#it's good to be back makin gifs tho :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖The Captain and the Rake

Rated: Mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 7338

Tags: historical romance, regency time period, slavery, racism (not from Steve of Bucky tho), period-typical attitudes, prejudice, mermaids, curses, internalized homophobia, historical fantasy drama, prostitution, period typical race relations and terminology ("colored," "mixed," and "black" are used)

Summary: After receiving a large inheritance, Steve must travel to the West Indies to figure out the origins of a mysterious letter.

(Regency manips made by @amarriageoftrueminds)

A.N. This fic was originally for the Stucky historical fiction event in 2023. I never was able to finish due to injury, but thought I'd brush it off for Mermay this year. This fic contains subject matter to do with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, so please heed the tags as they are updated each chapter. Racial descriptors used in this fic include: colored, black, and a couple instances of negro. I did my best to balance historical realism without getting too offensive to the reader.\ The name "Alva" was chosen before I knew about Alba, I swear to God 😂

Chapter 1. A Great and Grievous Rumbling

Steve emerged from his stateroom when a knock came at the door and a gruff voice called out, “We’ll be makin’ port within the hour now, Capt’n!”

Thank goodness.

He’d been queasy the entire trip, ever since they’d first sailed from Charleston and the rocking of the boat set into his bones. Storms had delayed their progress halfway through, and the closer they got to the equator, the more unbearable the underdecks of the ship had become. As a paying passenger, Steve was afforded small but tidy accommodations, and Captain Odinson had merrily invited him to explore the ship at his leisure, but Steve had been reticent to engage with the crew. They seemed … not distrustful of him, per se, but perhaps disdainful. In the way that men with hardened hands often disdained men with soft ones. One look at Steve, and they’d made up their minds about him being a spoilt “fancy man.”

Steve could concede that he was a comely fellow, with short, fair hair and uncommonly bright blue eyes. He sported a strong jaw and handsome nose, but his mouth had always struck him as a bit too feminine, and his eyelashes didn’t help the matter. He kept no beard, and was better groomed than the men on Odinson’s crew. Tack on the fact that he dressed in the fashion of his peers, and he supposed he might seem a bit foppish to a bunch of hard worn, seagoing men. But his body was tall and strong, towering over most other men back in New York by several inches at least.

That didn’t seem to make a difference to the crew, who’d readily laughed at a man whose constitution was weakened by seasickness. Steve had kept to his cabin, reading what little he could in between bouts of nausea. To be called up to set his eyes on land was a mercy. He was relieved that the journey was almost over.

Steve emerged above deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, the fresh air a tonic to his mood. It was late into the day now, the storms having swept away all traces of cloud cover. The tradewinds came in sharp and brisk, filling the ship’s sails and propelling them closer to the coast. Seeing the dark shapes of mountains swelling in the distance, Steve felt immense gratitude for land, and even greater excitement for the unknown. Nervousness, sure, it wasn’t all pleasant business that brought him halfway across the world. But he’d been going crazy back in New York. The pleasantries and mundanalities of society life having been twice as stifling after coming back from the war—and thrice as much since his inheritance. It’d been time for a change.

“Got yer sea legs now, Capt’n Rosewater?” one of the younger cabin boys snickered as he passed by.

Steve waved him off with a gamely scowl and continued towards the port bow. He held firm to the banister and looked out at the churning waters below, then up to the land ahead. It was still too far away to make out all the details, but as the next few moments brought them closer, he could see more and more of the island: masses of trees and distant green hills, mountains beyond that, the white tops of breaking surf at the edges of the inlet, and then increasingly jewel blue tones of water that bled from pure azul, to aqua, to sparkling green in the shallows. It shocked Steve, how beautifully colorful it all was in comparison to the dull, muddy waters they’d left behind in Charleston.

They sailed past a bar of land on the starboard. It jutted out far into the ocean, curling in like an arm, as if to cradle the ships come into harbor. Steve caught sight of stone ruins poking out of the water and strained to try and see more. Captain Odinson and his quartermaster—an imposing and impressive man named Heimdall—had spent their second evening at sea consoling Steve over his embarrassing queasiness, offering him drink and telling him fairy stories of the sunken pirate city of Port Royal. Standing in the just-setting sun, Steve had to squint to see. There appeared to be something left of the old town out on the sandbar, but not very much. Most of it must be underwater, Steve thought with disappointment. Earthquakes tended to do that. It sure didn’t live up to any of Odinson’s stories.

The sun was close to setting as they drew in, other ships in the harbor floating nearby with increasing frequency. There was one particularly massive frigate on the portside as they sailed, perhaps fifty yards away, and Steve noticed some of the crew shooting it dirty looks. He turned to watch as they passed. The other vessel was moored in place. It had thick, old rails with weathered paint up top and a pitch-blackened hull below, barnacles creeping far up the sides. No sails were rigged and no crew was visible, yet as he stood there, Steve began to hear something faint.

At first he thought he’d only imagined it, or that perhaps some of Odinson’s men were below deck, hauling heavy things about in their preparations for docking. But the sound came again, and Steve felt a chill on his skin as the sound grew unnaturally, filling his ears and consuming his senses to the exclusion of all else. Louder and louder it became, until he could feel it reverberating in his head, like the inside of a conch, like a pulse. Leaning harder against the rail, his fingers gripped the wood as he listened to the sound.

It was coming from the other ship, not theirs.

Steve glanced about, but none of the crew were paying attention. It was as though they couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, as the sound swelled to a grievous rumble that made his heart beat faster in fear. It sounded like a … like a machine, like some great and groaning monster was inside the belly of the other ship, producing a deep and steady pounding. Steve hadn’t a clue what on earth could make such a noise. They’d already passed the ship by, so the sound should be fading, not growing louder. It didn’t make any sense. Steve stood there, aghast and locked in place.

Until a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, and he all but jumped out of his skin. The roaring was sucked clean out of his ears, immediately replaced by the usual cadence of wind and boat deck chatter as Steve whipped around and blustered over the embarrassing yelp he’d given. “Oh! Quartermaster!” He straightened himself. “Um, forgive me. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The quartermaster’s eye twinkled as he stepped up to join him. His name was Heimdall. He’d seen where Steve was watching the other ship. Together they stood at the rail and observed the island that lay ahead of them. “That, back there,” he said, referencing the frigate.

“Yes,” Steve said, not quite wanting to look over his shoulder at it anymore. “What was that?” He meant the monstrous sound of it, but had an odd and chilling suspicion that he’d been the only one who’d heard the noise. “The ship,” he said. “Didn’t you … didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Heimdall peered at him strangely. “The Hannibal. A Guineaman, godforsaken craft.” When he could see that Steve didn’t understand the scorn in his voice, he told him, “That’d be one of the old slave ships, Captain.”

Steve felt his stomach drop out. “O-Oh?” Heimdall nodded. All of a sudden it seemed that he was doubly as black—and Steve doubly as aware of it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he wondered if Heimdall knew his business on the island. Steve had mentioned his inheritance to Captain Odinson, but no one else on the ship. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, and he hadn’t wanted word to get ‘round that he was a slaveholder. Assumptions might be made. No one here knew his character or his intentions, after all. Nobody knew about Sam, or Hamilton House back home in Brooklyn, or that Steve’s aunt in Utica often mailed him back issues from her subscription to the Emancipator. Steve frowned at the distant shoreline, resisting the urge to twist his fingers into his ears. They still held the echo of that phantom sound. “Ships like that still sail?” he asked. “How?”

“Sugar, molasses, rum.” Heimdall shrugged. “For less profit.”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew how all three of those things were produced: sugarcane. He now owned a large plantation of the stuff. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Do you know what’s brought me out here, then?”

Heimdall looked over at him, and for a tense moment, Steve thought he’d say yes, but then the quartermaster’s mouth twitched up in a smirk of gentle disdain. “You’re from New York,” he drawled. “Only two things’ll bring a gentleman American out to this edge of the world: money, or a powerful need to run away from something.”

“Run away,” Steve murmured, thoughts instantly veering to the genteel form of Miss Alva Barclay. He fought not to wince. He wasn’t running, and certainly not from her. “Yes,” he said, wetting his lips as he realized that he could relax once again, because Heimdall had no ill opinion of him. The man obviously didn’t know. So, Steve joined him in staring ahead peaceably, watching as the edge of the world drew into clearer relief.

“Jamaica at last!” Captain Odinson arrived happily at Steve’s side and threw his hand out at the town and the docks below. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just as I said!”

No matter the topic, Odinson always seemed to say everything with a boom, his enthusiasm infectious. Steve nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” Even in the day’s waning light, everything seemed brighter here. Steve had never once seen an entire building painted egg yolk yellow. “I knew it would be warmer here, but not like this. I’m afraid my trunk won’t be suitable for such a climate.” When they’d departed Charleston, it had only just turned November. Now all he could see were palm trees and folks dressed in light cotton clothes or even with no shirts on at all. “Incredible.”

“Indeed. You may find your New York winters more difficult to bear, once you return.”

Steve grimaced, remembering the past two winters and how exceptionally harsh they had been. When he’d departed for Charleston, there’d already been snow on the ground in New York. One of the crew members called out to the Captain, and he excused himself from Steve’s company. Steve decided to remain where he was until the work of unloading the ship died down a bit, as he didn’t want to be in the way. He spent the time watching the docks below, fascinated by the scenery.

Despite the unsavory nature of his inheritance, Steve was still very excited to be in Jamaica. Already it seemed amazing, and he’d only stood there on the ship looking at the ruddy docks, not even yet ventured into the town! He took in all the action of the street: carts and chickens and sailors cursing at one another. There was so much green. The forest beyond seemed lush and dense, the wilderness of it curling in at the edges of the town and creeping to fill up empty spaces. And oh, with the sunset just beginning to cast its colors, Steve’s fingers itched to find a paintbrush. The people bustling about were of such variety and comport that he instantly knew a day in Kingston could never be dull.

There were far more people of color than Steve had ever seen in one place. The ship captains and many of the crewmen were white, but not all, and out on the street there were many colored merchants and dockworkers. Groups of black and mixed-race children loitered about, looking hopeful for either mischief or play. Steve inhaled deeply, figuring that he’d continue to feel odd and out of place no matter what he did, but certain that he’d feel better once he’d visited his solicitor.

Mr. Coulson was due to arrive on the island within the week. Steve had corresponded with him before he’d departed from New York. Coulson had been to the West Indies many times, and had suggested they arrange for their travel schedules to align. He was the one who knew the most about Steve’s property in Jamaica, as he’d worked for and been closely acquainted with Steve’s late uncle, back in England. Steve hoped that Coulson would be there soon, as this was far from a leisure trip for him.

Coulson had warned Steve that there would be numerous steps to take, both legal and practical, before his end goal for the estate could be achieved. Nothing would be done in a day, little in a fortnight. It would take time, and both men had agreed to make themselves available on the island for not less than two months—and more, if need be. Steve himself had half a mind to winter over here and not return to New York until the spring.

It took a while before the ship was fully unloaded. Steve disembarked and stood by his trunks as he waited for his ride. He was to be picked up by a man from the estate, so he kept an eye out for anyone who might be looking for him, and in the meantime bought a sweet bread from a street vendor and sat eating it next to his luggage. Wiping his hands clean, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the letter which he’d received in the post several months ago—the letter that had started this whole journey. He unfolded the paper and read the words that he all but knew by heart, at this point:

�� Mister Steven Rogers, I hope this letter finds you well, and I send my condolences for the loss of your uncle. We are not acquainted, and indeed I’m sure you’ve never so much as heard my name spoken in conversation, as I have not spent time in New York in many years. I am writing in regards to what is going on at your property here. As I am sure you are aware, since the passing of your relation, Mr. Charles Cleland, the house of Shield Hall and all of its materials, peoples, and lands have come into your possession. As a fellow landowner on the island, I feel it is my duty to inform you that the operation which your uncle upkept in his lifetime has quickly deteriorated into a state of chaos and disrepair. The property is currently being mismanaged by several hired men, none of whom are keeping care of their charges, the land, or the profits that the land is meant to yield. Since this property is part of your estate, and your estate pays these very men’s wages, I felt I should write you. There is a great manor house which sits functionally abandoned, with hardly a single man watching over it day and night. Vagrants have had to be chased away more than once. Your working men and women number close to two hundred, and they all have been treated harshly and unfairly by the overseers, often deprived of suitable conditions. The harvests of this past year were summarily affected by these happenings. Word of the disorganization and abuse has reached many in the community already, and rumors abound of the great discontent brewing amongst your slaves. I have received only general description of you from my aunt in New York, but am sure that you are a fine man and will agree with me that it is our Christian duty to treat all of God’s children with dignity and fairness, including the negro man in bondage. I urge you to come at once and see for yourself, for only then can things be put right. Your respectful neighbor, J. Buchanan ꘏

Steve blinked down at the page, looking once more at that elegantly scrawled name: J. Buchanan. Only an educated and moneyed man would have such excellent penmanship, lending credence to the writer’s claims of who he was. But the letter was signed only with “J. Buchanan,” with no other identifying information given. It had arrived several months ago, posted from Kingston, Jamaica, but with no return address. Its author claimed to be a fellow landowner and wrote “neighbor” as his salutation, but when Steve had looked at records of land holdings on the island, he’d found no history of a Buchanan family.

Still, the stranger had thought the situation serious enough to contact Steve, and so whether the letter’s claims were true or not, Steve felt he should investigate. That was the only respectable thing to do, since it was his property now. The very land that made him rich.

That in itself was still novel. Steve had never owned much of anything, other than his house in Brooklyn which he’d inherited from his mother. He’d grown up privileged but not overly so, within the bounds of New York Society but never pursued the way that more moneyed gentlemen were. That had all changed once his uncle had passed and word got out that Steve now owned a large sugar plantation and all of the wealth that came with it. He’d spent the past twenty months fending off eager mothers and their daughters. Two seasons’ worth of balls, courtships, and fripperies had been useful in warding off the loneliness, but they were exhausting at the end of the day.

And then there was Miss Barclay, who was one of the many ladies being continually foisted upon him. Though she was the most agreeable, Steve still felt that his lungs could take in twice the amount of oxygen now that he knew he was a thousand miles away from her—an ungenerous sentiment, perhaps, but nonetheless true.

Steve hadn’t yet spent much of his newfound fortune, the habits of a widowed spendthrift mother having been ingrained in him since boyhood; but the one thing he had indulged in, was the singular luxury of a private box at the opera house. A veritable bidding war had commenced when the next box over came up for sale not long after. That was how Steve had gotten to know Alva over the arias of Fidelio and Silvana, her mother always looming nearby like a hawk searching out prey.

Though Steve enjoyed Miss Barclay’s company as well as any other lady’s, it’d been months of these not so subtle overtures, and he feared he would soon wind up engaged if things continued on the way they were. Traveling to Jamaica now, he’d narrowly avoided the crux of this year’s winter season. It was his hope that this sojourn would send the message of his disinterest without him having to actually turn the poor girl down. Steve was only twenty-eight, after all. He wasn’t ready for all of that.

Both his solicitor in New York and Mr. Coulson in London had told him not to worry about the details of his inheritance and the running of the estate in Jamaica, insisting that others were handling it and his bank account would remain well-padded without any direct interference. “Nasty business, sugar,” Coulson advised, pointing out that Steve’s late uncle hadn’t visited the island himself in decades. It was a common arrangement that absentee landlords would hire competent men to manage the operations of their plantations. The hired men at Shield Hall would continue to do so, Coulson had assured, whilst Steve continued to reap the benefits. Steve had believed it for a time, and had been sufficiently distracted by the demands and complications of his sudden shift in New York Society. But as soon as the letter from J. Buchanan had arrived, everything had changed.

Steve couldn’t ignore “the slave problem” anymore, and he had the exact excuse he needed to make a quick escape from the burgeoning weight of high society and all its expectations of him. He was grateful to J. Buchanan, whoever he was.

Carefully, he refolded the letter and tucked it back into his breast pocket. J claimed that conditions at Shield Hall were abusive. Steve couldn’t fathom a reason for a stranger to fabricate such a story. So here he was to see for himself. He was absolutely dreading it.

“There you are. Ha, I’d thought we’d lost you!” Steve looked up and saw Odinson approaching from across the cobblestone in long strides. “We’re nearly finished,” he said, eyeing up Steve’s luggage approvingly. “You pack light for a gentleman. You must have a sense of adventure!”

Steve gave a good-natured grimace. “I’d have said not, nineteen days ago, and yet here I stand.” He illustrated his meaning by looking about the wharf. Not even away from the docks yet, and already he’d seen a parrot with more colors in its feathers than any single living thing in Brooklyn. He scratched behind his ear. Life had been in color before, hadn’t it? Surely, New York wasn’t as dull and gray as his memory was now painting it. He said as much to Odinson, who agreed and noted the closest building’s bright coral stucco. That was when Steve caught sight of a crewmember lugging out his crate of painting supplies. “Oh! Over here! You can put that one just here. Thank you.” When Odinson raised an eyebrow, Steve explained, “Well, my easel and things. I paint. A bit.”

“An artist! Good for you.”

Steve blushed, but he could tell that Odinson meant no harm. Other men in Steve’s life had contrived plenty more obvious ways of telling him that it seemed foppish and silly for a man of his status to spend so much time on such a frivolous hobby. “Yes,” he agreed. “Subjects will be in no short supply, in this place.”

Captain Odinson bid him farewell once Steve’s helper arrived and made himself known. A large and competent man named M'baku had come from the estate with a carriage. Steve shook his hand and M'baku looked at him sternly and then announced that he would be Steve’s man whilst in town. (Steve feared that he might also be his property, but hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask.) “Erm … shall we be off?” he asked.

M'baku took the lead and indicated the carriage. He gruffly refused Steve’s help with the luggage, and sat up front on the bench while Steve rode as lone passenger. Since Shield Hall was located a ways outside of the city, and evening was nearly upon them, they sought out local accommodations. M'baku asked Steve what sort of place he wanted to go to. “Do you want a big room? Company?” he asked, a distinctive island accent clinging to his vowels. “There are a couple of places to choose from. Different.”

“Eh, anywhere will do,” Steve hemmed, adding offhandedly that he wouldn’t mind the company of others.

So M'baku drove them to the Royal Naval Hotel. It seemed a handsome establishment, lively even, with quite a few people loitering about the downstairs. Steve checked himself in and had his luggage sent up, then he walked to the lounge with M’baku by his side. There were many fine couches and tables for the hotel’s patrons to use. Steve and M'baku spoke together for a moment, discussing their plans for the next day, when they would meet again and depart for Shield Hall.

With that settled, M'baku seemed eager to leave, and Steve could see a fancily dressed woman standing in the doorway leading into the next parlor, hiding behind a partially tied back velvet drape. She was peeking out at M'baku and Steve with narrowed eyes, looking none too pleased.

Steve turned back to M'baku and thanked him again for his help, eager to not have the prim hotel ladies complaining to management about him so soon. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said in parting, and M'baku left as sternly as he’d arrived. Steve chanced a glance towards the draped doorway again, but the lady had turned away to converse with a gentleman. The backside of her gown faced Steve; a fine India silk and muslin, as was the fashion, but it was the amount of skin permitted to show which stood out. She wore no gloves, and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from honing in at the low dip of the neckline which was nearly below the lady’s shoulder blades in the back.

That tantalizing stretch of skin continued up her back and slim neck, to the mass of dark curls piled atop her head. Steve hadn’t realized it when she was peering out from the shadows before, but she wasn’t white. His own gaze narrowed at her in distaste, finding it odd that she of all people would take issue with a colored manservant being briefly inside the room.

Not that it was any different in New York. Indeed, Steve had tried—and failed—on an occasion or two to get Sam in with him to a certain place or another. Sometimes, if enough money was being spent and the proprietors were the right sort and employed discretion, there wouldn’t be much of a fuss made over who Steve wanted to have with him. But in many places, other patrons would eventually complain. However it was normally white people doing the complaining and looking down their noses.

The lady in the fine gown reacted to something her companion said, drawing Steve’s attention to the sound of her laughter that was like a little, tinkling bell. His eyes flicked up, and over her shoulder he caught the gaze of the gentleman with whom she was speaking. The man was easing off from the grin of a joke he’d told, and his still-laughing eyes locked intently on Steve. For a split second, it was electric, something in the man’s glittering eyes stealing the breath from Steve’s lungs.

Steve hurriedly looked away, feeling caught out. He thought he’d seen the man’s mouth twitch up there at the end, but he hadn’t the courage to turn back and check. The man was very good looking, in a rakish sort of way, with an unshaven jaw and murky blue eyes set in a handsome face. He kept his hair longer than was the fashion, but pulled back in a way that suited his features. He looked older than Steve’s own twenty-eight years, perhaps a man of twenty and fifteen or more, and he moved with the loose sort of confidence that a man did when he knew himself to be attractive. He was the exact type of fellow whom Steve avoided looking at or being around any more than was strictly necessary, lest he look or linger too long.

He turned away and ambled over into the next parlor, where he leant against the bar top and found his reprieve. He told the barkeep he’d have some good sort of rum, and took his drink off to another of the downstairs parlors, planting himself on a velvet settee where he could be out of the way and still observe the room at large. The place grew more crowded as evening drew in, and Steve saw enough to become convinced that the Royal Naval Hotel was not just a hotel: It was a bawdyhouse.

In the span of an hour, he witnessed no less than five different girls, interacting indecently amorous with seven different men, before taking said men’s hands and leading the grinning dopes away. Steve couldn’t see where they went once out of the room, but he could make an educated guess. None of these ladies wore gloves, either.

Incredible, he thought, as he watched one of them returning to approach her second gentleman within the span of forty minutes. The game began all over again, and Steve felt shocked and yet fascinated by her practiced movements and speech. It was like watching a ballet: scandalous and still elegant, the girl comporting herself with grace and impropriety all at once. Steve felt his cheeks heat as she left the room with her newest suiter, and he went back to the bar to get himself another pour.

A piano took up in one of the rooms, heard throughout the place, and more men came in. The number of women multiplied as well, but at a ratio which substantially favored the men. There were a number of British naval officers present, and Steve felt even more uncomfortable about that than he had been being led around by M'baku. He’d never hurt a negro man before, after all. He had killed English soldiers, and quite recently at that.

The last time Steve had fought had been in Canada, less than two full years ago. Niagara, dead Indians just as plentiful as all the uniformed red-and-whites, bodies bleeding into the snow. Steve suddenly remembered that he’d resolved to not make his nationality overly apparent whilst visiting Jamaica—a very British colony. And he certainly wasn’t planning on letting anyone know about his recent military service. He hadn’t a clue what the English soldiers’ attitudes towards Americans were, but back in New York, no known Brit was yet tolerated in polite company, even these twenty long months after the war had ended. Steve was certain that he’d be treated poorly at best, pickpocketed or accosted in the street at worst.

Unsurprisingly, about half of the men who filled The Royal Naval Hotel’s downstairs parlors wore the royal naval uniform. Some of them sat in groups and drank together and laughed, others played cards, their behavior for the most part unremarkable. But the ones who were there for other services made their interest plainly known as the evening wore on, and the ladies of the room would respond and float over like swans bobbing to breadcrumbs on a pond. It was not possible to miss that all of the crumbs were white, and all of the swans were black.

They were black, and less black, light skinned, and very dark indeed; as exotic and varied as any man could want. Much like the very first lady whom Steve had observed, they all wore luxurious clothes in the current fashions, with their hair piled high and woven through with decoration, sweet silk shawls draped about their arms, necks left bare of any jewelry, bosoms powdered and presented. It really was a bit like watching the ballet, and as the evening wore on and Steve sat there drinking a second and then a third round of what the barkeep called “grog,” he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their dance.

They spoke and whispered into the men’s ears with cultured English and sometimes French, and they moved and walked like true ladies of society (at least when they weren’t sneakily sliding their hands into places they oughtn't be). Many of the men seemed respectful at best and besotted at worst, but Steve did catch a few dark glances that they would share amongst themselves when they thought the women weren’t looking. The way they looked made Steve uncomfortable—less so for the impropriety of it all, and more so for how it made him recognize his own lack of such interest.

For a moment, he thought again of Alva, back in New York. She was a pretty and tolerable girl, well-mannered and quick-witted even, with an interest in the theater and the arts that, while not matching Steve’s own, was robust enough to hold a conversation. He had no real objections to her other than that he didn’t love her, which in itself wasn’t uncommon between couples courting engagements. The thing was though: Steve had never loved any girl at all. He’d never felt the real and pressing temptation that other men seemed to harbor deep within themselves. He lacked that natural inclination which made men’s eyes linger and their gazes go dark behind ladies’ backs.

Steve squirmed in his seat, agitated when he tried and failed to view the various prostitutes as the other men saw them: alluring, desirable, lustful. He thought they were very pretty and graceful, of course, but in the way that birds were pretty and that cats were graceful. He felt nothing more towards them. Certainly not the things that the British naval officers clearly felt. … Certainly not the things which Steve had been known to feel about certain men.

He felt his cheeks go hot as his mind strayed to the unbidden memory of a crowded house: Bleecker street, dark rooms filled with smoke and drink and chatter, people in less and less clothing the further in one went. A broad back, two men pulling off shirts, their squared jaws kissing against a couch. Steve had nearly dropped his brandy glass when he’d walked in on it. He’d always fraternized with the bohemian types through his interests in the arts, and parties in the Village were undoubtedly of a different ilk, but he’d never imagined that any man could just … would just …

And right there in the middle of an unlocked room, no less! With others not even ten paces away who might look, might see—who had seen, and had simply looked the other way.

The drapes in that Molly house had all been heavy and drawn.

Steve squinched his eyes shut to try and knock the memory from his mind. Perhaps he should choose a woman, he thought. Try and pretend for a night, maybe even awaken the desire inside himself that he was supposed to have. Steve had never been with a woman, so perhaps his perversion was only due to inexperience. Perhaps he could change, if only he put in some effort and sought out a beautiful, soft body.

He drank the last of his rum and kept hold of the glass, keen on going to the bar for another pour. Three miserable weeks at sea and not a drop had passed his lips. He was overdue to indulge in one way or another. And since he wasn’t likely to work up the nerve to actually pay a woman for her company, he thought he might as well drink. The rum was sweet, after all.

Just as he was about to stand, a dress’ hem appeared in his field of vision, the tiny white points of a lady’s satin slippers peeking out from the bottom. Slowly, Steve let his eyes trail up. Oh. It was the same girl as before, the one who’d observed Steve and M'baku with meanly narrowed eyes. She didn’t look quite so peevish now. Her dark hair was curled and styled to frame her face, her cream-in-coffee skin on prominent display in the shelf of her bosom against the dress. Her features were graceful and classically feminine, but she had a prominent forehead and a dimple in her chin that elevated her from simply pretty, to handsomely striking. Really, she seemed a girl of hardly twenty, but her perceptive eyes hinted that she might be older.

“Hello,” she said, stepping even closer, until Steve could smell her perfume. “I saw you alone over here and thought I’d come to say hello. Maybe even cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Steve breathed, then sat there like a dummy, speechless for long seconds. He hadn’t entertained the possibility that any of the working women would focus their attentions on him. Not when there were so many other eager breadcrumbs fellows in the middle of the room. “Well, I’m uh, I don’t need … cheer,” is what he eventually said, the words coming out weaker than intended. He watched as the girl’s features pinched in a polite sort of titter at his expense. Steve could hardly blame her. He sounded like a regular moron.

She perched herself daintily on the cushion beside him. “Don’t be silly. Everyone needs company.” Her voice, Steve noted, was fluid and viscous, like warmed honey. She lacked the island twang and in its place there was a hint of French. “I’m Rebecca,” she introduced, holding out her hand.

Steve took it, grazing lips to the backs of her scandalously bare fingers. He let it go, and she placed it on his shoulder rather than back in her own lap. Steve gulped. Now he felt less like a breadcrumb and more like a worm on a hook. “I … I’m only just arrived,” he rasped, feeling the need to excuse his antisocial behavior. “Not staying long. I was about to go to my, um, room—to sleep, that is! Go to my room to sleep.” He coughed. “I, erm, have some business in the morning.”

Rebecca tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Don’t we all. But you must tell me your name, Sir. I’d remember if I’d seen someone who looks like you at the Royal Naval before.” She touched her finger to her chin, as if putting great effort into guessing. “Mm. You’re American?”

Steve hemmed, overly conscious of where she was still touching his shoulder. Never in his life had he experienced such forward attentions from a woman, not even from Miss Barclay and her mother. “Um, yes,” he bumbled. “American. I’m … am.” She giggled at him and Steve shook his head. “I’m not planning on making any public announcements about that, you know. I don’t want trouble. I'm only here because I’ve inherited land.” An American veteran in British territory, not even two full years since the war? Yes, discretion would be prudent. “I’m Steven Rogers,” he hastily added, realizing that he hadn’t returned the introduction. “Of New York.”

“Steven,” she cooed. “Oh, how lovely. Steven from New York. May I call you Steve?”

“Um,”

Her lashes lowered demurely. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Beauchêne Proctor-Polgreen.”

“That's a mouthful.”

She laughed and winked. “Oh, I don’t mind a mouthful.”

Steve felt his cheeks flame at the double entendre. He cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he hadn’t a clue as to how he should politely inform her that he had no intention of paying for her services. Suddenly, he thought of how M'baku had phrased his question earlier: if Steve would like to stay in a place where he could find “company.”

Oh. Steve realized that he was an utter dolt. “Um, well. I appreciate your welcome, Miss, um …”

“Just Rebecca,” she teased.

“Right. Miss Rebecca. You’ve been most kind, but my travels have left me tired and I wasn’t particularly seeking the … the company of a lady this evening.” He waited, and sure enough, her hand was soon removed from his shoulder. He nearly sagged in relief.

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “Oh yes, well you wouldn’t know, being new to town and all. I ought to have said. I serve in a managerial capacity here, Steve.” She grinned. “I take care of the girls, you understand? I’m afraid it is the rare gentleman whom I invite up to my private quarters, these days.” As Steve’s face continued to reach new levels of heat, she stood again and went to take his empty glass from the table. “A welcome is all I had on offer for you, handsome as you are. That, and any of my flock whom you might fancy.” Her eyes skimmed brazenly up and down Steve’s form. “I daresay they’ll fight each other for a chance at you.”

“Pardon,” Steve spluttered. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” He could see it now: how much more expensive her dress was than the other girls’, how fine the combs in her hair, the gold dangling from her ears. “Madam,” he said, “You have my apologies, please.” She waved him off, obviously unoffended and perhaps even amused. Steve realized that he was wasting his good manners, blundering and blushing the way he was.

Rebecca gestured at him with his empty cup in hand. “Don’t stress, Steve from New York. You’re on Caribbean time now. ‘Eaze and breeze’.” Her voice picked up the lilt of the island accent there at the end, and she sauntered back across the parlor to hand Steve’s glass over to the barkeep to be refilled.

Steve felt glued in place until she returned with yet another helping of rum, which he was sure he didn’t need. “Thank you,” he managed, sipping it only to be polite. Between his previous three rounds and the thinly-veiled obscenity of the atmosphere, he felt drunk already. Luckily, Miss Rebecca seemed to understand his discomfort and soon left him alone, though not without giving him one last wink and a pointed nod in the direction of her company of girls.

Steve wilted, watching as she went about that parlor and the next, stopping to chat with different groups of gentlemen—some with girls in their laps, and some without—never staying in one place for long. Steve felt foolish for not having realized her as the madame that she clearly was. It was so obvious now, as he watched her in the dance of the room and its ladies. She was the prima ballerina in a sea of coryphées.

After some time had passed, Steve felt himself quite literally falling asleep in his chair. Dear lord, he needed to go to bed. He abandoned his cup and stood, heading back out towards the main lobby. Tomorrow would be a productive day, he resolved as he went up to his room. He could start on what he’d come out here to do in the first place, not sit around bawdyhouse parlors making a fool of himself.

He’d just turned at the top of the stair when he caught sight of Rebecca again. It was dark and she didn’t see him, facing the other way. But the gentleman with her did. It was that same man with whom she’d been speaking before, downstairs when Steve first arrived with M'baku.

Steve gulped and stood very still, not wanting to be noticed and drawn into conversation. The man seemed to know this, as he smirked secretively in Steve’s direction but continued on in his murmured conversation with Rebecca. The two of them stood just outside one of the doors of the long upstairs hallway, and Steve pressed himself back against the wall in an attempt to be unobtrusive.

If the fellow was going to pay to spend the night with her, why didn’t he just get on with it already? They remained there speaking for long enough that Steve had ample time to appreciate the man’s features all over again. He was as tall as Steve, which was in itself uncommon, with a straight nose and shapely lips, not to mention a strong, unshaven jaw that all but had Steve’s mouth watering in a way that he was loath to admit. He held his breath as he was shot another leer from over Rebecca’s shoulder. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’dve said the man seemed almost amused at him.

The man bent to kiss Rebecca on her cheek. He took her hand and opened the door to the room, leading her through before himself. And when he turned to close it from the other side, he paused and stared long enough to make Steve’s blood stir, before shutting himself away behind the wood.

Steve was left feeling unsettled, and not sure that he’d entirely imagined the heated look in the other man’s eye. This fellow, he surmised, must be one of the ‘rare gentlemen’ who merited invitation into Miss Rebecca’s private quarters.

Steve put himself to bed hastily that night, aroused and frustrated as to the cause of it. And despite his long-held resolve to never touch himself to the thought of another man, he was soon reminded that even he couldn’t control what things crept into his dreams.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

💖Join the tag list by filling out this form

Tag list: (to join, click here): @scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki, @gretasimp, @kandismom, @ivoryangel1290, @mrs-rogers-barnes1, @iloveshawnieboi, @m0k0k0, @sousydive

This has been a fill for @steverogersbingo, card SB3088 "stark contrast," square A1: pre war era

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #historical au #regency era #slavery #curses #mermaids #mermay #afro caribbean lore #racism #period typical homophobia #mcu #marvel #period typical everything

9 notes · View notes

lemonlionpie · 2 months

Note

Hi... 'M Leo. You followed my age regression blog recently, so I decided to check out your pinned. N' um.... I saw that you were open to littles sendin' you asks when they needed advice or comfort. N'... I could use a bit of that...

I been feelin' lonely n' I dunno what to do. 'M new to the community n' not good at makin' new friends. Is 'specially hard 'cuz I usually regress to middlespace (tho I feel like my original 11 est'mate was a bit off... maybe my little age is generally around 9. I dunno tho. I was always clingy n' anxious as a bio kid.)

There's more info in my most recent post, but I dunno if that would help any....

@pixelated-regression

Hey Leo! I'm glad you came to me for advice I don't know how well it will help but I hope it does in some fashion.

Feeling lonely is never a good time but I hope maybe some of these ideas can help

If you have someone in your life that you're close with and trust, maybe bring up the discussion of age regression and gauge how they react. If they seem ok with it, you could discuss that you experience regression and possibly ask for some support through company.

I've found that stalking Tumblr and following tags that are comforting helps with feeling that there are others out there and even if it's not the same experience they wind up being pretty similar.

Some pages like mine where I'm happy to just chat so long as you ask or @scary-caregiver who has asks open and seems to love hearing from littles are also a great place to go.

If you don't want to actually contact a person or scroll you may want to fall back on distractions like a show or game something that can keep your mind busy and help minimize the unpleasant feelings.

I hope any of this helps and just so you know so long as you ask my DM's are open so we can discuss more or just talk for while. Giving some hugs if you're ok with it!

Lots of love from Papa Ram 🐏

#sfw agere #agere community #agere sfw #age regression #self care #kid regression #sfw kidre #kid regressor #middle regression

5 notes · View notes

hislittleraincloud · 6 months

Text

Still finishing Chapter 3 but

Chapter 1: 100% barring last minute shit/formatting b.s. (uploaded, not published tho)

Chapter 2: 100%, Ibid. (also didn't upload it yet like the above)

Chapter 3: 85 - 90%

Observations as I was uploading/formatting: I did see the Jairo ones that are there, read a couple shorts (even though I really try not to read fic while writing fic) and uh.

They exist, so it's good to see interest in Jairo. Only one I think is Explicit/smutty, but I couldn't get past the characterization of Jon. 🤦🏽‍♂️ It's different when it's a fantasy setting...but these are non-magical (albeit special) people in our non-magical world, so there's a little less elbow room for bad characterization.

And I suppose once I upload Makin' Biscuits, I'll own that pairing too since not a one person has seriously tackled Fill It Black yet.

I went with simple scroll ribbons with the fkn knee beetle and Cairo's eyes (and the Miller's Girl logo accents) because I can't waste 48 hours angsting over which fucking ribbon to choose from hundreds and I really want to get the story out soon:

I seriously made hundreds. None to my complete satisfaction, especially when the grand majority were vertically oriented. If I felt I had more time, I would make fancier ones than these, but maybe I can do that some time down the road.

I do like the ribbon thing that after Chapter 8 of Afterburn is done, I may make some type of the same for that story. Give Afterburn Wends some black ribbons. But I'd make them smaller for her. The black ribbon on Wednesday's black & white striped top (the one she wears when confronting Xavier, I think) is much thinner than the one from Cairo's hair. Oh hey, did I just point out another thing about the interchangable Cairo Addams/Wednesday Sweet?

Anyway, I think I forgot to sleep earlier. 💀 And my tags for this didn't save.

Rar back to 3 and hope I don't get the urge to have them fuck again.

#miller's girl #jonathan miller #cairo sweet #jairo #cairo addams #wednesday sweet #miller's girl fan fiction #is coming

7 notes · View notes

inconsideratekidney · 16 days

Text

9/11/24

oop. that title is a date. i don't hold any strong opinions towards that, but also won't try to say anything that would be appropriate just cause it's a certain date. whatever. idk what to say. ok um moving on.

walking home thoughts:

my hair is definitely hairing the way i want it to. i like the length more than a longer or shorter length, but it is also what is considered the awkward length. i only really hate it when it hasn't been washed in a bit, which is often, but today i was happy with it.

what is up with mongo pushing? like just use your front foot. why are you making yourself do more work and look goofy (but not in the right way) doing so?

while i say that i am also holding my fist firmly in the air, upset and regretful that i left my skateboard at home

i really love the way the algae over the pond looks and it definitely makes me feel really excited and warm inside. idk why.

also i hate the walk home. i wish i had my skateboard because why does it take so long. i used to walk so fast like 4 years ago and i've just slowed down for some reason since 3 years ago. wtf.

everyone needs a freakin dpiel in their life. i thought this a couple days ago, but thought about it again today on my walk home. he has such good music taste and makes me listen to artists i wouldn't have thought of on my own and would be like "eh" before, but since he played it in front of me i was like "oh, i'm a dumbass. i have been missing out on some fantastic music" this includes childish gambino, tame impala, and steve lacey, but there are so many songs that he plays that i also love from varying different artists. i also silently add these songs to my library, but i think they're really cool. shoutout to dpiel. striptease, kilby girl, dang!, hey lover, and les were all songs from one drive that i downloaded i believe. keep doing ur thing, man, love to see it.

related, but not from my walking home thoughts, from my now thoughts, i am currently loving music i hear from gabriel like a lot, and starting to like music from miles and obviously dpiel. i've been heavily into arctic monkeys, glass animals, childish gambino, some songs from kevin abstract (i need to explore that avenue further), some from megan thee stallion honestly, some steve lacey, really into tory lanez (controversial cuz he shot megan thee stallion in the foot and wouldn't admit it, but okay.....i really like his music even if he steals it without credit......but i hate who he is as a person), some future, heavy on the weeknd, the whole metro boomin spiderman album, machine gun kelly, some cage the elephant, then some various gabriel songs as i will call them. super loving music rn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i super duper hate pimples. especially this one in my ear that just finally decided to fuck off. hate them with a vengeance. especially since it fucked with my every day life and hurt like hell when i kept accidentally scratching it. anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i finally put my string lights up. still haven't gone to the store for a rug or finished my shelf journey. we got wood tho so yeehaw. gotta figure out the machinery and how tf to get started. i really want to make my bed space more comfy and inviting. especially when i am here way too often, i want to make it super duper comfy. but like not too comfy to where i never leave, but less springy as it is right now. i want to put my mattress topper back on, but my fitted sheets keep coming off of it and make me want to kill something every time they pop off a corner. also it is a little wrong, it sinks in a bit and feels kind of weird. my mom spent money on it so i should use it tho. ugh.

I want to go back to playing the sims. i keep seeing really cool ideas on youtube, i really want to be more creative, so i think i'll go and try some that i've had saved for some time. i kept losing at wii sports tennis for some reason emily and akira are really good :| makin me wanna throw the controller into the tv (i didn't, it's not my controller or tv, and i would never do that if it was pff..).

my throat hurts and i could be getting sick >:( i hate getting sick, especially the sore throat kind. i am going to gargle that cpc mouthwash before that shit decides to go down my entire throat and up my sinuses. fuck you u stupid shit. i'm not staying sick this time, bitch.

anyway, lemme worsen my oncoming headache by playing the sims instead of winding down for bed.

goodnight, good afternoon, good morning, good day,

2 notes · View notes

elliebean714 · 2 years

Note

i saw you do requests for sinclair, which makes me really happy because ive yet to find another blog that writes for him :') could you do headcanons for augustus sinclair x male reader, specifically set during raptures 'peak'? with no nsfw please, idk if you do that but just makin sure >_< thanks in advance!!

WOOOO!!!!!! YEAHHH!! SINCLAIR STANS RISE!!! Don't worry I don't do nsfw, mild suggestions are as heavy as it gets here. Kissing and cuddling gang for life💙 Tw: homophobia mentioned. Have fun.

Augustus Sinclair x M!Reader General Headcanons

Fluff, Angst

Pre-Game

So urmm... he'd probably be in deep denial for a good long while about his love for another man

I mean back in the time period Bioshock is set in it was a super taboo topic

And he seems like the kinda guy to stay away from stuff like that

But yk, true love n' all that jazz

One day he just decides he doesn't care and asks you out for a 'business' dinner

That quickly turns to several dinners and eventually a drunken confession and, hopefully, your drunkenly admiting you reciprocate.

Leading to the two of you beginning a secret love affair

Cus ya'know homophobia runs rampant in Rapture

Onto him as a partner

He'd definitely love spending his money on you

Showers you with expensive clothes, drinks, smokes and basically whatever stuff you like/want

Partly because he loves your smile, but mostly because he loves bragging and showing off his seemingly endless wealth.

It stokes his already huge ego in just the right way

At his best he would be a romantic lover that takes you to dinner every weekend and leaves love letters and bouquets of your favourite flowers on your desk at work or on your side of the bed

Sometimes he may get a bit too focused on scamming people work so you'll have to drag him away from that

On special occasions he'd showers you in gifts far more (somehow)

He acts like it's for his pride but your happy, excited face is the cutest thing in his eyes

Once you guys had been secret dating for a couple of years he'd probably become comfortable enough for you to fully move in with him (but he'd never force you if you weren't uncomfortable( he might manipulate you tho (he's a salesman remember (he cant help it))))

If you did move in EXPECT TO BE ROMANCED TO HELL GOOD SIR

Home cooked meals (cus he can't take you out to a restaurant unless under the guise of a business lunch/dinner)

Dancing to the Rapture Radio in the middle off the night with only candles for light

Laying in bed together talking about anything and everything for hours on end

Omg you goofy lil dudes getting married in secret!!!

Your love story seems like one that hisorians would misrepresent to shit.

Yk like

'Augustus Sinclair never married during his lifetime, but he was extremely close to his best friend, the two lived together for the majority of their lives, co-ran his several business and were seen frequently visiting. Such good friends.'

(Hi Ellie interrupting here, this is smg I came up with whilst writing this. Imagine Sinclair writing this whilst you sleep or smg idk I'm not your mom)

If others found us we'd be ostracised and villainized. They'd parade us around as filthy and unnatural. Shame us for loving one another, for laying together. They'd stick us in chains and cut out our tongues. And I'd let them. For the tongue-less may write still, and here, tonight, with my lover in my arms, I'll write proudly, fully, purely, that my lover is a man. My lover is my light. My lover owns my smile. My lover is mine. You can silence us. You can burn this paper. You can eradicate every proof of our existence. But tonight, my lover dances in my arms, illuminated solely by candlelight. His face, his warmth, his scent, his eyes filled with love alone, you cannot remove tonight. For the events of tonight have been etched in stone, and until the sun explodes it will remain. My love for him will remain.

(K thanks back to it)

All that being said don't expect him not to protect himself should it come down to it

Sorry but he'd sell you out at a moments notice

The eventual regret would hit him like a fright train but in the moment he'd always put himself first

Still loves you tho promise

What I Write~

Games

TWD

Requests Always Open 🌊

~Elliebean714

♤♡◇♧☆♧◇♡♤♡◇♧☆♧◇♡♤♡◇♧☆

#augustus sinclair #Augustus sinclair x reader #bioshock 2 #bioshock 2 x reader #bioshock x reader

23 notes · View notes

the-wanted-man · 2 years

Text

𝕀𝕕𝕝𝕖 ℍ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤

𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎: ‘𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞’ | 𝐏𝐨𝐕: 𝐋𝐚𝐰 | 𝐀𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐠 #8

“Hullo. S’been a while since I talked in this thing, ain’t it? Surprised it even works. But I always kept ya’ in good shape, didn’t I? Wale. Yer workin’. An’ listenin’, so I reckon I should talk. Truth be told...I dunno where t’even start. Life’s been hell. I don’t say that often, but...I been feelin’ real rough ‘round th’edges lately. Like...nothin’ is really gon’ git better. My situation been drainin’ th’willpower outta me slowly. I know it. I feel it. Even though I buck an’ wild against it, th’truth is...m’stuck.

“I hate Ul’dah. I am learnin’ that more n’more ‘bout m’self. There were things that made it bearable, shore. Holly is a cool ocean breeze on a hot day. Got a calm to her that usually offers me sum peace. Try as I might not t’be disappointed...I am. Wanderin’ round th’city hopin’ t’see her, but she ain’t been ‘round in a while.

A shame, but she’s got her own business t’attend to. An’ I’m stuck here wit’ business’ve m’own. Ain’t much room t’cross paths no more, I guess. So we haven’t. Truth be told, I hate it. Been workin’ a deal t’have m’leash loosened up a bit t’at least visit other places besides these damn desert wastes. Might be worth lettin’ her know but...reckon it might not be worth it either. She sed she missed me. I dunno what t’do wit’ that. I miss her too.”

“*Sigh* I’m meetin’ folks tho’. Bein’ round here been makin’ me wanna form m’own posse again. Start sum real trouble. I got candidates. There’s this one fella. Large. Hrothgar named Spring that’s got a big heart. I reckon he could bust through a wall if he really wanted or huck a boulder. Strong, but gentle n’kind. Th’world could use more folk like him.

There’s this healer I met, too. Patched me up after m’fiasco at Blackbrush. Hells, I don’t know what came over me when I beat on that man. I reckon it was th’fact that is was a woman wit’ a sick kid. Y’gotta be a real peace’ve work t’prey on sum one like that. An’ I know th’fella what tricked her. Seen ‘im ‘round pearl lane bein’ a bastard there. Lilttle harder t’intervene there wit’ Brass Blades up m’ass but it’d been a long time comin’ fer him. I ain’t sorry fer how I reacted, tho’ mebbe I should be.

Suki is th’woman wit’ a good healin’ touch. She’s interestin’ but...sumthin’ ‘bout her...I know sumthin’ is off but I can’t quite tell what it is. The earth reacts differently t’her. It talks but it don’t tell me much. I reckon it’s tryin’ t’find th’words t’tell me. It ain’t a bad off, tho’. Her presence is jus’ a familiar on that I can’t place. Need t’figure out a way to thank her. That knife did sum work on me, I reckon. Was bleedin’ all over th’place. Likely ruined m’bandana again, but hey. That’s why its red.”

Th’list is goin’ tho’. Nomu wouldn’t be bad t’have join either. She got a fist like thunder when she hits from what I’ve seen on th’odd jobs we done t’gether. S’impressive, really. Miya would be a fine addition too. Th’way she moves wit’ a sword is damn near mysitcal, an’ a’course she got knowledge’ve th’occult few folks I know got. Sumtimes I know she don’t play well wit’ others tho’. Haine’s an’ alchemist, an’ I’d kill t’have her around more.That woman is a wildfire tho, an’ a danger t’any who end up in her path. I almost always gladly burn, an’ from what I kin remember, she’s been in gangs before.

Then there’s Malika. Best thief I know. Got th’slickest fingers in th’west I reckon, but I dunno that she’d like bein’ wit’ a group at all. Wouldn’t mind havin’ her around from time t’time fer sum fun heists. Evander too. He’s good wit’ tinkerin’ on tek apparently. We talked on it once, an’ his knowledge dwarfed m’own by a wide margin. Dunno that he’d like a group either.”

There’s a heavy sigh that filters through.

“Thinkin’ a things like this help keep me occupied tho’. I dunno that I’ll actually do what m’thinkin. I jus’ know m’all but a tickin’ time bomb waitin’ fer th’first wrong thing. I want m’freedom back. I want t’crumble Ul’dah down brick by fuckin’ brick. I want Odh in th’deepest cell known t’man kind. I want m’brother in rags. I want to hogtie Grymiyrnsyn an’ drop him off th’highest cañon. I want t’set things on fire. Watch it all burn.

M’losin’ m’grip. I know it. I’ve been better than this. Can’t help th’folks I need to. Instead they got me terrorizin’ th’very people I used t’save. M’heart can’t take much more’a this. I need t’do sumthin’. Might..talk t’mbrother. See what kinda deal we kin make. There’s gotta be a way t’make this a mutual benefit. I jus’...need t’find th’words.

I jus’ never been good at plannin’ things like this. Never been in this situation before. Never been sumone’s huntin’ dog. Certainly not fer th’Syndicate. I gotta git outta this. But I need t’make it work. Jus’ fer now. Jus’ fer now. Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Out of Ammo: There’s a couple mentions here, a number without tumblrs so I won’t bother tagging, but here’s a ramble post from the cowboy.

#audio logs #Logs #Narratives #Idle Hands Are the Devil's Workshop

6 notes · View notes

scottstiles · 2 years

Note

Hi sorry I have a horrendous father and I was wondering if you'd share some of your favorite stories of your dad? I'm sorry if this is too personal but I'd love to hear what a good dad does.

oh no i'm so sorry you have such a horrible father and i wish you didn't have to experience that :(( here are some nice memories of my dad from yesteryear:

he used to be 6′2 and carry me on his shoulders. it felt like being a little bird in a tree. my mom is 4′11 and they are extremely funny looking together.

on the same theme of when i was tiny and he was huge - after a bath he’d dry me off and then i would curl up on the bathmat and he’d drape my (each of us girls had our own towels of course) huge pink towel over me and i would stay perfectly still pretending to be a rock. he’d tap his fingers along my back and pretend to be little animals perching on me like birds and squirrels and he’d tell little stories or have animal conversations while i huddled under there and listened and giggled and what not. if i moved a bit he’d pretend to be surprised because rocks don’t move, and when i threw the towel off he’d go “oh! there was a little divvy under there all along!”

after waking up in the morning i would call down the stairs “daddy! come and carry me!!” and then he would carry me down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. usually piggyback.

from about 6 to 16 i was on the ski team and we’d have these early morning races at other hills, sometimes a bit of a drive away so we’d have to leave while it was still dark. i remember my parents dressing me half asleep in the long johns and the snowpants and the ski socks and everything but the boots then my dad would carry me to the car and i’d sleep until we got to the hill. he was always standing right at the bottom of the hill when i raced and even tho my times always sucked he was so proud of me.

before i became more kosher i used to go downtown with my dad to schwartz’s and we’d always order the same smoked meat with yellow mustard pickles french fries and black cherry soda. he still stocks the downstairs fridge with black cherry even tho we don’t go to schwartz’s anymore.

we used to have a family house in vermont that my grandfather bought and we’d go every weekend as a family (hence the ski team stuff), and on the 2 hr drive my dad used to tell stories from his childhood. he is the BEST storyteller. when my dad talks you’re hypnotized either by boredom or complete fascination but there’s no way around it. anyway theres a story ill never forget about a former friend of his who turned into a bully in high school... my dad was a little bit nerdy (if you can picture a small jewish white boy with glasses big ears and a smart mouth who loved chemistry and stamp collecting thats my dad) and a lot bit mischievous, but anyway, when my dad was walking home one day through a park this ex-friend started teasing him with a bunch of other bullies and one thing led to another and the punchline (ha) of the story is that before he knew what was happening this kid had run into my dad’s fist with his nose which was suddenly bleeding profusely to everyone’s surprise. great story but obviously he tells it much much better than me, my apologies XD

i’d love to think of some more to share but this is kinda makin me sad also so im gonna leave it at that. hope you enjoyed this weird little snapshot into my childhood XD

#personal #personal info #food mention cw #i am sending you a very big tender and all-encompassing hug right now you deserve so much better #<3333333

6 notes · View notes

snailslunchpail · 2 years

Note

EEE SNAIL!! i’m sorry last week was super rough on you ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ be proud you got through it!!~ i love love love banana flavoured stuff i think it’s so underrated! how were the muffins? one thing i reallyyy miss about being in school is the build up to winter/summer break. i know not everyone celebrates christmas but everyone would always be so excited up until the last day (≧▽≦) humans are cute like that

i will not tell star she is a trend setter… psst ^^ that’s me in the snow (REAL!)

i haven’t been doing anything fun but it finally snowed!!! it never snows in the uk (-д-。) i made my parents take a walk with me while it was still snowing but i have the worlds worst cold now (T＿T) promise me u will never take breathing through ur nose easy for granted…..

the figures look SO so cute!!!! i love ur list.. the re-ment + house so you can set em up in little scenes… not sure if i was the only kid that did this but i would spend hours setting up my calico critters houses just to make em look nice and then i wouldn’t even play with them (๑´ㅂ`๑) i just liked makin sure they had a cute house to live in!

would you want a modern doll house?? or a themed one? or a wooden one? Σ(･口･) i would love to be a doll or a toy and just have a little room.. something about small things… waa

+ to answer your question i would really really love the calico critters lavender rabbit family .. it’s a japan exclusive though T_T id love to have the ‘art of ghibli’ books! have you seen them? i think id want ponyo + howls moving castle versions most because i love the art of both movies SO much… rement.. tiny food.. ohehehe…. i would die for a little re-ment set…

HAIII BELOVED CAPPA IM BACK!! ⸜ (｡˃ ᵕ ˂) ⸝ so sorry this took me so long to respond to !

but tysm for the sweet words!! things have definitely gotten better recently + at the time of writing this tomorrow is christmas!!! YAHOOOO ( / >ヮ< )/

GRAHH YES i love banana flavored baked goods!!! & the muffins turned out really well! :D i should make some banana chocolate chip cookies sometime bc that sounds delicious ..

BUT YAHH the build up to christmas is always really fun in school! (minus the finals) but it was really sweet cus one of my electives is being an assistant in the counciling office and they got us hot coco and mini donuts it was sooo sweet !! ( ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ) ♡

also that IS u in the snow, #SO REAL!

SNOWWW that is so so cool!!! but yah omg i imagine that must be uncomfortable- >_<!!

AWEEE thats so precious tho!!! they rlly just itch a certain part of my brain !!! GRAH i adore the calico critter doll houses tho id also love to have something like these i think ?? just something with an open face! AND LITERALLY OMG i would be so content as a silly little toy

the lavender calico critters are absolutely adorable.. and the art of ghibli book sounds so cute!! i think ive seen similar ones, i bet they'd be so fun to flip though! i have a couple artbooks myself of video games i like + some artists and i adore them sm!! i really want to collect some more magazines tho (i got a bit inspired by tamakid ofc) bc the japanese kids magazines just look so fun !? AHH PONYO AND HMC THO i feel like ive said this before but ponyo is my fav and i wanna name an orange cat after her someday ^__^

ANYWAYS i love ur ideas !!! they all sound too cute and ty for the ask again it was very fun to answer :D i hope ur having a great holiday season! and merry christmas if u celebrate, i'll probably be popping in ur ask box to send u a lil christmas message soon !! :3

#YIPPIEEEEEEE #snail mail

1 note · View note

fanfictionsworld · 3 years

Text

Sebastin relationship things

SFW :

First of all you one thing about this man that he will be romantic with you.

Your needs will be done immediately after he finishes things for the young master.

Just do not be bother him when he is working and you will be fine.

After he finishes his work he will give all attention that you need.

You will have to understand that he has to work then thers time for everytihing.

Very romantic,but in private no one has to no about you to and thats how he likes it.

No one knows,but he does get jealous when other men hit on you.

Demon urge to rip the persons head of is very likly to rise in him so do be cearful.

He will protect you no matter what he will be there to save you from any kind of situation that you got your self in.

Nick names kittn,dear,darling,etc.

Sometimes even the dirty kind thoes he uses when you to are alone.

Helps you with anything bags to heavy he will cary them.

He usully is not aware when he hurt peoples feelings so do scold him,he needs to learn some lessons from you and it will be fun for Ciel.

Remind him that he has to take breaks.

Hold him when his tired and prais him for his god job,tell him how proud you are of his work and how you admire his hard-working persona.

He will be even a bigger simp no that he was not a simp for you befor,but for him you giving him prais is just new level of love he has for you.

Loves your kind persona,but the he loves even more when you fire back at him with a comeback that he can not say anything.

NSFW :

Okey we all know he is a dom and a hard one,but he has a prais kink i just know.

Dose not have any prefrences in bodys tho in victorian times a chubby woman was considered beautiful.

So while his at it do telln him that he feel good,that no one has ever put you in this state,etc.It will stroke his ego.

When he is tired he will warm his cock in you and he will not allowe you to move.

He is also a brat tamer.

So do go on his nerves quiet often but not to much because i do not think you can handel that much dinael and him makin fun of you because of your flusterd face.

Oh and if its spanking you enjoy he will give you one,not with hands but with belt.

Will prais you good girl,my kitten,such a good kitty doing as i ask,etc. somethings like that.

He is sooo good at afer care.

I mean water,food,hugs,cuddels etc.

Anything you ask he will give you afetr all what kitten ask kitten shall get.

As long as you are good.

You will not be abel to walk,or sit or do anything for a quiet a long time.

He will teas you for that throwing comments like.

,,Darling you look very tired is everythin alright “.Insert smirk here

You will glare at him if looks could kill he would be dead.

Over all he is great and he will worship you no matter what.

#kuroshitsuji sebastian #black butler sebastian #sebastian michaelis smut #sebastian michaelis x reader #yandere sebastian michaelis #black butler fanfiction #black butler smut #black butler x y/n #black butler x you #yandere black butler #black butler x reader #sebastian x you #sebastian x y/n

1K notes · View notes

blissfulbqrnes · 3 years

Text

Crybaby

summary; he loves seein’ you cry

warnings; smut (oral fixation, dirty talk, dacryphilia, name-calling, teasing, begging), pet names, hella swearing, cringe couple costumes, roomie elaine being fruity af for u but like same, a cameo from the 1D boys, drinking, partying.

word count; blurb (1.4k)

note; Happy belated Halloween, whores<3 did not proofread i will sometime soon tho😁

Harry stood behind you, arms locked tight around your waist watching you muse the fresh curls on your head. You made sure the pink and blue on the ends of your hair was as good as you could get.

“Okay, now I’m done, what do y’think,” standing in front of the closed shower curtain, you spun around careful not break and ankle in your sleek, black high heels.

“Y’look like we might not make it to this party” He grinned, pulling you into him. His tattooed hand gripped your jaw, mushing his lips against yours, he swatted your bum making you squeal against his harsh kiss. Before he could push his tongue into your mouth, you shoved him away and completely out the bathroom door with a grunt.

With his hands held up in a surrender, he plopped down onto the couch next to your roommate, Elaine. She was clad in something to resemble Jennifer Check. Just before you shut the door once more her eyes ran down your figure with raised brows.

“Lemme just say if Harry wasn’t here-“ She began, pausing to look Harry straight in the eyes, “We could y’know,” She smirking making scissoring motions with her fingers.

“Oh, please. Don’t let me prevent your fun, ladies,” Harry snorted, adjusting the the rings of his hands. You cackled from behind the cracked door, continuing to check yourself out in the huge mirror.

“Now we can go,” You clicked the light off in your bedroom and in the bathroom, walking out the door, phone and car keys in hand, with Harry and Elaine following close behind.

“I pay rent for this shit-hole. We don’t have to knock,” Harry waltzed in like he owned the place, considering he pretty much did. Niall and Amelia waved to you from the top of the stair case.

Louis and Zayn both in there Shaggy and Scooby costumes, came in not long after you guys did. Carrying tons of different alcohol from white claws to various types of tequilas.

“How much did you spend on this?” Elaine gasped following them into the kitchen. She had a thing for Zayn so maybe she could get lucky tonight.

“Well, Mr J, guess it’s just me and you~” You were interrupted by Liam, the biggest cockblock thats ever lived, “And me” He informed, flicking Harry on the back of the neck to get his point across.

“Fucks sake, Liam. Go bother Louis!” Harry grumbled shoving Liam in the direction of the kitchen, pulling you away from his man-baby of a best friend.

“You said something about not makin’ it to this party.. What did you mean by that, hm?” You looked up at him, sounding all pure and innocent. Knowing full and well what he meant earlier.

“Y’know, jus’ that I planned on bending y’over and taking y’against the sink” He was so nonchalant about it, which only made in so much more teasing.

The party had only just begun and you already knew what you were going to do after it was over.

…

“Y’practically gaggin’ for it aren’t ya?” Harry nipped at your jaw, making you shudder. Goosebumps forming under the strokes of his fingertips on your skin. He thumbed at your bottom lip, forcing your mouth to open.

His thumb pushed between your kiss-swollen lips. “Suck,” He commanded, pushing down on your tongue, ever so slightly. A sadistic smirk took over his features as he watched you suck his thumb exactly how you would his cock. The huge faux tattoo seemed to be smiling back at you.

You hummed against his finger, looking up at him through thick lashes. “What?” He asked with raised brows, “Oh wait, y’can’t even speak. Too busy trying’ to choke on me thumb” He chuckled, shaking his head.

He pulled his finger back, still smiling at you teasingly, pressing it against your clothed slit. The thin underwear did nothing but get in the way, which frustrated you greatly.

“Please,” you whined, making Harry’s eyes shoot your face. His brows raised silently asking you what you wanted. He was enjoying watching you squirm for him.

“Quit your whinin’ or I’m gonna leave you to finish yourself off.” Did he really just threaten you? Yes, yes he did. And he meant every bit of it.

Tears of irritation began to well up in your eyes, a few of them dribbling on to your hot face. You tried your hardest not to sob out pleas, but he’s making it very difficult. “Are y’really cryin’? Hell, I’ve barely touched you,” thats the exact reason tears strolled down your face, because he was barely touching you.

Nodding your head the best your abilities, since it was against your pillows, shame written all over your face, “But y’were so big and bad earlier! What happened to the big girl who was rubbin’ all up on m’cock at the party, hm?”

He was referring to how you simply couldn’t take your hands off of him at his frats halloween party. I mean how could you? In his joker get up, the way he mirrored how he looked in the club scene from the 2016 suicide squad film.

He adored the Harley Quinn inspired costume you wore as well, but no where near as much as you enjoyed his. The unbuttoned white shirt showing off his inked chest and pectorals, barely giving the slightest glimpse of the ferns on his hips.

Your whining was slowly getting him frustrated “Knock it off,” He grunted, keeping piercing eye contact. If looks could kill. You’d be six feet deep right about now.

Tugging at the Gucci belt he wore to make his slacks a little less loose around his narrow waist. His cock, hard and throbbing against his black trousers.

He wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing a bit to make you lock eyes with him, “Get up” He asked ordered, pulling you by your ankles to speed up the process, you squealed holding onto his biceps as he manhandled you.

He pushed you down, helping you stand on weak legs, keeping a hand on your hip to ensure you don’t collapse. Tear tracks were still evident on your cheeks only spurring him on further. Pressing down onto your lower back making you arch, your dress was pulled over your head, leaving you in nothing.

He jerked his cock a bit at the sight of you bare, bent over with your back arched, and your glistening pussy on full display for him and only him. Slapping himself against your clenching cunt, before slowly pushing just the tip in.

You somehow managed, through his rough grip, to push yourself back into him, forcing his pelvis to slap against your ass. “Y’so impatient, darlin’” He tutted ringed fingers pressing onto the column of your marked neck.

The position he manipulated your body into had forced you onto your limp legs, the only option was to take his brutal thrusts that sent you forward with each one.

“Mm~ yeah! Tha’s so good,” the pitch of your moans was damn near enough for him to just cum on the spot. And they almost did. Almost. It felt like he picked up the pace, which didn’t even feel physically possible for a human to move like this for such a long period of time.

Fingertips danced across your swollen clit making incoherent words spew from your pretty lips. “Love how responsive y’are f’me” He spoke huskily, his accent much thicker than usual given the circumstances.

You simply allowed him to move you into whatever place he wanted. Completely giving him free reign over you.

More tears began to well up in your eyes. Your mascara and eye liner that you applied earlier entirely smudged off. This time it was out of irritation. No, he was just fucking you so good it made you cry.

He could hardly understand you. All of your “yes’s” and “so good’s” began to form into a huge mess of word vomit. His bicep ended up around your neck keeping you steady at his hips never stopped.

His stamina, stroke game, dirty talk, tongue abilities, all of it. Absolute god tier shit.

And the jealousy you felt towards other girls who had experienced it all before you even had the chance, left your body after tonight. Just the way he grabbed a hold of you in the middle of the party, all possessive whenever Louis would jokingly flirt with you. It made you realize that he had only fucked you for the last two years. And hopefully for the rest of your lives.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #hslot #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #bri writes

477 notes · View notes

oblivious-nuisance · 3 years

Text

— 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝

ft. bokuto kōtarō

a/n: or that one in which bokuto fucks you senseless after a match. this was supposed to be a piece for his birthday, but my schedule and lazy ass teamed up for a pretty writer's block sesh. to make up for it tho this is like 2.5k words. porn with almost nonexistent plot bc i love and missed y'all <33 not proofread bc it's too long :(

warnings: smut, fem!reader, risky locker room sex, so much foreplay jesus, virgin!reader, size kink, praise kink (so so much), slight breeding kink :), daddy kink, bo is actually very soft

"i— bokuto, sir— ah!"

"you really wanna get caught, don't you sweetie?" he breathes heavily from his place on the floor, with your legs thrown over his sturdy shoulders. he licks his lips before diving right back in, his tongue darting back in between your folds to toy with your clit, eliciting another high pitched moan from you.

"and please— mmm, fuck, you're gushing— please call me kōtarō, you're makin' me sound old and saggy."

"if that's the case," you say in-between pants, "then prove me that you're not that old and saggy." you taunt playfully, courage overtaking your body for a brief moment before you feel a thick, wet finger tease at your hole, your entire resovle crumbling just as fast as it built itself up.

if you knew that coming all the way down from the bleachers to wish the athlete a happy birthday would've landed you in this position (with the man's head buried in your heat), you would have thought twice about your speech.

or your hair.

or your obnoxiously short skirt.

or, most importantly, the fact that you are still a virgin.

the feeling of a slicked digit sliding into you brings you back to the present and you try to cover up the whimper that you let out as he pumps it in, your walls pulsing mesmerizigly around him.

"you were saying?"

it's his turn to grin as he tries to nestle another finger inside, facing a little bit of resistance as he presses up, searching for that spot that makes you breathless and stretching you out in the process.

only he faces something he wasn't expecting.

"k-kōtarō, wait!"

he looks up to see your flushed cheeks, your open mouth and bleary eyes, and then he realises.

oh.

bokuto tries to hide his grin but fails as he tenderly pulls his fingers out of you, patting your cunt with contentment as he gets back up and traps you between him and the locker that you've been leaning on for the past half an hour or so. his eyes are wide and his hair disheveled, but the words that come out of his mouth are gentle.

"you feeling good?"

"i, uhm. yeah." you reply, breathlessly.

his tone soothes you greatly, making you subconsciously lean into him, his warm hands caressing your shoulders, fingers reaching for your chin and lifting it up so that now you're looking him in the eye.

"nothing hurts?"

"nothing hurts."

"good." he looks down sheepishly and then back up again and he swallows heavily.

"may i— may we keep going?"

"please." you whine and nod shyly and he laughs, kissing your cheek once, twice, before sliding down to mouth at your jaw, hands gripping your waist tightly as his lips make their way down your throat, nipping at the skin, littering marks all over the surface.

you're moaning softly through it all, nails digging into the skin of his biceps at the forgein feeling of his wet mouth, that has now migrated to your collarbones and chest, his attention moving to your breasts.

"lemme take this— off." bokuto grunts as he accidentally pops a few buttons while trying to take your blouse off, granting him enough access to your black bralette.

"nice." he whispers, more to himself, as he slides the lacey garment down, instantly attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and you squeal.

"you that sensitive, huh?" he cocks his head to the side, nipple still in his mouth and you urge yourself to turn away in order to hide your face, that has heated up at the sight.

"shut up..." you say, with a pout.

a dangerous glint takes over bokuto's eyes as he detaches his mouth from your breast and leans close to your face, his warm breath on your skin making you shiver.

"big words for a big girl, hm?" he chuckles close to your ear, nipping at your earlobe afterwards just to see you crumble in his grasp. "well, there's only one way to find out." he says as he goes to slide down his shorts along with his boxers, and your lungs stop working from the sheer sight that you're presented with.

his shaft is nothing to fucking sneeze at, the skin a beautiful blush compared to the rest of his body, the fat pink head turning purple with how hard he is. the veins are prominent and he's leaking so, so much precum that your mouth waters, his ripe, fat balls hanging heavily, no doubt full to the brim and longing to be taken care of.

and he's, he's so—

"big." you breathe out and quickly slap a hand over your mouth, blushing furiously because no, you did not just say that out loud.

bokuto laughs at your reaction, and before you can hide your face in embarrassment, he leans over to kiss the tip of your nose playfully.

"no need to worry about it, i'm used to that reaction." he smiles and then his expression turns into a pout just as quickly when he notices your pale face.

"what's wrong? oh, you thinkin' it won't fit?" you nod, because even looking at the sheer size of him made your feet feel like jelly. "it'll fit just fine, i'll make it fit. but i also need you to stand still and take it like a good girl. think you can do that, princess?"

"yes, daddy." you glup, answering without thinking too much about it, but judging by his expression, the man is more than pleased with your response as he preps you one more time before lining himself up.

"atta girl." he groans deeply against your shoulder as he starts pushing in at an agonizingly slow pace, doing his best to hold back so that he doesn't hurt you.

you claw at his back in search for support because there's so much of him to take, you're not even sure he's gonna fit. the lower half of your body feels weird, pain clouding your mind momentarily as the breath gets knocked out of your lungs, legs shaking and chest heaving and god, it really feels like he's splitting you in half.

"hey, relax, relax..." he soothes as he kisses your shoulder, warm palm caressing the back of your thigh. but you notice the strain in his tone, how hard he's leaning on the door behind you. you notice the way he pants and how his brows are furrowed, sweat beads gracing his forehead, and you realise just how much he's urging himself not to thrust up and ruin you right now.

"y-you like this, daddy? like how i feel?" you moan, accommodating to his size and grith, even daring to wiggle your hips a little, making you both whimper.

"baby, d-don't go around saying stuff like that, i—" he halts, breathing heavily.

"you?"

"i won't be able to control myself, fuck." he curses as you tighten at the thought of him just letting go and making you cry on his cock.

"but i want you to fuck me. i want you to fuck me real good." you say and he looks up, only to see your innocent gaze, your warm cheeks, your twinkling eyes and your pretty mouth open, huffing small breaths.

and just like that, he's gone.

"alright, okay, fuck fuck fuck—" he pants as he hooks his hands underneath your thighs and hoists you up, using the locker door behind you as support. you squeal and wrap your legs around his middle, bokuto taking that as the green light to start pounding you.

"the way you deserve, baby."

your chests are pressed up against each other, your hardened nipples grazing his skin and making him suck on your neck a little harder as the sound of skin slapping echoes in the empty room.

his thrusts are strong and desperate, his big hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave bruieses, and praises never stop leaving his mouth. choruses of "yes, baby, just like that." and "you're so tight, so fucking tight."

the fat tip of his cock is reaching places inside your body that you weren't even aware of until now, breathy moans coming out of your mouth almost by instinct as your gummy walls pulse around his thick length, your sticky arousal surely making a mess of you both.

"look at her, greedy pussy's sucking me right back in." he gasps as his gaze settles on where your bodies connect, a mixture of both yours and his juices smeared on your thighs and his pelvis.

you try to avoid his gaze, slightly embarrassed by how forward he is with his praising, and also because of how it spurrs you on even more.

he tsk's and brings a hand to your face, grabbing your cheeks and squeezing, turning your head back to look at him, his golden eyes wide with lust and want, something carnal laying behind the bright irises.

"i want you to look at me while i'm gonna be fucking load after load into you, or you're just gonna sit back and take it, you got it?"

"y-yes daddy."

"that's my girl." he giggles and kisses your cheek, picking up his pace once again, fucking you with earnest, the promise of his cum painting your insides never leaving your mind as you marvel in the sudden softness of the atmosphere, anticipation burning in your chest.

as he repositions you and throws your legs over his elbows, the angle changes and you shudder and scream, because somehow he's reaching even deeper than before, and you feel yourself becoming lightheaded with pleasure as your orgasm is quickly approaching.

"daddy, i— fuck, right there! fuck, fuck, fuck."

"good girl, good fucking girl— fuck me, you're tightening. you like being praised, huh?" he gasps, not being able to take his eyes off of you.

your eyes are almost crossing, mouth agape and pink tongue lolling out slightly, drool gracing your lips and the corners of your mouth, sweat glistening on your tense neck and collarbones, his eyes falling to your exposed chest, flushed breasts bouncing in time with his strong thrusts. drifting lower, he marvels on the way your cunt is stretched out by his thick length, a white ring of cream gracing the base, some of it already leaking towards his ripe balls.

"i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna cum, fuck." he moans, loud and clear and guttural, and that is all it takes to send you over the edge.

a scream rips out of your chest as you cum, your tight cunt spasming and squeezing around bokuto, who in turn follows suit, painting your inner walls milky white.

bokuto doesn't pull out instantly, opting to gently put you back down on the ground and rest his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as the both of you come down from your combined highs.

at some point you can feel his cock, now soft, slipping out of you, some of his cum along with it.

he pays no mind to it for a moment as he starts trailing kisses along your shoulder and neck, his mouth reaching yours and melting into a soft, but strong kiss, warm hands massaging your waist comfortingly.

"all good, princess?"

you can't help but blush at the nickname, wondering half-heartedly if it's going to settle on his lips from now on.

"i, uhm. yeah. that was—"

"—quite entertaining, if i do say so myself."

you shriek and try to hide behind bokuto's big figure, because the voice that you just heard belongs to someone who hasn't been in the room until now.

three sets of eyes are looking at the two of you from the open door, gazing at your vulnerable state.

the realisation hits you hard as a truck: you forgot to lock the door, too busy with trying to devour each other after you first stepped in the locker room.

you're sure that you're blushing furiously, your cheeks burning with embarassment because oh my god, the three of them caught us—

"well," hinata sighs. "you're quite the sight."

you look trully wrecked, hair disheveled and wild, neck covered in bruises and breasts still out, your skirt ruined, cum oozing down your thigh and panties around your sock clad ankle.

sakusa's expression is blank, a hint of curiosity hidden behind his gaze. his arms are crossed as he's leaning against the doorway, not missing the way you glup as you stare at his bulging muscles. hinata is cracking his fingers, a glint of determination present in his eyes, following your every movement and reaction.

atsumu, bold as per usual, makes his way towards you. he licks his lips and his eyes sparkle dangerously as he nods at the white trail on the inside of your thigh, grinning mischievously.

"ya better not let any of that go ta waste." he says as he reaches out, a lithe finger picking up bokuto's cum and bringing it back into your twitching hole, the squelching sound that your pussy made as it slid in spurring him on even more.

you can only sigh and nod, breath quickening because of his movements, hearing when the door creaks shut, but failing to notice the other three men eyeing you hungrily. sakusa's hands twitch and hinata's eyes widen, bokuto's cock steadily hardening yet again at the sight.

you close your eyes in pleasure, atsumu's fingers speeding up their pace, and your mind can only wonder about what lays before you as you can hear three other pairs of footsteps making their way towards you.

no translations, edits, copying, reposting etc.

#*hq #haikyuu #*hq fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto haikyuu #bokuto #bokuto kotaro #bokuto x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #*hq smut #haikyuu smut #bokuto smut #bokuto kotaro smut #lyn.txt #everything.nice

554 notes · View notes