fingers as he jerks himself off; shuddering deeply over you and letting out little "fuck"s and "oh my god"s and "yes"s.

After a few more shaky moments tick by, his thumb comes to a halt over your clit as he watches the last drops of his cum fall onto your stomach.

He breathes heavily, biting his lip as he watches your body shake. He loves the way his cum looks on your beautiful body.. it's like liquid pearl splattered all over you. He takes several mental pictures of the scene in front of him before he collapses on top of you with a soft grin.

You chuckle breathily, wrapping your arms around him as your warm bodies stick together in the aftermath, and he presses two soft kisses to your neck. One of your hands slides up from between his shoulder blades to run some of your fingers through his messy curls. He shivers and sighs, sliding his hands under your body to hold you closer to him.

A small period of comfortable silence is held between you two as you both work to catch your breaths, before Art is the one to break the quiet with a soft murmur into your shoulder.

"So.. can I get your number?"

"After round two," you whisper with a smile.

"Deal."

note; this is for everyone who voted for soft dom!art donaldson in that poll + the anons in my inbox asking for this sort of dynamic w/ art <3 much much much love !

divider credit: @benkeibear <3

#art donaldson the man that you are #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson fanfic #dom!art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers film #challengers smut #mike faist #mike faist smut #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #sub!reader #dom!character #soft dom!art donaldson

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imaginedisish · 3 months ago

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Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade.

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!”

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines.

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have.

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts.

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you.

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan.

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy.

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously.

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp.

“Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in.

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle.

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted.

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle.

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest.

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun.

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name.

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform.

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan.

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open.

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot.

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him.

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes.

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you.

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan.

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist.

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh.

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

#Logan Howlett x reader #Wolverine x reader #James Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x you #Wolverine x you #James Logan Howlett x you #Logan Howlett fluff #Wolverine fluff #James Logan Howlett fluff #Logan Howlett x reader fluff #Wolverine x reader fluff #James Logan Howlett x reader fluff #deadpool and wolverine #Logan Howlett imagine #Wolverine imagine #James Logan Howlett imagine

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cherry-leclerc · 6 months ago

Text

cherry cola ☆ op81

genre: smut, humor, yearning, tiny bit of fluff, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, experienced!oscar, sub!reader (for a while!), dom!oscar (for a while!)

word count: 8.5k

After a painful break up, Oscar finds himself head-to-head with an enticing girl, filled with pure innocence. Also known as, his parents secret weapon, and his worst temptation.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...f!receiving, fingering, brief mentions of masturbation, face riding, missionary sex, doggy style

inspired by this !

cherry here!... hellooo anons, long time, no see haha sorry for the lack of posts, but hopefully this makes up for it, somehow? formal apology for my last post too while we're at it. though this fic is inspired by cola by lana del rey, it will not have a sour ending like past fics (iykyk). missed u all, so here ya go! enjoy :)

There is an apprehensive sensation that towers over him as soon as she walks in; shy mannered, tall, and firm with a hint of hesitation—it’s something he adores about her, but also something that has him feeling jittery. Oftentimes, her lips are his most prized possession, enjoying the way they move. All except at this very moment.

Everyone notices his bitter, broken, and quiet mood despite always laying low. He’s never been one to share his problems with others, and he most definitely was not going to start now. It should be the best moment of the season—his first win—but he doesn’t have the joy to celebrate it with anyone.

Oscar’s brown eyes are low and dull; empty. He’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t see any of this coming. If he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt and misery. Should he have been more attentive, a better boyfriend, then he wouldn’t be regretting his life choices. Dramatic, but true.

“How are you spending your summer break? Are you and Lily traveling?”

The Australian tries to scoff at the innocent inquiry beaming from his teammate, but he settles with a wince, not being able to hide it. “She, um…we broke up, actually.” He’s never been a religious individual—has never even set foot inside a church—but for the first time in his life, he prayed no more questions would be asked.

Lando raises his thick brows, clearly surprised by the sudden confession. Sure, they were a private couple—likely the most in the entire paddock—but he never saw this coming from Oscar and Lily. Though he only met her a couple of times, simply exchanging a kind greeting, he would’ve bet his entire Rolex collection that the couple were smitten with one another. “Ah, I’m sorry, mate.”

The rude sound of his race suit being zipped up harshly makes the Brit flinch in the slightest. “Don’t worry about it. That’s life, no?”

Costa Rica—they were supposed to go to Costa Rica. Instead, now, he sits alone on a flight back to his home country. He’s ecstatic to be sleeping in his childhood room with outdated posters hung of all his favorite drivers, but the feeling lingers.

Sprawled like a koala, humid t-shirt pressed against his skin, he tosses and turns for an estimate of five whole minutes. He should be enjoying the beach, sipping on highly sweetened margaritas, getting the worst tan of his life, but he’s here. The hot summer air in Melbourne makes him spit out a string of dirty curses that would send his mum into a coma.

The brunette might as well be an only child since not a single one of his three sisters were here to keep him company, ditching him with his parents. He loved them, of course he did, but a full house was his ideal way to spend his break. His home gym isn’t even enough to help him forget, even for a second.

“Dinner is ready, honey,” Nicole announces, peeking carefully through the crack of the door. She grins widely. “There’s even pavlova—your favorite.”

He forces a polite nod, shaggy hair dangling just above his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.” It actually takes a sum of thirty-minutes for him to jog down the stairs, a strong scent of apple expanding from his now washed hair. His dad hums as soon as he spots the McLaren driver.

“It’s rude to leave guests waiting, Oscar,” he warns with a deep voice.

The twenty-three year old assumes it’s a lame dad joke, perhaps, so runs along with it, taking a good look around the dining room. “Won’t happen again. I showered—”

“Where would you like to place the dessert, Mrs. Piastri?” a soft voice echoes down the hallway as he turns at the unfamiliar tone. You halt, caught off guard by the new presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be here.”

“In my own home?” he finds himself squeaking involuntarily. The stern look that dances across his parents faces is enough for him to bite down on his tongue. He doesn’t even know why he said any of that—especially to a stranger.

They introduce you two quickly, though you’re just as fast as to say that you obviously knew about his existence. Do you follow my races? You shake your head, glossy hair shining. “I work for your parents, so…I sort of know. Plus, your sisters always talk highly about you when you’re gone.”

He blinks. “You work here?” Brown eyes flicker to his parents, confusion written all over. “What could she possibly do?”

“Oscar,” Nicole scolds. “I thought you left all the unnecessary questions back in junior high.”

Chris slides a large hand over her smaller one, calming her down just a tad bit. The older man sighs. “You know your mum, always looking for something new to do—”

“I wanted to grow a garden!” she squeals, delighted. “Like in all those magazines you get me for my birthday—oh, so lovely, honey. Only I realized, I don’t know anything about gardening.”

“And this lovely girl standing right here is a total natural. Her hands must be magic.” Oscar blushes hard at his dads choice of words. “She’s helping us out for the time being. Until we get back.”

The Australian's mouth opens, then snaps back shut, swallowing. “Get back from where?”

“Costa Rica!”

He gapes. “You’re using my tickets?”

Nicole winces. “Can’t let them go to waste, honey…”

His father butts in. “How is Lily by the way?”

The brunette groans, running his hands through his waves. “How should I know? Come on, you guys can’t be serious.” The tickets weren’t the problem; the fact that they were leaving was. He spots you awkwardly placing the pastry down onto the table. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Yes, of course,” you quip, glad to have a reason to flee far enough away from the premises. You turn to the Piastri’s who smile fondly at your understanding. “I’ll be out in the garden.”

As soon as you rush out, the twenty-three year old turns swiftly. “I guess I’m leaving too.”

“Don’t you dare, Oscar Jack Piastri—” He fumes. “Why not? You’re all going to be gone!”

“She won’t—you are keeping her company.” She’s not asking; she’s demanding. Staring back in shock, the McLaren driver avoids eye contact, fidgeting like a kid at their first day of school. His mum stands up, makes her way over, and pecks his soft cheek. “She’s a sweet girl. She won’t be a bother—she’s just down the hallway.”

That’s where Lily would always stay back when they first started their relationship; too afraid of making a bad impression on his parents. He found it adorable. He rolls his eyes and releases a heavy breath. “Fine.” He stares out the glass window, focusing on where you patiently sit on the wooden bench, delicate hands pressing your dress down against your thighs. “Fine...”

The following morning, his parents wake him up at the crack of dawn, bidding goodbye. It comes as a total surprise, thinking he had a few more days left with them, but no. He’s barely registering any of it before they whisper inaudible nonsense and scurry out of his bedroom.

After some debating, he changes and decides to go on a quick run. The sight of Ms. Alleck watering her burnt grass makes him smile as he sets off. It would have been easier to not get as tired if it were a slight bit chilly, but it’s blazing hot. He cuts it short, dashing back home and immediately serving himself a glass of cold water.

“You’re up early.”

The brown eyed boy jumps in sudden surprise. Standing in a pastel yellow sleeping gown, you grin brightly. Long lashes lay flat, nose pinching rosy pink, and breath minty. “Yeah, my folks sort of woke me up. Couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Oh.” You pout. “They left already?”

“You knew?”

“Yup. They mentioned it last night before bed.” A beat. “I hope me staying here isn’t making you uncomfortable…it’s just that they offered, and—”

“It’s not.” Lie. “Make yourself at home.”

Not much is seen or heard from him for the majority of the day; occasional glaces coming here and there. They put you in an uncomfortable spot yesterday—you had been working on the garden for a year now, damn it—but their son's demeanor took you by surprise. The pictures and stories were something you relied on as the only source of getting to know him: polite, tall, and swanky—boyish.

That was so far from the truth. Oscar Piastri has grown into his body; almost appearing to be a handsome giant. Despite his warm face, his attitude is a bit snarky. He has no problem in saying what’s on his mind. And he is most definitely not a boy.

He’s a man.

“What do you say?”

“Sorry?”

He chuckles, Adam's Apple dancing up and down. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

It wasn't his intention to try and get close to you—not purposefully, at least—but he thought; why not? Who knows when his parents are coming back, when his sisters would, and he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t some snotty guy. Summer is summer, after all. A friend to spend it with sounds quite nice.

Pursing your red lips, you nod, setting your book aside. The dinner table is already set up. Chicken and rice. That’s it. Given, it looks and smells amazing, but plain. You quirk a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to eat your greens? To drive quicker?” He burns up at you teasing tone.

“I didn’t want to risk burning the house down. We’re lucky I was able to get even this done.”

“Very well.” The refrigerator opens, colorful veggies staring back at him. You grin, slow and easy. “I’ll take care of it. It’s only fair, roomie.”

Oscar left home a few years ago, migrating to the United Kingdom for work, so it had been a while since he had stepped foot in his backyard. He faintly remembers his pirate treehouse, his sisters’ Barbie’s cluttered inside. It was a bone-chilling sight for baby Oscar back then, but now, the paint is chipping off, the wood looks a lot weaker. It’s a nostalgic feeling.

The new additions are stunning. A bunch of healthy flowers beam back at him and he swallows when he realizes he can’t name a single one. Waxflowers, Calamint, Dahlias, Peonies, Carnations, California Poppies. One by one, he admires with an open mouth. “They’re beautiful.” He turns to you with a proud smile. “You’ve done an excellent job.”

Pink feathers onto your already blushed cheeks, biting back a cheesy grin. You had decided to eat out on the bench, choosing to enjoy the now fresh air. Still humid, but less than before. The scent of coconut sunscreen makes his whiff constantly. “So…Costa Rica?”

He winces. It was too soon to talk about the situation, but something in your calm voice makes it easier to spit it out even though you probably already heard from his parents. All of a sudden, your savory carrots taste like complete shit. “T’was supposed to go with my girlf—my ex. My ex-girlfriend.”

You pout, sorrowfully. “Oh, I’m sorry, Oscar. I didn’t mean to…I had no clue.” And it’s genuine. Guess his parents weren’t complete traitors.

“Tell me—how long have you been working on fixing the garden?”

“Since last summer,” you hum, chewing down on a piece of grilled chicken. “This is the first time I have actually stayed here, though. Your parents are sweet. As soon as they heard that you were coming back home, they insisted I kept you company.”

Sharp jaw clenches and he scoffs. You simply blink back innocently. Then, he notices it. The way it reflects against the yellow ray of the now setting sun. He knows what it is, so he doesn’t ask. Too busy staring off into the distance, you place your plate down. “Let me show you a few other things I’ve been working on.”

There’s row and row, further into the open area; every twist and turn makes his brows raise up higher, impressed by the noticeable updates. Coming to a halt, he spins his head around, brown locks hitting his temples. “Since when do we have a cherry tree?”

You beam, orbs shining with excitement. “Since last summer!” you repeat, cheerfully. You pick one, handing it for him to try. An embarrassing moan erupts once the sweet nectar slides down his throat. “Good?”

“Bloody amazing.” Every compliment makes you squeal with delight. “My mum is actually allergic to cherries, so how…”

“She was actually the one who brought it up. Said she knew how much I loved them, and that I deserved a little something for flourishing her garden. I couldn’t deny the chance to do so.” You bite down on your lip, sheepishly. “They are my favorite.”

Reaching for one makes him look away as soon as your dress rises up, soft legs poking through. Bare feet press against the wet grass as you tippy toe. He mustered a fake cough, but as soon as you bite down onto the bloody fruit, he clicks into a trance.

Plump lips; thick and juicy. Long lashes fluttering shut against your glossy cheeks. That could have been because of the summer heat, but it affected him just the same. The familiar sensation of attraction rushes to his cock as he stands stiffly—but also loosely. He was loose. So fucking loose.

Something hits his cheekbones and it rips him away from his drooling. A singular seed now lays by his feet; indicating what you had done. A crinkled, wobbly smile shines back at him, hands nervously flattening your dress back down. The Australian jokingly lunges towards you as you squeal, backing away.

“You were disintegrating! I had to get your attention one way or another!”

Oh, you definitely got his attention. Giving you one final scowl, he stops his steps. “Everything—all of it—it’s great. Thank you.” The wind picks up and you shiver. “...for doing this for my parents.”

Neat hair flies against the breeze, covering your eyes for a minute. Pushing it aside, you scrunch your nose faintly. “Anytime.”

Technically, what you’re getting paid for was to watch over the beloved yard; that’s all. But you offer to do more. Mow the lawn? Paint the chipped wall? Wash the windows?

“God no, darling,” Oscar’s mum laughs through the end of the line. “You are doing enough already. Please. Relax.”

But you can’t. Nibbling on your thumb, you brush the counter, strolling past countless family portraits. A smile slips when you spot a toothless Oscar. “I insist.”

So, here you are; decluttering the attic. After a bit of bickering with Nicole, she eventually gives in and asks for a favor. Clean and tidy the small room. Easy peasy.

“Ouch,” you hiss when a nail digs through your skin, gore immediately pouring out of you like a waterfall; you squeak. Just then, a certain brunette peeks their head through the entrance.

“Oh good, it’s you. I thought we had an intruder.”

Raising a skeptical brow at him and the thin duvet, you quickly take it from him, pressing it down to ease the bleeding. “Holy crap, are you okay?” In one motion, he steps closer to you, analyzing the injury with worried eyes. You groan.

“It’s only a little cut. No biggie.” But the way your face is slowly losing color lets him know that your words aren't true. Brown eyes flicker, searching for a spot to sit, but everything about this is crowded. You were just about to start tidying; the mess was still there. Crouching onto a tiny stool, he takes a seat, somehow still towering over you. Or at least that's what it felt like, because suddenly, you felt suffocated.

His long legs are spread as you stand between them, hand out towards him as he winces at the brutal cut. “Ah—that’s pretty deep.” He gags when he notices the underneath flesh. You suppress a giggle. “We should go to the ER.”

You scoff, ripping away from his grip, tripping over a box. Regaining your balance, you drape the cloth over your hand once again. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be right back.”

After rinsing your hand with alcohol, covering the wound with the largest bandaid to ever exist, and balling your eyes out, you make your way back up. The Australian is drenched in sweat, huffing and puffing. “Got it,” he pants. Confused, you tilt your head to the side, but that’s when you pick out the nail in the palm of his hand. You blink, too bewildered to make sense of how he retrieved it without the help of a hammer. “I also found lots of old trophies. Extremely bittersweet.”

“Why’s that?” you hum, kneeling down next to him, reading through the labels. Each makes you more and more dazzled.

A minute passes by. “Because I grew up.”

“That’s…sad.” Shrugging, he digs for more. He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Dear G—I forgot this even existed!”

Oscar’s 81 Things To-Do During the Summer [List]

Learn how to bike.

Learn the Australian National Anthem (Sophie will be beautifully impressed)

Get better at being more outgoing (Mum is worried)

So on and so forth. “You were an extremely creative lad. Eighty-one things to do…eh.” A tongue click. “Possibly buy a pet dragon?”

He cringes. “Not all were realistic. I actually never really got around to it. Mainly added, if anything.”

Crimson red flashes. “I, um, I could tell.”

69. Oscar Piastri, you know what I mean.

The brunette chokes on his saliva, yanking it away as fast as he can. Standing up to his full height, he rolls up the piece of paper and points towards the exit. “I think I should, um…yeah. See ya.”

“Yeah.” He dashes off. “See you…”

Eighteen-year old Oscar was a horny bastard. But every guy that age is, so it’s not really fair to feel bad about his list. The writing is obviously his, but the things jotted down made him almost feel like it wasn’t. Blowjobs? Hand jobs? What was he thinking?

And then, there was you—a curious cat. He had to be a virgin; he just had to. Why else would he be embarrassed? You weren’t one to judge, though. You knew nothing about the sexual world, having never partaken. The thin band wrapped around your ring finger is enough proof.

And no—you weren’t married.

It would have been absolutely diabolical to mention sex in your household growing up. Being Roman Catholics is no joke, believing religiously to wait until marriage. You never had a problem with that; you would wait. Doesn’t mean you didn’t know what any of the common terms meant. Sort of.

Only now—for the first time in your life—there it was.

Temptation.

The McLaren driver was no newbie. He has had his fair share of experiences; before Lily, with Lily. He knew just about anything and everything. His good-boy act was no facade. At times he didn’t like that about himself, but it’s who he was. Obeyed the rules. Never crossed the line with anyone he wasn’t romantically linked to. And yet…

There you were.

The flowers were perfect; only needing to be watered. The cherry tree was much more…complicated. The chances of animals recklessly hunting for the sweet fruit was high, the chances of the red drupes rotting also was. Therefore, you spent most of your time there.

Maybe you were avoiding him; you told yourself you were already horrified at the dirty thoughts taking over like the plague. And perhaps he was doing the same; he had only been locked in his room for the past three hours.

Golden hour. With your hands on your hips, you squint, admire the polished drupes, tickling with water. Walking back to the bench, you lay down, picking up on your reading, occasionally taking sips from your Cherry Cola.

Pacing the small bedroom, Oscar mutters to himself. Maybe she didn’t read all of it. Maybe she doesn't know what it means. Yeah—he was exaggerating. Clicking his window open, he gasped for needed air. As soon as he spots you reading, he grunts.

White skirt brushes down your smooth legs, challenging the sun to see who shines the brightest. Lips wrap around the glass bottle, puckering in the slightest. And he wonders; would you taste as sweet as the cool beverage?

He’s a grown man; an adult. There’s no need to be uncomfortable. Sex was a part of everyone's day to day life. He was the one making it a bigger deal than it actually was. Still, he slips on a pair of sunglasses, perched perfectly onto the bridge of his nose.

“Is it any good?”

His voice makes you flinch, dropping the book flat on your face. A tiny groan rings through the air. Flashing him a weak smile, you sit up straight, fixing your clothes. “Want one? There’s plenty in the fridge.”

He had noticed, of course he had. Never in a million years did he think he'd see his refrigerator stocked up with the sweet drink. He never cared enough to ask who they belonged to; figured they would just expire.

Wavy hair swings back and forth when he shakes his head. “Gotta keep in shape.” I see, you murmur, loopy eyes peeking over at him, taking another gulp. The sizzling feeling is utterly childish compared to what he’s making you feel. The burning sensation between your legs is annoying and painful, you almost want to plead for help. “I meant the book, by the way.”

“No!” You laugh, nervously. “I mean…it’s alright?”

After he stormed off and left you a breathless puddle, you biked and biked—until you hit the local bookstore. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, simply browsing, but as soon as you reached the section of Erotic Literature, you stopped.

So many—many—wrong choices. Still, humiliated, you paid and fiercely ran out. Maybe this was some sort of punishment for reading what you’re reading; had to be. And Oscar asking questions wasn’t helping. Licking your berry lips, you swallow a thick layer. “What have you been up to?”

Fuck, he moans, large hand sliding up and down his cock; more and more pleasure intensifying. Your tiny dresses. Your short skirts. Your angelic face. The way your lips would separate before every sentence. Your sweet scent that would have normally given him a headache, but instead made him chase after you like a dog.

Finishing all over his thighs, he shudders. White liquid never looked more sinister than at this very moment. After changing, he paces the room with regret.

Pushing the frames further into his face, he hums. “Oh, you know. Just… cleaning up my room.”

It’s been a week in a half now and you’re happy to announce that you have fallen into a routine. While Oscar did his daily workout, you would make breakfast. While you worked on the garden, he cooked dinner. Though, he was unbeknownst over the way you would drool over him when he would walk out the door; a compressed shirt hugging his built body tightly, arms begging to be kissed. You were unaware of the way he would rub his face in desperation when you walked out, banging his head purposefully against the cabinet; the way you would skip out with your book and infamous drink, or how you would prettily tie up your hair before you even got started.

It was a mess.

A mocking mess.

This afternoon though, you aren’t flying out the door to the yard, but rather frolicking over to Ms. Alleck, ready to assist. I try my best, but they always wilt! Could it be the humidity? Laughing, you toss your hair up into a bun, messy strands poking out as you cock your head to the side. “Could be, but don’t you worry. We’ll find a way to make it work. Promise.”

He had always known you were kind, gentle, soft spoken…pure. And you doing this only added to his attraction. It’s salad, spaghetti, and salmon that afternoon. Sweaty, you pant. I’m going to squeeze in a shower real quick. But you weren’t sweaty, like you believe; you were glistening.

“This is so cute,” you chirp, sitting cross cross in the old treehouse. A few spider webs make your blood run cold, but he quickly took care of it, apologizing. The brunette blushes.

“I wanted to use it one last time. Before we get rid of it.” Neat brows furrow. “It’s just that it’s old—only a matter of time before it plunges down.” “What?”

“O-obviously not now!”

After a bit more convincing, you finally relax and enjoy the way the crickets sing against the night. Small feet press against the wall, white tube socks turning slightly brown from the lack of sweeping. For a moment, he shuts his lids, breaths shallow, body loose. The high temperature almost made him feel as if he was cuddling into the warmest blanket; it felt nice.

Whoops, you mumble when hollow glass pounds against the wooden floor. He perks up at the sound, brown eyes burning with high alert. “You do shit on purpose?” he screeches when he detects scarlet blood. Wincing in pain, you curl your hand towards the hem of your dress.

“Help me,” you plead, slight annoyance written all over your face. He must’ve broken the world record of running into the house to retreat the first aid kit, and running right back to you. The way he sanitizes the skin, to the way he wraps your hand with a gauze pad, is honestly hilarious.

“What so funny?” he murmurs, attention never leaving the wound.

“Mmm. Nothing.” He snickers and you giggle harder. “It just seems as if I’m making you a professional. You ought to be ready if anyone else needs your help to treat injuries.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll tell them a certain klutz made me learn from day to night with all her clumsiness.” His voice drops, laced with concern. “Seriously though—you were just healing. You have to be careful.”

Plump lips part with the sound of his delicate voice, accent almost disappearing. Wandering eyes admire the way his brows are knitted together and orbs soften. Swallowing, you nod. “I will.”

“Good.”

The once vibrant room is now hazy and suffocating. Does he not know what kind of effect he has on you? The type of power he holds? Oscar doesn’t seem to, though, with the way he chugs down his entire glass of water. Stuck in a trance, your hand briskly reaches out for your own drink. He roars with laughter, clutching his stomach. “You just broke your bottle, you don’t have a drink anymore.” He picked up the Cherry Cola you had offered, but he had declined. “Take mine.”

You don’t put up a fight, simply allow him to open and give it to you. The sweet drink doesn’t do a great job at hydrating your foaming mouth, but it helps as a distraction. On the other hand, the brunette can’t seem to not watch the ways your lips suck in and out, eagerly. As if this were the only source of air. He shudders.

“We should probably head down…”

Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you comply, already standing up. From the floor, he has a good view of your legs; long, soft, sweetly scented. He wonders if you use honey as lotion because that would explain his urge to nuzzle his face against them. Picking up the broken glass and plates, you turn back. “Coming?”

A sigh rings through the air once, and suddenly—he’s cradling your face with high intensity and lust, molding his lips against yours. Tomato sauce stains his shirt and your dress from the plates that still remain between you two. One second, you're wide eyed, and then the next, you're allowing yourself to kiss him back.

You want to cry with how pleasant the feeling feels and he wants to scream with how much he wants to fuck you. But alas, one of you pulls away first—you can’t really tell who— and you’re both left gasping for air. Completely winded and fucked.

You both are fucked.

The treehouse comes crashing down the day after your first kiss. Yes, first kiss. You would like to blame him and say that he stole it from you, but the arousal that was dripping between your thighs last night was a clear indication that you could never actually say so because you liked it so much.

The wooden house tearing down is something you take as a sign; you’ve sinned. Okay, maybe that was a bit too dramatic, but you were honestly thinking about it. That night you dreamt of the wildest things imaginable; his pretty face in between your legs, large hands squeezing your perky breasts, fingers swirling inside your velvety walls, cock tearing you in half.

It was unacceptable.

So, while Oscar worked on picking up the tiles with a hometown buddy, you marched right over to beg for forgiveness. Kneeling down against the cushion, you say a silent prayer.

I don’t want to think like this—not when I know I can help it, but God this is getting way too out of hand. And you know I’m not like this, you know that! But he just—AGH. Maybe it’s his personality that makes him so attractive, or maybe it’s his sudden growth spurt, but please let me get a hold of myself. He’s just a friend, he’s just a friend—HE’S JUST A FRIEND.

“Would you mind keeping your words to yourself, sweetheart?” an older lady whispers, two rows ahead of you.

Pink feathers onto your cheeks. “Oh, yes, of course! I’m so sorry…”

I don’t ever ask for much, no, that’s never been necessary, but I am now. So please. Hear me when I say: Push this desire I have, far, far, far away.

If you were to say, there was a ninety percent chance that you would walk away. Not even spare him a passing glance. He would call you out on it later, but whatever—too late. Ignored you, you say? No, really I did? I had no idea, I’ll make sure to not let it happen again!

If Oscar were to say, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that he would let you walk away. He didn’t need your company; he was doing just fine. But then again, that one percent tugs at him like the devil on his shoulder.

“Hey. You’re back.” Cool. Calm. Collected.

“Oh! I suppose I am.” Cool. Utter. Mess.

He grins, eyes crinkling like the leaves that hang upon the crimson tree. Signaling up, he cocks his head in deep thought. “Just finished. Cole said his uncle could shred…” A pause. “He owns a massive wood chipper.”

Blinking like a deer in headlights, you chew on your bottom lip, simply nodding along. “Sounds good? I think. No. Yes. Very good.” You wince at all the uncontrolled mumbo-jumbo. “I’m sorry I was no help, too. I had to…talk to the man up above.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. That must be why your pretty little knees are bruised.”

Your breath comes to a harsh halt, ears burning like a wildfire. The Australian just keeps his brown eyes set on the tree for a second longer before turning to face you. Quickly, you relax your muscles. “You could make up for it by helping me with something else.”

You gulp. Suddenly, your mouth is overflowing with hot saliva. “With what?”

Dark orbs glue onto your delicate figure, a slight smirk playing out. And it looks so unfamiliar, not his own, that you create a distance. And just like that, it’s gone. Vanished just as fast as it slipped onto his pink lips. “Get on.” He crouches down and your jaw drops.

“Wha—like onto your shoulders?” Rolling his eyes in a goofy manner, he nods, picks you up safely, and places you on top. You screech, dizzy by the sudden altitude. “Put me down!”

“You’re fine. Just help me reach those. Been craving them all day,” he murmurs, voice raspy. The twenty-three year old is still slightly sweaty from his hard labor, and that’s clear when you cling onto his brown locks. Other than that, you’re as high as a kite; both figuratively and literally.

You’ve known—seen—how tall and broad the Australian was, but being perched onto his wide shoulders was a sweet confirmation you couldn’t help but enjoy. “Move a bit forward.” He follows instructions, wide hands gripping onto your thighs to keep you steady. You giggle when a few fruits hit your face. “Watch it—and don’t you dare drop me.”

“Get,” he commands.

About three minutes pass by. You rip the cherries carefully, candy aroma filling the air, and plop them onto the basket. By all accounts, you’re well aware of your actions. The basket was full, now overflowing, really, and you could plant your ballet flats back onto the tall grass—but you don’t.

There’s something about feeling his touch; high electricity, shock waves nipping at your skin, soft pants. It’s pathetic how much you crave any ounce of physical touch he’s willing to give you, unknowingly.

“That should be good,” you whisper, meekly. He doesn’t respond, just swings you down as you let out a yelp. All of a sudden, you’re magically magnetic. And he wonders; if only. You hand the basket over, waiting nervously for him to thank you, at least.

“Thank you,” he feels himself saying. “What do you say we play a little game? No prize. Only bragging rights.”

“O-okay.”

A singular cherry is handed over. He grins. Can you tie a knot using your tongue? “Wait—are you being serious?”

The red fruit dissolves inside his mouth, spitting the seed somewhere far enough away. Then, the stem flips into his mouth. “Come on. I’ll give you a head start.”

With wary hands, you rip the stem away from your own drupe, fitting the thin stick into your suddenly dry mouth. He stares intently, clenching his jaw, “Go on. Ten seconds.” Quickly, your lips start to move, twisting and turning. Pouting, then sucking back in. Your low breaths become heavy after a few tries. You think you’re getting it done right, the sudden ball forming is enough for you to guess that you must be doing something correct.

The sound of his low mewls is what ends you. Doe eyes flicker up to face him, paying close attention to how his brown eyes wander up at the sky in concentration, occasionally squinting due to the bright sun. You can feel a thin layer of sweat hug you like a blanket as your movements slow down; a snail's pace compared to before.

For good measure, you fake your twists as you continue to simply admire. Too far gone, you blink hastily when he sticks his pink tongue out towards you, a stinking knot sitting nicely atop.

“I won.”

Gulp. “You sure did. Good job, Oscar.”

Long lashes flutter shut momentarily, head tossed back, sighing. “It wasn’t a fair fight. You weren’t doing anything. Other than staring at my lips.”

Flustered, you dig your hand into the bucket. “That’s not true! At all. At all, at all.” You munch harder, splitting a seed in half. You spit it out sourly. “You're just better at using your mouth than I am.”

It goes straight to his cock, your words. Opening his eyes, the brunette scrunches his nose. You’re avoiding his gaze. You’re good at doing that. A pro. But it leaves him to wonder some more. And that itself was dangerous when it dawned on him.

He doesn’t like daydreaming anymore.

“Fuck it,” he grunts, kissing you harshly, like the night before. And you thought that blew your mind, but this? This left you gasping and reaching out for him even though he was pressed right against you. You could feel him buzzing, pinching your hips against his large hands. It’s perfect.

You don’t really understand how you end up straddling him on the grass, green straining your knees as you grind harder onto him, forcing your skin to burn with each stroke. This—this—must be as good as it gets. There can’t be more, but you weren’t complaining. It was enough.

When his fingers dance underneath your dress, you halt, and everything comes crashing down. “No,” you pant. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Why is that, baby?” he mumbles, lost on sucking the side of your neck. Looking up, his straight brows drew in together with concern. “What is it?”

“It’s just that…I’m—” Why is it so hard to admit? Brushing a strand of hair away, you purse your lips. “I’m a virgin, Oscar. It’s odd, I know, but I can’t sleep with you.”

“You think I didn’t know that?’

You freeze. “What?”

His thumbs circle your thighs, gently, swooning with how soft you feel. “I figured you were. Your purity ring sort of gave it away.” You blush hard, rolling off of him, playing with the thin band.

“I wish I could do this—God, I really want to—but I can’t.”

Respecting your decision, he pats your hand with reassurance. The hot feeling remained between your legs and the pain between his. This was torture, you both know that, but what was there to do? It’s awkward for a while, that is, until he starts asking you about things that shouldn’t make you glow with happiness.

How was your day? I want to hear all about it. Do you think it’s bad to eat an entire bucket of drupes? Must be, right? In the long run? Hey, would you mind teaching me how to garden? You make it look intriguing.

That seems to do it for you. Everything you ever promised flies out the window as you climb back onto his thick lap, and this time, he’s surprised by your actions. Clumsy fingers try their best to unzip his pants, but he only stutters against your kisses. N-no, we don’t have to rush anything. I, you, we—

“Shit, o-okay,” he sighs when you finally touch him, even in the slightest. He may be touch deprived, but so were you, so how far would any of this go? Flipping you over to lay against the tall grass, he winks teasingly and that effectively makes your heartbeat quicken. “Relax, sweetheart. Do that for me, yeah? Can you?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

The McLaren drivers press a kiss on the inside of your thighs before licking them. You shiver, though try your best to even your breaths. You shut your eyes, maybe if you act hard enough, you could somehow convince yourself that this wasn’t a war itself. To see how long you’d last. No—you would last. You had to.

“I’ve thought about it.” He slips your panties down, inch by inch. “A lot, as of lately. If you would taste just as sweet as I imagined. As sweet as those Cherry Cola’s you're overly obsessed with.” And he dives in, licking your arousal clean as you pant, chest heaving up and down like an erupting volcano.

What were you supposed to feel—relaxed? In a frenzy? Most likely the latter because considering the way he was making your head spin said it all. The sounds he’s making forces you to involuntarily shut your legs around his face and his hand that now lies between you two. The stretch is a burning sensation that leaves you both gasping and moaning; it’s too much, but not enough.

More. Grinning up from in between your legs, he shakes his head full of curls, all thanks to the Aussie weather, and your dirty foreplay. “Does it feel good?” You whimper. “Good—good, baby. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Velvet walls clench around his long digits. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

Once your soft orbs connect to his intoxicating ones, his cock grows harder. “Okay, listen, it’s going to hurt a little bit, okay? But that’s completely normal; it’s like a…a stingy feeling. Do you understand?” I do, you pant. He grits his teeth when his calloused fingers brush against your g-spot and your head lolls back, exposing your sharp clavicle. He itches to mark you all over. “Do you want it, then?”

A zing. “Fuck, Oscar. I fucking want you.”

The brown eyed boy is all over you, kissing you up and down, gripping you tighter. It was an addiction in its truest form. For a split second, you frown when he slips out of you, but as soon as he starts unzipping his pants, you feverishly lick your lips.

It dawns on you that you aren’t scared, nervous, or anything; you’re bubbling with excitement. You watch carefully as he jerks himself off a bit, his already large girth growing bigger. How is that possible? “I’ll start with the tip.” Leaning down, he pecks your pouty lips and you smile. “Let me know if it’s too much, we’ll stop and take a break. Or do anything, really,” he adds, cheekbones flushing red.

“I’ll be okay,” you whisper. “I swear.”

You were being skinned alive, it was excruciating pain. You know he notices it when he starts brushing your hips, hoping to comfort you in some sort of way. Heavy breaths, numb lips from biting too hard, exposed breasts arching straight for him. He didn’t know whether to enjoy this or worry.

“Breathe, darling, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go,” he congratulates, admiring your shaky breath. “You’re doing so good.”

“Osc, move…please.”

There was no more confirmation necessary that you were ready to go. His hips find motion, thrusting into you slowly. Nails scratch down his back as you moan loudly, almost yelping. “Y-you’re so big.” So, so, so, so big. “So good.”

Nearly animalistic, he releases a grunt, pounding deeper into you, getting lost with the way you hug him tightly. You mewl, pressing your naked chest against his, and he nearly slips from his hands being set on top of the cold grass, but it was beautiful torture, all at once.

From the way you tremble, to the way you look up at him, he loves it all. He realized it been too long, he’s missed this, he’s missed having a body undeaneath his, as fucked up as that sounds.

And he—he must be a saint, himself. There’s a sort of invisible halo that lightens up around him, nearly blinding you. There’s a gut-wrenching stare he’s gifting you, making your stomach churn with pleasure.

Wrapping his mouth around your sore buds, you let out a shaky sigh. Skillful tongue swirls the way one would suck on a lollipop; the heat intensifies. “Close?” But you’re not sure, you just know it feels good—ridiculously good. He must have known so, and must want to make your first experience the best you’ll ever have, because suddenly, you’re on all fours.

As he slips in and out with such ease, you grip harshly at the tall grass. You can hear the sad rips with every thrust and every tug, but how can you feel bad when he feels so good? His cock rapidly brushes the magic spot, and you’re left seeing stars. “Oh God. I feel it, Oscar, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Tell me. Describe it.”

Your jaw locks, and your arms give up, flying down towards the grass, round ass high up in the air as he continues his movements. He groans at the sight, slapping your sweaty skin. Whining, you look back at him, grinning from ear to ear. The Australian looks up at the open sky, trying his best to push back the feeling of his upcoming orgasm, but it's hard to ignore the fact that an absolute angel takes him like no other.

And an Angel you were.

“Can feel your cock, Oscar. The way it pulses—so thick, so veiny, so sweet.”

An Angel with a vocabulary of Heathen.

“God, fuck me harder, please, Oscar, please.” He’s pretty sure you’re half-gone, half-present, but it only adds to the lust he carries for you. Just then, you feel the fresh cherry pressed up against your lips. Open, he demands and you follow straight away, ripping it from its stem. You nearly choke on the seed when he suddenly speeds up, limbs and arms burning from holding upright. For a moment, you stare back with an open mouth, admiring over the way his abs contract with every brutal push.

“Now spit.” Two seeds fly out towards the grass, laying there to taunt you as you pick up on your moans, ringing through the air. If you squint hard enough, you can spot the stars that mock the daylight sky. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, none of this does. “So pretty, sweetheart.” You swoon, feeling his arms hold you down. “Again—open.”

You’re expecting another set of cherries, thinking this might be some sort of prize, but as soon as you feel the familiar stick, you pout. No, you cry out. He chuckles. “Yes.” A pause. “You only get to come until you tie a knot.”

“You’re not being f-fair, holy shit.” Long fingers rub slowly against your puffy clit, throbbing with pain, begging to come all of his numbing girth. You clench your jaw, eyes screwed shut.

“We don’t have all night, go on. Move that pretty little mouth of yours.”

It’s a mission, it’s a task, it’s a fucking wreck. It’s impossible. You’re not that surprised, though, not when he thrusts into with twice as much force, triple speed; what a man. Loose tongue swirls at a weak attempt, but then he pinches your swollen bud, and you’re back to square one. You’re nearly there, excited to prove to him how much you wanted this and how you were able to multitask, but then he’s pulling all the way back, only his rosy tip awaiting by your entrance, and he’s coming back down, full-throttle.

It was cruel.

But two can play that game, you suppose.

You pull away quickly, he blinks, and then you’re pushing him back, sprawled on the grass. He nearly whines from missing your warm cunt, but as soon as you climb to sit on his face, he grows more and more turned on. “Go on,” you push. “Use that pretty little tongue of yours.”

Dark eyes stare up at you, enjoying the way your body moves, hips rolling, riding his face at an impressive rate. The white nectar you're willing to spill out makes him lap at an embarrassing speed, desperate to taste the sweetness.

Meanwhile, you’re gripping his hair, trying to feign indifference with the way his nose rubs against your lips, the way he keeps you in place with his watch covered hand, the other playing with your clit. It’s even, this is fair, but you still needed to reach your end.

“I’m close,” you moan, head rolling back, but jaw continuing to tick. He hums and the vibrations cause you to squeeze your legs around his face. That seems to make him enjoy this far more. Unless you show me you’ve done it, then no, you’re not coming anytime soon. Your molars grind harder, white spots forming throughout your vision. “Shut up, just—fucking stop talking.”

“What do y’know? Miss Perfection has a potty mouth.” He pokes his tongue against your hole. “Dirty girl, eh?”

With one final suck, and one soft moan, you cum all over him. The Australian is quick to lick you clean, groaning pathetically deep. Gasping, you fall from your climax, slightly twitching with sensibility as he hauls you onto his lap. You giggle when he raises a teasing brow.

“You got away with it—this time.”

“There’s going to be a second time?”

He stiffens, trying to play it cool. “Well, not anymore, you didn’t do what I asked for you to do—”

Opening your mouth, you stick your red tongue out, displaying the most perfect knot. He gapes, sticking his fingers in to retrieve it. “H-how?” A beat, sharp and accusing eyes. “Seriously, how?”

“Does it matter?” you ask, wide eyes back on for show. “I did it.”

“I…yeah, yeah you did,” he repeats in disbelief. He laughs. “You’re wickedly talented. That's an art.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, slowly, mixed with a giggle. “I tried my best for you.”

“I see that.” The brown eyed boy pinches your hip. “How was it?”

Sighing dreamily, as if napping on a cloud, your eyes twinkle. “I get it now. Why people have casual sex, I mean. It was amazing. Thank you.”

Casual, casual, casual, yes. Of course this was casual, why wouldn’t it be casual? He’s not looking to have anyone new in his life, and you’re barely understanding what any of this is, so yeah. Casual.

“Was I bad?” you ponder, chewing on your bottom lip. “I know I’m no professional, but I—”

“You were perfect,” he reassures with a soft smile. “Best thing to come around, solemnly swear.” Swatting his arm, he snickers, catching your hand. You purse your lips. “I was right,” he murmurs when his lips graze over your own. You open your mouth, waiting for more.

“About?”

“You tasting as sweet as a Cherry Cola.” Then he connects your lips, and you’re left utterly smitten. You can hardly feel him slip your ring off, but you know so when your finger feels empty since the moment you first put it on. “Guess you won’t be needing this anymore?”

“Guess not, no. Keep it.”

“Could take it to a Pawn Shop, sell it for a couple dollars…”

“Hey! Be nice, you dimwit,” you warn. “You should feel special. Stupidly special.”

“I’m kidding. I’ll cherish it.”

“Creep.”

He groans, slapping your ass as you squeal. “There’s no right or wrong answer, it seems like. Very well, let's just leave it at thanks. So…thank you for trusting me.” You blush, looking away. Awkwardly, you reach for your dress, slipping it over your head. He coughs, dressing himself before choking back a much needed chuckle. “Looks like we got dragged through the mud.”

“Ah, ew, I can’t. I need to shower.”

Reaching your end of the hallway, you press your back up against the wooden door as you sheepishly giggle when Oscar does the same. “Okay then…see you around?”

“Around town?”

“Around the house.”

“In the garden?”

“In the attic, too, maybe. It still needs a good sweep.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do we still have time?”

“Before your parents get back from Costa Rica?”

“Yes.”

“Which is in—”

“A week.”

“Which is—”

“Seven days.”

“And roughly…”

“Enough time.”

“Enough time to do what?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling suggestively, and your heart pounds hard against your ribcage. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

“Yeah,” you ponder in deep thought before your lips stretch out into a bright smile of your own. He raises dark brows as you scurry over with bruised knees, a muddy dress, and an exploding heart. “Yeah, okay. Just until they get back.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

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tteokdoroki · 1 month ago

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✎ᝰ. OCT 8TH ★ MONSTER FUCKING - katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

[CHAPTER EIGHT BEAUTY & THE BEAST] katsuki bakugou as the beast + monster fucking. once upon a time, a village girl thinks to herself — fuck it! being trapped inside a castle with a monstrous sexy bloody beast isn’t so bad… she might as well make it worth her while ( 10.3K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, beauty & the beast!au, enemies to lovers, bath sex, soft sex, cum play, blood play, size kink, praise kink, body worship, pussy jobs, body modifications, tummy bulges, premature orgasms, marking, biting, belle + fem!reader, beast!katsuki bakugou.

✧ fairy godmother's note - hello, time for our second kinktober fic yippieee!! i think this is my second time doing bakugou and monster fucking...he's just perfect for it!! anyways, enjoy my loves! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

the beast wasn’t all that bad.

at least, not compared to most people back home.

in the village, beyond the forest’s edge and hidden by evergreen foliage — the townsfolk believe you to be as beautiful as the world around you. eyes as bright as the golden sun rising over a hilly horizon. skin as soft as the flesh of fresh fruits hanging low from the trees. a voice that compliments that of early morning birds — gentle, kind. you’re the perfect vision. a perfect person. except for your one fatal flaw.

you have your wits about you. it makes you strange.

the people of your village think you were peculiar for having the tip of your nose poked into the spine of of a book each and every day. it’s not your fault that you enjoy the scent of their pages or that you find every story so alluring that you could read it over once or twice (and sometimes thrice). the people back home were unnerved by your intelligence — staring at you sideways if you daydreamed for a little too long (wishing for a life outside of your tiny province, one full of adventure) or sending you concerned stares if you stumbled over your steps while reading.

it didn’t help that your papa was a whimsical inventor — his intricate machines that coughed and spluttered a little too loudly and left him covered in soot were often the talk of the town, worsening the whispers. despite the cruel opinions of others, papa’s love for you never faltered, all the while promising you that his prized tools would get you out of town, away from the people who called you odd and strange — they thought him just as crazy as you. like father like daughter, you suppose.

then there was shindou. the most sought after bachelor in all of town and quite possibly the worst part about your old life. your life before the beast. the man was handsome, that much was true — his eyes and hair an inky black that would draw anyone in like a misty night. features, chiselled and strength obvious. shindou was pretty, eye candy without an ounce of brains. conversation with him felt like watching paint dry, he spoke so highly of himself you often wondered how his head hadn’t imploded from getting so big. for some reason, he was hellbent on making you his wife. not because you were smart, or liked to read and explore, but because to him… you were a pretty prize to be treasured.

so, when you stumbled upon the beast’s castle that night and gave up your freedom in exchange for your father’s, you hadn’t realised how lucky you were to be away from yo shindou and his crew. the village too. still, that didn’t take away from the harsh reality of your new prison. an enchanted castle, enclosing you in with the mangy beast.

in strange ways, as strange as your mind, you found in your heart to feel sympathy for the beast, or bakugou as you’d come to know him. for many years he’d been cursed with a form cruel to the human eye — shaggy blonde fur, wild and blood red eyes and horns that were comparable to the devils. his selfish nature and a spell from hundreds of years ago had not been kind to the creature. from the sounds of things ( stories from the seemingly…alive…furniture existing within the walls of his withering home ) bakugou had failed to show concern or care in his youth, by taking a rose from a haggard old woman in exchange for a night’s worth of shelter. in return, she cursed him with the looks of a beast until he could find true love.

his staff ( the furniture ) had told you of his crumbling hope and damaged heart. it still didn't excuse his odd behaviour — where the princely beast told rather than asked, scratched and smashed rather than communicated. he was much angrier than the other inhuman inhabitants of the enchanted castle. though…sometimes you noticed a tenderness swirling between the brown flecks within katsuki’s vermillion eyes, rich with a longing for affection that filled you with warmth whenever you caught him staring at you reading in the library he’d set up just for you or when he’d take you outside to feed the birds in the snow together.

other times, katsuki could be somewhat…charming. since arriving, you could tell that he was doing his best to become a gentleman who toned down his anger. he fiddled with cutlery too small for his claws during meals with you just to be polite — denying his blush with a petulant pout whenever he was caught. he tried not to stare too long or at the wrong places whenever you spoke and spent time together. he wasn’t like shindou, who drooled over you like you were a piece of meat fresh from a roast.

for a long time, you all but wished to find someone who understood you — who’d nurture your mind and the wind beneath your wings rather than see you as a prized pet bird to be kept in a cage. and over time, you had naively began to believe that katsuki, the beast, might have been the only person in this whole world to see you exactly the way you wanted to be seen. the hope that you had met your match flickered like a small candle’s flame in your heart — it reflected as a small glint of light in katsuki’s once exhausted, pessimistic eyes. you thought, day by day, that you could be happy here. with the beast. in place of your village back home.

just when you thought katsuki was changing, that maybe you could be happy here with the beast — you’re thrown back into a reality you had tried so hard not to face. katsuki is a beast, a cruel monster keeping you a prisoner in his home. you are not a friend who has free roam over his castle or free will under his rein, you’re reminded that you’re his captive in exchange for your father’s remaining life. your wake up call comes in the form of an argument, the result of stumbling across the forbidden east wing and a rose petal that wilts so pretty in the centre of an abandoned room.

“i thought i fuckin told you never to come in here!” you could see it in his frenzied eyes, how the trust you’d built up with the beast so quickly came tumbling down. you’d crossed a line and an unspoken rule and no matter how many times the word sorry poured from between your plush lips — bakugou the beast was far beyond the point of forgiveness. he couldn’t trust you, and you couldn’t trust him. “leave!” he’d bellowed, snarled like a warning sign.

katsuki had lashed out at you in a way you’d never seen before. like a wild animal backed into a corner. he’d shown you fangs and growled at you in a noise you know for sure humans don’t make. “get the fuck out!” he roared until you were trembling, throwing whatever he could get his clawed hands on whilst splintering wood and shattering porcelain.

you’d done just that, dashing down flights of stairs in terror while throwing your cape on.

the inhabitants, his little candleholder sero and tiny clock denki along with the others, had tried to stop you. begging you not to face the cold bitter night alone on your horse but your judgement was far too clouded by your emotions — the hurt and betrayed wounds inflicted by the beast who’s trust you thought you had earned. the snowstorm outside rages with your unstable state, how could he scream at you like that? how could he say those awful things? it’s not long before you’re lost the ice cold and the daunting wolves that assume you’re a prey item like a vulnerable deer instead of a young girl with bambi eyes.

viscous, wild, teeth and tongue snap at your horse — threatening to wound you both and draw blood. the animal that you ride, in turn, throws you to the ground in favour of its own escape.

you can’t even blame the poor creature, only fools risk their lives to be at the mercy of a beast.

yet, your beast, your bakugou moved without thinking to save you from a bitter end. you recognise his growls before you see him — and before you know it the limp bodies of wolves that attacked you go flying over your head. their own howls and growls turn to pathetic puppy whimpers as bakugou fights them off, tooth and nail. fighting with all his might to protect you from getting your throat torn out. even if he’d frightened you, screamed at you and broken your trust — he wasn’t about to lose you to a brutish winter and a pack of hungry wolves. the blonde creature fights until his burly body is done and his claws are tainted with the blood of his enemies — wearily looking for you, checking you for wounds in such a gentle way you’re surprised out of your skin. heart racing.

you’ve never seen katsuki look at you that way, as though he was just as terrified of you dying as you were at the thought dying yourself. its not long before his adrenaline wears off and the wounds he’d gotten from his battle finally take their toll on him.

it gives you the chance to run. to escape. to be home with your father.

but what would be waiting for you at the other end? a marriage to a man with half a brain and six children to fill the void. people who thought you mad and crazy? you’d made a promise to stay with him, for your father’s life. there was no other choice but to lug bakugou back to his castle using all of your might. to help him. to save him. not because you wanted to, but because you had to.

at least that’s what you’d told yourself as a way of pretending not not to care for him.

piping hot water sloshes around in the pearlescent tub, fit only for royalty. it’s taken you some time to fill it up to full volume with the help of some of the castles staff… or inanimate objects. momo the sweet little tea pot had been working overtime to boil fresh batches until the water level was high enough for the beast. you’re sure that her stout had nearly given out, but for her master, she’d pushed on. her dedication, all of their dedication (the candleholder, the little clock, the pots and pans and foot rests and dusters) make you wonder what had truly become of this place, a crumbling castle so dark and gloomy that it was left for ruin.

was the beast really worth all of this trouble for all of them to stay by his side and endure his foul demeanour?

then again, why were you also tending to the beast? it’s not as if you enjoyed his company, yet you stay, drawing this bath to help tend to his wounds. the wounds he had gotten as a result of protecting you.

you spare him your gaze once the bellowing creature ( now unusually quiet ) enters the room; no longer tailed by his animated inanimate servants — nothing but a roll of steam and a wall of silence separating the two of you now. though it’s hard not to look at how well he’s built beneath patches of straw blonde fur.

katsuki’s arms are burly and toned, his chest is well sculpted as if carved from the very same stone that makes up the beautiful interior of his castle, whilst the angle of the beast’s face is strong, handsome. you wonder what he may look like completely human, if his jaw would still be sharp enough to cut through marble and diamonds. if his eyes would be narrowed and fiery, swirling with the riches of ruby gems. it takes all your willpower to tear your secretive stare away from him while he undresses in front of you, as though you’re not even there, heat growing rapidly in the middle of your face like the epicentre of an earthquake.

water sloshes violently as his hulking frame sinks into the bath, tinging it an ink stain of rosey pink from where it warmly laps over his open wounds — the sound of water hitting the smooth stone floor lets you know that you can turn around to tend to him. you keep your gaze lowered and mindful as you work, wringing a soft linen cloth in a clearer pot of the liquid mixed with rubbing alcohol. “h-hey, don’t do that,” you scold gently, lips falling into an unimpressed frown as the beast moves to lick at his cuts and scratches. bakugou pauses and squints at you menacingly while you reach for the same soggy paw he’d been tending to. you’d laugh if he weren’t so wounded and you weren’t so scared — he looked like a kitten. “i need to clean them properly.”

an ignorant scoff from the blonde tangles with the soapy steam in the air, only earns him a roll of your eyes and a frustrated glare — his head angling itself away from you because he doesn’t want to give in and admit that your call of action would be right. you find it childish that he would ignore you but take to dabbing the first bleeder that you find with your alcohol soaked cloth, ensuring that it’s completely clean. the stinging sensation at the opening of the wound causes katsuki to roar at you in pain, baring the sharp edge of his teeth as if to threaten you with them.

you jump back, knowing that one wrong move could have you torn up by vicious claws and teeth. “just hold still!” you snap, raising your hands out of the way. “stop being such a baby and let me help you!”

“that fucking hurts, watch it.” he spits hotly, nostrils flared in annoyance.

beginning to shake from a mix of anger and fear, you throw the bloodied cloth in your hand to the edge of the tub. the beast doesn’t look at you and your own temper flares. your face scrunches furiously and a cool snarl lays on the tip of your tongue — your own way of trying to put out the flames before they end in a disastrous blow out.

“if you’d just kept still it wouldn’t hurt so much!”

crimson roses bloom on the surface of the water and bakugou whirls around sharply, both of your chests rising and falling at the impending explosion threatening to blow smoke into the crowded bathroom. “well, if you hadn’t have run away ‘nd straight into a shitty wolf’s den, then this wouldn’t have fucking happened!” he growls back with the air of a petulant child.

“well you hadn’t fucking frightened me, i wouldn’t have run away!” your petty mouth surprises bakugou, you almost seem too pretty to curse — from the moment you’d first arrived at the cursed castle; your beauty had been a breath of fresh hair, hope for a brighter future on the horizon but since being cursed, any charm the beast… the prince might have had wore away over the years. leaving a husk of the man he once was, you have him stumped and spluttering for words, causing his staff behind the closed door to laugh.

an argument, though childish and silly, brews between you both like a storm coming from over a hill. neither of you dare to back down, not caring if you leave deeper and more emotional wounds on one another. katsuki doesn’t know how people work and you’re exhausted, missing home — the pair of you a ticking time bomb of disaster waiting to happen. “well… well, y’shouldn’t have been goin’ through my shit in the west wing!” bakugou reacts before he thinks, wet talons grabbing onto the crisp front of your shirt as he leers down, a gnarly growl clawing its way out of his throat to match the nasty sneer on his snout and lips. “i warned ya, shit happens when you don’t listen.”

at the end of your tether, you forcefully push the herculean tyrannical beast back into the tub — using a surprising amount of might to fully submerge him in the hot water once more. “well you should learn to stop being such a stubborn brat and control your temper!” you’re hardly thinking rationally at this point, sick and tired of letting him think he can bully you into silence and submission… just because he’s big and has claws and sharp teeth that could rip meat from a live carcass.

you move to shove him again but bakugou acts just as quickly — using his existing grip on you to yank you further into his bath. in a struggle and with a surprised scream that overlays his frustrated growling, you collapse against his furry chest and settle into his lap as water sloshes forcefully about the place and soaks through your dress — weighing down its fabric and slowing your movements. after a few minutes of wet wrestling; katsuki either gives up because of the pain caused by his cuts or refuses to fight you anymore — fully aware of what his size in comparison could do to you.

he slumps deeper into the tub, brooding, and an unbearable tension mounts in the air around you. the position has brought you face to face, breath mingling in the pocket of space and time between you both — above him, staggered forward, with your arms either side of his head for stability, katsuki feels that you’re close enough for him to reach out and just brush a thumb over the swell of your plush lips… gently grasp at your chin and maybe give you a kiss. he doesn’t know when he started feeling this way towards you or why he lashes out at you in place of sharing his true emotions but the beast casts his ruby framed gaze to the side, avoiding entering the possibility of making you uncomfortable.

after a moment, any anger that either or you shared fizzles away like a sparkler doused in a bucket of icy water. shame replaces the fire in your veins and you quickly distract yourself from less than proper thoughts of the beast by get back to work on the bleeders in his arms. “n-now hold still…” you tell him, swallowing thickly which undermines the authority in your voice. “it’s going to sting… so please, let me help you.” your voice falls into a tender whisper as you resume dabbing at his injuries with the rag.

bakugou snarls barks roughly while you clean him up but soon relaxes into the water, comforted by your soft vanilla scent and the warmth of your thighs around your waist to keep yourself steady. now that he’s no longer directing his anger at you, the atmosphere dissipates into something more affectionate, hearts beating in calm sync — you sitting on his lap looking so pretty while the lukewarm water carves out the shape of your body beneath wet clothes.

“by the way, thank you for saving my life back there.”

“you’re welcome,” eyes closing, bakugou lets out a shuddered breath, his voice thick with gravel and bidy fidgety beneath your own. despite the cooler water surrounding you both, the temperature in the room rises like a solar flair — especially when your proximity increases so that you can dab up to the gashes stretching across his handsome fully face. when your eyes meet again, admist the work, the blonde is overcome with the urge to kiss you. he surges forward and presses your foreheads together, a large marred and hand encasing the swell of you thigh to pin you to his lap. the movement is rough, disturbing the peaceful bath water but the kiss he gives you is careful and cautious — slightly chapped lips swooping upwards to catch yours in a cute chaste kiss.

you jump at the sudden contact, your entire body tingling with release and an excitable heat flashes through you at the brief sensation. you taste the blood in his mouth and salt on his tongue but before you can fully enjoy the moment — katsuki is gone as quickly as he came. leaning back into the tub with a flushed face.

it’s like your body misses him when he’s gone; despite never having him like this before. “wait… wait,” desperate whispers pour from between your subtly glossed lips and your bath water soaked hands come up to cup the fluffy edges to his face. “kiss me. kiss me again, katsuki,”

surprised by the lack of rejection; bakugou’s talons sink further into the doughiest part of your thighs torn between obliging your request and keeping you far, far away from him. no one has ever wanted something like that… like a kiss, from him of all people. a horrid, ugly and undeserving beast. and yet, you borderline beg above him, hardly distracting from the wet glint in your eyes. you want this. want him. “are you… are you sure?” he tries to ask you, preening into your dainty fingers as they comb back his wet fur.

“i’m sure,” you hum against him, wanting. “please. it’s what i want.”

for a moment; it doesn’t seem like katsuki s going to budge. you sense his hesitancy, some kind of mental block that makes him hold back even as he leans in haltingly and noses over your Cupid’s bow. it’s like he’s testing his own confidence and your patience wears thin — so you open your mouth to plead, to encourage him only for the blonde beast to delve deep into the yearning hotness of your mouth. his lips move against yours with a feverish air, unleashing hundreds of years of pent up emotion and revealing just how touch starved he must have been all this time.

from what you can tell, the beast has been alone for a long rime — shunned for his looks and the cool ice cage around his heart. you’re not sure if you care about any of that, not right now, at least. for your body wins the war over your mind and heart, all worked up by the mash of teeth and tongue that from the basis of your kisses. he gives you what you asked for, long and thick tongue pressing into every unexplored crevice of your eager mouth — starting an itch in your lower belly that you know only bakugou would be able to reach.

having the beast like this, hungry for passion, wandering claws and sharp edged teeth nipping at your lips makes you needier and needier. you sigh dreamily into the sloppy lip locks, losing all control and pushing your hips down against katsuki. rubbing your thighs together over his wide lap is no easy feat, but you try, dying to alleviate the ache brought on by toothy kisses and the possessive sounds he makes when you try to pull away for air. he grunts gluttorally when your clothed cunt accidentally brushes against his impressive bare girth — the only thing separating your sexes being the water logged gusset of your panties, linen and pure white in colour.

you can practically feel his cock twitch beneath your legs as you straddle the beast, peaking out through his golden fur and hardening by the minute. his size should be intimidating to you, just half hard and he’s practically the length of half your arm, even if you were to give it some thought … you’re far too distracted. mind far too hazy — katsuki tearing away from your kiss to stamp a frenzied pathway up your neck and marking it with his claim. the action proves to you that his bark indeed matches his bite when he wants it too, vicious red eyes mapping their way over the unmarked parts of your skin — licking and sucking bruises just beneath the surface that’ll be obvious to the staff in the morning. tender to the touch later on as well.

he doesn’t leave you in pain for too long, lapping over the inflamed areas with his heavy wet tong — a paw reaching out of the bath to settle on the back of your head so he can further relish in the way you weakly hang over him. “so soft….so delicate,” bakugou curiously seeks out more spots along the column of your throat to see which ones make you tick and sigh for him prettily, your warm, wet pussy reacting to his quiet raspy tone and clenching around the water in the tub. with shaky hands, you weave your digits into the roots of golden honey fur in an attempt to bring his mouth back to yours. dying to taste the beast yet again.

you want more. you want to go further. perhaps it’s the adrenaline from having almost lost your life earlier on in the night or maybe you just want to find some sick way to thank the creature that saved it. but all you know, is that you want the beast — right down to your very core. you whimper in frustration and your pulsating pussy rolls smoothly over the beast’s swelling erection floating in the bath water, it’s not enough to satisfy you when you’re burning for his tender touch this bad. “please,” you coo airly, head tilting where katsuki kisses the point at which your neck meets your jaw, tongue dragging over your pulse point. “please give me more of you.”

it’s a big ask, you know. to ask katsuki to be vulnerable with you when you’ve just been at each other’s throats. but you’ve always wanted to know him, from the moment he decided to keep you here in his castle — you’ve wanted to know who he really is behind the fangs, claws and fur. what better time than to ask him now, when you’re grinding against him in a bathtub that barely fits him and dwarfs you by contrast. “why?” bakugou murmurs softly; his fur tacking to your wet skin.

“because… i know you want me too. i-i want to give myself to you.” you huff, shivering at the tenderness in his voice which differs to the black claws that rake up and down your inner thighs, sneaking past the hem of your damp skirts to the scalloped edge of your underwear.

your hands still track their way through his sun kissed fur, lifting his head from your chest to have him look at you. his vermillion eyes drink in every inch of your darling face, puffy lips and doe eyes that glisten under the flickering candle light in the regal bathroom. fucking hell, you were right. he wanted you. ‘course he did.

“if that’s what you wish…” bakugou’s chest rumbles as he speaks before capturing your lips in a chaste kiss, earning warm pools of your slick through your panties, right against his hard cock. he secures his hold on you and shifts to lift you both from the tub — presumably to continue this in his chambers as you grind and grab at him.

however, you tug harshly enough on his fur to make him falter — droplets of water splattering from his silky coat to the tub when he freezes in place (half out of the tub). “w-wait!” shaking your head, you push him back down into the water. “you’re still hurt a-and shouldn’t exert yourself. stay… let me say thank you and take care of the rest,” a beat of silence echoes throughout the room, katsuki unresponsive to your offer. self doubt invades the cave of your skull over your brain, perhaps stopping him had given him time to think this through and regret. perhaps he was caught up in the moment and the beast truly did not want you. you can’t tell, you haven’t been able to read him thus far. his fold demeanour being all that you know. “u-unless i misread this and have pushed past your limits. in which case i’m extremely sorry—“

steeling yourself and putting on a polite smile, you prepare for the worst — pushing yourself from bakugou’s lap in the face of silent rejection. yet, as you turn to leave, a clawed hand darts out to grip your waste and forcefully shakes water from the bathtub. the action keeps you cemented and spread over bakugou’s naked, wide lap and his expression morphs into that of kicked puppy, as though he regrets what he’s done to you already. or not responding to you sooner.

hesitancy occupies the electrified air, dancing in a confusing concoction with the desire that once buzzed through it.

“it’s not that i no longer want you or want this,” the blonde admits gruffly, keeping his eyes on the waves in the water and toying with a loose thread of your sodden skirts. “i haven’t been… kind to you since the start of your stay. i don’t even know if i fuckin’ deserve to have you like this,” in spite of holding back, katsuki’s lungs burn with brightly coloured lust and affection, in shades of fiery red and sunset orange. the steam taking residence in the tiled room trapping you both in the unmistakable heat of desire. “i want you. i do. but ‘m havin’ a hard time believing’ that you want the same. i don’t deserve it. i’m hideous.”

“that’s not true,” you tell him earnestly, cradling his furry wet face between your pruning fingers in an attempt to reassure him. even though he’s at his most vulnerable, your heart flutters against your ribcage at katsuki’s honesty — the beast finally opening up to you. if that doesn’t fan the flames of your desperation for him, then nothing else will. “you’re not to me, bakugou… and if it’s my words you don’t believe, then let me show you. let me help you understand.”

silence resumes as you let your words sink in, hoping that at least one of them has touched the beast’s heart as he has done with yours.

and all it takes is one small nod from katsuki to know that you have — forcing your way into his mouth ( with his consent ) once more, tongue twisting with the pink of his own and uncovering the taste of bloody wolf against his teeth from earlier. the kiss is even more passionate than before, the both of you letting go of your inhibitions, swapping spit while your hands slip from the fur atop his head to run over the softer parts of his body. massaging and mapping out his strong pecs and beefy arms, appreciating every inch of the blonde beast so he never doubts your yearning for him again.

the grinding resumes too, especially as katsuki’s affection-starved body grows used to your debauched touch and hungry kisses — head hitting the very end of the bathtub with a dull thud, sending water over its edge and to your right. you both move with more vigour, the blonde becoming more comfortable in matching your pace and thrusting upwards when you buck down. oxygen evacuates your brain, making room for the inexperienced creature below you every time the heavy, solid length of his cock drags slowly over your increasingly throbbing clit hidden behind panties drenched in both water and fresh waves of arousal.

even with his sprouting confidence and belief that you crave him as much as he does you — the beast moves too slow for your liking, leaving it up to you to take matters into your own hands. quite literally scrambling into the depths of the water to shred off your panties keeping you away from smothering bakugou’s monsterous cock with your silken slit.

his length bobs upright in the water, slapping against his fluffy tummy while is bright red tip breaches the surface — shiny from evidence of his arousal. the pair of you share a hungry moan at the sight, a glossy white smearing over blonde fur, katsuki hard and heavy. he’s unlike any man you’ve ever seen, ribbed entirely along his shaft with balls that hang extremely low and full of seed. despite feeling his size against you before, your mouth falls open in slight shock at the sight, instantly watering — katsuki’s dick could be mistaken for a third leg, chubby and a mushroomed at the tip. you’ve never had a partner so big before.

a tapered whimper, so quiet that you almost miss it, bubbles on the seams of bakugou’s lips as he bites them with his pointed animalistic teeth. “keep starin’ at me like that ‘n i don’t know what i’ll do.” he warns huskily, throat bobbing beneath the sandy fur at his neck. “s’been a while… and i know it’s not like the humans you’re used to. it’s…big. so i understand if you don’t want to…”

“it’s perfect.” you purr lowly and cut him off, the sound rivalling that of the beast’s, leaning forward to spit on his sore red tip as it oozes precum and lewdly rubbing your palm over his cockhead and shaft to spread the lubricating mix all over him, letting it mingle in the water. “you’re perfect. i can’t wait to take you, make it fit. i want to be the one about to make you feel good after so long.”

a strangled howl forms deep within his chest at your admission — his extremely large body palpitating wholly as you take the entire weight of his cock into your dwarfed hand, barely able to fit all of your fingers around him. you feel for the prominent vein in the underside of his shaft, pressing down on it while your remaining fingertips toy with the sensitive ridges and bumps that decorate him.

when you look up at bakugou the beast with beautiful, big eyes he feels like he could die here. happily. in beast form and all. he could never be human again or break his curse and he’d be content to have you looking up at him like this, with his huge cock in your tiny hand, be the last thing the blonde ever sees. “fuck,” he snarls tip bleeding hot arousal over your knuckles and into the tub, knees shifting apart to give you more room — sending water flying out of the bath.

you inch forward again, breathing warmly against katsuki’s damp lips as he begins to weaken beneath you with every pump of his dick. “i can’t wait to see how you feel, i’m going to get myself ready for you. is that okay?” you check with him, even though his mane is tousled about with how fast he’s nodding. whispering faint pleads against your wet Cupid’s bow.

“please… just hurry it up,” katsuki lets his temper flare briefly, almost as hot as the water that soaks his fur and your clothes. lukewarm at best. he rambles for the most part, brainlessly even. lackadaisically rutting into the pathetic small circle your little fist barely makes around him — the force of his hips causing water to splash up against your dress. “‘m ready for it…” he adds begrudgingly.

the sight of the beast’s submissiveness and desperation brings a smile to your cherry bitten lips, clit throbbing and cunt quivering around the water you sit in. “i’ve got you, don’t worry…” assuring him gently, your mouth hangs open and follows the sweet howl uttered from your partner’s lips — its volume just above the explicit, wettish sounds of your hand jerking off the entirety of his shaft. even though you don’t want to, you only slightly let up on the pace of your palm smoothly gliding in and out of the water ( around katsuki ) to pull him towards your bare pussy.

his hips canter and chase your heavenly grip, fat droplets of his precum flying about the place and into the tub from just how much the beast is leaking. bakugou feels his mind sink into a hazy fog when you lift your hips to hover over his girth, the fuzziness shrouding his brain showing on his muzzle and handsome face. bliss lines his vermillion framed eyes, those same eyes that flutter shut in anticipation. waiting for you to put your honeyed pussy on him and make him yours.

katsuki can’t contain the feverish pants that escape him when you guide his clawed paws to hold your hips and help lower you onto him. the closer your heated core gets to his seedy cock, the harder it becomes to breathe and the humid he exhales starts to mingle with your own.

both of you hiss pitifully in unison at the first tap of the blonde’s monsterous cock against your sticky, needy mound. your aching clit instantly catches on the ridges of his dick deliciously, causing you to crumple against the beast’s marshy furry chest — gripping onto locks of gold around his neck to ground yourself, bring yourself back down from an immense and otherworldly jolt of pleasure that bounces from the tail end of your spine to the top of your skull. you feel as though your brain has been knocked about, bakugou languidly thrusting upwards to drag his length through sluice, puffy folds and grind against your clit — clearly seeking the heat of your pulsating sex.

“s-so good, katsuki,” a sheen of sweat condescends against your skin, glazing you in a pearlescent shine while you throw your hips back and forth over the blonde’s fat dick. he’s in no better state than you, talons sinking into the peachy flesh to cope with the way you move feverishly above him. sweat beads at his hairline, murderous ruby eyes growing heavy and kisses and god, you think he looks so perfect like this. when his remorseless resolve comes crashing down and he takes everything that you have to offer. “think you’re so beautiful,”

rose pink tinges hotly at his cheeks while he shakes his head — denying your praise. ropes of saliva forming connections between his sharp white teeth and his strawberry tongue while he tosses his head back at your praise, letting out a stream of enchanting moans. katsuki’s adam’s apple bobs between small whispers of ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ punctuated by the slap of water hitting the floor from your sinfully synced bodies. he doesn’t let up on buck of his hips to meet your sodden sex, your puffy folds spread perfectly either side of the meat or his shaft — allowing your arousal pearling pleasure bud to graze his cockhead rhythmically. causing both of you to quiver in ecstasy.

“‘m not,” the beast denies, drawing his hips far back until they meet the bottom of the tub before jutting forward — his entire length slipping through your soaked pussy lips until his breeders balls tap at your hole. “g-god… think you’re gonna make me cum…g-gonna make me…fuuuck!” he chants, eyes snapping open to capture your gaze.

the tail end of his words form a soft symphony of whines and animalistic chirps, like music to your ears. “i want you to cum, you’d be so pretty cumming against me, katsuki…” you continue to taunt him, following his movement by cheekily driving your fluttering entrance down against his bulbous cockhead — trembling at its thick diameter. you still have no idea how it’ll fit. “give it to me.”

you take his massive paw in your tiny hand, hooking his claw onto the bosom of your dress with trusting eyes. the sound of wet material ripping echoes about the bathroom, the blond having torn right through the damp front of what you wear. you slump forward next, pebbled nipples brushing pleasurably over katauki’s fluffy toned chest. his fur is slick and clings to the water droplets on your glistening skin — especially with your bodies submerged under the lukewarm water.

“you… y’don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” bakugou slurs deeply, grinding the tip of his dick against the ring of muscle at your entrance as you glaze his painfully with sweet the honey nectar dripping from your cunt. he’s so close he can practically taste it, all he needs is one little push. so you take his hand, leading him into a mistified fog of love and lust — reaching up, you drag a tender finger over the dark black horns that spiral from between roots of sun kissed blonde hair and fur, revelling in the way katsuki’s breath hitches. “d-don’t… they’re fuckin’ sensitive…”

all you do is hum in response, practically pressing your chest to the beast’s face as you learn further up and teasingly drag the length of your tongue over one scaled black appendage, taking the second horn between your wet, pruney fingers to jerk it like you would his cock. “they feel good when i touch them?” there’s a certain husk to your voice that puts the man on edge beneath you, colourful language littering his tongue, spurts of precum clinging to the insides of your folds. “what if i…?”

your hot, warm mouth encapsulates the very tip of his horn and your cheeks hollow out so that you have the room to suck him down your throat — mindful of its jagged surface. you feel so full and in all the best ways, the thickness of his horn causing a swell in your throat. his bright red tip, feverishly leaking precum, just barely bullying its way past the tight ring of your entrance, tapping against your sticky pussy even under water. you’re drooling from every hole, every place that you could possibly be fucked in and it’s all for him — willingly sucking him down… its for him.

“fuckin’ hell… sweetness, please. when ya touch me like that ‘m gonna—“ that's what makes you swallow around the beast as his sensitive horn presses against your uvula, spit pouring out against it.

even as his eyes disappear into his dark skull at the feeling , katsuki drools over you as though you’re a prime cut of meat — a claw drifting up from the fat at your waist to the now naked and pliant mounds of flesh at your chest. he squeezes your breasts tightly in his monstrous palm, each point of each claw digging into your skin until electric dopamine crackles quickly across your synapses — dizzying your brain and ability to function. his grip is so sinfully tight that it’s enough to draw blood, crimson rose petals inking their way between the valley of your breasts and blowing on the surface of the water filling in the tub.

you don’t stop kissing and sucking on his horn — tasting the ash between each scale, like firewood. he doesn’t stop rutting against your sex, sloshing sounds fluttering through the air. it’s your moan around him that sets the beast off, choked and spluttered; the sweet symphony guiding bakugou through the rough terrains of his high like he’d done so for you outside. static erupts over his brain and numbs all four of his limbs while a white as bright as the evening’s snowfall flashes behind hazy red eyes. his blonde head of hair drops weightily to your damp shoulder; hips stumbling against your cunt, as thick ropes of his early release hit your clit underwater.

with a prideful your lips pull off of his horn, listening happily to his washy, uneven mewls. even though he hadn’t been ready to cum just yet, it was by no means a small orgasm. katsuki’s load is heavy, still coming in hot, viscous waves as you suddenly slip down on his throbbing shaft — using the mix of water and orgasm as lube to help you with his size. “t-takin’ me all at once… still cummin’,” bakugou gasps like a fish out of water, pupils blown wide as the black in his eye eclipses the red. “you gotta be careful… ‘m big, sweetness. don’t wanna hurt you.”

katsuki bakugou, the beast, is perfect. you know that now, whether it’s because your brain is fucked up with sex crazed hormones or because you genuinely do care for him deep down. either way, you think that he’s perfect, and you want him every way. his cock stretching your tight heat has you delirious, you think the burn of his size might even kill you as it pulses in your lower belly.

“w-what makes you think you might hurt me?” you drawl and your sopping walls accept every inch of him with ease, reminding him of how lucky he is to have you. to be able to fuck you. it’s almost as if you’re made specifically for the beast — wandering into his castle with intention. not just for your father.

there’ll never be another beauty like you and he’ll never be able to let you go after this.

you ooze viscous nectar against katsuki, blossoming for him like a flower made for the coldest of winters while he presses into you — deeper and deeper. until you’re pelvis to pelvis in the warm tub. “‘cause...you’re so small compared to me, sweetness,” he explains over the lump in his throat — a growl escaping from behind his larger, menacing set of teeth. “such a fuckin’ dainty…pretty… little thing. fuck… if we do this i ain’t sure i’ll be able to hold back.”

lowering your hips and clenching hard, you lock the blonde into your heat selfishly, even though your legs are about to give out and you feel faint from taking the entirety of him in one go. “but that shouldn’t stop you from having your way with me, beast.” you murmur. “i don’t want you to hold back. you’re perfect and i want you just the way you are,” taking his paw in your palm, you draw it back to the claw marks struck lovingly against your chest — letting him feel the strong beat of your heart between your breasts. “my heart is racing, bakugou,” you croon and nuzzle your nose against his cutely, earning a light purr from the man beneath you. “i think… i think you make me feel this way.” your heart has never fluttered for someone like this before, not for yo shindou or any other man back home. you feel so small and safe with katsuki, even if he seems scary on the outside — you know that he’s tender and always means well.

that’s all the permission katsuki needs, really. hearing you tell him that you want him, even if it’s in his most carnal and instinctive way, is the same as hearing the magic word to him. with revitalised motivation, the blonde beast plants his feet against the smooth base of the tub and thrusts all the way into you with one fluid motion — hips flush against your fleshy ass and bottoming out in your weeping pussy. each movement is easily guided by his previous release, forming a foamy white ring at your entrance. he wraps a hand around the back of your head, claws massaging your scalp to soothe the cloying cries caused by the new angle as he keeps you pinned to his body.

bakugou relishes in the warmth of your syrupy walls clenching tightly around his bricked up length but manages to find strength in pulling from your selfish slicked up hole to set a slow, calculated pace to the way he bucks into you — dragging his monstrous girth along your ribbed walls and pleasure points. the utter power behind his hips quickly have water splattering over the edge of the bathtub and tear through babyish yelps escaping from between your cherry-bitten lips. the beast takes control of your body like a king or a prince with a strict rein over land. ruling over every thought once rattling around in your mind.

your shaking hands take hold of sun-kissed tooth’s of his fur, ones that muffle your little laments and whines as katsuki fucks you down on his shaft — taking you to the high heavens and back. cloud nine just within your reach. oxygen eludes you, leaving your lungs vacant and struggling to keep up with everything the beast gives you — carving a pathway for his big seedy cock against your insides with every feverish buck of his hips into yours. “feels…feels s’good!” you shriek desperately, trying your best match his rhythm. “so deep, makin’ me feel so full!”

“already? haven’t even given you a proper load yet,” bakugou chuckles between condescending moans, drunk on the way it feels when he stretches you out around him the deeper he goes, poor pussy changing to accommodate his breath-taking size and whatever love he has to give you. as a result, the beast fills you until you’re practically a glass overflowing with love and pleasure. “could plug you full with dick ‘n cum, ‘n it still wouldn’t be enough for you. would it?”

using a free hand, the blonde drags his claws grip down to your fleshy ass and spreads your cheeks apart, growling as the webs of slick tying them together break over his fingers — dampening them just as much as the water from the bath. his grip allows him to bully himself further into your molten core, moulding you perfectly up and down on his cock. “love how you feel around me, sweetness,” the praise smooths over your brain, wiping it of any feedback you have for the blonde and all you can do is gargle passionately in ecstasy. “don’t think i deserve to… fuck a pretty girl this tight…”

you squeeze around katsuki where your words fail you, juices dripping down his length into the bath nastily until it bathes his breeders balls as they clap against the curve of your ass repeatedly — heavy and full of a second load of cum just for you. even though he pushes and smears the first against pleasure spots dotted along your velvety walls. shaking your head, face hidden in water-logged fur, “y-you’re the only one who deserves to fuck me, katsuki, have this tight pussy— oh!” the tail end of your words come out as choked, lost to the echoey bathroom and splashing water as bakugou sinks his fangs into your bare shoulder.

he bites you, not only to mark you and taste the sheen of saltine sweat on your skin, but to pacify himself — help him cope with each flutter of your wet pussy and angelic simper. a delectable pain blossoms underneath the surface of your skin, and you weave your nimble fingers into bakugou’s fur to keep him in place, letting him bite you hard enough to draw blood. wounding you just as much as he had been wounded.

ruining the bath with more than just sweat, juices and cum.

bakugou fucks you like he loves you, like he’s been waiting thousands of years to pour locked-away affections from his soul into yours. limbs slip and slide against the walls of the tub, filling the homing air and layering over the vulnerability lying in it. you’re sure you’d see this hidden truth in his vermillion eyes if you had the strength to look up from his chest too.

“keep talkin’ to me like that, swear i’ll ruin you ‘n this pussy for everyone. myself… the next man that has you,” bakugou growls as feral as the animal he’s been turned into. even with his body pressed hotly against yours, joined at your sticky sexes while you’re chest to chest ( sensitive nipples brushing each other’s), he still can’t see how much of you he owns. neediness and yearning spark between your compressed bodies as they dance together underwater, skin slapping on skin and water spilling everywhere. “she’ll never be able t’forget the way i make her fuckin’ feel…”

“oh god, please. please—“ you feel like you’re in the verge of tears, overwhelmed by everything that is the beast. that makes up katsuki bakugou. his size and thickness drive you insane, how he feels thrusting into your gummy walls and meeting the hilt sends you up a wall. not to mention the scent of his body, his fur, permeating your skin possessively and sinking into your pores. “don’t want anyone else after you, wanna have you inside of me forever. only you inside. just so pretty when you’re fucking me, katsuki…” you admit through earnest and shaky hiccups.

despite rambling, your words feeling tacky on your tongue like someone’s stuffed your mouth with cotton, katsuki seems to finally get the hint. he makes you feel this way, he makes you see stars, he’s the one that you want — fully and undeniably. without a care in the world for how he looks. if that were the case, you wouldn’t be letting him rapidly rock his hips into you with lewd squelching sounds emanating from your ravaged pussy. you wouldn’t bounce up and down on his aching dick to chase him with a spasming, slippery hole when he just about pulled out of you, losing control of the movements of his hips — spreading the arousal beading on his cockhead against your insides.

“f-fuck… you’re gonna be the death of me…”

the edge of the beast’s words develop a sharp shakiness to them, a sheen of sweat painted over your bodies from both the humidity in the bathroom and the exertion of your activities. you were living for the burn his fat girth created as it pushed its way past your puckered hole every time he jutted upwards or you weakly fucked down — bakugou knew you wanted more and he’d give it to you too.

“y-you’re prettier. especially when i’m the one fuckin’ you,” bakugou whimpers seraphically, using his strong hand on your wet ass to lift and drop you in his milky white dick — not caring about the water that got everywhere, only focusing on matching you to his length jackhammering in and out of your pathetically creamy pussy. you spasm, keeping him a prisoner in your cunt while he spews copious amounts of precum inside of you and into the tub — coaxing a fresh wave of blistering hot essence out of you.

all of a sudden, the beast uses his brute strength to shift your positions with his cock still nestled within you and your back splashes against the remaining water in the tub — dampening your back and the crown of your hair. katsuki doesn’t let you sink too far back into the water, instead, holding you up by the far at waist, large paw curling around it entirely. “see that? my cock bulging in your tummy. s’all me, sweetness. will only ever be me. you’re mine, all fuckin’ mine for all of time.” he whispers above you lecherously, hazy vermillion gaze floating like driftwood down to your soft stomach. your eyes follow his, breath caught in your throat at the sight, the shape of him outlined there as he pounds into your g-spot lovingly, dotting your eyes with constellations. “hold onto me, sweetness. gonna make us cum.”

quickly, you wrap your ankles around the smallest part of the beast’s waist — cunt unlocking and locking around the curve of his dick at random with the new position. choking the precum out of him, opaque fat drops pearling at the slit every time katsuki’s hips lunge forward powerfully. “i love you,” tears begin to brew in your glassy eyes and gather in your lashes like dew drops on a leaf, streaming down the hot apples of your cheeks as you become overwhelmed with emotion. you’re not sure if you cry because of dopamine, lust and happy hormones jolting from your brain to the tips of your toes or because of the way katsuki slots his body against yours — drowns you in everything that is him.

either way it doesn’t matter, because you don’t know what you’d do if the beast stopped loving you like this. making love to you with every push of his cockhead against sluice walls, every swipe of his tongue over your swollen lips and every scratch of his claws against your supple body.

“i love you,” you repeat, the taste of your orgasm rushing over the horizon as you claw desperately for something, anything to ground you. you wriggle and write underneath him, sending more water out of the tub, stomach twisted in delightful knots and only manage to steady yourself by grasping bakugou’s thick black horns above you. “i want to be yours forever…b-because you’re perfect ‘n feel so good. ‘n no one will care for me like you do…”

“‘hmyfuckingods…shit!” bakugou swoops down to lick curse words into your impassioned, temperate mouth, weakened by your warm touch around his sensitive horns and your own words mewled out like a promise to the cursed monster of a prince. watching the beast, your beast, break above you hardly soothes your wrecked insides — honeyed juices drooling down your thighs, dripping into the tub in a viscous lava flow each time he pumps into you. parting between kisses and through your wet lashes, you witness the way sweat drips from his hairline and fur, the way his dark brows are furrowed in concentration ( focused on bringing you to the top of your peak ) and how his arms flex in order to drag your pulsating pussy up to meet his thick cock — skin smacking and breath mingling in the musky air.

his golden fur glistens under warm candle light and if you looked close enough, you could spot the twinge of pink at katsuki’s cheeks from his exertion. he’s beautiful on top of you, fucking you, that you’d be happy drown here in this bathtub if it meant he was the last thing you ever got to see. “tell me how much you want me,” bakugou snarls against your swollen lips, spouting the covetously loaded words against your strawberry tongue before he slopping kisses you again — teeth clashing with yours, incisors nipping your bottom lip until it’s bloody while he maps out the taste of sex in your mouth.

as if to coach an answer out of you, his knuckle slips between your connected bodies to toy with your throbbing clit — being mindful of his claws, not wanting to cause you any pain when you’re so close to reaching your high. it’s hard for you to speak when his cock slips into you like magic and attacks your throat with a bounty of love bites in purply-blues. his intensity washes over you in waves, scorching you and soothing you all at once. over all the harsh moments once shared between you.

instinctively you squeeze at his horns and search for words, but bakugou answers for you — hardly peeling away from your, damp hot skin while he pulses to life inside of you. “cause i want you. want you so fuckin’ bad that it burns me. hurts me.” snarls and pushes his creamy cock as deep and as far as it can go, practically splitting you open, spreading your thighs wide ( as wide as the tub will allow ) to make room for his wide frame and hips between them. you can just tell how much he wants you, how it tears him apart pieces you back together, by the way he grinds against you — fluffy pelvis brushing against your puffy clit. with the hope to push you over the edge. “gods… you make me wanna lose it…”

the beast picks up a pace and a thick strand of your mixed arousals swings between your bodies where the blonde beast plugs your spasming hole, the milky liquid finding purchase on your inner thighs and the veins that spiral down his shaft. the both of you start to lose it together, water slipping and sliding everywhere as bakugou moves to sit on his haunches, all-encompassing grip on your waist lifting you from the shallow depth of the tub to keep you on his cock — pussy squelching over his swollen and red shaft.

in response, your back bows away from the bottom of the tub until you’re chest to chest once more and your lips part with “i want you, i want you, i want you! n-no one else!” you chant loudly, the words nearly lost over the sounds of the beast passionately slamming into you over and o er again. “k-katsuki! think i’m gonna… so close—! cumming—!”

using two knuckles, bakugou pinches your clit between them and sends you hurtling over the edge of ecstasy. that’s all it takes, him purring to you as white flashes behind your glassy eyes. you squirt hard against him, into the tub, clear liquid spurting from your ravaged sex and covering the beast’s fur in a messy layer of your release. there’s so much of it, that it nearly forces his cock from your quivering hole — but he can’t bare to be away from you, to waste his own orgasm. for the damn in the beast’s lower belly breaks as well; an earth shattering high comes crashing down on him and forces his bulking furry frame to collapse over yours — hips stuttering and water rushing out of the bath.

katsuki tucks his burning face into your neck one final time. his nostrils flare and chest heaves as he cums with an frightening roar, arms encircling your head to keep you still and pinned beneath him while katsuki unapologetically ruts into your ruined heat; dragging his bulbous cockhead deliciously against your silken walls as his seed pours into you in a large, unapologetic amount. potent and thick white floods your womb, cloying against the ribbed parts of your pussy. so much so, that you feel your tummy bulge even as some of it runs down your slit and between your ass cheeks — into the tub below.

neither of you move, completely weak and shaky in one another’s embrace — limbs heavy from water that clings to bakugou’s fur and your skin. if you could speak and your ears were no longer ringing from your world ending high, you’d tell the beast that you love him. that you care about him. that you never want to leave him.

if his state was any better than yours, you’re sure he’d do the same.

but for now, you grasp onto his wet back and rake your hands through the masses of wet golden fur to tug bakugou, the cursed beast, closer to you. never letting him go. pulling him in to press a lasting kiss into his damp, muzzle. hoping your subtle affections will make do instead.

the end.

#✐ᝰ KINKTOBER ‘24 #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x you #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #bakugou thirst #mha smut #bakugou imagine #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing

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janumun · 1 month ago

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A Relentless Conquest (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 10.7k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: dueling (Sylus fighting), semi-public sex, oral and vaginal sex, Sylus’s brand of manhandling, dry humping, praising, dirty talk, rough sex, wander in wonder AU/historical AU, based in ancient Mongolia, creampie, size difference, mild rich/poor class power dynamics

Summary: What happens when you end up catching the unwanted attentions of a sleazy magistrate on a day out in town? A duel for your honor — or lifelong imprisonment — is what awaits you. That is, until Sylus, leader of the exceedingly notorious Onychinus gang, and a man you dub reluctantly, an old acquaintance, intervenes and offers the immoral magistrate a deal he cannot refuse.

[A fic where Sylus engages in a precarious duel in order to free you from the clutches of a corrupt high official; wins the duel AND the prize at stake, you.]

Author’s Notes: The things the Wander in Wonder trailer did to me were unspeakable, I had to get started on this fic right away. Another long monstrosity so it took me quite a while to hammer it out smoothly. Some terms used within, to note: *tögrögs is an old Mongolian currency and *Lungtang is the Mongolian city used loosely within this fic’s setting, as per Sylus’s alleged outfit inspiration drawn from the Mongol’s hunting fit in the current event, “Wander in Wonder” . An amazing twitter thread for the rest of the inspirations drawn for the boys’ outfits can be found here.

Link to Ao3

Perhaps you should’ve considered your course of action through before you’d tossed yourself voluntarily into the metaphorical den of lions. Caleb did always tease you for your often impudent ways, declaring you’d get yourself into hot water someday.

You didn’t quite think past saving the small, unfortunate child in front, when he’d careened straight into the Magistrate, staining the sickly bone white of his gaudy robes with the treat he’d been brandishing in hand. An action of careless innocence that could’ve saddled the boy with a severe punishment of thrashings at best. And at worst —

You didn’t even wish to entertain the horrifying notion.

You whisper a quick note of warning to the trembling child in your arms before he’s nodding his assent, making a clean dash away from the Magistrate and his burly procession of hired cronies. They do not move to stop him; the official’s beady eyes sweeping cursory across his fleeing figure before he focuses upon you once more.

“Well then, speak up, girl. How do you plan on making up for the crimes of the filthy criminal you just let escape?” He leers at you, sending a frisson of disgust through your veins. “I do not mind much, provided you are able to compensate me in full.” He holds up two thick, swollen fingers. “two thousand tögrögs.” Your stomach revolts in near horror at the exorbitant price he names.

“Speak, lass, do you possess the means to compensate me?”

“...Apologies, Sire, I do not.”

The Magistrate clicks his tongue at you, as if that son of a cur had not already anticipated your answer; your garb alone giving away your status as a mere commoner while he stood, a tall, foolish braggart of a Magistrate, who’d been a constant source of worry amongst the townsfolk as of late. “What a pity. I guess we shall have to make you pay off with what you do have on person, shan’t we?”

His eyes rove down the length of your body in a manner greasy enough, it has your fingers itching to claw them out of his skull. Thoughts of the consequences of your actions extending to your family after — your grandmother and Caleb — are what stay your hands, firm by your side. You try and maintain that demure grace firm within your body instead.

“What else are we to do if she cannot pay for what she has cost me, yes?” The Magistrate flourishes his arms wide and turns, towards the crowd that has gathered to watch, setting the stage for his perverse demands. “An eye for an eye, an honor exchanged for honor; that is the Law of our Lungtang, is it not?”

None of the commonfolk dare to speak against the tyrant’s words, lest they make of themselves a new target to harass. And you do not blame them either, the burden of your reckless actions, yours to bear alone.

The man trundles forwards on heavy steps; the large, ugly stain left across his robes growing wider in your lowered line of sight before the expanse of his bloated, sweating hand fills your field of vision. The rings around his fingers, nearly engorging the base of them as he curls his hand about your jaw to heave your gaze up towards him.

The ugly, toad-like sweep of his tongue against the top row of black and gold teeth has a chill skittering down your spine. “You’re rather lovely, you know that?” He croaks in a low, creeping voice.

You bite harsh into your bottom lip to revolt against the bile that threatens to reflux past your throat and onto the bastard’s face. “What say you become my whore then, dearest? I’d treat you very...” A slimy slip of the hand down the expanse of your body, to settle at your hip. “ well . And if you please me, you could even climb the ranks and become first Mistress, you know?” You judder at the stench of his breath, nearly in your face now. Unable to help the revulsion he inspires in you and you know; the cur in front takes it for a show of abashed innocence, with the way his leer stretches wider across his face.

“I am far too plain and discourteous for a man of your stature, my lord. If there is anything else I could do for you in recompense, I would be more than delighted to offer my services.” The words uttered, sit sickly sweet on your tongue. “I have a good arm on me and can do any physical labor you may require of me.”

The rat makes a show of deliberating your words. “It’s a pity the only ‘physical labor’ I require of you lies within my bed, dear girl.”

You visibly recoil from his revolting touch at your arm; perhaps you aren’t able to quite keep your emotions from surfacing upon your face this time round as the man grabs at your forearm tighter, gaze darkening in simmering displeasure.

“You know the law, woman. If you wish to run scot-free without offering anything in return, you must put your life on the line and agree to a duel with the offended party.” He chucks a thick, swollen thumb back at his minions, voice seething into a threatening octave. “And I wouldn’t suggest that unless you want them to crush that pretty face of yours.”

You consider ending it all; cutting the bastard open for him to choke in a pool of his own gurgling blood. You think you could do it too, before his bodyguards could get to you.

And with the loss of their Master, they wouldn’t be able to hold you prisoner within the dungeons for too long: you hoped. The stray, wild thought is all you can see within your vision.

Your hand twitches for the dagger fastened right beneath your satchel, one Caleb had lent you for protection. Fingers barely grazing against the polished hilt of the blade, cobbling together courage to see your mad plan through.

Before large, thick digits are slipping against yours to halt — a fleeting touch of caution — from behind, fracturing your hasty plan entirely.

You’re barely able to comprehend the sudden, unnoticed proximity of your interloper, before a great arm is coiling fast about the expanse of your waist, snatching you swift from the Magistrate’s claws and firm against a warm, broad chest.

“Now, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” The well-known burr, welcome, in that moment stirs joy within your belly as you reach to crane your neck to meet eyes with that familiar scarlet.

“Sylus.” You croak in near disbelief.

He exhales, low, against the shell of your ear, before he slowly lets go of you. “I’m away from Lungtang for a mere fortnight, only to find you scrounging for trouble, upon return.”

Your irritation might’ve flared at his words if not for the phlegmy clearing of the Magistrate’s throat in front.

“And who do you think you are to touch my property so carelessly, insolent fool?”

Your ire directed from the man behind to the bastard in front. You feel Sylus’ hand soothe a flex about your shoulder.

“My bad, honoured Magistrate.” He sweeps an insouciant palm at him, the grin upon his face edged to a dagger’s point. “We did not think you would be gracing Lungtang so soon with your noble presence. Or we might’ve arranged for a far better reception, for your Grace.”

Each word that slips past Sylus’ lips is a sarcasm heavy barb that turns the official’s face in front purple with each syllable uttered. “That woman owes me, you dog. I shall make her my mistress, as is only fair I extract proper recompense from her for her grave offense.”

One of the Magistrate’s men behind scamper forward in that moment to whisper urgently into his ear. The official’s eyes nearly burst out of his sockets at whatever he’s learned, wide toady gaze skittering towards Sylus as if he is indeed a rabid beast that would bite if disturbed.

He thrusts an accusatory finger at him. “You are the Onychinus’ leader.” He spits. “That gang of lawless hounds.”

Sylus’s mouth quirk into a vicious smile at the allegation. “That I am.”

“You— you,” The Magistrate seems to sputter for the space of several moments before the man at his side mutters something else into his ear.

The official straightens at whatever he’s heard, clearing his throat, once. Twice. “I am willing to pardon your crimes.” He begins once more. “Provided you can prove yourself worthy in a duel against one of my men.” The crowd around you breaks into quiet murmurs. “But,” he continues. “if you lose, Onychinus dog, then along with your little woman, you shall give up your life to my service, your autonomous tyranny within these lands shall cease to exist and you shall follow my sole command.” He pauses for a moment’s breath, as if to let the weight of what he believes to have been a devastating challenge, sink in.

But all he earns from Sylus is a raised brow. “Sounds like a deal. Let us raise the stakes, though, shall we?” He cocks his head at the procession of guards right behind the Magistrate. “I’ll take on all your men, not just your best. Give you a real crutch to get started with.”

The crowd of onlookers erupts into gasps of surprise and gibbering discussion amidst the concerning blue coloring the Magistrate’s face at the taunt. You desperately clutch at Sylus’s arm. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He meets your wide-eyed panicked gaze with a cool, gentle one of his own. “Calm yourself down, kitten. I’ll be fine.” A large hand, he places gentle at your head in reassurance but all it does instead is send your alarm flaring higher.

What had you roped the man into? Infuriating though he was. Sylus was a confounding acquaintance of years; you could not help be lured into irritation any time he were around — a man whose companionship you’d come to cherish in begrudging gratitude over your time together — but this is not what you’d wanted.

Your reeling thoughts fractured by the screeching Magistrate in front. “You think you’re all that, you shameless scoundrel? Oh, you’re just a man and I’ll make sure they break your limbs, bone by excruciating bone, before we drag you bloodied and defeated, to my estate.” He spits the time of the duel to be held tomorrow in that same fury before he’s turning on you both and trudging back off to where he came from, his procession of cronies falling along right in line.

And you’re left behind, with the metallic poison of your regret within your mouth and bone deep worry within your body as you stare up at Sylus’s form.

The next day arrives much too soon, even as sleep evades you through the entirety of your night, spent tossing onto much too warm sheets.

Now, having dragged yourself to dress and prepare yourself for the dreaded day, you trudge out of your home, chancing a brief, longing look upon the humble place over your shoulder, in case it were truly your last.

You hadn’t divulged the details of your itinerary for the day — which possibly entailed getting sold into slavery to a sleazy official, by the time noon rolled in — to Grandmother or Caleb and you preferred it remain that way for as long as possible. Your Grandmother was coming along in her years, with weakened nerves now and Caleb tended to be a frightful worrywart in matters concerning you.

“Someone’s starting the day rather early. That eager to see me fight, are you, kitten?” The familiar voice beckons. You toss a raised brow over your shoulder at your previously truant neighbour, now returned — his house having settled long vacant in his absence, over the course of his journey to Gods knew where. And the root cause of all your fretting; Sylus moves to join you by your side in two easy strides.

“Don’t you even dare try joke about it, you absolute madman,” you mutter darkly under your breath, reaching to knock a fist against the side of his torso.

The same old routine you tumble into, with him; you aren’t able to tamp yourself back from biting into the man as soon as he’s in your sights; the only person capable of wrenching out your honest, most reflexive reactions. And you hate the ease with which this incendiary of a man manages to drag them out of you.

“What took over you to throw that offer out at that bastard, when you all but had a nice, even playing field to yourself? Now you’re just—” Your mouth snaps shut against the rest of your words, bitterly swallowed.

How did you even begin to disentangle your bunched feelings on the matter? You knew how all of Lungtang chanted the tales of the fearsome Onychinus head. A conundrum of a man with a reputation as daunting as his influential mien, one that never failed to instil the fear of God in lesser men; criminals and bandits, who sought to rob their small town on the rare luckless occasion — dubbed this obscure town’s own Warrior God.

But to you, he was also just Sylus; the man you’d grown in close proximity to since your late teenage years and a person you’d grown to care for in the natural course of your odd tug-and-push relationship.

And though you remained constantly wary of the type of people Sylus associated with, in his particular line of work — a job you did not wish for, to bring even a modicum of harm onto your family by association with him, you could not help the restless agitation that needled at you each time Sylus left home, sometimes for weeks on end, on any number of his covert expeditions.

And each time he did, the very nagging, unwelcome thought intruded, that perhaps this time he might not make it home.

“Are you worried for me right now, kitten?” Sylus’s airy query breaks through your reverie, your gaze leaping to find his, fixated firm on you. Those scarlet eyes seem to lose part of their mirth at the face you’re sure you’re pulling.

You tear your gaze away first, choosing to watch the path you two trek on, instead. “Of course, I’m worried. What a silly thing to ask.” A muted wisp of words.

Ones that spark an immediate stroke of mild discomfiture at the admission; you prattle on before he can speak. “I know you’re strong, I know that. But just you against what — 13 or 14 grown men? More if that bastard intends on killing you. Anyone with half a wit and eye can see it’s a self-slaughtering mission from yards away. I don’t understand—” your indignant voice breaks, to throttle in much needed air into breath parched lungs. “I just don’t understand why you’d do that. I don’t understand you.”

Help me figure out what you’re thinking; are the words you wish to speak but your voice refuses to assist.

Sylus hums a low, throaty sound; in admission that he’s heard you.

And then he opens his mouth to speak. Divulging a ‘reason’ that makes no sense to your muddled mind, simple though his words are. “That cad disrespected you.” Garnet tips your way to meet your surprised gaze. “That’s reason enough, is it not?”

“I—”

“Don’t fret anymore.” he continues. “I won't lose, you have my word.” Long, tapered digits brush gentle at your temple, in reassurance of your worries. “And once I’m done with that weasel, he won’t ever be capable of crawling within a mile of you, let alone dare a finger your way again.”

The confession, sudden and honest, spurts warmth within your chest that readily clambers up your cheeks and floods down into your belly. A knot pulled tight within seeming to relax just that bit, in comfort of his words. Truly, he confounds you; this odd, beautiful man.

You capture his fingers against yours in an insistent hold, halting him in his tracks. “You better keep your promise to me, Sylus,” you speak, meeting his gaze, firm on yours. “Do not forget the prize that’s at stake here. You'll come out of there, victorious. I won’t afford you any other options, you hear me?”

A pleased grin edges across that beautiful mouth, skewing it wider. He angles forward, so that garnet gaze is level against yours. Flexing the catch of his digits in between yours before he’s sweeping your hand towards his parted mouth in a fleeting brush of lips against your knuckles. “If it is my victory the Lady commands, so it shall be done.” He elaborates, a mild tickled inflection to his thick baritone.

You disregard his little jibing use of the title for this one instance; his solemn promise you know he’s sealed to you; in the gentle grip of your fingers against his, garnet that refuses to stray until you see the resolve of his vow settle within that gaze too.

By the time your deliberately protracted journey finds its end at the arena, edging the outskirts of Lungtang, the Magistrate along with his chosen warriors are already there, positioned and waiting by the great stone pillars of the vast grounds.

The coming fight having attracted the townspeople to turn up in droves to watch the weaselly Magistrate take on their best warrior — hordes of curious eyes you feel boring into the two of you as you make your way towards where the Magistrate awaits.

“Here you are. Any later and I might’ve started considering you’d fled with your tail in between your legs.” The Magistrate crows out loud. “After all, my men shall soon prove how Lungtang’s criminal they so falsely worship as a hero, is more bark than bite.” The swarm of brutes — big and terrifyingly bulky — he’s brought along, laugh at their Master’s goading.

Sylus, however, remains unperturbed. “Is that so? I can’t wait to find out,” he responds, scrubbing an insouciant hand through his hair.

His apathetic response seems to key the Magistrate’s ire even higher, sputtering his rage at him. “Y-You absolute— you imbecile. I will crush you.” Creeping a hand forward for you now, “I’ll hold the girl with me. We might as well quicken ourselves, in preparation for when you inevitably fall and watch me claim my rightful prize.”

You steel yourself against the touch, palm rising to curb his approach with a polite denial but your companion is swifter; large hand darting forth to curl a harsh fist against the official’s greasy wrist.

“No.” Sylus speaks, voice a low, lethal burr you haven’t ever heard from him before. “I don’t think you will, Sire.” Whatever it is the foolish Magistrate discerns within your companion’s steady gaze, has him flinching in visible fright at the sight, sweat beading wide across his pale, swollen face.

He wrenches his wrist from Sylus’s grip, as if scathed just as you angle a curious look up at the Onychinus head; his face an impassive mask — hardly unusual — before it breaks into the tiny quirk of a self-assured grin when he catches you watching.

The Magistrate yelps in frustration, turning in on a ferocious heel. “D-Do not waste my time any longer than you have.” Barking the rest of his words; he heads toward the makeshift dais he’s had set up for himself at the edge of the ring. “Come onto the fields now so we can commence the match.”

“Sylus,” you place a hand at his arm to stall. “Duck down for a moment.”

He raises a careful brow at you and you think he’s going to refuse for a moment but then he surprises you in the wordless, compliant drop of his head close to yours. Allowing your eyes to trace his features; those familiar scarlet eyes steady against yours, the slope of his broad nose, sweeping into the bow of full, slightly scraped lips.

You realize you trust this man and what he’s offered you, whole-heartedly. And so, you wish to extend the same sentiment, reaching for the precious beads adorning your neck — an heirloom from your late parents, your most prized possession.

Plucking it up and over your head in between cautious digits before you reach to place it about his neck instead. Leaving part of your most priceless gift with him, just as you’ve decided to entrust him with both your Fates. “A charm,” you clarify, “for good luck. It has been my most invaluable escort and has kept me safe all these years.”

Sylus mutely treks delicate fingers across the worn beads of the chain, grasping it in between a loose fist, in acceptance of your faith.

“Return it to me once you’ve won.” You tell him, rapping a firm fist against the leather guard at his chest.

Large, warm digits move to curve about yours, gripping your fist against himself. “As if I could turn down such a heartfelt request, sweetheart.” A spirited grin tugs at his features. “I’ll bring your little treasure back to you in one piece.”

“Good, I’ll wait for it.” You respond. “Now, go out there and show them the might of our Warrior God.”

The Magistrate flourishes open an official scrolled document, no doubt detailing the terms of their duel as soon as Sylus shifts to take position within the field, on opposing side of the assembly of his hired goons.

You move to occupy a place up front, to stand among the vast gathered crowd, observing the proceedings as the Magistrate clutches the scroll up into the air and begins to drone out the conditions of the fight and the prize at stake — your belly stirs in nausea — you . “The duel shall be declared closed when all members of a party have been knocked unconscious; or killed, under the rare, unfortunate circumstance.” His beady eyes rove Sylus’s way. “Any objections?”

Sylus shrugs the question off entirely in the flex of an arm against his chest, in preparation of the duel. “Let us not waste our time debating inanity now, as you said earlier. Commence the fight.”

The Magistrate’s face colours a foul purple — you hope he may truly burst — but all he does is spew a cold, curt, “Begin.”

The arena hurtles into instantaneous chaos, along with the crowd’s rousing cheers and gasps of terrified delight as the Magistrate’s cronies hound Sylus all at once. Your body hunching forward on reflex to watch as the first set of blows streak straight for Sylus’s face but he ducks down with an agility, unusual to a man of his stature.

He catches two of the oncoming blows against his palms. Jamming his fists tight about their wrists before he contorts them sideways in a dull crackle of bone. The men immediately buckle to their knees in an agony of groans, their peers stepping over their fallen companions after, to grab for their opponent who springs out of their way, as if dancing the men around, with a noose placed about their grappling bodies.

A sharp jab comes right for Sylus’s side after, the crony tries and lands a hit against his ribs; the latter’s grasp flexing about his arm to break his momentum, wrenching him close into his body. Before Sylus jostles his elbow harsh into the man’s back.

Two men lunge for Sylus, aiming for his blind spot; your scraped call of warning lost amidst the thunderous din of the crowds as Sylus rounds upon his assailants. Grabbing the man he has on hand, fingers fisting tight into his garb before he hurls him onto the approaching minions, with a force violent enough, the three go bowling straight into the dirt.

The crowd’s cheer is raucous; wild as the grin that splits wide across Sylus’s face as he stretches his body tall to full length. “Come now, that’s surely not all of what you’ve got for me.” Sweat barely beginning to make itself known across the firm muscled expanse of his arms, his torso. He's hardly out of breath while his opponents gawk at him as if cornered against a rabid beast.

Your heart thrills in unexpected, startled pleasure to witness the strange, sensuous virility to his almost savage visage as he paces forward on swift, easy steps, within the ring.

You’d always known Sylus to hold a rich charisma compacted within that strong personality; an ability to entice all he came into contact with. A brilliant, perceptive mind along with that tacit, undeterred will; he’d brought flourishing business booming within Lungtang over his period of unofficial rule of the place. The uncrowned Onychinus King and a fearsome warrior; the first time you’d truly stood witness to what he was capable of, outside of devious negotiations, professional and unalike.

And to know, it was for you that he stood in that place now, socking down enemies with the streak of a great, terrifying beast that had your heart skittering within your chest and your blood thrumming within your ears, alongside the adrenaline roiling through your veins. He truly was an infuriatingly perfect man.

You joined your voice to the shouts of encouragement rolling off the townspeople, in waves for their Warrior God just as Sylus brings an opponent down to his knees with a violent sweep of his knee to his torso.

“Enough!” You hear the squeaked, enraged bellow of the Magistrate as he watches the proceedings with an increasingly incensed face. Whipping his reddening face towards the crowd to shake a threatening fist at them. “Quiet down before I have you all thrown into the dungeons!”

But the townsfolk refuse to relent; their cheers rising to a deafening roar as the Magistrate nearly tumbles out of his seat to thrust a trembling finger at the ring as Sylus tosses another of his men over his shoulder to taste the ground at his feet . The attendants at his side scamper towards the arena at once. A quick, urgent rush of communication seems to pass in between the attendants and Sylus’s remaining opponents. Before the servants are tossing weapons into the ring, ones the cronies lunge for as soon as they hit the field. Rising slow once more as they brandish their newly obtained unfair advantage at an unarmed Sylus.

A great wave of shock and indignance passes over the crowd just as you push past the row of onlookers to jostle yourself to the very front. “Hey! This was not among the rules!” You shout at the Magistrate. A sentiment the rest of the crowd joins you in mirroring but all it earns you is an insouciant shrug from the bastard, shedding any remaining responsibility of hosting a fair fight against Sylus. “And the rules didn’t indicate the participants were not allowed the use of tools at their disposal either. The opposing party’s principal should’ve brought his own if he wished for one, as well.”

“That’s not—” Your voice breaks in agonised distress just as the Magistrate turns away from you entirely to press his rotund body back into the comfort of his seat to watch his laid-out massacre once more. Son of a cur.

“Sylus!” You try and yell for his attention amongst the horrified cries of the crowd. “ Sylus, you don’t have to fight anymore! Get out of there, now! Sylus . ”

His gaze sweeps over the mass of spectators for that one split moment, as if foraging for yours. Until it seems to find and fixate upon you, his mouth forming slow shape over words you cannot hear but understand on instinct, “Stay right there.”

Your heart leaps and slams violent against the back of your breastbone with the crowd’s rising screams, just as a hefty brute lunges for Sylus; a battle axe heaved high above his head to strike a killing blow.

The first cleave of the blade, Sylus avoids, to the tumbling pummel of your frenzied nerves. The man’s fervent swings, he dodges left and right. Avoiding another enemy’s assault with a dagger aimed straight for his gut; Sylus streaks the side of his palm flat onto his wrist in a hit vicious enough, the knife goes flying out of his grasp to stick, hilt-up, useless onto the ground. Before Sylus pummels a heavy fist into the assailant’s face, plastering him down onto the ground.

The metallic chains of a flail come streaking for him, just as he side-steps past another heavy swing of the axe, catching the iron fetters of it harsh against his wrist. He ducks close into the enemy, manoeuvring the momentum of his attack into his own advantage, to wrench the man harsh into the fist he rams straight into his gut. Tumbling him sideways into the ground, unconscious.

The bulldozing axe wielding maniac, now in close proximity, careens straight for Sylus on a fervent bellow, sweeping a blow straight for his head. Sylus seizes his last standing opponent’s assault against the strength of a muscled forearm. Catching the brunt of the axe’s hilt at it before he shoves back on a ferocious, inhuman show of force.

Sylus, your heart hammers, lips forming shape over the syllables of his name in urgent prayer.

The momentum of the wide, stone blade pushed back in such violence, sends the wielder staggering back with the weight of it; Sylus turning that precious moment of weakness to his benefit as he lunges straight for his neck, seizing it within a thick fist. The core muscles of his arm, rippling with the force with which Sylus hauls him off his feet entirely to drive the man down onto the ground with a vicious snarl.

The combatant stops moving immediately, knocked out cold on the dirt; Sylus rising slow onto his feet as he stares at the man, chest heaving with the efforts of his strenuous exertion.

A grave’s quietude slumps across the gathered crowd for several, tense moments.

And then shatters into raucous chaos as the Conqueror of the duel is cheered to the high heavens; Sylus’s grin, wide and daunting, as he shifts off his fallen opponent, scrubbing a large hand back through sweat soaked locks as he starts ambling over toward the edge of your side of the arena.

And your heart — your silly little heart — soars from its place within your chest and out for him, the high of his victory, as if it were your own, throbbing brutal within your blood.

Before you know or comprehend it, your legs are moving; pushing past the crowds of onlookers, the wooden slates of your sandals skidding at dirt, as you fly across the ring toward Sylus. Your gaze entirely filled with your brilliant warrior’s expression shifting into surprise as you hurtle into him. And Sylus — that big, beautiful man understands — catches your careening body within his embrace; your momentum, he breaks against a half-swivel about his heel. Large, warm arms come tight about your body, wordless, without a question uttered, to seclude you further into that private space; just for you both in that moment.

Your arms stretching about the thick expanse of his neck as you hold on hard to him; Sylus’s low exhale you feel warm gently, into the crescent of your neck as he sinks into you. The people, his duel; none of it matter when you embrace him this close against you, the adrenaline of your unbound joy, his impressive triumph settling into your thundering heart, you feel pressed against him.

His soft, heavy laughter curls pleasant into your ears. “To the victor go the spoils, I guess.” He breathes. “Although this treasure seems particularly eager on jumping into my arms herself.”

“Of course I am.” You press yourself away from him enough to afford yourself a proper survey of his face. “Gods, you were brilliant. Thank you, Sylus.”

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye; a slow, testing touch. His gaze simmers in unusual, unexpected gentleness that siphons the breath from your lungs. “You need never thank me for anything, sweetheart, let alone this. I do not want it.”

Your own relief blooming into a smile, but before you can respond; an unpleasant, harsh voice fractures through the air — the Magistrate seething and raging as he makes his way over to you both, an army of guards right behind. Clearly, the man could not stomach a sore loss; rabid fire and venom within his gaze as he trudges toward you, screaming obscenities.

“Step back for a bit, kitten.” And you obey without further prompting, granting Sylus a wide berth for whatever he plans on doing.

He doesn’t spare a moment longer before he’s striding forward, snatching one of the Magistrate’s unconscious minions off the ground. Hoisting him high up by the scruff of his neck. The Magistrate’s steps stagger just then at Sylus’s mad display, perhaps sensing the disaster he’s called upon him.

But it’s far too late. “Here, have a present from all of Lungtang, Sire.” Sylus tows his arm back, wide, and aims — to the scurrying cries of the Magistrate — before he violently hurls the man in hand, right at the waddling official, bowling him and half his guards over like a stack of gambling plaques.

“Sylus.” You gasp at his insane spectacle.

Before the corrupt, toppled lot can even think to get their bearings back, Sylus is strolling back toward you; a quick flourish of a large hand thrown over his shoulder, in signal. “Take care of them,” he instructs out loud.

A swarm of dark clad men melt away, on his sole command, from the crowds, to pack around the Magistrate and his men, blotting their figures entirely out of your sight. “Come on.” Sylus’s voice fractures through your reverie, his frame crowding your field of vision.

“Whe— aah!” A hefty arm swoops beneath the back of your legs, sending frantic fingers scrabbling for purchase against the strength of Sylus’s shoulders as he hoists you up against his body. “What’re you doing?”

He flashes a devious grin up at you, completely at odds against the bewildered shock you know is wide across your face. “Time to get out of here, sweetheart,” is all he offers in response before he’s sweeping you away from the pandemonium he’s wrought and the boisterous crowd; discarding all of that well-earned glory behind.

The throng of on-goers tapers out the farther you get on to the road winding away from the arena; curious and awed looks alike garnered your way: at your position, and at the man — the infamous Onychinus head — who strolls easy through the streets of Lungtang, in possession of the strange woman he carries snug on the crook of an arm.

A flush creeping hot up your face the longer this spectacle goes on until Sylus’s pace — thank the Gods above — dwindles to a halt. “This should be far enough.”

“Yes, thank you. Put me down now.” Tapping fraught fingers against his shoulders in emphasis. Sylus raises a sculpted brow at you but relents, nonetheless. He steps past the mouth of the nearest back-street, well clear of people, before he helps you down onto your feet.

You lean a hand across his arm, taking a moment to scramble your bearings back.

“The brief walk back has you this out of breath, huh?” You turn a half-hearted frown at his mild ribbing; the man barely having broken a sweat himself, for having carried you all the way down here.

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to lug me the entire way, you know,” you return.

“What can I say, sweetheart? I’m rather protective of my treasures being made to rot too long among the grime.” He gently pinches your cheek in between thick, tapered digits; voice descending to a softer baritone. “And I won, as promised.” Long, tapered fingers skim heat across the angle of your cheekbone. “So, you’ll give me a pass this once, won’t you?”

Vivid scarlet flitters in inscrutable emotion to witness you cup careful palms about his own, as he touches you.

“You also pulled that insane stunt with that sleaze of a magistrate at the end there. I don’t know how you plan on getting out of that one,” you point out, but there is no actual heat to your accusation.

He exhales a half-laugh. “That’s probably long taken care of.” Stroking the fall of your hair back against your ear. “No one will come after you now.”

You step closer to him. “You do know I’m capable of worrying about you too, right? I’m not heartless.” His mouth quirks at your peeved admission. “...You’re important to me Sylus.”

A streak of something akin to surprise fulgurates for a moment’s notice within that garnet gaze, at your confession.

Your fingers trek a steady path against the painted beads of your necklace dangling at his chest. “Although I do hope you’ll never pull something like this on my behalf, ever again.” He'd brought it back to you, safe and unscathed, just as he’d said — a vow made, he had honoured.

Relief was still warm within your chest, along with the turbulence of long nursed vexing emotions, brought forth to the surface — for a man you’d known for almost half your life — by the day’s sequence of events. “I don’t think my heart could handle it.” You huff out a soft laugh.

An inscrutable emotion streaks across Sylus’s face, too quick to pick apart until it retreats entirely once more.

“Unfortunately for you,” long, tapered digits sweep about yours at his chest, capturing your hand steady within his grip. “that’s not a pledge I can offer you.” His whisper is low, throaty as it settles against you and you realize the sudden proximity of your positions.

His striking face is all that floods your vision. His gaze flickers from yours, down toward the bow of your parted lips — a remiss on his part, you can tell from how it rolls back swift to catch your eyes once more. If you did not know any better, you might’ve almost thought he meant to lean further and—

But was it really the mad conjuring of your mind and a reluctantly hopeful heart that wished to see what it thought it did? Or had you been this obtuse on purpose all along?

Your brow knits in consternation; this far removed from the persistent babbling of voices — your anxieties, the people, his duel, your uncertain fates at the time — and sequestered within the quiet alley; your roiling thoughts are loud and insistent.

“And why’s that, Sylus?” You ask quietly.

The skewed pull of his mouth is devastatingly beautiful even in its lack of mirth, this up close. “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart. Or are you going to pretend otherwise?” His thumb strokes its gentle path across your knuckles — lighting an incendiary course — your hand still placed firm at his chest. “Whatever your choice, however, know it has always been yours to make.”

The muted, steady beats of his heart beneath your palm seem to thrum past the sensitive pads of your digits as they skim a line past his pectorals, and up your body, warming it from the inside out.

You swallow against the surge of a nervous fever that takes you all at once; ploughing past that pluck of anxiety at your chest, to bet your entirety on the one gamble you’re about to make.

“Come to think of it.” Pink tongue slinks past a mouth parched, to trek a slow path across your bottom lip, end to end; the intolerable burning intensity of Sylus’s scarlet gaze scouring each single motion, sending your light-headedness thrumming higher. “You haven’t truly won yet, have you, Sylus?”

“What?” He exhales heavily. His breathing has quickened just a snick higher, you notice, underneath your feathering ministrations. You’re fascinated by how he sounds much short of breath in this one instant than he did throughout the entirety of that match. The fact sending a deluge of warm pride and desire threading through your heart.

“A winner is only one when he has been crowned as such, and received his dues.” You clarify, shifting closer against him.

Stretching up on the balls of your feet until you’re a mere hair’s breadth from his face. “You however, have yet to claim your prize.” Sweeping forward until your lips are skimming against his in a tentative, testing brush of kiss — your hammering thoughts of uncertainty, of whether he wants this too, swiped clean with the soft, guttural choke of sound that slips past Sylus’s lips at your brazen initiative. And before you can bask under the simmering warmth of what that sound does to you, Sylus is curving a large palm firm within the thread of your locks, wrenching your mouth back against his in a bruising, fervid kiss.

Eager fingers skitter at the strength of his shoulders to ground yourself against the sudden, pleasurable onslaught just as he captures your waist within the ironed grip of an arm. Almost lifting you up entirely against him until you’re suspended barely at the tips of your toes.

His grunts are warm against the inside of your mouth as his tongue skims past the easy access of your parted lips to taste you against himself. The wet muscle sliding against yours before he sucks it into his own mouth on an approving groan of desire.

You're nearly nerveless by the time he parts from you on a wet stretch of sound, barely enough distance, his breath cascades hot against your damp lips with each guttural word, keying you higher. “This is getting a bit too dangerous, kitten. I suggest we stop here if you don’t wish to reach a point of no-return.”

“No. No,” Your hands flit in fervent frenzy from the stretch of his shoulders to bunch into the thick silver weave of his hair. “We don’t ever need to stop. I want this, I want you, if you do too.” Your mouth descending back against his in the dizzy crush of lips and tongue, Sylus’s groans of pleasure you drink down against your own moan.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t desired you, sweetheart.” He whispers in harsh breaths into the pocket of space you allow him in between your kisses. “You’re the one who said it now. So, brace yourself.”

A hand you skim down the thick length of his neck, grazing at the base of his hair to support yourself against the large arms that cage your waist to lift until he’s driving you both back against the wall of the narrow alleyway, shrouding you deeper into shadows.

His kiss of gentle affection skids past the cut of your cheek, so at odds against the fierce brunt of his arousal you feel grinding into your belly. You buck against the touch just as Sylus eases you down, only enough you’re on your feet now; bodies still moulded tight against the shape of each other.

His mouth continues its work of feathering kisses across the curve of your cheek, down the delicate line of your jaw. His hips stroking against yours in gentle motions, sending the roll of his hard length against your stomach each time he guides you against himself, having you squirm in roiling pleasure, helpless against the insistence of his mouth and pelvis. Meeting his body with yours in the reflexive buck of your hips against his.

The elongated stretch of your skirt, sending a mild frisson of frustration through your nerves to feel the restriction of your movements against his. Groaning in soft defeat against Sylus’s mouth over yours, just as he cups a large hand about the angle of your pelvis. Caressing past the flare of your behind, rucking up the fabric within a tight fist to slide it, far too slow, up your legs.

A final brush of temporary farewell he kisses against your drenched lips before he descends, unhurried, down the length of your body; scarlet gaze refusing to relent from yours for even a single measured moment of mercy. A thick palm he traces, appreciative, down the curves of you as he pitches on to his knees.

Thumb warming its touch against the edge of a knee, your skirts bunched at the hand fastened about your leg as it caresses a slow, sensual path up higher. The glorious sight he is, down on his knees in between the willing split of your legs; undoing in its entirety — you shudder at the devastation he brings upon you when his fingers hone their target upon the cloth of your underwear at your hip. Skating a delicate path against the knot of it before his index slips underneath it to tug undone.

Wresting your underwear away entirely on his next sharp tug before he sweeps the mortifyingly damp cloth away from your body and under his nose for a long, obscene inhale. “You smell sweet, kitten. So much of this pretty nectar, all for me... I admit I’m more than a little flattered.” The skew of his devious smirk pulls wider at your choked sound of pleasure to witness him swipe your underwear down against his back, and pocket into the satchel at his belt.

“Sylus,” you reprimand half-heartedly, in distressed urgency.

“The victor takes it all, does he not? These are my spoils to have now, kitten.” His large palms are back at the skin of your legs, skimming a dizzying, scorching path up the quiver of your thighs. “Just as you are, the treasure I snatched for myself.”

“Let me indulge in my private feast, quietly now.” He baits in heated whispers, jaw falling open as he disappears in between the heavy folds of your skirt and — Heaven help you — the sound that scrapes raw past your throat to feel the tease of his broad tongue against your drenched slit, is unlike any you’ve ever heard before. The high-pitched squeal you cut off in the hasty wrench of your bottom lip into your mouth, heated desire clouding your swimming vision to tamp down your moans of arousal, lest any passers-by, just a few feet away from your shadowed alcove, spot the indecency of your display.

Thoughts drifting into emptiness — musing absent at how self-conscious you’d been while Sylus had carried you within his arms all the way out here; fully clothed then. And yet, here you were now, with your skirts bunched high up against your pelvis with that very same man’s wonderful tongue shoved deep inside you.

The hot pads of Sylus’s index and middle you feel skim against the tight bead of pleasure at your apex, just as the point of his tongue seeps in at your entrance, sending your hips stuttering into his steeled grip, fast at your pelvis.

You clamp a palm shut tight against your tapering moans, unable to smother them within yourself any longer. The heated plumes of your own breath crowding back against you with each shivered moan Sylus forces out of you.

His mouth brushes about the length of your folds, the bow of his upper lip bumping gentle at your tight bundle of nerves. Before he closes it within the searing heat of his mouth, sucking at your increasingly swollen flesh.

Sylus draws at the drenched slick of you like a man intent on devouring you whole, the thought drives your pleasure higher along with the rising euphoria bubbling within your body. A curious thumb parts your inner folds wider to admit the broad of his tongue deep into your slit. Your walls spasming against the breach of it as your hips judder down against the strength of his jaw.

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? You can keep up a little longer.” His smothered encouragement, the vibrations of his thick voice right against your slit send you tumbling higher upon that precipice of sweet release.

The added, ruinous excitement of not being able to see him past the abundant frill of your skirts blazes you higher; the sole nervous anticipation of not knowing where he’d touch you next has you gushing on his tongue.

A low, soft curse you hear spill guttural against your folds, vibrating straight up into your womb, “You’re practically weeping on my tongue, sweetheart. I like that.” Your answering moan you bury into a bite of your sleeve as you fold your arm about your face; a full body quiver long having taken you. You no longer hold control over yourself. “Grind down on my face, relax yourself. Yes, there’s my good girl now.”

The praise having your walls grip hard at the fingers he’s worked into you now. Propelling them at an indolent, maddening pace into your depths.

“Sylus,” you pant harshly, mind numbing into a crescendo. “I don’t — hah — can’t — much longer.” Begging for a release so, so close at hand.

“Then don’t . Let yourself go.” His groans muted against the wet heat of you. “I’ll catch you when you fall.”

The crook of his middle and ring fingers up into you has you spasming against the intrusive stretch of them. Opening you up deeper; the deft pads of them scrounge up a spot against your frontal walls that has your mouth flying open on a silent scream, head falling back against the unyielding brick of the alley as your fluttering insides clamp down violent against his adroit handling of you. “Right here, is it?” You think you hear his muted whispers spill throaty against the sensitive expanse of your thigh.

Right at the junction of your hip as Sylus sinks a bite into the pliant flesh just as his thick fingers rub up against that same weak spot inside to have you disintegrating into senselessness right above him.

You can’t fathom how he’s brought you to such complete devastation in just a few, nimble strokes of his tongue and fingers into you, against you. Never having been dragged this fast or good to the precipice by your own hand, let alone another’s. He’s away each layer of defence, piece by excruciating piece, having worked you open so thoroughly as if he knew your body like his own.

Truly a man that sought relentless victory even in between the fall of your legs.

And it is only when that pleasure point is one keyed far too high, with the incessant press of his third finger up into your walls, stretching you open — so incredibly full of just his digits alone — does your body fall. No longer capable of protecting yourself against the battering deluge of a release so consuming, your knees buckle underneath the hefty intensity of his ministrations.

Sylus’s large hand, you feel warm about your rump, to curve its easy support about it, as he presses his face further into you. Waves upon waves of pleasure, drowning your keening cries against your well-abused bottom lip. A faint frisson of overstimulation stringing you higher to gain enough conscious thought back to catch his low, guttural growl searing harsh at your drenched folds, at the sensation of you gushing all over his tongue.

You quiver in nerveless arousal to feel the fleeting brush of his kiss farewell against your slit before he rises, slow, onto his feet once more. Your body clenches in on instinctual need to catch sight of his face once more. The slick that glimmers obscenely copious across his mouth and down the strength of his jaw, the untamed, almost bestial intensity to that barely tamped heat within scarlet, as Sylus sweeps a careful thumb against your wetness has you unfurling trembling digits forward to snag around his neck, dragging him down against yourself.

Consuming the ferocity of his kiss just as eagerly in the tongue you lap at his lips, slipping along the angle of his jaw; moaning softly at the taste of you that clings still to him. Restless fingers steal in between your bodies to reach for the arousal that strains delectable and intimidating against his trousers.

Flittering your digits about the catch of them as you work them open enough along with the thick fingers that aid you to release him free for your hungry gaze. Your audible gasp of pleasure Sylus captures against the pad of his thumb edging just past the part of your lips.

He’s incredibly blessed, bigger, girthier than any you’ve ever had before. The prospect of taking that thing inside your body simultaneously terrifies and excites you.

Your dazed musings Sylus fractures in the cup of your jaw in between firm, gentle digits. “Nervous?”

“...A bit,” you admit. Adding for good measure, “Nothing I can’t handle, though.” An expectant hand you move to curve about the breadth of him to make your point — fingers barely able to cup entirely about him.

Sylus’s laughter is a low, heavy burst of sound. “Don’t worry, kitten.” He reaches down to join his fingers against yours in languidly stroking the length of him. Coasting in close to your ear as he lays a kiss of dark, hoarse promise against it, “I’ll teach you to do more than just handle it.”

Your pleased moan you throttle against his quick, vehement kiss as Sylus gathers the folds of your skirt up to bunch about your hips. Fitting himself into the space he makes, his arousal glancing hot against your outer labia; feeling him so close to where your body clenches in on tense anticipation.

He withdraws from you on a wet slip of tongue, seizing your gaze within his. The firm fist he strokes at his length guiding the flared, slick head of him against your folds to lubricate in your wetness, bumping pleasant at your sensitive bead of nerves on each indolent stroke.

You buck your hips up against his in an impatient scratch of throaty sound. Slipping the head of him so close against your slit, it almost makes you dizzy with need.

You are not, however, prepared truly for the actual breach of him as he splits you open in pleasure so blinding, it streaks right against your tender bead and up deep into your belly. Sylus’s guttural groans brand hot against the crescent of your neck in overwhelmed desire, a muted swear swallowed into the bite of teeth he presses into it. “Relax yourself a little, kitten, you’ve gone too tight on me.”

You try, you truly do as you smother past your burning need to scream, for breaths to claw into your lungs; he feels too much, too good all at once, your body incapable of doing much else except accepting the slow propulsion of him deeper into your walls.

He feels almost too much for you to handle, spearing you open so far around him you didn’t even think yourself capable of such a feat. And yet, the copious arousal that slicks in between your bodies, with the voracious clench of your walls around the hard strength of him, sucking him inside, speaks volumes. Of how you’re thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being impaled upon his length.

“More,” you pant; the slow thrusts of his hips up into yours sending your lashes flittering shut, in overwhelming euphoria and need. “I need more, Sylus.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, large hands fixing hot fetters of flesh against either side of your pelvis as he thrusts into you, each swollen stroke of his arousal sending him impossibly deep, until you feel it may truly reach your womb.

Sylus heaves himself closer into you, nearly pinning you against the wall with the sheer strength of his towering body, the heavy pumping of his hips into you, sending euphoria skating through your veins. Intoxicated on feeling the way he moves within you.

A hand drifts up from your hip to grip at the flare of your waist beneath cloth as Sylus manoeuvres your body to thrust into you at an angle that drives him hard against your swollen spot of pleasure inside.

Your hands fly in agonized frenzy to clutch at his arms, his shoulders as you grapple with the blinding pleasure he’s carving into your body. His head skews downward to catch the sensitive flesh of your neck in between the bite of restive teeth, a low moan wrenched free of your throat. His mouth strokes down the length of your skin until he teeths at the fastenings of your collar, wrenching violent at the buttons before he scatters them apart. Mouth engulfing the exposed slope of your clavicle in fervid groans.

Your fingers skitter for purchase into the silver brush of hair at the base of his neck, tugging harsh with his increasingly heavy pace. A low whine clambering past your throat when his grip upon your body tightens once more in purpose, dragging his length to the near tip of him before he rams back into you on a guttural snarl so primal, it has you violently spasming about his thick shaft, your vision blanking in for a moment.

Sylus’s face is a flood of savage bliss and heated concentration — the sight along with his pleasurably punishing thrusts into your walls — has your heart nearly trying to rip past the bruising beat of it at your breastbone. Hips meeting his in stuttering thrusts as your body bows up, sharp, toward him to chase a height of euphoria so in sight.

“You’re moaning so loud, kitten.” His throaty chuckle stirs weighty into your belly. “Keep that up and you’ll draw us an audience.” Gnawing weakly at your bottom lip to instinctively tamp your sounds just as Sylus moves to drive into you on a particularly ruinous, deliberate thrust that has your legs buckling entirely underneath you.

But he’s there to catch you, thick forearms cording about the feeble, trembling plush of your thighs before he hoists you up entirely onto him; his hushed chuckle drifting into guttural laughter. “Why try being quiet on your own when you can just make use what you have at your disposal?” His lips drive against yours in a vehement kiss of teeth and tongue, devouring you, just the way he is in between your legs. You let yourself go at last, moaning unabated into the searing warmth of his mouth, Sylus’s pace turning to near-frenzied rutting, with the sounds he wrenches from your bruised throat.

He forces you deeper against the wall, spearing you helpless in between the cool stone at your back and the unforgiving intensity of his drilling thrusts pillaging your body. Golden deep pleasure roiling pleasant just beneath your skin, to push at the confines, until you feel like you could float out of it heavenward and never return to the ground.

Your fevered gaze snags against the painted beads of your gifted charm about his neck, swinging vehement with the force of his propulsions. Drifting absent fingers against the worn orbs of the necklace, mushed mind admiring how truly lovely he looks like this for you; coupled along with that tight knit of concentrated pleasure, it makes you believe he truly is all yours to have. As if he belongs to you, with you.

That sole, deranged thought sending arousal thrumming within, so blinding, your body quivers into the tight curve of a crescent, pressing hard against his chest, a peak so close, you can feel it stirring vicious into your belly. “You’re all mine to have, aren’t you? My great warrior,” you gasp against his mouth, trembling fingers sweeping for the broad strength of his shoulders as your nails drive in, harsh.

Sylus’s response; groaned heavy against your tongue, without hesitation. “You’ve always had me in my entirety, sweetheart.”

Your body has wholly given up — a leaden weight — within his grasp, held together only by the strength of Sylus’s arms curving steeled grips about your thighs. Pounding into you with each fervid roll of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs — the profuse flow of your arousal sweltering in between your already burning bodies, the obscene squelch of it each time he withdraws from your walls only to drive back in with savage, terrifying accuracy, rutting himself so good against the spot inside that has you quivering uncontrollably around the length of him.

Your combined sultry symphony so loud within your ears, drumming along with the thundering of your heart, you’re sure any passers-by crossing the mouth of the alley would be able to hear. Your cotton-fed mind so far gone, however, you’re no longer coherent enough to care about anyone hearing your claims upon each other’s bodies. So deeply entrenched in the sole existence of Sylus: his body, tongue, his bruising grip upon you, you love so much — scoring stinging crescents as your own signs of victory, across the broad strength of his shoulders, down the firm muscle of his arms, serving to drive him only harder into you until he’s knocking half-screams out of your throat. Swallowing them up against the hungry sweep of his tongue.

Sylus’s thrusts into your body have turned erratic, his guttural moans heating your skin into a blazing furnace. You’re so close to release, you can feel the heavy crest of its deluge approaching — golden and ruinous.

His grip upon the flare of your hip shifts, pressing you impossibly deeper against him, the new angle driving the length of him against your sensitive bundle of nerves on each hammering thrust. “A-Almost—” Gasping a breathless warning.

Hurtling you so high; the frenzied pump of his hips into yours, the constant stimulation at your swollen bead sending your walls spasming so violent, you feel Sylus loose a long, guttural groan deep into your mouth. You tumble off the precipice of release just as you feel the first thick spurts of his seed searing fire against your sensitized walls; Sylus’s sultry growls keying your frenzied release so high your fingers scrape across the back of his neck to tug him harsh against your mouth. Sinking your quivering, heated desires into a vehement bite at his chest, Sylus’s digits weaving tight into your hair at the back of your head, to hold you there.

His thundering pulse you moan against in appreciation, laving absent to soothe the reddening bite at his skin, as your body convulses with the still flowing spurts of his release, stroking at the intoxicating fever of your prolonged orgasm, filling you to the brim and over; the warmth of it you feel drip past your folds and onto his sturdy thighs.

Taking several, long much needed moments to compose yourself as your sweat-slick face falls, nerveless, to press your cheek against the damp expanse of his chest, body still suspended firm upon the corded strength of his arms, his cock nestled snug and thick within you.

You claw a much-needed gulp of air past a throat, long sore. “...I fear you may have to carry me here on out, as well, Sylus, because I certainly can’t move an inch right now.”

His amused chuckle drifts warm against the top of your head. “While joined together just like this?” He teases softly. “You may truly pass out of sheer embarrassment this time if I do, kitten.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you quip right back, half-hearted, canting a languid gaze up his way. “I think I’ll be long knocked out before any pesky shame kicks in, from how good this — you were.”

You feel Sylus’s length twitch within your walls at your words, groaning quietly at the growing strain of his arousal, back to half-mast already. Truly, was there a limit to the man’s enduring stores of stamina?

But perhaps, the real question was of your own insatiable appetite too, when it came to him, as you were only newly discovering — your wrecked body responding in the muted burn of arousal, kindling into slow fire within your belly, clenching weakly at him.

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Sylus’s skewed grin tucks against your ear as he nuzzles at your cheek. “I’ll carry you out of here in my arms, as you wish, without the additional parade of our naked bodies. In return,” A kiss he feathers, against the angle of your cheekbone. “Come home with me.” He asks of you, softly.

You bury your approval in the nudge of your nose against him, catching his lips against yours in a gentle, chaste kiss, “Sounds like a done deal to me, my handsome warrior.”

End Notes: Thank you for reading! This was a very fun indulgence and I hope everyone who bagged Sylus’ card enjoyed his soft card story.

Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @Cas-tiel13 , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas , @ladyparamount

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If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM!

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witchywithwhiskey · 2 months ago

Text

🔪 Slasher 🔪 Choose Your Own Ending

pairing: DARK horror movie villain!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: somehow, you end up in your favorite old horror movie, and you decide to take the opportunity to fulfill one of your fantasies—you're gonna fuck the villain, bucky barnes.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, typical horror movie violence (blood, murder, some gruesome descriptions), smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, unsafe sadist/masochist dynamic (reader is into it but there are no safe words), dry humping, knife kink, size kink, chase kink, oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, rough body play, light spanking, choking, breath play, bratting/brat taming (reader is slightly unhinged), dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, boot riding, dacryphilia, pet names (cottontail, baby), reader passes out during sex, possessive behavior

word count: 13.3k total (11.6k with only the dark ending; 11.9k with only the fluffy ending)

a/n: i really didn't know if i'd be able to finish this fic in time for the end of my Slasher Summer challenge because it's probably one of the most ambitious fics i've ever attempted. it's loosely inspired by the movie The Final Girls (highly recommend) but i couldn't decide how i wanted it to end, so y'all get TWO ENDINGS!! both are included here, with additional warnings down below. i worked really hard on this, so i really hope y'all enjoy!!! 😅

The last thing you remembered was the feel of fuzzy static on your tongue, fizzling through your arms and legs and making you feel like every nerve ending in your body was buzzing to life. You had a vague memory of licking something you probably shouldn’t have, but then your ears popped and you felt solid ground beneath your feet.

Staticky silence was suddenly replaced by shrill screams of excitement and the mechanical whirring of carnival rides. The rich scents of funnel cakes and popcorn and cotton candy filled your nose, making your mouth water with the desire to eat your weight in fried food.

Blinking your eyes open—not remembering when you’d closed them—you were met with the entrance to the Bakersfield Fun Fair. The big banner declaring the name of the carnival sparked a hazy recognition deep in your mind, but when you looked around, you didn’t quite recognize where you were, and you had no memory of how you’d gotten there.

Still, something about the fairground, with its ticket booth and carnival rides and all kinds of stalls selling food or touting games to play for prizes, felt familiar. Like you’d seen it in a dream, or when you were a child the memory was a distant thing.

Muggy summer air brushed against your skin with a soft breeze that helped to alleviate the worst of the heat, the air holding a hint of chill as the sun set on the distant horizon. It cast everything you could see, which was mainly just the carnival and the grassy field being used for a parking lot, in a golden glow.

Finally, it occurred to you to look down at yourself, finding that you were wearing cutoff jean shorts and a plain tank top—neither of which you recognized.

The confusion you’d held at bay suddenly overwhelmed you, making you feel as dizzy as if you’d just ridden the tilt-a-whirl, which you somehow knew was nestled somewhere in the fairgrounds. Your stomach lurched as your mind tried to make sense of where you were and how you’d gotten there. You closed your eyes and tried to think.

As you concentrated, memories began to surface in your mind, like you were dragging them up from the depths of a deep, murky lake.

It wasn’t summer. It was fall, you remembered, and just moments before you’d been curled up on the worn, aged rug in your grandmother’s basement. You were housesitting for her while she was on a cruise.

You remembered closing your laptop, heaving a huge sigh of relief at finishing work for the day, then going down into the basement. You’d spent countless hours there as a teenager watching movies on the big, boxy TV set, the kind where you could feel the static if you put your hand against the screen. Your favorite movies to watch were the horror ones…

That was it!

That was why Bakersfield and the carnival seemed so familiar. Bakersfield was the small town terrorized by the ruthless villain in your favorite horror movie, Slasher, and the final act’s killing spree took place at the town’s annual end of summer carnival. The Bakersfield Fun Fair.

And the villain was Bucky Barnes, a psychotic killer with a sadistic sense of humor and piercing blue eyes.

You’d had a crush on him when you’d first watched Slasher as a teenager, and your attraction to him remained even well into your adult years. You’d decided to put the movie on because you’d been lonely at your grandmother’s, figuring a night with your favorite horror movie slasher would be the closest thing to a date you could get.

Once you remembered that, the rest of it came back to you. You’d been curled up on the rug in front of the TV, and your favorite scene had come on. It was the one where Bucky is cleaning a bullet wound in his shoulder—given to him by the movie’s mean girl, right before he brutally stabs her in the head—and he had his shirt off, showing the broad expanse of his muscled chest.

It hadn’t been your finest moment, but you were lonely and you got it into your head to lick the screen of the TV over Bucky’s bare chest. And then, that was it. That was all you remembered—and the feeling of static on your tongue.

Opening your eyes, you looked up at the banner again. You blinked. And blinked again. Then you pinched yourself. You didn’t wake up.

The sign still read Bakersfield Fun Fair. But…that was impossible.

Your jaw went slack as you looked around—really looked at your surroundings.

In the time that you’d spent figuring out where you were, the sun had dipped behind the tops of the trees in the forest beyond the fairground, turning the sky pink and orange, fading into a deep cerulean. There was a ferris wheel in the distance, and the canopy top of a carousel off to the side.

There were lines of stalls stretching in both directions beyond the entrance to the fair, some with ring toss games and others with milk bottles to be knocked over. Other stalls were selling all kinds of junk food, from cotton candy to candy apples.

Everything looked and sounded and smelled real. You could practically taste the funnel cake on your tongue, and feel the powered sugar-covered fried dough melting in your mouth. You could clearly see the faces of all the people milling around the fair, kids breaking off with hands clasped tight around their tickets as they went running down the various rows of stalls.

And the closer you looked, the more realized everything was dated. The clothes, the rides, the toy prizes. Everything looked like it was from the early 90s, when Slasher was made. Even your own clothes and the tennis shoes on your feet looked like they were out of the 90s.

It was bizarre, and yet, it didn’t feel like a dream. But it had to be a dream. Right?

Spinning around in a circle, you decided that had to be the case. It was the only thing that made sense. It’s not like you could’ve been transported into the world of your favorite horror movie. Stuff like that didn’t happen; it broke all rules of physics and other science stuff you didn’t understand.

Deciding to just roll with it and enjoy your dream, you shrugged off your confusion and headed into the Bakersfield Fun Fair. While you meandered down one of the lines of stalls, you wondered if you’d see any of the characters from the movie. You wondered if you’d see Bucky.

You almost tripped over the grass beneath your feet at the thought, your heart speeding up in your chest and beating excitedly against your rib cage as you considered the possibility of actually meeting your biggest horror movie crush.

But your mind didn’t stop there. Oh no. You were the girl who’d decided to lick an old, staticky TV because it was the closest you thought you’d ever get to licking Bucky’s bare chest.

Naturally, your mind took the thought of meeting him much further and you thought about fulfilling one of your most cherished fantasies. If you were in the world of Slasher, you wanted to fuck Bucky Barnes.

Before you’d ended up at the Bakersfield Fun Fair, in some ultra-realistic dream, the closest you could’ve gotten was finding a guy who looked like Bucky Barnes and try to convince him to wear the Slasher mask while chasing you through the woods.

But you’d found yourself in the world of your favorite horror movie—whether by way of your subconscious dreaming about it, or some breakdown of the space-time continuum—and you had the chance to fuck the actual Bucky Barnes. Giddy excitement flooded through you, and you began skipping down the line of carnival stalls, trying to remember what exactly happens in the final act of Slasher.

It probably should’ve worried you how unconcerned you were with the possibility that Bucky could kill you before you even got started trying to convince him to fuck you. But it was your dream, so what was the worst that could happen? If he killed you, you’d just wake up horny and dissatisfied, right? Then, you’d have to take care of yourself, which wasn’t any different to any other day of your life.

Nah, you were almost entirely certain you were in a dream, and because it was your dream, you wouldn’t have too much trouble getting Bucky to fuck you. You just had to find him…

As if right on cue, screams erupted from the opposite end of the fairground, and it sparked your memory. The action at the end of Slasher ramps up when Bucky storms the Bakersfield Fun Fair and the final girl, along with the remainder of her friends, try to set a trap for him.

Trying to hid your giddy grin, you raced through the fairground, heading in the direction of the screams. Since you’d remembered the beginning of the end of the movie, you couldn’t help but think about what else happens. Bucky carves through the final girl’s friends one by one in various, gruesome ways on the carnival rides at the fair. Then, the final girl eventually traps him by crushing his arm in the gears of the carousel.

Bucky doesn’t die, of course. He comes back in the sequel, Slasher II, and sports a metal arm that glimmers in the moonlight while he stalks the final girl around Bakersfield all over again. It’s not nearly as good as the first movie, but Bucky is still very hot, and you watched the sequel nearly as many times as the original when you were a teenager.

You were so distracted by thoughts of Bucky’s prosthetic arm, and what it would feel like to have his metal hand wrapped around your throat while he fucked you, that you didn’t realize you were suddenly alone in the fairground, and you’d made it to the Tunnel of Love ride.

It was then that you spotted the macabre scene of the final girl’s best friend—you couldn’t remember the character’s name, it was something boring like John—with his heart ripped out of his chest and held in his limp, dead hands. His lifeless eyes stared unseeingly ahead, looking almost like a movie prop, but so, so much more real.

This particular kill was one of Slasher’s most controversial, you remembered. Half the cult fandom argued it was too on the nose, since the movie heavily implied John was in love with the movie’s final girl and never found the courage to tell her. The other half of the fandom enjoyed the tragic romance of it.

Personally, you didn’t care much about the kills or the drama between the final girl and the other characters. You really only watched Slasher for Bucky, and only cared about the creativity of the murders when he looked particularly hot doing them.

Your mind whirled as you stared at John’s dead body, your brain focusing on the Slasher message boards you’d trawled well into your college years, rather than trying to make sense of the horrible sight in front of you. It really, really looked like real blood soaking his clothes—and you could even smell the coppery tang of it in the air.

Instinctively, you took a step back, the grass of the fairground soft beneath your feet. The sun had slipped fully behind the trees of the forest beyond the fairground, casting long, ominous shadows over the scene. Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you took another step back, as if putting room between you and the horrific sight in front of you would somehow make it easier to reconcile.

You took one more step backward and bumped into something solid, something that you knew deep in your bones shouldn’t be there.

The smell of blood was stronger suddenly, mixing with an earthy, spicy scent that didn’t make sense for the carnival fairground. Holding your breath, you slowly looked over your shoulder and were met with the sight of a black leather-clad chest.

Already, you knew it was him. But you dragged your eyes up and sucked in a gasp when you met the piercing blue gaze of Bucky Barnes.

His eyes were filled with a cold hatred that was so visceral, it made your stomach twist in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Inexplicably, warmth bloomed low in your core, unfurling and reacting to the villain’s presence. Finally, you were face to face with your biggest horror movie crush, and you couldn’t help but take a moment to take all of him in.

Bucky Barnes was even bigger and more intimidating than he seemed on your TV screen, and he was more handsome too. His eyes were an electric blue, the color so bright, it seemed like it glowed from within. And his chin-length brown hair fell on either side of his face, highlighting the strong line of his brow and the intensity of his gaze.

The villain’s mouth and nose were covered by the hard plastic mask that matched the utilitarian leather jacket and combat pants he wore with thick, heavy boots. There were straps on the leather jacket that spanned his broad shoulders, and a utility belt around his trim waist where he secured the various knives and weapons he used throughout the movie.

Looking up at his face again, you realized Bucky was so much taller than you expected, standing behind you like a mountain of cold hatred, radiating danger and menace. Unfortunately for you, that only made the heat simmering in your belly burn hotter until you were squeezing your thighs together against the ache building there.

You knew your body’s reaction to the psychotic murderer was foolish, to say the least, but there was something about the dangerous man that made your heart beat harder, and made you want to spread your legs for him.

Glancing down to Bucky’s hand, you saw the big butcher’s knife dangling from his fingers. He hadn’t raised it yet, and when you looked back into his eyes, the villain seemed to be watching you closely, as if wondering how you were going to react to him.

The longer you went without screaming or running away from him, the more his brows lowered over his eyes. He began to look perplexed.

That was fine, you could work with perplexed.

Carefully, as if dealing with an animal you didn’t want to spook, you turned around and set your hands gently on Bucky’s massive chest, your fingertips toying idly with the leather straps on his jacket. Holding his gaze with your own, you slid your hands up to his shoulders and pushed yourself up onto you tiptoes so you could twine your arms around his neck, as if he were your boyfriend and you were welcoming him home.

“Hi,” you murmured, your voice coming out breathy as your heart beat wildly in your chest. You fluttered your lashes at Bucky, figuring that if you didn’t treat him like a threat, he wouldn’t be. And so far, it was working.

The horror villain didn’t seem inclined to respond to your shy greeting, so you pressed yourself close to him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against your soft one. Arching your spine, you pushed your tits up in your tank top, as if offering them to him.

You were gratified when Bucky’s gaze dropped to your lightly heaving chest, and felt his empty hand twitch against your bare thigh, like he wanted to touch you but was holding himself back. Not that you needed him to touch you to know he was enjoying the feel of you against him.

Bucky’s bulge was already digging into your lower stomach, and you suspected he’d already been hard before you’d pressed against him. But still, you were gratified when, every time you shifted against him, he twitched in his pants, his cock eagerly responding to you.

The interest of Bucky’s cock had a smile spreading across your face, making you look like the cat who got the cream as you tipped your head back and grinned shamelessly up at the horror movie villain.

“Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” you purred, rocking your body against Bucky’s bulge and pressing your chest more tightly to his leather jacket. You were practically rubbing on him like a cat in heat, but you couldn’t stop yourself. It felt too good to feel his solid, sturdy form against you.

As you shifted closer, you could feel the tackiness of blood on your arms and chest, and when you glanced down, you saw that some had stuck to you from Bucky’s jacket. It was odd to see the blood on your skin, but it felt like another reminder of what you were doing—and, especially, who you were doing it with.

Fire was blazing through your veins as you cast your hooded eyes on Bucky’s face, your mouth going soft as you met his piercing gaze. There was a cold flame in the depths of his blue eyes, one you’d never seen in all the times you’d watched Slasher, and it filled you with pride to realize Bucky liked having you pressed against him.

In response to your question, which you’d almost forgotten in the seconds after it passed your lips, Bucky huffed a laugh behind his mask. Then his hands were on your ass, and he was grabbing your soft flesh with an unyielding grip. He hiked you up higher against his chest, using his inhuman strength, and your legs fell open instinctively, so his thick bulge dug into the juncture of your thighs.

A wanton moan fell from your lips, your head falling back as you rocked your hips in tiny circles, grinding on Bucky’s hard cock through your clothes. You could feel the flat steel of his knife pressed to the back of your thigh, and your core pulsed at the weapon’s proximity to your most sensitive place, but you didn’t have any worry he was going to use it on you—not when he was staring at you with such a greedy look in his eyes.

Bucky growled out, “Dumb slut,” as his fingers dug into your ass through your jean shorts, but you were too distracted by humping against the mountain of a man, pleasure swirling through your body and filling your head with cotton candy nothing.

All that mattered was grinding against Bucky’s bulge, and the fact that you were finally—finally—getting to live out your darkest fantasies of fucking the horror movie villain.

“Y’know, I always wondered if killing made your cock hard,” you murmured breathlessly, catching Bucky’s eye and giving him a cheeky grin. “Guess I have my answer now.” You dragged the seam of your shorts up the thick length of Bucky’s cock, drawing a growl from him, your smile spreading wider. “Unless you just have a soft spot for dumb sluts like me,” you said, giggling at your own joke and batting your lashes at him.

Bucky shook his head at you, but not like he was disagreeing with you—more like he was already exasperated with your antics.

“I thought I already killed this town’s biggest slut,” Bucky ground out, and though you couldn’t see his mouth or jaw, you somehow knew he was grinding his teeth. His fingers dug harder into your ass, his grip nearly punishing as you squirmed against him.

You found an angle that had your clit rubbing against the tip of Bucky’s cock through your clothes and you let your head fall back, a filthy moan spilling from your lips. The obscene sound rose toward the darkening sky above the fairgrounds, loud against the silence that had fallen over the deserted carnival.

When you managed to get control of your tongue again, and pick up the thread of your conversation, you shot Bucky another grin.

“I’m not from Bakersfield,” you purred, pulling yourself closer to Bucky’s face, until your lips were nearly brushing against the hard plastic of his mask. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy, gusting through the slots on the front, making you shiver. Your expression settled into one of fake seriousness as you stared him in the eye. “And you have no idea how much of a slut I can be.”

A growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, and his blue eyes narrowed on you, like a predator deciding on its prey.

“Is that a challenge or an invitation, little cottontail?”

He slapped your ass with the flat of his knife, an obvious instruction to keep humping against him.

As you followed the order, you choked out a one word answer, “Both!” Then bit your lip against a moan, hiding your delight at the nickname—and your surprise that Bucky would call you anything so sweet.

But you didn’t seem to be grinding against him hard enough, because he dragged the sharp edge of his knife over the backs of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your ass. He didn’t press hard enough to break skin, but you could feel the threat in the gesture.

You lost the battle against trembling in the big, horror movie villain’s arms, and whimpered, rocking against him harder as a single tear leaked down your cheek. Pleasure was pulsing through your body, hard and fast, the same rhythm in which your heart beat in your chest.

Bucky rumbled a sound of pleasure, his blue eyes going molten as he watched the tear track down your face. He seemed to have forgotten your conversation entirely, more focused on your smaller body humping against his larger one.

You had long since soaked through your panties, and you could feel your arousal leaking through your shorts, coating your inner thighs in your wetness. But dry humping with Bucky wasn’t what you had in mind when you’d fantasized about the horror movie villain through most of your adult years. You needed more, and you had just the idea—a fantasy you’d long wanted to fulfill. With Bucky Barnes especially.

“I know you’re sort of busy, killing and all that,” you huffed, your body straining to keep rocking against his thick length with the speed he desired. “But I was wondering if you might want to take a break and play a game with me?” Your voice was hopelessly breathless and breathlessly hopeful, the pleading in your tone blatant as your words pitched higher with your question.

Bucky’s brows lowered in confusion. “What kind of game?” came his rumbling, distorted voice from behind his mask.

With a flash of a smirk, you shifted one hand to his shoulder, where you remembered the bullet wound would be beneath his jacket. You could feel the slight raise of the bandages beneath the leather, and you dug your thumb into the spot. You were rewarded by a vicious growl and Bucky’s hands falling away from your ass, the cold steel of his knife disappearing from your skin.

Hopping down, you danced a few feet away from the now-enraged psychopathic killer, making sure you were beyond the reach of his long arms, including the length of his knife before you stopped. Something in your core tightened with excitement when Bucky’s cold, blue eyes focused entirely on you. Even the sight of him shaking out his arm seemed somehow threatening.

You could see the dark stain of deep red blood in the black leather of his jacket, and couldn’t help but grin. You’d unleashed the darkest side of him, and you couldn’t be more giddy.

You knew Bucky had been holding back on you while you’d been in his arms. But you didn’t want to fuck a horror movie villain because you wanted some harmless dry humping. You wanted him to wreck you. You wanted him to hunt you down and make you his.

“The game is this,” you began, skipping back a few steps when Bucky lunged for you—though you noticed he reached for you with his free hand, rather than his knife, which you took as a good sign and grinned wider. “If you catch me, you can fuck me.” You held his gaze, your smile turning a little feral as you watched the seething villain. “As hard and as rough as you want.”

Your final words made Bucky pause, like a predator going still right before launching itself at its prey. His electric blue eyes shone brighter, reflecting the neon lights of the carnival as they fall across his handsome face.

You could feel the energy in him shift, and even though you couldn’t see his mouth, you somehow knew he was grinning. You suspected it was even more feral than your own smile.

“You really are the dumbest fucking slut, little cottontail,” Bucky growled, equal parts humor and menace in his tone, sending a delicious shiver skating down your spine. He took a step forward, his eyes sharp as they watched you skip backward, staying out of reach of his hand and his knife. “You better not let me catch you, baby, because if I do, I’m going to make you scream bloody murder as I split you open with my cock.”

The grin on your face was so wide it was beginning to make your cheeks hurt, but you couldn’t wipe it away even if you’d tried. Your entire body was buzzing with anticipation, adrenaline already pumping through your veins as you prepared to run. But you couldn’t help yourself, you had to taunt Bucky just a little more. If you were only going to get one chance to fuck your horror movie villain crush, you were going to make it count.

“Bet you say that to all the girls—bet none of them can scream like me,” you sassed, bouncing on the balls of your feet and scampering back a few more steps when Bucky took another menacing step forward, his big, heavy boot crunching the grass beneath him.

You laughed at his scowling face, the sound loud and wild in the quiet that had fallen over the fairgrounds. Even the music of the carousel had gone silent. But you couldn’t hold your tongue. You loved the look of danger on Bucky’s face too much.

“You gotta catch me first, Mr. Slasher, then we’ll see if you can make me scream.”

With that parting challenge, you gave Bucky one last cheeky, impertinent smile, and the you turned and took off.

Sprinting off into the Bakersfield Fun Fair, you didn’t dare look behind you, knowing instinctively that Bucky would be close on your heels. Your mind raced as you tried to form some kind of plan, since you hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Of course, you had every intention of letting Bucky catch you, but you didn’t want to make it too easy for him. Besides, you’d always wanted to be chased by the hot horror movie villain, then overpowered and taken by the brutal man, so you wanted to make sure you enjoyed yourself as well.

As you turned a corner and began running down a row of carnival rides and games on the edge of the fairground, you spotted the funhouse in front of you. Grinning wildly, you pushed to run a little harder and launched yourself up the metal stairs leading into the funhouse.

There was a spinning barrel right away, and you clambered through it, the silence inside the funhouse swallowing you up as you plunged into the depths of the structure. Hauling yourself up a flight of stairs, you stumbled to a stop when you found that the interior of the funhouse was a maze of mirrors.

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest as you began moving through the maze, your hands outstretched to feel your way between the mirrors. Too soon, you heard Bucky’s heavy footsteps on the metal stairs leading up to the level with the maze and you tried to scurry faster, but you kept bumping into mirrors thinking they were a clear path forward.

A deep, dark chuckle echoed through the stuffy room in the funhouse, the sound distorted through Bucky’s mask, making him truly sound like a horror movie villain.

The sound of his laugh sent a shiver racing down your spine, your heart rate picking up as you heard his heavy boots begin walking through the maze. It seemed like he was moving much faster than you and you tried to pick up your pace.

“When I get my hands on you, little cottontail,” Bucky began, his menacing voice filtering to you easily, sounding like he was right behind you. “You’re going to regret being such a dumb slut—I’m going to destroy your tight holes with my cock and ruin you until you’re all mine.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!” you called over your shoulder, just before barreling into another mirror with a defeated, “oof,” as you tried to escape the maze.

Huffing in frustration, you turned and went down another path, your panicked breaths so loud in your ears, you couldn’t hear Bucky’s footsteps anymore. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but your lungs protested, your pounding heart making you feel the blood pumping through your veins with every step you took.

“If you’re a good slut, maybe I won’t kill you,” Bucky rumbled, his voice definitely closer than it should be, and you whipped around, looking for the source. But he was no where in sight. “Maybe I’ll keep you—chain you up in my basement, and use your body like the fuck hole you were meant to be.”

You tried to ignore the way your pussy quivered at Bucky’s threat, your body wanting him to do exactly that. But you pushed on, though you were having a harder and harder time remembering why you didn’t want him to catch you. Your panties were soaked and your hole was aching to be filled. And Bucky seemed more than willing to fuck you until you were nothing more than the dumb slut he accused you of being.

Rounding a corner, you gasped loudly as the massive form of Bucky Barnes loomed in front of you, his blue eyes immediately finding yours and making you feel like prey trapped by a much larger predator.

Spinning on the ball of your foot, you turned and tried to escape in the other direction, only to run head first into Bucky’s chest. His arms closed around you, and you belatedly realized the Bucky you’d seen had been a reflection in one of the mirrors. He wasted no time, squeezing you so tight to his body that you cried out, his strength forcing the air from your lungs. You were caught.

“I win, little cottontail,” Bucky sneered, crushing you harder to his chest while you struggled to breathe, your ribs feeling like they were on the verge of snapping.

Then, suddenly, he let you go and you slumped to your knees, your legs giving out as you fell to the metal floor of the funhouse. Your head was spinning from the lack of air and you focused on pulling as much oxygen into your lungs as possible, the adrenaline in your body making you feel your heartbeat in your temples.

While you were distracted, Bucky quickly worked his pants open and before you knew what was happening, his thick, heavy cock fell on your face with a lewd slapping sound. You flinched. But then Bucky’s musky scent filled your nose, and you relaxed. Warmth spread through your body as your mind went fuzzy for an entirely different reason than lack of oxygen.

Your mouth fell open instinctively, your head tipping back to press your lips to his girth, and you felt more wetness dripping from your slit between your thighs.

Bucky chuckled at your obvious submission, but still used the flat tip of his knife to tip your face back further, until it was practically horizontal. He worked his hips languidly, sliding his cock over your face, precum dripping onto your skin and making a mess of your cheeks and forehead.

“Open your mouth wider, dumb slut,” Bucky growled, his eyes glittering in the dim funhouse as he stared down at you.

When you did as he ordered, sticking your tongue out for good measure, the tip playing with his balls, the horror villain made a pleased sound deep in his chest. You had the distinct impression he was smiling again, and you almost dared to ask him to take off the mask, but decided against it. Part of the fun of fucking Bucky Barnes was him keeping the mask on.

“Good girl,” Bucky purred, petting your head with his free hand. He dragged his hips back and pushed the leaking head of his dick into your mouth. “Now, suck.”

The metal flooring of the funhouse dug painfully into your knees, but you pushed the pain from your mind as you focused entirely on Bucky’s cock. Wrapping your lips around the head, you sucked gently, the taste of his precum bursting on your tongue. Your chest warmed with pride when he groaned in pleasure.

You’d intended to take your time—wanting to savor Bucky’s cock and learn every inch of the thick, veiny length before making him come in your mouth. But it seemed your horror movie crush didn’t have the patience for that. You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised. You did make him chase you.

“Is that all ya got, little cottontail?” Bucky growled, using the hand on your head to push you down roughly on his cock, making you gag, your hands flailing against his hard thighs. “I thought you were some kind of slut—thought you’d be throating my cock the second you got your lips around it.”

Tears poured down your cheeks as he pushed deeper with a grunt, your fingers curling into fists against his thighs as you tried to open for him. Bucky’s cock forcing its way into your throat stung a little, and you worked to relax your muscles, but they kept squeezing tight, preventing his hard length from sliding all the way in.

Finally, Bucky pulled his cock free from your mouth and you gasped for breath, a hand massaging your throat, the inside feeling raw already. But Bucky didn’t seem to care.

He bent down over you, grabbing your face in his free hand and using the sharp end of his knife to wipe the tears from your face.

“I thought you wanted this, baby,” he rumbled, his tone mocking and patronizing, a laugh in his distorted voice that made you think he was grinning and enjoying your struggle more than he was trying to let on. “You said I could fuck you as hard and rough as I want.” He paused to tsk at you. “You can’t even take my cock without gagging—some slut you are.”

Embarrassment and no small amount of humiliation flooded through you, making you pout. OK so maybe you were more of a slut in theory than in practice, but you did want this. And you’d been trying. Couldn’t he see that?

Crossing your arms over your chest, you glared up at Bucky, your lips still pursed in a pout.

“Your cock is too big,” you huffed, a hint of a whine in your voice. “Let me try again.”

Bucky laughed, the sound cold and mean, though that only made your pussy drip even more for him. He patted your cheek patronizingly with his knife before fixing you with a hard look.

“You either take my whole cock in your dumb slut mouth, little cottontail,” he growled, a threat in his tone. “Or I’ll make you take it, ya hear me?”

The menace in his deep voice sent a shiver racing down your spine, settling heavily between your thighs until you had to squeeze them together against the ache in your core. You nodded your understanding. “Yes, sir,” you murmured.

“Good girl,” came Bucky’s rumbling, terrifying voice. Then he stood up and shoved his cock into your mouth again, so suddenly that all you could do was make a muffled, surprised noise and take it.

You bobbed on the hard, thick length of Bucky’s cock, stretching your lips until the edges stung, forcing his girth deep into your mouth. You gagged when the tip pressed against the back of your throat, but you tried to ignore your body’s response and work past it. No matter how hard you tried, though, you couldn’t get his dick all the way inside your mouth.

After a few minutes of letting you try and watching you fail, Bucky let out an impatient growl before muttering, “Looks like you need me to make you take my cock, baby.” Both his hands grabbed your head and he tilted it back, so your gaze met his. “Just remember, if you’d been a better slut, you wouldn’t have made me do this.”

Your eyes widened, tears leaking out the corners as he moved you into the new position he wanted, with your back to one of the mirrors, your head trapped between the hard surface and his cock. Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his pants near his knees, but you didn’t protest, just stared up at your horror movie villain, anticipation zipping through your body.

“Don’t worry, little cottontail,” Bucky rumbled, and you could tell he was smiling again, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a telltale way. “This won’t hurt nearly as much as if I’d slit your throat—but it’ll probably last longer than it would’ve taken you to bleed out.”

At that ominous comment, your pussy clenched, even more wetness dripping from your pussy and soaking your shorts. You clenched your thighs together, but that was the only part of your body you could move other than your arms. You were helpless to Bucky’s brutality, and you loved it. If his cock wasn’t already buried in your mouth, you would’ve urged him on.

Wasting no more time, Bucky shoved his dick deep into your mouth, pushing past the squeezing muscles in your throat, groaning when you choked and gagged on his thick cock. Your jaw ached and your throat felt raw, but you accepted it, you welcomed it. Bucky’s roughness was only making your pussy wetter, and you couldn’t wait until you could feel him sinking into your tight, wet hole.

Still, you couldn’t quite control your body’s reaction to the intrusion in your throat. Your throat spasmed and you let out a strangled little sound of desperation as it got harder to breathe. You arms flailed and your body tried to escape, only to bang against the mirror behind you. The fact that you were trapped, really trapped, made more tears leak from your eyes.

“That’s it, baby, cry for me while you’re choking on my cock,” Bucky rumbled, holding your head in his hands as he stared down at you, kneeling for him, your throat bulging with his cock. His eyes sparkled like he enjoyed the sight far too much. “Your dumb slut tears are making me harder.”

You felt his cock throb in your throat as proof, but then he was pulling back, only for his hips to snap forward, burying his hard length in your throat all over again. More tears poured down your face, your throat closing on a sob that wrenched a deep, pleasured groan from Bucky.

“Fuck, that’s it—take it, slut, you might be crying, but you fucking love it, don’t you, little cottontail?” Bucky rumbled, breathless laughter in his tone. “You love letting me use your mouth like my own personal fuck toy, bet your pussy’s dripping onto the floor, making a mess of your thighs like ‘m gonna make a mess of your face, huh?”

You couldn’t help it, you moaned around Bucky’s cock, his words stoking the blazing fire of your arousal. It didn’t help matters that he was right—your thighs, your shorts and your panties were a mess, all soaked with your desire.

Bucky grunted when he felt you moan around his hardness, his hips snapping against your face harder as he pounded into your mouth. His hands held your head in a punishing grip, his cock ramming deep into your throat while the back of your skull was pressed against the mirror behind you.

A whine worked its way up your throat as you squirmed, your pussy pulsing with the need to be filled, to be rubbed, to get some kind of attention. One of your hands fell between your thighs and you rocked against it, your clit rubbing against the seam of your shorts until you were moaning and sobbing around Bucky’s cock.

Suddenly he stopped. “What’re you doin’ down there, little cottontail?” he rasped, ducking his head to the side so he could see around his cock and your face. When he caught you with your hand between your thighs, he laughed, his glittering blue eyes finding yours. “Oh, I see—the dumb little slut’s dripping hole needs some attention, huh?”

Bucky shifted, using his booted foot to kick your thighs apart on the metal floor of the funhouse. Then he shoved his boot between your legs, and jerked his head like he expected you to sit on it.

“You need something to hump against, don’t you, baby?” he asked, his tone mocking. “Well, go ‘head. Ride my fucking boot, little cottontail.” His voice was dark and deep, the sound of it making you shiver. But you couldn’t pretend you didn’t want to follow his order, so you lowered yourself down onto his boot.

The moment your aching core dragged over the laces of Bucky’s boot, you let out a low, filthy moan, the sound muffled by his cock in your mouth. It was exactly the kind of friction you wanted, your clit and messy slit rubbing against the seam of your shorts and the roughness of his laces. Pleasure bloomed, hot and heady, and swirled through your body, overwhelming your mind.

Above you, Bucky groaned, shoving deeper into your throat until your nose was pressed into the thick thatch of hair at the base of his cock and his balls were nestled up against your chin. Spit and precum and tears were leaking down your face, making a mess of your jaw and chin, dripping down to your tits while Bucky watched you with hooded eyes.

“Do that again, baby,” Bucky grunted, holding your head down on his hardness. “Moan like a dumb fucking slut on my cock while I ruin your throat.”

It took little effort to moan again as pleasure and pain swirled through your body, your hips working on Bucky’s boot, grinding your slick cunt against the stiff leather through your panties and shorts. Your clit rubbed over the laces, your mind filling with clouds of bliss as you sank into the feeling of your pussy grinding against Bucky’s boot and his cock fucking your throat.

Bucky was grunting and groaning loudly, his sounds of pleasure a reward for how good your slutty mouth was making him feel. He pounded into your face, his balls slapping against your chin, seeking his release while you humped against his boot, intent on finding your own pleasure while he used you.

You were both lost entirely in each other, too focused on seeking pleasure to notice someone else had entered the funhouse. Bucky’s eyes were only for you, and you were staring up too intently into his face, watching pleasure make his eyes go hazy to pay attention to your surroundings—which was the only reason one of the final girl’s friends was able to sneak up on the two of you.

“Get away from her, you monster!” The girl’s shriek was followed closely by the splintering sound of a wooden bat as she swung it at Bucky, and the thing shattering apart against his back. Her face, twisted in fury and determination, quickly shifted to surprise and panic.

For his part, Bucky merely grunted, barely lurching forward as he shoved his cock impossibly deeper in your throat while he bore the attack. But then he was moving quicker than your pleasure-drunk eyes could fully process, your body only aware that he was pulling back until only the tip of him remained on your tongue. Growling furiously, Bucky turned and used his knife to slash the girl’s throat.

You vaguely recognized the girl as one of the characters in Slasher who gets killed at the carnival in the third act, though you couldn’t remember which ride Bucky kills her on. Maybe it was the funhouse—that would explain how she found the two of you.

In that moment, you didn’t much care. You’d been busy with Bucky and you were more than a little annoyed at the interruption. Your body was buzzing with your unslaked need, and you felt horny and frustrated as you turned your attention back to the horror villain above you.

But Bucky’s focus was entirely on the other girl, who was grabbing her throat uselessly, trying to stem the gush of blood as she stumbled into a mirror, leaving a bloody handprint behind. Bucky’s eyes were gleaming as he savored the sight of the dying girl, the corners of his eyes crinkling like he was grinning.

His cock was still in your mouth, but just barely, and the longer he watched the other girl die, the more a pout grew on your lips.

After a few long moments of the girl’s death dragging on, you’d had enough. This was your fantasy come to life, and if Bucky wasn’t going to pay attention to you and get you off, then you were going to make him.

Carefully, you extracted yourself from between Bucky and the mirror you’d been pressed against, your pout only growing when his stiff cock slipped from your lips and he didn’t even notice. Quickly, you crawled around the corner and once you were out of sight, you hopped up to your feet so you could move faster.

Your legs felt weak from your earlier running and kneeling on the hard, metal floor—not to mention how close you’d been to coming on Bucky’s boot. But you urged them to work as you moved as quietly as you could through the rest of the maze.

You were already almost to the exit when Bucky finally noticed you’d escaped. His angry roar of, “COTTONTAIL!” echoed off the mirrors and metal walls inside the funhouse. But his rage only made you snicker. It was his own fault, after all.

“You shoulda tied me down or paid more attention to me if you didn’t want me getting away, Mr. Slasher,” you called over your shoulder, taunting him as you darted around the final corner in the mirror maze, finding your way out. You clambered through the rest of the funhouse, Bucky’s stomping footsteps reverberating around you and making your heart beat faster with fear and excitement.

You slid down the slide that worked as the exit from the funhouse and as soon as your feet hit the grass of the fairground, you sprinted off again. Wracking your brain, you tried to think about where else Bucky kills the final girl’s friends in the final act of Slasher. All you could remember was the ending, with the carousel.

You turned a corner, running in the opposite direction of the carousel and that area of the carnival, not wanting the final girl or anymore of her friends interrupting you once Bucky caught you again.

Sooner than you expected, a leather-clad chest slammed into your back and, within the next breath, you hit the grassy ground as Bucky tackled you. One of his hands wrapped around the front of your throat, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck while he pressed his face into the side of yours.

Even through his hard plastic mask, you could feel his breath on your skin, his hot, heavy breaths gusting past your cheek as he panted like a rabid dog.

“I win again, baby,” Bucky growled, his voice even more threatening thanks to the fury in it. He clearly didn’t appreciate that you’d made him chase you again, and the coldness in his tone promised that while you might find pleasure in what he was about to do to you, you were also going to feel no small amount of pain.

“And you can be sure I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he went on, resting more of his weight on your back until you were pinned to the ground beneath him, your body struggling to catch your breath as he crushed your lungs. “Now that I have you, you’re never getting away from me again—you’re mine, little cottontail.”

Your heart panged in your chest, and it took you a second to realize the feeling was yearning. Because that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? You wanted someone to see you at your brattiest, with your darkest desires all laid out—and even seeing your soul bared for them, you wanted them to want to keep you. Part of you wanted to roll over and open your legs for Bucky, tell him you were his forever. But that wasn’t really in your nature.

Instead, you huffed a belated laugh, squirming beneath Bucky and fighting against his considerable strength even though you knew it was no good. You weren’t going anywhere, and you loved it.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Mr. Slasher,” you taunted, bucking your hips hard. You felt Bucky’s big body jostle just a little and, sensing a glimmer of freedom, you fought harder.

Then cold steel replaced Bucky’s hand at your throat and you went still. Despite the fact that he’d used the knife mere moments ago to kill someone else, you were almost certain he wasn’t going to do the same to you. Well, pretty certain.

Besides, you were still convinced you were in a dream and dying would only wake you up. But with Bucky’s knife pressed to your neck, you didn’t exactly want to test your theory.

The horror movie villain chuckled, his chest rumbling against your spine and his breath ghosting over your cheek.

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve done all night, little cottontail,” he murmured, his voice so dark and deep, it made you shiver.

He dug the steel of his knife into your throat, using his other hand to guide you up onto your hands and knees. Bucky’s big body was curled over yours, his hand reaching beneath you to grope your tits while he groaned against the side of your face.

“Such soft tits, baby,” he grunted as his fingers kneaded your flesh through your tank top. Then his hand was diving under the fabric to pinch your nipples, making you cry out and arch your back. “Yeah, that’s it, ya dumb slut, let me hear how much you like having a monster like me playing with your tits.”

You whimpered when he pinched your nipple hard and shook your breast, the sting of pain and pleasure consuming your mind and making you grind back against his thick cock, which he’d tucked back into his pants. An impatient whine tumbled from your lips and it was on the tip of your tongue to beg Bucky to fuck you, but it seemed he was just as eager to get on with it.

Skimming his hand down your body, Bucky found the button of your shorts and quickly undid them. He sat up on his knees, dragging you with him and keeping his knife at your throat.

He shoved your shorts and panties down roughly past your ass to your thighs, then dipped his hand between your legs. A loud groan rumbled in his chest when he realized how wet you were.

“Fuck, you really are a slut, aren’t you, baby?” he taunted in a mocking tone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. His fingers slipped between your drenched folds and all you could do to answer him was moan as he teased your pussy. “I’m gonna fill up this slick cunt, little cottontail,” he rumbled in your ear, a promise ringing in his words. “I’m gonna destroy your tight hole until you’re nothing more than my dumb, cock-drunk slut.”

Between Bucky’s fingers playing with your pussy and his words wreaking havoc on your pleasure-soaked mind, you were desperate for him to follow through on his promise.

Suddenly, you’d had enough of the game you’d been playing with Bucky and you wanted him to finally—finally—fuck you.

“Please, Bucky, please, please, fuck me,” you sobbed, tears leaking from your eyes and down your cheeks as you rocked your ass against his hard cock. “Please, god, I need it—I need you.”

For a moment, Bucky was silent and unmoving. Then he was shoving you forward into the grass so you were back on your hands and knees. His knife just barely grazed the side of your neck as you fell forward, and you whimpered at the light sting of it.

The next thing you knew, Bucky’s cock was slapping against your bare ass, and he was lining himself up with your soaked, fluttering pussy. Your fingers dug into the grass, preparing yourself to hold on for dear life.

“Remember, little cottontail, you said I could fuck you as hard and rough as I want,” Bucky rumbled, sliding his cock between your legs, coating his thick length in your desire. “If it’s too much for you, you can scream all you want, but I’m not stopping until I’ve filled your cunt with all the come in my balls.”

You could hear the laughter in Bucky’s voice, but didn’t have time to respond to his words because in the next second, he shoved himself all the way inside you with one thrust.

Bucky’s thick, hard cock slammed deep into your tight pussy, and a scream wrenched free from your lips, making your already raw throat hurt even more. But it was the delicious kind of pain that mixed perfectly with the feeling of Bucky filling you up for the first time.

His girth was bigger than anyone or any toy you’d taken before, and it felt like you were being split apart, your insides rearranging to make room for his huge cock. It was only because you were so wet that it didn’t really hurt, but the sting of the stretch was enough to send your mind reeling, your thoughts scattering until the only thing that mattered was Bucky’s cock inside you and his body behind you.

Bucky made a noise that was half groan, half growl—sounding entirely feral behind his mask as his hands dug into your hips. You could feel him still holding his knife, but the steel wasn’t pressed against your skin so you didn’t give it much thought.

“God, that’s a tight fucking cunt ya got here, cottontail,” he rasped, pulling back and slamming forward so hard, your arms shook and you nearly collapsed face first into the grass. “Feel like you were fucking made for me, baby—made to be my fuck hole, made to take my cock.”

True to his word, the horror movie villain rutted into you hard, paying no mind to your pleasure, just taking his own. But that was exactly how you liked it, and you couldn’t help the litany of desperate moans and whimpers that tumbled past your lips.

Before long, your arms gave out and your cheek pressed to the grass, which was cool against your face. The position made your back arch and your ass stick up in the air. Bucky made a pleased sound, slapping your ass in a gesture that almost felt like praise.

“Yeah, take it like a slut, baby,” he growled, pounding into you harder—hard enough you could feel your ass and hips and thighs ripple with the force of his thrusts. “This is how dumb sluts are meant to be fucked.”

You whined at the searing pleasure of Bucky’s cock hammering into your cunt, and you arched your back further, giving him easier access to drive even deeper into you from behind. Your reward was another hard slap on your ass—that time with the cold flat steel of Bucky’s knife. You squealed, then moaned as the sharp sting devolved into even more pleasure.

Bucky laughed, the sound wild and dark. Then he curled his body over yours, dropping the knife in the grass so he could grab wrap one of his hands around your throat while the other groped your tits.

“You’re mine, little cottontail,” he growled in your ear. “I own your body now, and you’re going to be my personal fuck toy for the rest of your life.” He rutted into you, hard and rough, his hips slapping against your ass mixing with the sounds of your wet pussy being fucked. “I’m gonna chain you up in my basement, and you’re gonna be my basement slut—my little cottontail—forever.”

It was impossible to nod, and impossible to speak, with how tightly Bucky had you pinned beneath him while he fucked you. So you wrapped a hand around his wrist, not pulling him away, but squeezing hard enough that you could feel his pulse thrumming beneath your thumb. You clung to him, telling him wordlessly that you were submitting to him, tears gathering in your lashes as pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, pounding you hard and fast, the hard plastic of his mask digging into the side of your face. “Cry for me, cottontail, you know it makes me harder.”

His fingers dug into the sides of your throat while his other hand tortured your nipples, tugging and pinching them, until your tears began leaking from your eyes. Bucky ducked forward, nuzzling your tear-stained cheek through his mask, groaning as he hit a spot inside of you that made your whole body clench and your mouth drop open in a soundless scream.

“I can feel your cunt choking my cock, baby,” Bucky rumbled in your ear. “You really love everything I’m doing to you, don’t you, dumb slut?” His hips pressed against your ass and he started grinding his cock deep in your core, the tip brushing against that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Yes, yes, Bucky, yes,” you sobbed, your words breathless and soft and only able to escape because he’d loosened his hold on your throat slightly. But then he tightened his fingers again and you made a desperate little gasping sound.

Bucky laughed, the sound evil and mocking, and your cunt pulsed again. He refocused on fucking you, pounding into you and chasing his own pleasure. You tried to scream, the pleasure nearly mind-blowing, but his hand on your throat made sure you could only make the barest of noises.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, little cottontail,” Bucky rumbled, his hard plastic mask chafing against your sensitive cheek. “You’re gonna come and show me that you’re mine, that you accept your new life—and me as your master.”

Your fingers squeezed his wrist again in understanding, and then you couldn’t think anymore. Bucky’s cock was pounding into your pussy hard enough to almost hurt, pleasure pulsing through your body as he plucked and played with your tits. Your head was going fuzzy from a lack of air, but that just made everything else feel better and more.

When Bucky’s hand abandoned your tits to slip between your thighs, it only took a few strokes of his fingers against your clit to set you off. At the same moment, Bucky’s hand loosened around your throat, and oxygen flooded your lungs as you came on his cock.

It was almost an out-of-body experience, coming on the thick length of your horror movie villain crush, your mind going entirely blank as your body tried to process all the pleasure and sensation flooding through it. A loud, piercing scream sounded in your ears and it took a second to realize it was spilling from your own lips.

Bucky’s hand tightened around your throat again, tighter than before, cutting off the sound of your pleasure while he grunted and groaned above you. He was rutting into you as your walls squeezed his cock, taking his pleasure as he prolonged yours.

Blackness was starting to creep into the edges of your vision when he finally roared loudly, his cock throbbing inside you as he spilled his come deep in your pussy. His fingers dug into the sides of your throat harder, choking you through his orgasm as your body fluttered with the last waves of your release.

The last thing you heard was Bucky muttering, “Good girl, take my come, little cottontail,” as he pumped you full of his thick, sticky seed. Then, there was nothing but comforting darkness, and you sank into it, feeling satisfied and happy as you passed out in the arms of your horror movie villain…

Now, the choice is yours, dear reader. Do you want to stay with Bucky Barnes and live in the world of Slasher? If so, read on for the dark ending! Or do you want to wake up and meet someone a little less psychotic? If so, skip down to the fluffy ending!

Slasher - Dark Ending

dark ending additional warnings: dubcon, somnophilia, slightly painful sex, basement wife-ing, references to Bucky's arm amputation, Bucky is even more psychotic

You were woken by your body jostling against concrete, an aching mix of pleasure and pain radiating between your thighs. The slick sounds of fucking met your ears and, belatedly, you realized you were impaled on a cock, the thickness of it stretching your tight hole to its limit.

Your inner thighs felt chafed and your back hurt from the position you were contorted in, your shoulders propped up against a cinderblock wall while you were folded in half at the waist, a heavy body pinning your legs to your chest while they fucked you. You were naked and a little cold, but the body against you was warm.

Blinking your eyes open, you were met with the sight of Bucky’s handsome face contorted with pleasure as he fucked you. There was a new glimmer in the depths of his blue eyes—something wild and feral and more than a little frightening. His mouth spread into a savage grin when he saw you were awake.

“There’s my little cottontail,” he rumbled before ducking down and kissing your cheek in a gesture that would’ve been sweet if not for his stubble roughing over your sensitive skin. You whimpered softly at the abrading feeling, your pussy pulsing despite your exhaustion.

When he pulled back, the sound of chains rattling above you finally caught your attention and you looked up, finding your wrists shackled above your head and bolted into the wall of the basement. Dim morning light was filtering in through windows set high in the walls, and you couldn’t make out much beyond the shadow of the stairs leading up to the first floor.

Before you could gather you wits enough to ask a question, or wade through your confusion to figure out what question you should even ask, Bucky slammed deep inside you, wringing a weak moan from you. It was only then that you realized he’d been taking it easy on you while you were asleep, but since you were awake, he started fucking you harder. Pleasure, pain and bewilderment warred with the tiredness of just waking up as you tried to think.

Your eyes slid closed while you tried to block out Bucky and your surroundings. You needed to figure out why you weren’t in your grandmother’s basement, having woken up from the dream you’d been sure you were having.

But Bucky didn’t like that. His weight settled more heavily on top of you, making your hips ache in protest, and grabbed your face roughly in his hand.

“Look at me, cottontail,” he rumbled, shaking your head until your eyes fluttered open again.

Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes and your mouth worked, trying to find the words for how you felt. You’d wanted this—wanted someone like Bucky who saw who you really were and still wanted to keep you. But now that you were actually chained up in his basement, you wondered if maybe you’d jumped in the deep end without being able to swim.

“Don’t look so confused, baby,” Bucky growled in a patronizingly sweet tone, thumbing your tears from your cheeks and making you flinch as the salt of them irritated your skin. “I told you I was never letting you go—you knew this was going to happen.” He was grinding his cock deep into your well-used cunt, the pleasure almost painful. “Now that you’re chained up in my basement, you have no hope of ever escaping from me again.”

The head of his cock battered against your cervix and you cried out, your head thumping against the cinderblock wall behind you. The pain mixed with the pleasure of thick length rubbing against your sensitive inner walls until your mind was spinning.

You just couldn’t wrap your head around it. You really hadn’t known this was going to happen. You’d thought you were dreaming and were going to wake up after you’d fucked Bucky Barnes, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Apparently you’d really somehow been transported into the world of Slasher.

“Thank me for keeping you, little cottontail,” Bucky growled, wringing another pleasured whimper from you as he kept grinding his cock into you. “After all, it wasn’t easy getting you here after that bitch crushed my arm.” His voice was dripping venom and he rocked his hips harder, forcing tears from your eyes as his cock battered your cervix.

It was only then that you understood why so much of Bucky’s weight was resting on you while his hand held your face. Darting your eyes to Bucky’s shoulder, there was a thick, bloody bandage wrapped around the place where he must’ve amputated his arm after the final girl had crushed it in the carousel gears.

Your stomach rolled at the sight, empathy for Bucky surging through you. It really couldn’t have been easy getting you back to his house when he was injured like that.

But before you could follow the order he’d given you, Bucky yanked your face back to look at him. He ducked closer, so all you could see were his eyes, wild and psychotic, boring into your own.

“Thank your master for keeping you!” he growled harshly.

Your heart panged, and you rushed to do as he said. “Th-thank you for keeping me, Bucky,” you cried, tears streaming down your face, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, master!”

The anger leeched out of Bucky at your words and your tears, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you.

“Good girl,” he purred, nuzzling your cheek in reward and kissing your jaw with his soft lips. “My good, dumb slut—you’re going to make such a good basement wife for me.”

A small, confused noise squeaked out of you and Bucky pulled back, a grin on his face. He nodded up toward your hands and you twisted them in your shackles, finding shiny, silver metal glinting off your left ring finger. You sucked in a gasp, feeling speechless as your mind failed to process another shocking revelation in so little time.

“Your dream is coming true, baby,” Bucky rumbled, licking the tears from your cheeks, taking your silence as understanding and submission. “You’re going to be my own personal fuck hole—my pretty little dumb slut—for the rest of your life.”

Bucky canted his hips, grinding his cock into the depths of your pussy while the base of him rubbed against your clit and the pleasure that had been winding tighter in your core suddenly snapped. You came with a loud, sobbing scream, your head thrown back against the wall of the basement as tears cascaded down your cheeks while you succumbed to the pleasure, your cunt greedily squeezing Bucky’s cock.

A small part of you wanted to black out again, hoping you’d wake up back in your grandmother’s basement, unsure if you had what it took to be the full-time fuck toy of your favorite horror movie villain. But somehow you knew that wouldn’t happen.

Whatever had transported you into the world of Slasher seemed to be a one-way ticket, and you’d made your choices. The fact that you were at the mercy of Bucky Barnes was no one’s fault but your own.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret anything you’d done. After all, you’d gotten exactly what you wanted—you got to fuck Bucky Barnes. And if you had your way, you’d fuck Bucky Barnes every day until you died. Which was good, since that seemed to be exactly what he had planned for you.

Just then, Bucky grunted, his cock twitching inside you and he slammed deep, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a messy kiss while he came, coating your insides with his seed. His lips were hard and demanding, but you weren’t some wilting flower—you nipped his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

Bucky’s cock throbbed inside you as he chuckled, kissing you again, the taste of his blood bursting on your tongue as you devoured each other.

When he pulled away and collapsed on top of you, a satisfied smile curved your lips. You glanced up at the ring on your finger again, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to be Bucky Barnes’ basement wife.

Slasher - Fluffy Ending

fluffy ending additional warnings: talk about past roleplay, some potentially risky decisions on reader's part, that's really it

You awoke with a start, the loud, chiming sound of the doorbell echoing through your grandmother’s house and dragging you back to reality from the depths of your dream. A faint soreness permeated your body, and you frowned, the memory of your dream clinging to the edges of your mind.

Groggily, you opened your eyes to find you were curled up on the familiar rug in the basement of your grandmother’s house, and you suspected the hard floor was likely the cause of your soreness. Still, you felt a faint tingling all over, the remnants of pleasure from your dream and you smiled as you stretched languidly, easing most of the aches in your limbs.

The doorbell chimed again, and you dragged yourself up, wiping drool from your cheek as you pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself and climbed the stairs up to the first floor. On your way to the door, you checked the time, finding it was nearly midnight, and wondered who was stopping by so late. All your relatives and all your grandmother’s friends would be asleep.

Flicking on the porch light, you opened the front door, but the left the screen door latched when you found a strange man standing there. The frigid autuman night air wrapped around you, and you crossed your arms over your chest to stave off a shiver.

“Hey Mrs—” The man had been standing with his back to you, facing the street, and swung around when he heard the door open. But he paused when he saw you, his greeting cutting off as if he’d been expecting someone else.

A distant corner of your brain pointed out that of course he was expecting someone else—you were answering the door at your grandmother’s house.

But you couldn’t pay attention to your mind’s logic because you were silently freaking out. The man looked almost exactly like Bucky Barnes.

He had the same sparkling blue eyes, though there wasn’t any of the cold hatred that haunted your favorite horror movie villain. And his mouth was curved into a charming smile, which you knew for certain you’d never see on the version of Bucky from Slasher. The man’s hair was also shorter, and the stubble on his jaw was a little less scruffy, like he’d shaved that morning and it had grown out since then. The style really worked for him.

He was somehow even more attractive than Bucky Barnes. You didn’t know how that was possible, but apparently it was.

The man shifted on his feet, running a hand through his hair, looking a little abashed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb ya,” he said, a slight Brooklyn accent in his voice. “Sometimes I borrow some ground coffee from the lady who lives here when I’ve run out.” He shot you a sheepish smile and shrugged. “And I’ve run out.”

“Oh,” you said, a little dumbly. “You must be talking about my grandmother.” Your surprise over the man’s resemblance to Bucky was wearing off, and you found that his smile was infectious. He had a charm to him that made you want to tell him more than you should, which must’ve been why you found yourself saying, “She’s on a cruise, and I’m watching her house.”

It might’ve been a mistake to tell a strange man that much, but instead of doing anything to make you second-guess yourself, he just smacked a hand against his forehead. The gesture was so endearing, you couldn’t help but laugh, warming to him even more.

“You’re right! She told me about that.” He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over your face—hopefully not finding any traces of drool on your chin—and his eyes softened. “Sorry again to bother you, your gran’s normally up watching one of those late shows, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You snorted to yourself. Of course your grandmother was known for staying up later than you. But you didn’t want the man to feel bad. It wasn’t like he woke you up before you came on dream Bucky’s cock.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said, shaking your head and smiling softly to let him know it really was fine. Again, you had the urge to say more to him than you normally would to a stranger. So, before you could hold your tongue, you blurted, “Do you know you look exactly like the villain from this old horror movie?”

Even in the dim yellow light of the porch, you could see the man’s cheeks turn pink while he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. But he was hiding a smile behind his palm and when he caught your eye, there was humor in the depths of his gaze.

“Yeah, I get that sometimes,” he said, his voice suddenly lower. “Bucky Barnes from Slasher, right?”

You nodded, almost mesmerized as you stared into his eyes. “I had the biggest crush on him,” you admitted, because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth had been left on the rug in your grandmother’s basement. But the man only chuckled, the light flush fading from his face.

“Did you now?” he asked, his eyes shimmering with humor as he looked at your face, his gaze raking over the curve of your lips. He shifted closer to the door and a shiver skated down your spine at the way he loomed over you. “Y’know, my friends have called me Bucky ever since we watched that movie one summer when were idiot kids.”

“Y-your name’s Bucky?” you asked, excitement making your voice come out like a whisper.

The man looked to the side and chuckled, the sound low and rich and making you want to giggle ridiculously and kick your feet. When his gaze found yours again, his eyes were sparkling with playfulness and something more; his mouth was curved into a devastatingly charming grin.

“No, my name is James Barnes, but pretty much everyone calls me Bucky.” He watched you absorb this information, shifting even closer to the door until you could feel the warmth of him seeping through the screen. “Would you like to call me Bucky, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice pitching so low and deep, you could feel it between your thighs.

Your shoulders trembled as you shivered, nodding eagerly as you whispered, “Yes, please.”

Bucky rumbled a pleased sound, and his hand raised toward the screen, like he was reaching for you. But then he paused, as if catching himself. Huffing a laugh, he drew his hand back and wiped it down his face, seemingly forcing himself to straighten and take a step back.

You almost whined in protest, but caught yourself at the last second, biting your lip against a frown as he moved away. You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had drifted to each other through the door until he was pulling away. You understood it was probably weird, the way you were acting with each other considering you just met, but the chemistry between you was palpable, and you desperately wanted to explore it as soon as possible.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I have the mask,” Bucky confessed, breaking you free from your thoughts.

You were glad for it, because he was giving you another loaded look and you felt your belly swoop, butterflies taking flight as he smiled at you. It took a second to process his words, and when you did, you couldn’t help the impish grin that spread across your face. You gestured for him to go on.

“I bought it for a girl I was seeing who said she wanted to roleplay,” he went on, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking off to the side again, like he knew he wasn’t supposed to be telling this to a girl he just met, but couldn’t help himself. “But I think I scared her off.” He turned his penetrating gaze back to you, pinning you in place while you held your breath. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who scares easily.”

You snorted again and tossed your head. That was an understatement, if your dream was any indication of your desires—which it was. You gave the man called Bucky a cheeky smile. “No, I’m definitely not,” you told him, a hint of a challenge in your tone.

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other. Then, you made a slightly reckless decision. Your hand reached for the latch of the screen door and pushed it open, all while holding his gaze.

“Why don’t you come in and get that coffee you needed,” you offered, hoping your instincts about Bucky were right, and he would turn out to be exactly the kind of man you wanted in your life. Besides, you told yourself, your grandmother liked him well enough to lend him some coffee—and you trusted her judgement so he must be a decent guy. “And you can tell me what about your roleplay frightened off that girl.”

Bucky’s smile spread into a full-on grin, and he eagerly grabbed the door, opening it wider while he stepped forward. When you didn’t move back right away and instead allowed him to step into your personal space, his gaze dropped to your mouth, his eyes darkening and the corners of his mouth twitching in another smile.

“Deal,” he rumbled. “So long as you tell me more about this crush of yours.”

The memories of your dream flitted through your mind, feeling more real than any dream you’d ever had before, and you found you couldn’t wait to tell Bucky about it. The man in front of you was warmer and kinder than the one you’d met in your dreams, but you had a feeling he had a dark side that liked to come out to play—just like you.

“Deal.” After you said the word, you felt as if something truly special was beginning and your heart raced with excitement as you stared up into Bucky’s handsome face. Both of you were grinning like idiots.

Finally taking a step back, you welcomed Bucky into your grandmother’s house, knowing deep in your bones that you were going to be in each other’s lives for a very long time—possibly even forever. And you couldn’t help but think that having this Bucky Barnes was even better than dreaming about your horror movie villain crush. After all, at least he was real.

#slashersummerwc #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #horror movie au #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

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quin-ns · 11 months ago

Text

Always Forever (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 8.2K

Summary: coriolanus finally lets himself acknowledge that he can’t stand to see you with anyone but him

Tags: (18+), cw: dubcon, cw: noncon, pseudo!incest (not related, reader raised with the snows), dark!coriolanus, pre-mentor era, jealousy/obsession/possessiveness, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, fear of getting caught, lots of drama for my lovely readers

A/N: second coryo fic and it’s somehow longer than the last one lol. only one part. pls read the tags and proceed with caution 🫶

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

“Look at you, you look so pretty!” Tigris beamed, adjusting the straps of your dress. “Doesn’t she, Coryo?”

In his peripheral, Coriolanus could see his cousin had turned to look at him expectantly, but his eyes were already on you. They always had been, and always would be.

“Yes, she does,” he replied without thought.

You faced him with a smile, and Coriolanus couldn’t help the pride that swarmed him just looking at you.

It was because of him that you were in his life, and until the day he died Coriolanus knew it would remain the best decision he ever made.

As children during the war, when he and Tigris would scavenge the streets, Coriolanus stumbled across you. Not much younger than him, huddled behind a pillar, all alone. You had a half a loaf of bread. It wasn’t fresh, but he still didn’t understand where you got it. You tore it in half and shared it with him.

He returned to Tigris with you in tow, his small hand clutching your even smaller one, and his cousin took pity.

She also took the brunt of the consequence for bringing home another mouth to feed, but sacrifices had to be made, didn’t they?

It was worth it. You were worth it to him—to both of them, really.

As you got older, Grandma’am eventually took a liking to you, although Coriolanus wondered if it was because she could see how much he cared for you.

It didn’t matter. Not really. You were part of the family now, even if you did not share the Snow name.

“Thank you, Tigris,” you said sweetly, pulling the older girl into a hug.

It was a big day for both you and Coriolanus. The academy was hosting an event for students to mingle with administration and alumni of the university.

Coriolanus had put on his best outfit—he already knew it was the same one he was going to wear when the Plinth Prize winner was announced in only a few weeks. He was sure it was going to be him.

Tigris had fashioned your dress by hand. Coriolanus was past questioning how she paid for her fine fabrics, but he had an inclination it was the same way they could suddenly afford food some days.

The long dress reminded Coriolanus of freshly fallen snow, the white holding a sense of purity and wealth that his family once had. It had a sense of elegance that you only furthered with donning it, but it lacked an extravagance that would force you to stand out.

It was perfect.

You parted from Tigris to approach Coriolanus. You had a light smile on your face as your hands ran down his black vest, adjusting it.

“We almost match,” you commented, referring to the white shirt beneath said vest. “If only I had something black.”

“Well, I’d let you borrow this, but then we’d be in the same position, only switched,” he teased lightly, drawing a small chuckle from you.

Coriolanus liked when you looked up at him, same as he liked hearing your laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll survive without.” Your hands fell to your sides. “Besides, it definitely looks more handsome on you.”

Hearing those words from you meant more than you’d ever know, and more than he’d let himself acknowledge.

You were so good to him, he couldn’t imagine spending the evening with anyone else.

When he walked into the ballroom of the academy with you on his arm, Coriolanus got a rush of power. Especially when heads turned. Looking at him, looking at you, just looking.

He wondered what the minds behind all those gazing eyes were thinking.

He hoped it was a balanced amount of envy and respect.

“We should find Sejanus, let him know we’re here,” you said, not thinking much of the sentence as you looked around the room, taking in the people and the decor.

Coriolanus thought everything of it, a sourness settling over him. Sejanus was his friend, but Coriolanus wished they hadn’t gotten as close as they did. It was because of his friendship with Sejanus that you met him, and began to develop… feelings for him.

God, Coriolanus hated to even think about it.

When you told him you had begun dating Sejanus, Coriolanus nearly had a heart attack. Then he felt violent. Not towards you. Never towards you.

It wasn’t just because he felt protective of you, or because Sejanus was district, or because Coriolanus knew you were far, far too good for his friend… it was everything. All of that and everything in between.

Before you could find him, Sejanus found you.

He was in a fine black suit, finer than anything Coriolanus owned, and a bright smile appeared on his face at the sight of you.

That was one thing they still had in common. Reverence for you.

“Had to come find my girl before everyone thinks she ditched me,” Sejanus joked, pulling a laugh from you. “Where have you guys been?”

“Making sure we look our best,” you replied, shooting Coriolanus a wink.

If Sejanus wasn’t reaching for you, Coriolanus might’ve smiled.

“Well, you did a wonderful job.”

Coriolanus let you slip away from his side, reluctantly giving you away to Sejanus.

The unfortunate thing was Sejanus was truly a decent person. Not perfect, but decent. Better than most, even if he was beneath you all. You cared nothing for status, and seemed to really like him. He treated you right from what Coriolanus had seen, making disapproval not exactly warranted.

Although, Coriolanus was always going to be incredibly protective of you. He doubted there was a world where he would be pleased with any relationship you found. Your interest in other people was becoming tiresome, truthfully. Did you really even need friends? Or lovers? You had Coriolanus, and he was sure that was enough.

His jaw clenched when you pressed a light kiss to Sejanus’s cheek. It would be much simpler if he was a terrible person. Coriolanus would have an excuse outside of his own selfishness to separate you—which he did not have now.

“Can I ask for this dance?” Sejanus wondered, shooting you a smile. At least he had the awareness to still look anxious.

But you… you grinned. You were too good.

“Well you just asked, so I guess you can,” you started sarcastically, but let him off the hook quickly. “And of course I’ll say yes.”

Sejanus looked relieved, taking your hand in his. You turned to look at Coriolanus, a small bit of guilt in your expression. You clearly hadn’t been planning on leaving his side so soon. You masked it with the same teasing tone you’d used before.

“I won’t be long, don’t get too bored without me, Coryo.”

Coriolanus only smiled for your sake. It fell the moment Senjanus led you away to a small group of other students dancing together.

From the sidelines, Coriolanus watched as Sejanus led you in a slow dance. He tried to avoid his eyes landing on his friend. He didn’t want to view the two of you in the same light as the other couples embracing one another.

Coriolanus tried to remember the first moment he realized how beautiful you were. It was so long ago, it wasn’t something he was even aware he thought so often.

The sun rose in the morning, roses had thorns, and you were beautiful.

It was simple as that.

After a dance and a half, Coriolanus couldn’t take it anymore.

His feet carried him to the dance floor, mind absent as he tried to justify his jealousy as protectiveness. Yes, that’s all he was. Protective. Like an older brother… like what he was supposed to be. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to be.

You and Sejanus were swaying and talking, but as he snuck up on the two of you, Coriolanus couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling in surprise at his presence.

“Coryo!”

“Can I cut in?” Coriolanus requested. His hand itched to rest on your shoulder, but he withheld. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and he briefly wondered if Sejanus sensed that or not.

“All yours,” Sejanus agreed, spinning you by the hand. You turned in a circle, then a half, facing Coriolanus. “I’m going to go find my father, he’s here tonight,” he informed.

“I’ll come find the two of you in a few minutes,” you told Sejanus, who nodded then headed off. Before he did, he looked to Coriolanus and said, “Take good care of her.”

“I always do,” Coriolanus responded easily, because it was the truth. He didn’t need Sejanus telling him that. He’d been there for you long before either of you even knew his friend existed. He looked down to you, taking your hand in his while the other fell to your waist. You looked amused. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yes, Coryo,” you replied with a smile. “Better than anyone.”

The slow waltz felt so natural, your movements in tune with his without thought. You two were always like that, always in sync.

“What were you and Sejanus talking about?” Coriolanus wondered, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Nothing important,” you dismissed with a shrug. “Sweet nothings.”

Coriolanus didn’t miss the shy smile appearing on your face. He couldn’t control the frown trying to take over his.

A more thoughtful look crossed your face, your smile faltering.

“Are you happy for me, Coryo?”

Coriolanus blinked.

“I… want to be,” he confessed, eyes scanning your face. It was the truth for the most part. He did want you to be happy, just not with Sejanus.

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. Coriolanus wished he could open your head and investigate every corner of your brain. He wanted to know every thought you had.

“Sejanus is your friend, I would’ve thought…” you swallowed and looked away. “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Coriolanus pressed, tilting his head, trying to make you meet his gaze.

When you did, he saw the disappointment in your eyes.

You stepped back from him, parting completely.

“I need to find Sejanus. I’ll put in a good word for you about the Plinth Prize with his father.”

Then, you departed, not leaving room for Coriolanus to argue for you to stay.

He would’ve, and you knew that.

The moment you disappeared from his view, Coriolanus went looking. You had moved quickly. He found you across the room, sitting down at a table with Sejanus and Mr. Plinth.

He didn’t approach, he couldn’t make himself look bad in front of Mr. Plinth.

So he watched you talk, and drink, and laugh, and drink some more…

“I can’t believe she’s doing this,” Arachne whispered, suddenly appearing at his side. Coriolanus looked down at her. She was clearly talking about you. He could see the way she flicked her heavily decorated eyes in your direction. “Associating with him was one thing, but… well”—Arachne let out a vicious laugh—“do you think their children will call her “Ma” too?”

Coriolanus felt ill at the thought. Leave it to Arachne to provoke him, to conjure up nightmares he hadn’t even thought of yet himself.

“She’ll come to her senses,” Coriolanus muttered, gritting his teeth.

Arachne rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope so,” she mused, continuing on her way, blood red dress dragging behind her with each step.

Coriolanus looked back to you. He was overwhelmed with nausea as Sejanus grabbed your hand atop the table. Damn Arachne for placing that thought in his head.

He watched as you lifted another glass to your lips, smiling along as Sejanus talked to his father. What was that, your third? Sejanus had yet to say anything to you. He was fine with allowing you to get intoxicated?

Drinking alcohol wasn’t exactly a crime, but Sejanus didn’t know you well enough to know you were inexperienced. The last thing Coriolanus wanted was you making a fool of yourself.

Darker thoughts crept in. Maybe Sejanus was allowing you to inebriate yourself on purpose. The thought of him climbing on top to you made Coriolanus’s blood boil. His fingers twitched to form a fist, and his jaw clenched even tighter.

In that moment, Coriolanus decided he wouldn’t let Arachne’s mockery come true.

He had to help you. You needed his protection, even when you didn’t know it. You needed him. You always would. Coriolanus could remind you, then perhaps you'd see you didn’t even need Sejanus at all.

When you left the table—Coriolanus wasn’t sure why—he saw his opportunity. He approached you quickly, finding no problem in catching your arm and leading you away from the party. Away from all the people, where it could just be the two of you.

Out a door, down a long, empty corridor until the two of you ended up outside in the school’s garden. It was isolated from the party, you’d be safer here.

“Coryo? What—“

“Are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, cutting you off. He released you to stand across from you, leaving you to lean back against the stone wall behind you. “I saw how much you were drinking.”

You looked up at him, confused, but not frightened. If anyone else had handled you the way he did, you surely would’ve been. But you trusted him. You always had.

“Did I drink a lot?” you asked, a slight pout on your lips. “I didn’t notice.”

“Oh.” So, you were okay. That was good, wasn’t it? “I thought maybe you needed rescuing,” he admitted, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or not.

You chuckled a little and the sound washed over Coriolanus, bringing him a sense of relief from all his previous tension.

“My hero,” you said lightly, smiling up at him. You were always smiling at him, but Coriolanus no longer wondered if he was worthy of it all. “You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

Coriolanus stepped closer. His hand rose, his fingertips trailing the outline of your face. Someone so pretty, so sweet, had to be careful in a cruel world like this.

“What would you do without me?” he proposed, not expecting an answer.

You didn’t need one, because you never would have to find out.

He’d follow you to the end of the Earth, just as he knew you’d follow him. You needed each other. You didn’t need Tigris or Grandma’am and especially not Sejanus, but without Coriolanus, who would you even be? Coriolanus couldn’t imagine his world without you in it. Not even if he tried.

Staring at you now, Coriolanus heard the voice in the back of his mind begin to whisper. The one that urged his protectiveness, knowing it was fueled by possession. The one he would use all his power to silence.

Something new had overcome him, watching you galavant around with Sejanus. Well, not new, but clear. Coriolanus finally had clarity. That’s what it was. That was how he finally acknowledged what had so long been lingering in his peripheral, just on the edge of his mind, waiting for the right moment.

Was this the right moment?

He made no effort to banish his most repressed thoughts. For once, he let them win.

Coriolanus leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. Gentle, testing the waters. You did not react right away. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily a good sign, but that didn’t stop him from using it as an excuse to deepen the kiss.

His other hand found your face, holding you against him as he nipped at your lip, begging you to invite him in.

Your reaction was delayed, and Coriolanus thought maybe, just maybe, you had been thinking the same thing he had all along. That the faint taste of alcohol on your lips meant you were feeling more open to exploring this with him, and that all you needed was a nudge in the right direction.

But no, you were turning your head, making his lips part from yours.

Coriolanus faltered, but you still did not speak. Your breaths were clipped—flustered and confused. He could understand that. His own heart was racing, although adrenaline and need were to blame for that.

“Coryo…” you whispered so softly he nearly didn’t hear it. “What are you doing?”

Leave it to you to not get angry with him. Or even upset. At this point he questioned if you were even capable of feeling anger at him.

Coriolanus stepped closer, making you have to tilt your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think I can share you,” he confessed under his breath, but with conviction. “I know I can’t and you… you don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

You swallowed, eyes looking down. “Sejanus—“

“Doesn’t know you like I do,” Coriolanus finished, one hand still holding your cheek, tilting your head, making you meet his eye again. “Seeing you with him… he’s not good enough for you.”

“I thought you were above judging him for being district.” You sounded so disappointed in him.

“I don’t care that he’s district, he’s not good enough because no one will ever be,” Coriolanus corrected, imploring you to understand.

With a light sigh, his eyes fell shut. Gently, he leaned to press his forehead to yours. He blindly reached for your hands, and found them in each of his with no problem.

“I would not be happy seeing you with anyone else,” Coriolanus confessed, voice low. “Not anyone but me.”

You inhaled slightly. Was it that big of a shock?

He gave you no chance to voice it because Coriolanus was capturing your lips again, passion erupting in his veins.

His mind was clouded with thoughts that fought for center attention, his built up desires controlling him as his hands and lips cascaded down your body. Your neck, your chest, your stomach—

“Coryo, what are you doing?” you questioned when he began to move lower.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he cooed, dismissing your concern.

Coriolanus finally fell to his knees in front of you. He’d never take such a humiliating position for anyone else. But with you, it didn’t feel humiliating. It was exhilarating, knowing he was on his knees worshiping you, but he still held all the power. It was nearly perfect.

You gasped a little when he gripped your right leg and maneuvered it over his shoulder. More of your weight rested back against the wall, unable to stand straight on just one leg.

He looked upward, watching your face the entire time as he pushed your dress up around your hips, revealing your underwear to him.

Coriolanus was so close and you had yet to move.

Words couldn’t find their way to his lips. It was all too overwhelming in the best way. His heart slamming against his rib cage was a welcome feeling, and so was the pressure on his knees.

You bucked away before his mouth could reach your core. Coriolanus didn’t think much of it. He had a lot of other images rushing through his brain. Ones he wanted to become reality.

He scooted forward and tried again, this time making contact with the layer of fabric separating him from your most intimate spot.

Coriolanus heard a choked noise from you as he ran his tongue across the front of your underwear.

Right away, he wanted more.

His hands found the material acting as a barrier and he gripped it then pulled, tearing it from you one leg at a time, exposing you to him.

Before it could fall to the ground, he caught the shredded material and stuffed it into his pocket.

He felt a bit guilty, knowing how little you all had when it came to clothing, but he wanted to do this the right way. Coriolanus wanted nothing blocking him from showing you how good he could make you feel.

As much as his eyes were tempted to linger, impatience got the best of him.

He made contact again, licking a stripe across your bare cunt. Once he got a taste, Coriolanus couldn’t hold back.

His mouth latched onto you, tongue sliding between your folds, drawing a stifled moan from you. You reached for his head, trying to knock him away, but Coriolanus persisted. His will easily overtook yours. You weren’t going to take this away from him, not when he could make you want it just as bad.

He held onto the leg over his shoulder, gripping your flesh, surely leaving bruises in his wake. He held the skirt of your dress up with the other hand. With his mouth, he devoured you. Lapping at your core like a man starved, even more so when wetness began to form.

This wasn’t something Coriolanus had done, but he knew you better than anyone. He was sure he could figure out your body. He’d dreamt about it long enough, making you fall apart for him in such an intimate way.

He soon found that to be the truth when in only a matter of minutes your body was tensing. He continued to drag his tongue across you, giving every bit of you his full attention. He liked the way your thighs quivered when his tongue brushed your clit, it gave him an excuse to hold you tighter.

Your whole body flinched suddenly, but he shoved your hips back, pinning you to the wall as he brought you to the edge

His own pants felt constricted as his senses were overwhelmed by you. Your taste, your scent, the sound of your choked down moans, your hands smacking the wall (unsure what else to do), the feel of you against his tongue and how your leg strained over his shoulder, and the sight of you when he looked up through his lashes… god, you were magnificent.

You whimpered from above, teeth digging into your bottom lip, as he finally made you come undone.

Coriolanus held you still, relishing in the way you finally jolted into his touch instead of away.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were the stuff of dreams in the most literal sense.

Your head tilted back against the wall, your ragged breaths causing your chest to rise and fall in an unsteady pattern. Your leg, still draped over his shoulder, was tense, even as he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

A wide grin spread across Coriolanus’s face when you shivered. He couldn’t help himself. He nearly chuckled at your state, but then your hand moved to rake through his wavy locks. The sound caught in his throat as you tugged him away, finally looking down at him. The all consuming pleasure had faded into something more composed.

Coriolanus could tell how much of an effort you were making, and as your eyes struggled to focus, he briefly wondered how strong your drinks were.

“I’d like to go home now,” you said slowly, conscious not to let your voice falter.

You allowed him to help get both to your feet on the ground, but you did not touch him for the rest of the night, even when he tried to reach for you.

He was still hard behind the confines of his pants, imagining the slickness between your thighs that was the result of his actions. As you walked back through the ballroom, it took everything he had to not push you back against a nearby wall. People be damned, he wanted you more than anything.

He would press his chest to your back—no, he’d make you face him. Coriolanus wanted access to your lips so he could kiss you as much as he liked, even swallow down your moans when he lifted your dress around your stomach and—

A shiver of excitement coursed through Coriolanus’s body. What would your darling Sejanus think if he knew what just transpired? If he knew it was only for your dignity that Coriolanus wasn’t fucking you against the wall hard enough that you forgot where you even were?

You silently bid the party a farewell, forgetting to say goodbye to Sejanus (Coriolanus made no attempts to remind you). You continued to ignore him, hardly speaking and not even looking his way. Not as you walked from the school to the apartment. Stumbling up the stairs, you only spoke to claim you were fine as you gripped the handrail for dear life. Then you went back to silence as you traveled from the front door to your bedroom and locked the door.

Coriolanus only found out about the door because he’d tried to follow you in, but the door knob did not budge. You never used your lock.

Even if you weren’t ready to finish what had been started, it was still incredibly cold. Were you really upset enough to deprive him of your presence until the morning?

“What’s going on with you?” Coriolanus asked through the layer of wood. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue as it traced his bottom lip, waiting for your response. “Can we talk? Can you open the door?”

He gripped the knob tighter and tried again. It wasn’t going to suddenly unlock, but something urged him to prove it.

There was a faint thud as his forehead fell to the door, much as it had to yours not too long ago.

“Can I at least say goodnight to you?”

Again, no response.

He swallowed. Cleared his throat.

Again.

“Please?”

If they could afford to fix it, Coriolanus would break the door down.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside your door before begrudgingly going to his own room.

He laid in his bed and fished the underwear from his pocket. Your scent still lingered on them, and it was enough to fuel his imagination as he unbuttoned his pants and pretended his own hand on his cock was yours.

Even after finishing, Coriolanus had a nearly sleepless night. His mind was plagued with memories of his lips on yours, your dress bunched around your hips, him on his knees with his mouth on your cunt. He’d never forget the sounds you made.

When the sun rose, he returned to your door, only to find it still locked. He didn’t even knock, just simply grabbed the door knob and twisted.

You always woke up early for school, putting yourself together in a way that could reflect wealth that you did not truly have. Coriolanus was sure you did it for his sake, knowing how much appearances mattered to him.

You were good to him like that.

If only you’d let him in now.

The laugh that escaped him lacked humor. It was a bitter, frustrated sound.

His hands rested on his hips, his own fingertips pressing in. It was that or gripping the door knob and if he touched that thing again and found it locked…

“This isn’t funny anymore, Y/N,” Coriolanus called through the door. “If there’s a problem we can talk about it. Just stop acting like a child.”

“What, did she steal your blazer again?” Tigris wondered, appearing out of nowhere. Despite her voice being soft with sleep, Coriolanus was still startled.

“No, just a minor disagreement,” Coriolanus replied, quick on his feet as always. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure we’ll talk it out.”

He emphasized the word ‘talk’, hoping you’d hear him through the door. If you did, he wouldn’t know. Tigris, on the other hand, just nodded and headed for the kitchen.

The smile he gave his cousin on her way was forced. She couldn’t tell that his teeth were clenched together, which was for the best.

A thought dawned on him. You could just be testing him.

Coriolanus knocked on the door and waited, like he’d just solved your puzzle.

What was that thing about insanity—trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

“You’re going to have to come out of your room at some point,” he reminded, trying his best to make it not sound like a warning.

Coriolanus wasn’t used to being frustrated with you. You were usually his relief from people who made him feel this way. He didn’t understand why everything changed all of the sudden.

You’d enjoyed yourself while he got what he wanted. Why was that so bad?

You had always been an enigma, but Coriolanus felt as if he’d come to understand you—that he was the only one who did or would.

Sejanus would never know you the way he did, that was for certain.

From in your room, Coriolanus heard movement. Your dresser opening, maybe. It didn’t matter. You were awake. And ignoring him.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake.” The neediness in his voice was embarrassing. No one else could make him resort to this. “I can hear you. Are you coming out?”

“What is going on?” Grandma’am questioned, standing at the end of the hall. “You aren’t dressed for school. We can’t have you being late.”

Coriolanus looked down at himself. He’d gone to sleep in the outfit he’d worn the night before, and still wore it now.

Arguments died in his throat. You and Coriolanus walked to the academy together. You’d have to come out and talk to him. Grandma’am would drive you crazy if you missed a day of classes.

In record time, Coriolanus was in his uniform.

He might’ve been quick, but apparently you were quicker. As he opened the door to his room, he heard the front door shut.

“Whatever you did, Coryo, apologize,” Tigris advised when he chased the sound of your exit.

Coriolanus just looked at her. Why on Earth would he do that? He’d done nothing wrong.

Down the stairs and out of the building, Coriolanus finally—finally—got a glimpse of you. A flash of red as you turned the corner, setting off down the sidewalk.

It took nothing for him to catch up to you.

“How are you feeling?” he wondered first, recalling your drunken state. “I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” you challenged, eyes forward.

It was good to hear your voice, but Coriolanus furrowed his brows at your tone. You had no reason to be this rude.

“Of course I was, Y/N. How can you even ask me that?” His hand dropped to your shoulder, only for you to shrug it away. “What is wrong with you?”

You looked at him, finally, but the emotion in your gaze… there was something wrong with it. Something distant, lacking the affection those beautiful eyes of yours usually held for him.

Coriolanus swallowed.

“Are you really going to be like this? Is it because of Sejanus? You don’t have to be with him anymore.”

You turned your head forward.

“Leave me alone, I’d like to walk in silence.”

Since when had you become so spiteful? Coriolanus didn’t like it. It evoked something similar in him. He leaned down, getting near your ear.

“You liked it, I know you did,” he hissed out. Coriolanus hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh, but you were being completely unfair to him right now. “You can’t lie to me.”

Despite the way you shuddered, your jaw remained clenched. You not talking to him was more infuriating than if you had screamed in his face. At least that way he could tell what you were thinking. But no, you wouldn’t allow him to be privy to your inner thoughts, no matter how much effort he put into prying them from you.

It wasn’t a conversation for the public, even Coriolanus knew that, so when you got to the academy a few steps ahead of him, he bit his tongue.

“What did you do to piss off your sister?” Clemensia asked him in a whisper in class. “You’re usually attached at the hip walking in.”

The way she called you his sister felt wrong in a way that it hadn’t before. Even if he never thought it fit when people would say that or assume it, something had shifted.

And was it that obvious? Coriolanus hadn’t even brought it up. He’d simply been a few steps behind you into the classroom. You’d gone to your desk without a word. Was that strange to everyone else too? It was validating, in a way, to know your behavior was, in fact, targeted and odd, but it also made him wonder what the two of you appeared to be from an outside perspective.

“It’s nothing,” Coriolanus lied to her under his breath, keeping his eyes on his paper.

“So you didn’t get into a fight?”

Coriolanus’s brows curved down. He glanced her way.

“A fight?”

“Arachne and Festus saw you pull her away from Sejanus and disappear somewhere last night.”

It was mostly the truth, but she said it so nonchalantly. She couldn’t know what happened after you disappeared. Coriolanus hadn’t seen a single person lay their eyes on either of you in that private moment.

“I get it,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with someone from the districts either. She’s not thinking about how she’ll be perceived, or you. Don’t let her drag you down.”

Coriolanus just listened, the night flashing through his mind. No one could’ve known, there was no way.

He quickly corrected the hypocrisy in his own mind. He hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just private. No one else deserved to see you in that state—no one but him.

“We’re fine,” Coriolanus told her. “And her and Sejanus aren’t together anymore.”

Clemensia smirked to herself. “Good.”

Word spread quickly, and with the way you avoided Sejanus—a byproduct of you avoiding Coriolanus—everyone believed it. The final nail was the way you failed to appear at lunch. It got under Sejanus’s skin, causing him to question the state of your relationship without you to answer any said questions.

Truthfully, Coriolanus hadn’t seen anything as amusing in a long while, but your absence weighed on him, too.

The walk home alone was dreadful without you. Even in the morning when you had ignored him, it was better than you being completely gone.

When he got home, your door was shut. How quickly had you left your classes, how fast had you walked, all to avoid him?

This was growing old very, very quickly.

Grandma’am was on the roof with her roses, and Tigris seemed to be missing from the apartment. It was only because of that that Coriolanus devised a way to get into your room.

Why he didn’t think of picking the lock before, Coriolanus supposed it was because he thought you’d give in quicker and let him get the better of you. You were usually weak to him, allowing him to get his way without a problem. You had before.

“Last chance,” Coriolanus called through the locked door. He almost thought that would be enough. He wanted you to open it of your own will. “You can’t avoid me forever, just let me in.”

No such luck.

You looked surprised when he forced the door open, as if you really believed he would just take the loss. You were supposed to know him better than that.

You’d been sitting on your bed in pajamas, evidently already done with the day. Your legs were criss-crossed with a textbook in your lap. You looked up at him, a questioning expression taking over your features.

“What are you doing, Coryo?” you asked, voice low, eyes not quite meeting his directly.

“You weren’t opening the door.” Coriolanus squared his shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You shook your head, something between a sigh and a laugh escaping you in a puff of air. Coriolanus did not like the accusatory undertone.

“Did you think maybe I left it locked on purpose?” Were you mocking him? “That I wasn’t lying this morning and I really don’t want to speak to you?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Coriolanus insisted, closing your door behind him. He moved towards your bed, watching your body language the entire time as he finally sat on the edge beside you. “You thought I would just let you ignore me?”

You swallowed, closing the book in your lap. “I guess not,” you admitted, setting the textbook aside. “I am well aware of your ego.”

A frown crested Coriolanus’s lip. “Is that what this is—you want to hurt me?”

You tilted your head, catching his gaze, much like he’d made you do the night before. It was the first time in nearly a day since you’d looked him dead in the eye.

“What do you want, Coryo?”

“I want you”

“You want me to what? Not be with Sejanus? Is that it? Is that why you did what you did?”

“You say that like it was something awful. I was there too.” Coriolanus felt a familiar heat rush through him at the memory. “I know what I saw.”

“You humiliated me.”

“In front of who? No one saw us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is? Because you know Sejanus is weak?” Coriolanus searched your eyes and leaned in closer. He was feeling antagonistic. “I mean, how could he touch you, knowing I got there first?”

Coriolanus caught your hand as you raised it, presumably to strike him.

“Is that what we’ve resorted to?”

He squeezed your wrist, enough to cause pain. You winced and tried to move away, but Coriolanus wasn’t going to let you get away.

“I could ask you the same,” you sneered, sounding like an entirely different person.

“What has happened to you?” Coriolanus questioned. He took a breath. “Do you want me to be sorry for what I’ve said? Fine, then, I apologize. But I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. You should not be with him.”

“I’m supposed to believe someone driven by jealousy?” you inquired back, blinking back tears. Why were you being so dramatic? “How can I trust anything you have to say to me now?”

Coriolanus was taken aback by the question. Did you really not trust him anymore? Even with the tight hold on your wrist, he could feel you slipping from his grasp. If you were to leave him, he’d never forgive the universe for its twisted irony. Coriolanus put so much time and care into you because he wanted you. His family didn’t, at least not at first, but even so, you’d have nothing if it wasn’t for him. Is that what you wanted to leave him with now? Nothing? Nothing but the memory of when you were his?

No, that wouldn’t do.

It just wouldn’t.

“You can trust me, I promise,” Coriolanus insisted, pleading, even. “I love you, I always have—you can’t have expected me to sit back and do nothing while you…”

You looked more betrayed, if that was even possible. He was trying to make it better but explaining was only making it worse. Coriolanus had never met a person where the more he talked, the more he tried to persuade them, they believed him less. In that way again you were an anomaly.

If Coriolanus couldn’t tell you, he could show you. He had to make you understand—he could salvage this and get what he wanted in the end. If he was anything, it was persistent. It had worked before, excluding the aftermath.

Coriolanus moved, keeping his hold on your wrist as he shoved you down, pulling himself up and then on top of you in a fluid motion.

You squirmed, questioning, “What are you doing?”

Coriolanus caught your other hand and brought it to join your other wrist he already had a hold of in one hand. He straddled your waist, keeping your body pinned.

“You won’t listen to me,” he pointed out. Something inside him urged him to lean down. “But I can still prove it to you, that it’s me you should be with. No one else.”

Then he crashed his lips onto yours. It was more forceful than it had been the previous night, ensuring you couldn’t turn away again. His tongue was already in your mouth before you thought to turn your head.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t kiss him back, Coriolanus was in bliss. Your lips were soft, molding perfectly to his. You moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was a protest, but it made his body heat up all the same. Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of you. Last night left him wanting more, not less.

More than that, he was determined. When he finally detached his lips from yours, the both of you panting, Coriolanus set forth on a track that wouldn’t allow him to turn around.

Even if he tried to take it back, everything would already be changed.

So he didn’t even bother hesitating. Coriolanus was determined, even, at yanking your clothes from your body.

Your words were jumbled by the time they reached his ears. His own heart racing with excitement drowned out any requests you had for him.

The word “stop” left his vocabulary until you yelled it too loud for his liking.

Your whole body shook when he clapped his hand over your mouth. Your top was completely gone, your chest heaving as you breathed through your nose. While Coriolanus could’ve easily been distracted by your state, he trained his eyes on your wide ones.

The word helpless crossed his mind, and he had to take a moment to control himself.

“Grandma’am is upstairs,” Coriolanus finally warned, voice low. “Don’t disturb her.”

You blinked. Coriolanus was almost surprised by the way you settled down, but it told him you understood the implications of alerting her.

Your position beneath Coriolanus had to be better than starving and cold on the street, didn’t it?

You didn’t have Sejanus anymore. If you thought you did, Coriolanus would make sure to remedy that with his friend before you got to him first.

As Coriolanus lifted his hand from your mouth, he silently implored he was the only one who could save you from being branded a liar.

Just as Coriolanus had always admired, you were a quick learner. As heartbroken as you looked, you didn’t raise your voice again.

“This isn’t how you make me want to be with you,” you pleaded. Coriolanus wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take it as a challenge.

“We’ll see,” he mused in response.

He got you bare, and then himself.

You averted your eyes from his body, which offended him more than he thought it would.

“You can look,” Coriolanus said, voice heavy.

Something about his voice must’ve gotten to you, because your eyes flicked between his legs. You swallowed and looked back away.

A prideful smirk overtook Coriolanus’s face.

He moved then, still keeping hold on your wrists in one hand, dragging them down over your belly, and placed himself between your legs.

With one hand still holding your wrists, Coriolanus shoved his other hand in between your legs, two prodding fingers finding your entrance before making their way in. Eagerness won out over his patience. He could take things slow later.

You tensed around him, fighting the intrusion, but he wasn’t going to let you win. Even if you weren’t squirming against him, you were resistant. Coriolanus slowly worked at breaking your resolve, massaging his fingers inside your walls, thumb on your clit.

He could see shame wash over your features when a wetness began to form, coating his fingers and allowing him to work you open for him.

“See, you can lie to me, but your body can’t,” Coriolanus asserted, voice thick with arousal.

That triggered something in you, and perhaps Coriolanus reacted too harshly.

It felt like it all happened in a flash. One moment you were on your back, beneath him, clenching around his fingers, and the next he had to manhandle you onto your chest and knees to fend off your attack and keep you still. He regained his hold on your hands quickly, pinning them behind your back while you panted from the short lived exertion.

Coriolanus leaned down to press his lips to your ear.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to fight me,” he growled.

Your shoulders shifted as you found further discomfort in your new position, but you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your voice—just like before.

Coriolanus wanted to watch your face as you submitted to him and his love for you, but if this was the only way he could have you for now, so be it.

He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the twitch of your body as he pressed the tip in.

Despite all the effort to get you where you were now, Coriolanus slid his cock into you with ease. Your body welcomed him, even if you didn’t.

He couldn’t help himself, his hips bucked forward, shoving himself into you deep. You whimpered into the pillow and Coriolanus’s mind went blank for a moment, basking in the feel of your warm cunt around him. It was better than he imagined.

His cock twitched inside of you, eager to fill you, but he had to make this last. Just like before, Coriolanus wanted to make you feel good. So good you had no choice but to want him.

Coriolanus drew his hips back after a few moments of just resting inside you. When only the tip remained, he thrust forward. Your body rocked against the mattress.

He did it again, this time slower. Forcing you to feel the drag of his thick cock inside of you. Coriolanus liked the way your body quivered as you succumbed to the pleasure he could give you.

You felt like heaven, all wet and warm and squeezing around him in a way that made him want to never leave you.

To show he trusted you, Coriolanus let your hands go. They immediately fell to grip the pillow beneath your head. You didn’t go to fight him and that counted for something. He had an ulterior motive, though, because now he could hold your hips with both hands.

He leaned down, pressing kisses to your back. He ran his hands along your skin, drinking the entirety of you in as he moved inside of you.

His movements were a bit slow, calculated, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. Coriolanus imagined you rocking your hips back, your moans filling the room, eager for more. That would have to be saved for another time when you were more willing.

You body tensed and shivered, and Coriolanus knew you were getting close. You still had yet to speak.

It was petty, the sudden sharp thrust of his hips to shove his cock deep and hard into you.

A gasp—he drew a gasp from you.

He allowed his weight to fully fall on top of you, finally. Your skin was so warm on his chest, it was as if your body was trying to burn him off of you. Maybe it was all in his head. But it didn’t really matter. It was far too late for that.

“It’s okay to want it,” Coriolanus muttered into your ear.

He felt your body reacting and you were moments away from what he’d been pushing you towards. His thrusts grew shallow, not letting too much of himself leave you as you finally came undone.

You buried your face into the pillow, muffling your cry as you finally came around his cock. It was then that he got what he wanted, even if it was only brief. Your body spasmed and pushed back, trying to feel every inch of him stretching you out, clenching down to hold him there.

Coriolanus followed you soon after, cock throbbing in your walls, spilling inside of you and painting them white. He held your hips so tight he was sure he’d leave bruises as he held himself still, letting the both of you experience the sensation in full.

After however long—Coriolanus didn’t count the minutes—he withdrew from your body. He was a gentleman, so he helped you to lay down before your body collapsed on its own.

He laid down beside you, pulling your blanket over the top of both of your bodies with the intention to bring you comfort.

You were wordless, rolling onto your side, facing away from him.

Coriolanus turned with you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pulling you back to him. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head before resting his lips near your ear.

“Do you really think not talking to me is the best idea?” he whispered, less frustrated than before.

You shook in his arms, but your voice was steady as you asked, “What do you expect me to say to you?”

Coriolanus didn’t have to think all that long.

“That you love me.”

You were silent for a moment, Coriolanus thought he was going to have to repeat himself.

“I did love you,” you uttered, voice threatening to break. “But it wasn’t enough for you.”

Coriolanus could’ve been angry, but he knew he’d win you back. He had all the time in the world, knowing you wouldn’t dare continue your relationship with Sejanus. How could you? You were already spoken for.

You were Coriolanus’s, you always had been. He realized it before you, but he knew you’d come to learn the truth. You’d accept it eventually, and everything would fall into place exactly as he wanted.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #yandere coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #quin-ns writing

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sapphirehearteyes · 2 years ago

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Another moodboard for the amazing Lucemond fic Prize by litathesissy- the chokehold these two have on me 👁👄⚫️

If you haven’t read this fic yet, I cannot recommend it enough- it’s exquisite!

#moodboards are my jam #lucerys x aemond #lucerys velaryon #aemond fic rec #aemond fic #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #lucemond #Lucemond fic #Lucemond fic rec #Prize by litathesissy #aemond x lucerys #Lucerys fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond stannies

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angelltheninth · 5 months ago

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Honkai Star Rail Men + I Love it When You Moan My Name

Pairing: Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Sampo, Veritas Ratio, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, praise, moaning, being manhandled, fingering, kissing, blowjob, slight dom/sub dynamics, cock riding, pussyworship, cunnlingus, overstimulation, double-dick

A/N: I like doing these longer imagines. Like mini-fics.

He was always a man of words, a man of his oath. For him the fact that you said his name while he made love to you, almost every night at that, was the same as you taking an oath to him. "A bit louder pretty, I want to hear you. I love it when you moan my name." He kissed against your cheek as he lifted your hips slightly so his cock could slide in deeper.

"Why do you always insist on that?" You brushed his amber hair behind his cheek and his pale skin warmed with a pink flush instantly.

"It is wrong of a man to want to hear his name from the woman he loves?" His hips slowed to deeper thrusts, his cock dragging along your inner walls every time.

You sighed at the sensation of him going so deep. "Argenti."

His cock stirred immediately, pushing all the way inside your pulsing pussy. "You make me feel special, loved. I want to worship you when you say my name like that." Argenti whispered and felt your hands on his cheeks. "Can I… do that for you?"

"Argenti." You moaned and he began moving again, faster every time you moaned his name. "Argenti!" His name became your own prayer, a lifeline as your body pressed against his, shaking and pussy pulsing around his gushing cock.

Aventurine was a gambling man. He always has his eyes on the prize, in this case on the lovely hostess who just so happens to be his secret girlfriend. He loves you and he loves making bets with you. There's not a lot of risk involved, at least nothing bad.

"Stop staling." You demanded and rolled your hips to take his cock deeper into your pussy. "It's been the whole day, the entire damn shift of you and your fingers teasing me. Just fuck me like you said you would." It was one of the punishments for losing the bet. One among a few, there were also rules but when he looked at you with that shit-eating grin you wanted to break all the rules.

"Bold words for someone who should be happy to take orders now. Didn't I say you should endure this for as long as you can? And what was it that you said back to be? Oh yeah…" He pushed his cock balls deep and then fully out, leaving you empty. "You told me you could do this all day."

"You… god damn, smug piece of…" Your legs locked around him instantly upon his cock pushing back in. "I can't take it anymore." You bit your lip, remembering the other part of the bet. "Aventurine." His purple eyes shined when you called his name, his hips moved forward again. "Aventurine."

"Good girl. You need something, you call my name. I love it when you moan my name." Aventurine would never not honor a bet.

"Aven-turine." His name sounded broken on your lips, interrupted by his cock pounding at your insides. You wanted more. "Aventurine, Aventurine!" You kissed and called his name against his ear, licking around the shining earing, your cunt dripping on his cock and balls, "Av-!"

You swore you would never say his name no matter what. Be it trouble, pain, sadness, or even pleasure. And so far you managed to abstain from it in all those situations. He knew what you were doing, he knew all too well. Blade always called your name but it sounded like some kind of curse.

He pulled your hair back, your head following his grip. "Still so stubborn with me after all those orgasms. I commend you on that at least." The following snicker didn't sound like he was commending you though, it was more like he was mocking you and while you were still coming on his cock no less.

It didn't seem like he was stopping any time soon, still so hard inside of you he began moving again. Your pussy tightened again, overstimulated to the point of almost feeling pain.

"I won't say it." You gritted through clenched teeth and reached back to grab him by his hair too. Kissing was the only way to make absolutely sure now. You didn't trust your body or your heart anymore, you couldn't control them around… "Blade."

Blade gasped, barely audible under the sounds of your pussy taking his dick. He heard it, you knew he did because his pace quickened, more, deeper, "Yes, darling. I love when you moan my name. Finally, finally you're all mine."

His thrusts and his hands grew more possessive by the moment. He was intent on showing you you were his now, not just your body which was already his from the moment you first had sex but your heart and your soul as well. All of you, it belonged to Blade and Blade alone.

"You should have seen the guy, I swore he pissed his pants when he was standing down the barrel of my gun!" His barked out laughing at the men he was talking to.

In one hand he had his drink which he was casually swirling in the glass, the other hand was below the table, much more busy under your long dress. Thankfully the smooth sound of music and constant chatter and laughter helped cover up the little whimpers you occasionally made. As well as the squelches.

The men he was talking to were non the wiser to what he was doing either. After all you were Boothill's wife so it was a given that you'd cling to him when he just returned after weeks of being on the road.

One of the men leaned in a bit closer. "Those skills of yours are really something, enough to make your missy here happy. But I saw some men eyeing here while you were away, you might wanna consider staying a bit longer this time. Else you might come back and find her in someone's else's arms."

"Nah, my beautiful wife would never cheat on me. Isn't that right darlin'? Aren't I the best? Tell them who do you like the most." He grinned as you opened your mouth only to groan from his fingers curling and rubbing against your sensitive spot. Your pussy tightened around his digits. You swallowed hard before moaning.

"Boothill." His name fell from your lips for all to hear.

"There you have it everyone. She's my wife. Remember that." Boothill's voice dropped to a shaper threatening degree before he grinned with that toothy smile again. "And you, I love it when you moan my name like that, making everyone know you're my woman."

One of Dan Heng's cocks was more than enough to make you lose your mind. Two were almost too much but you took them both anyway, one in your pussy and the other in your ass, fucking you deep with the exact same ferocity.

"Dan Heng… faster, I can take it, I promise I can take both your cocks." You pushed yourself up and onto all fours, making the man behind you growl and surge forward. "That's better. More."

"I could hurt you. This is already a lot for a human. You don't have to- ah! Tight holes… damn it-!" He was breathing hard, shaking and trying to hold himself back. Ignoring his desires and instincts got easier over the years, at least he thought so before he met you and awakened to his true self again. "Must… not…"

"Yes you can my love. What ever it is you can. I'm letting you. I love you Dan Heng." You confessed as you pushed and rocked your body against his.

His arms embraced you around your hips, his thrusts getting wilder, not painful but so intense that the pleasure made you dizzy. "Moan my name again, I love it when you moan my name. I love… you… I want to fill you up." That was Dan Heng's confession.

Both your pussy and asshole squeezed his cocks at the same time, trapping them until they shot warm seed out, filling both your holes, making them drip and overflow with warmth.

The knight moaned between your legs. his tongue lapping at your dripping hole. When he said he would pamper you today you didn't realize he meant it like this. Not that you'd dream about complaining, no, never. "So good… Gepard, love when you get like this."

He chuckled as he licked his way up your pussy slowly, his tongue never leaving and wrapped his lips around your swollen clit.

"Right there, don't stop, keep going, I'm so close, Gepard!" You didn't even know what words you were saying anymore only that they made the blonde knight between your legs work harder to please you. "Gepard! C-Coming!" His mouth opened wide, thirty for the taste of you on his tongue. You heard him hiss when you pulled his hair, pushed him closer but he never stopped licking your clit, not until your body fell against the bed, boneless.

"Gods above, sweetheart. You uhm… that was a lot." Now that he sat back up you saw how hard he was blushing, and how wet his face was with your horny juices. "You kept calling my name over and over."

"So? Was it embarrassing?" You suddenly felt self-conscious about it. "If you don't like it I'll stop."

"What?! No! Please don't ever stop! I… I love it when you moan my name. I wanted to moan yours too, only… my mouth was quite busy." Gepard sheepishly smiled before reaching for his discarded shirt to clean his face with. "Perhaps I could learn to do that thing you mentioned, the one where I spell letters with me tongue." Oh. Oh, he was determined now.

He had you on his lap, in his office, on his cock, making noises for him. Yet you could tell by the relaxed look on his face that it wasn't enough. He was feeling good, his cock pulsing in your pussy, leaking with cum. But… "What do you need me to do, sir?"

"Hm?" He blinked, fingers tapping on your thighs. His smile made you melt on the inside. "What? I already have you where I want you."

"No." You cupped his cheeks and looked deep into his stormy eyes, "I want you to come. For that you seem to need me to do something for you. What is it? You know I'm at your disposal today." This was a secret arrangement, or as secret as your looks could keep it. Friend, secretary, lover, sparing partner, you had all those roles in Jing Yuan's life.

"Then would you moan my name as you come? I enjoy how it sounds." His grip intensified and your hips rolled forward, clit pressing against his hard abs. "Go on, no one is here this late. Only I will hear you. I love it when you moan my name, do it and I'll come inside of you. I know it's what you've been craving all day."

Damn him and his ability to read what was on your mind so easily. Not that you tried to hide it when you bent down and gave him a full view of your naked, dripping cunt, hidden only by your short skirt.

"Jing Yuan." It only took saying it once for him to come. You weren't far behind, riding his cock like your sanity depended on it. His head pushed between your tits, his mouth moaning what sounded like your name but you couldn't tell over the fast smacking sounds of your ass against his strong thighs.

"Sampo, Sampo slow down!" You moaned into your hand, trying to stifle your cries of pleasure. The assassin retaliated by nibbling on your clit, causing you to cry out and have to brace against the headboard of the large bed.

"Not possible, my sweet. I'm only here for a few hours and those hours are almost up you know. I won't leave without eating you out." He smiled against your shaking thighs and pushed them further apart with his hands. "Call my name again, let the whole estate hear their mistress moaning."

With misty eyes you looked down at your boyfriend, the lower half of his face hidden but his eyes betrayed his amusement of your situation. When ever he visited he fucked you like there wouldn't be a next time and in his line of work maybe there wouldnt be. But he never let you worry about that, only interested in making you scream his name over and over.

"Sampo, please, I can't- too much… too much…!" He bit your clit again and licked it a moment later, making you all but scream for him as you came all over his face.

"I know you can, you did, you did so well tonight. You moaned for me so much, I love it when you moan like that, moan my name so loud like you can't control yourself." Sampo went back to kissing your inner thighs, this time avoiding your puffy, sensitive pussy so he wouldn't realize make it uncomfortable for you.

Eventually he helped you get off of him and pulled you against his chest. "Don't you have to-" His arms tightened around you in retaliation of what you were about to say. A few more minutes won't kill anyone.

Veritas groaned as he looked under his desk and saw that you stopped moving. "Brat, why did you stop?" His hand left the pencil and went to your hair instead. "Keep sucking."

"How about you ask me nicely, Veritas." You smiled against his red tip.

His eye twitched at your attitude. Why were you always like this, putting up a fight, giving him this sort of responce, making things difficult when they could be so easy. All you had to do was listen to him. "We both know I don't need to do that for a whore like yourself to give me a blowjob."

You leaned your cheek against his leg and traced a finger up his twitching dick. "Veritas, you know what I want you to say." Two could play this game. If he thought he could make you do what ever he wanted when ever he wanted then there would be a price to pay. Oh not much, just his admission.

He groaned and leaned back, hand over his face, hiding his blush. "I… love it… when you moan my name. There I said it, now could you- fuck!" Veritas was a man of logic and reason as much as he was a man of lust and you knew how to make those things work in your favor.

A few words said in the right order, a formula, and you would give his cock all the pleasure it could ask for, you'd suck him dry as many times as he wanted to.

"Ah… Welt… don't tease me. Please not now." You clung onto your husband's jacket while he hovered above you, his glasses almost sliding off his face. His fingers flicked your clit again, quite quickly too.

"Tease you? Is that what I'm doing? I was under the impression I was making my lovely wife feel good after a long day. But if Im not then I can stop. Although then you wouldn't be moaning my name and you know how much I love it when you moan my name. I'm at a loss." He pretended like he was clueless about your frustrations.

You hissed and pushed your cunt closer to his fingers. "No, no, don't, don't stop, make me come, Welt."

Welt leaned down to kiss you softly, not too long of a kiss but enough to convey how much he missed you today. Two fingers spread your folds open and his middle finger swipped upwards to your aching clit, rolling against it, rubbing the slick over it.

"Thank you, yes, make me come with your fingers." Even if you tried you wouldn't be able to keep your voice down now.

Good thing that you didn't give in and do this while you were at work because you could have gotten caught very easily.

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bueckers · 3 months ago

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SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWGIRL ━━━ paige bueckers

synopsis: you and paige sneak away during her family’s barbecue for the fourth. ✶

pairing: paige bueckers x fem reader

notes: literally have been slacking on every other fic and this is the one thing i jumped to write and finish… talk about matching each other’s freak is all i’ll say. i’m just here to feed families.

The smell of grilled hot dogs and the sizzle of sparklers in the distance should be enough to keep you in the moment, but your nerves are working overtime. Paige insisted that it wouldn’t be a big deal, that meeting her dad’s side of the family was just another stepping stone in your relationship. But as the two of you step out of the car and make your way up the driveway to the family home, you can’t help but feel like you’re walking into something monumental.

It’s not the first time you’ve questioned what you’re doing with Paige. Not because you doubt her feelings—those have been clear since the night she first kissed you, all intensity and softness in equal measure. But because it still feels surreal, like the basketball star who seems untouchable to so many chose you. And just maybe she sees you as untouchable too.

The door opens before you can knock, revealing her father with an easy smile that mirrors Paige’s, and you relax—just a little. He greets you warmly, and you can’t help but notice the pride in his eyes when he introduces you to the rest of the family. Paige lingered, and it was a good feeling in one way.

There’s a moment where you’re being passed around like a prized artifact, a flurry of names and faces that blur together as you turn every corner with Paige. Maybe it was the way her dad’s side of the family welcomed you with open arms, or the way Paige kept you close, her hand on the small of your back or intertwined with yours, always making sure you were comfortable. Or maybe it was the seltzers—crisp, cold, and just the right amount of boozy—that had helped you loosen up.

“This is my girlfriend.”

It’s the first time she’s introduced you that way today, and the words hang in the air between you… a good feeling. The Bueckers family seems to take it in stride, with warm smiles and a few teasing remarks, but all you can focus on is the way it ignites something in you—a mix of something good and a sudden, overwhelming desire to make sure everyone knows just how mutual this feeling is.

Paige had introduced you to what felt like every relative under the sun, but now, a few drinks in, you were both in that sweet spot where the drink had taken the edge off, and everything felt a little lighter, a little more fun.

She pulls you away from the crowd, leading you hurriedly around a few corners and to her room. The sounds of the celebration are muted, and you begin to let out a fit of giggles. You weren’t even entirely sure what was funny, but Paige made you feel giddy.

“Why are we in here?” you asked, turning around to face the door she had previously shut. Despite this, the blonde pulled you into her, the both of you now chest to chest as she peppered kisses down your neck.

“There’s a meetin—meeting in my bedroom. You ain’t hear?”

You sighed out, reeling it all in before you realized that you had her entire family to accompany, and she wanted to meet with you. “P!” you whined, attempting to wiggle out of her grasp and failing miserably.

Paige’s smirk widened, and she leaned in close, her lips brushing against yours. “What do they say? Save a horse, ride a cowgirl?”

You felt a rush of heat flood through you at her words, your body responding to the suggestive tone in her voice. Before you could fully process what she’d said, Paige was leading you both to the bed, herself falling before you as she held onto the tips of your fingers. “C’mon,” she mumbled, and it somehow sounded so sinful.

You took a moment to just look at her, her bright eyes darkened with desire, her lips parted slightly as she watched you with a hungry intensity that made your knees weak. “Only ‘cause you make one hell of a cowgirl,” you retorted, only half-serious.

Paige smiled, prepared to drag you down next to her before you stopped her. You smirked a little, your fingers trailing to the elastic of the cowboy hat she was still hearing. You pulled it until it snapped against her chin, the movement dirty and teasing and all a tipsy Paige could ever want.

She let out a low chuckle. “Careful,” was all she said.

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk widening as you reached up to take the hat off of her, placing it on your own head. The light weight of it settled over your hair, and you tilted it down over one eye, giving Paige your best attempt at a sultry look. “Or what?” you shot back, your voice a little breathless with anticipation.

Paige’s gaze swept over you, her series of different smiles turning into something curious and willing. She leaned back, all the pressure in the palms of her hands as her tongue swarmed her mouth in amusement. She nodded her head, as if she were challenging you so you could see what would happen.

Sure, it was a relatively bad idea in the moment with Paige’s family roaming in the same exact house, and you had really planned on saying no, but— well…

You took a step back, feeling a rush of everything nice as you put some distance between you and the bed. Paige’s eyes followed your every movement, her hands curling into the comforter as she watched you. You reached for the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it over your head and letting it drop to the floor, the air cool against your heated skin.

You could hear Paige’s breath hitch, her eyes glued to you as you turned around, giving her a teasing view of your back as you unhooked your bra, sliding the straps down your arms and letting the garment fall away. You glanced over your shoulder, catching the way her jaw tightened and her lips parted just enough.

With a giggle, you wiggled your hips, sliding your shorts and panties down your legs in one smooth motion before stepping out of them. You gave your ass a little shake, sliding your pointer finger into your mouth as if it were a lollipop. If there was one thing you’d caught onto while being with Paige, it was that she loved when you were completely naked. You didn’t miss the way her hands tightened against the bed, her knuckles white as she held herself back from reaching out for you.

Her eyes raked over your body, a hunger evident in her gaze that made your pulse quicken. You couldn’t help but smile, a wicked glint in your eyes as you took in the sight of her, lying there with her abs tensing beneath her shirt, her breaths coming a little faster as she watched you.

“Paige, baby…” you purred, your voice low and teasing as you crawled onto the bed, making sure to brush your body against hers as you moved. Her breath got caught in her throat, and you could see the way she fought to maintain control. Just give in.

Without another word, you settled between her legs, your hands trailing up her thighs as you pressed a soft kiss to her inner knee. Paige’s muscles twitched under your touch, her lips parting as she let out a breathy moan, her eyes fluttering shut as she tried to keep herself together.

You weren’t about to let that happen.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to her core, teasing her through the thin fabric of her shorts. Paige’s hips jerked at the sensation, her hands fisting in the sheets as she let out a low, desperate sound that sent a thrill through you.

“Fuck, stop teasing,” Paige mumbled, her voice rough as she lifted her hips, urging you to take things further.

You smiled against her, enjoying the way she was starting to unravel beneath you. Slowly, you tugged her shorts down, your fingers brushing against her heated skin as you bared her to your gaze. You could feel the tension in her body, and it wasn’t the type of tension you’d get from a basketball practice.

Paige let out a shaky breath, her hands clutching the sheets as she waited for you to make your move. And when you finally did, pressing your tongue against her clit in one slow, deliberate stroke, her response was immediate and intense.

“Oh, fuck,” Paige gasped, her hips bucking up into your mouth as you lavished attention on her, your tongue moving in slow, teasing circles that had her panting for breath. You could feel the way her thighs quivered on either side of your head, her body reacting to every little movement, every flick of your tongue.

You didn’t let up, your hands gripping her thighs to keep her steady as you increased the pace, your mouth working her over with a skill that had her moaning your name, her voice raw and desperate. The taste of her on your tongue was intoxicating, the sounds she made even more so, and you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the sensation, your own arousal building as you felt her getting closer and closer to the edge.

Paige’s hands flew to your hair, it being a bit messy from the hat that had now hung around your neck, her fingers tangling in the strands as she held you to her, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she teetered on the brink of release. “Right there,” she panted, her voice strained as she fought to keep herself together, her body trembling with the effort. “Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop.”

It didn’t take long. With a final, desperate cry, Paige shattered, her body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through her, her hips bucking as she rode out the overwhelming sense of pleasure. You stayed with her through it all, your mouth never leaving her as you drew out every last bit of her release, savoring the way she fell apart beneath you.

As Paige’s body slowly relaxed, she took a moment to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was still uneven. You watched her with a satisfied smile, your own breathing a little ragged as you leaned on one arm, taking in the sight of her in her post-orgasmic bliss.

But Paige wasn’t done with you yet. She never was, and she would never let you win.

With a determined look, she slowly lifted herself up, and you watched, your breath catching in your throat as her fingers moved to the hem of her shirt. She paused for a moment, her eyes locking with yours over her shoulder before she slowly, deliberately peeled the fabric off her body, revealing the toned expanse of her back, and you knew you’d be a puddle if you would’ve saw her torso first.

Her muscles flexed and rippled beneath her skin as she discarded the shirt, and your mouth went absolutely dry. Paige’s back muscles were a sight to behold, the definition in her shoulders and the way her arms looked so strong and capable left you more wet than you’d like to admit. You couldn’t resist reaching out, your fingers brushing over the hard lines of her biceps, head slightly tilted as you admired in fake innocence. This was everything but.

Paige chuckled, and you felt the vibration underneath your fingertips as they dropped back to your side in one swift motion, the blonde now laid back in front of you. She took in your slightly dazed expression, and it only made her want you closer to her. On her.

“Get your ass up here,” Paige growled, her voice low and commanding, and you didn’t need to be told twice.

Scrambling to straddle her, you positioned yourself over her abs, your body tingling as you felt the firmness of her muscles beneath you. The friction was almost too much, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips as you slowly began to grind against her, your movements fueled by the heat of the moment.

Paige’s hands roamed over your body, her eyes never leaving your face as you lost yourself in the pleasure. The hat on your head had been trying to escape, and Paige reached up, adjusting it with a grin before letting one of her hands return to your waist, speeding up your movements, and the other to your clit—doing as much damage as possible.

The blonde was practically drooling as she watched her two fingers slide between your folds, not missing the quaint squelching noise it made. “Pussy so good, baby. I swear.”

You were a whining mess, the sound being your only verbal response to Paige’s words. Your hand reached for the gold chain round her neck, the jewelry being previously tucked as your fingers tugged onto it in true cowgirl style.

Her words sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you as you rode her abs, the sensation something you’ve never felt before. You had started to feel immense heat underneath Paige’s touch, and it was driving you closer and closer to the edge. You knew it wouldn’t be long before you completely lost control.

Paige could sense it too. She leaned up slightly, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Go ahead. Let me see how fucking good you look when you lose it.”

You screwed your eyes shut, letting out a long and hoarse cry that Paige was quick to shut down, her guiding hand now used as a cover for your mouth. Your hips continued to buck as she pulled her fingers away. You looked down at the way they glistened, eyebrows furrowed as she brought them to her mouth.

And of course, the most Paige thing to do was to turn you on even more as her tongue went to town on her own fingers, licking every bit of you off of them. You were close to demanding her to eat you out next, but the two of you didn’t have any time for that.

You leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was sloppy and filthy, your tongues dancing in a heated rhythm. The kiss was a passionate mess, filled with the raw need that you both felt. But then, the distant sound of fireworks caught your attention, breaking through the personal sex bubble you’d built.

You gasped, your eyes widening as you pulled away from her. “Paige, we’re missing the fireworks!”

Paige’s face mirrored your shock as she looked toward the window. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed, her expression one of sudden realization. Both of you scrambled to get dressed, tossing garments back and forth in a frantic attempt to look presentable. Paige’s bun was a far cry from its original neatness, and your cowboy hat had slipped off for the third time that night.

Finally, you managed to make your way out of the bedroom and finally outside where Paige’s dad, Bob, and a few other family members, including Drew, Paige’s little brother, were gathered. They were all watching the fireworks display their attention momentarily diverted by the spectacle.

One of them, with a sly smile, glanced at you and Paige as you entered. “Where’d you two run off to?”

Paige’s retort was quick, a playful smirk on her lips as she answered, “Promise land.” It was clearly a joke, but the way they scrutinized the two of you, taking in your disheveled appearance—messy hair, wrinkled clothing, and the cowboy hat that still refused to stay on your head—left little to the imagination. There wasn’t much point in hiding it anymore.

As you both took your places in some lawn chairs to watch the fireworks, Paige stepped in front of you for a brief moment. She reached down, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear with a tender touch. Her voice was soft, almost serious, as she mumbled, “You know, I think I like roleplay.”

You gasped, your eyes wide with disbelief. “P, that is so not what that was!”

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