#mels writing

[honey-tongued-devil]

▶[Arcane preference] reacting to you wearing their clothes [Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, ]

If you know me, hello little deers, I'm back! If you don’t know me, welcome! Just a heads-up that I don’t use "Y/N," but rather the impersonal "you," and even though I talk about clothes, no sizes or weight are involved. Enjoy the read!

Jayce:

  - It’s not that rare when you’re together; he’s a real gentleman through and through. If it’s cold, he’ll give you his jacket, his scarf, anything to keep you warm  

  - But when you’re the one taking his clothes, it’s different  

  - When he sees you walking around the room in his shirt, just after waking up, something in his brain malfunctions  

  - It’s how it fits you, no matter how big or long it is, it seems like it was made just for you, to give you that look  

  - And to him, it feels like some kind of subliminal ad, as if the universe is making you so attractive in the simplicity of that gesture just to tell him he needs to hurry up and put a ring on your finger so he can enjoy that sight every day  

  - It’s hard for you to get anything done in the morning when he wakes up with those thoughts  

  - Those are the days when you stay in bed, cuddling under the covers, with him looking at you, hand on his cheek, getting more lost in you by the second  

Viktor:

  - For Viktor, the idea of a “little thief stealing his clothes” is an interesting one  

  - He’s never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes, plus, with his physique, it’s rare for anything to fit snugly anyway  

  - That’s why, except for his Academy uniform, the rest of his clothes are comfortable and at least two sizes too big for him, without mentioning Jayce's oversize ones in his closet  

  - What Viktor didn’t expect was that, once you started liking them, you’d just take them straight out of his drawer  

  - The first time he knocked on your door to ask if you’d seen his shirt —the very one you were wearing— he first stopped, confused, wondering how it had ended up on you  

  - And then, though he didn’t show it, he paused to notice with satisfaction how well it wrapped around your body  

  - Sometimes he pretends to forget his clothes at your place, just to see them on you, and to get them back with your scent on them  

  - For the nights when he feels lonelier  

Ekko: 

  - Communism  

  - There’s not really a strong sense of what belongs to whom at the Tree, although some clothes (jackets in particular) eventually get so personalized that no one dares to take them anymore  

  - The first time you grabbed Ekko’s jacket, it was simply because you were freezing, it was really cold, and he was resting, so he didn’t need it  

  - But when he saw you wearing it, his pupils dilated so much you could notice it despite his very dark eyes  

  - Ever since then, it’s him who gives it to you and insists that you wear it, because he likes it: there’s something extremely intimate and deeply personal about walking around with you in his jacket  

  - It’s like marking you as his, but really, also reminding himself of it  

  - And Ekko may be proud, but one thing you quickly and painfully learn in the alleys is to say ‘I love you’ before it’s too late, and that small possessive gesture makes him feel fulfilled because it’s like he’s telling everyone that he couldn’t live without you 

 

Vander:

  - Vander’s clothes have this super-secret ability to change depending on who’s wearing them. For example, what are shirts on him turn into dresses on you  

  - When you put them on, even just for the sake of convenience, you find yourself laughing in front of every mirror you pass by  

  - And if he notices, he can’t help but hug you from behind, leaning down to rub his nose against your neck, smiling against your skin  

  - “You know,” he says every single time, “it looks better on you than it does on me,” and no matter how false it might be, in his eyes, it’s truer than almost anything else  

  - After seeing you a few times in his grown-up man's clothes, he decided to dig through an old box to find the clothes from when he was younger and mend them before leaving them folded on your side of the bed, like a little gift  

Silco:

  - Silco’s strangest habit was the connection he had with his clothes: they looked like Piltover garments, except for the boots and the shirt under the velvet vest, yet they were torn, poorly mended, and worn out in several places  

  - Despite being the richest man in the undercity, he never changed them  

  - The only newer piece in his wardrobe that he used to wear was his coat, which was in perfect condition, scented with cologne, and lined with soft velvet that followed the direction of your fingers when you touched it  

  - Sure, there were ceremonial outfits, pajamas, and something comfortable yet always elegant, but he had worn them so little that they almost didn’t seem like his  

  - That’s why one day you simply decided you were bored, and while he was in a meeting, you could take the opportunity to try on the ones that fit you  

  - But that little fashion show from his wardrobe to the mirror probably took longer than expected, and definitely you were too focused, because you didn’t notice the tall figure watching you, leaning against the doorframe  

  - “Don’t take that off, I’ve got an idea or two,” his voice broke the silence, making you jump  

Jinx:

  - Her clothes are more like a flea market than a wardrobe: there are men’s clothes, women’s clothes, from Piltover and Zaun, intact, held together by metal staples, clean, splattered with paint, torn from explosions, some so small you wonder who they could even fit, and some so large that you and at least four of her father’s henchmen could comfortably fit in them with room to spare  

  - She’s the one who tells you to grab something from the pile the first time you ask to help her with her calculations and experiments, and in the end, you choose something comfortable rather than something intact or clean  

  - It took her a good half hour to notice, and then another hour to stop talking about it  

  - It was something she hadn’t done since she had a family, sharing clothes with someone else, and suddenly she realized just how much she missed it  

  - Every now and then, she’d give you oversized shirts on purpose, just to disappear under the fabric and snuggle up to you, where she felt sheltered enough to feel less vulnerable  

Vi:

  - Vi’s mentality was interesting because, by accident, if she noticed you were eyeing someone’s clothes with interest, somehow the next day those clothes would end up on your bed  

  - Vi would do anything for you; if it were up to her, you’d be dressed in pearls and gold, but neither the place nor her situation allowed it  

  - That’s why she never offered you her clothes: the older ones were tattered, barely definable as rags, which she stubbornly patched up every month  

  - The new ones were stolen, spoils from street fights, but they always came in looking battered and worn, or worse, stained with blood or strange substances, so they weren’t good for you  

  - When she saw you wearing a sweater from her wardrobe, stained and burned in spots, the first thing she felt was guilt  

  - She hated not being able to treat you the way she wanted to  

  - But from that day on, she made sure to at least wash her clothes before putting them away, and slowly she learned to love the clothes you stole a little more than the others  

  - That sweater, for example, she would defend it with her life  

Caitlyn:

  - Whenever you stayed over at her place, she always made sure to provide everything for you: slippers, socks, pajamas, anything you might need  

  - And it was always the highest quality you had ever seen  

  - So seeing you in her clothes wasn’t new, although she sometimes liked to have you try on things she didn’t wear anymore, partly because she couldn’t due to her important name, and partly because she spent half her time in uniform  

  - Those little fashion shows almost always ended with her on top of you, while you are very busy figuring out how to stay quiet so none of the servants, or worse, her parents, would catch you  

  - It didn’t matter if the clothes didn’t suit you, being able to see you in so many different lights made her fall even more in love with everything about you  

  - The final blow? One day she decided to look through the enforcers’ uniforms to find one that would fit you, and for the first time, she saw you in clothes that matched hers  

  - There was something about it that made her hope that uniform would change the chemistry of your brain too and make you join the force, just so she could spend more time with you, just so she could see you like that more often  

Mel:

  - For Mel, it wasn’t an event: she was used to everything, mastering her emotions, and seeing you wearing something of hers had only left her confused for a second, from which she quickly recovered, smiling at you  

  - “It looks really good on you, you know?” she had asked  

  - It didn’t bother her. Objectively, you seemed stupid borrowing those elegant clothes tailored exactly to her body  

  - It almost felt like heresy to wear the clothes of a goddess-like figure. But the goddess had sensed something, and she began buying and commissioning outfits for both you and her, matching, so you wouldn’t feel like you were missing something  

  - But there was one moment, a specific one, where seeing you in one of her dresses had left her speechless  

  - When you told her that the sweater was so beautiful it was almost a shame knowing she couldn’t wear it on the day you’d marry her  

  - And Mel Medarda came from a land of war, where it was hard to get attached to people, let alone objects  

  - Yet from that day, that piece of clothing became a constant for her, even if it meant layering or pulling it down to keep her shoulders bare  

  - Because it no longer just warmed her skin; it began to warm something deeper, something she hadn’t even realized she had  

Sevika:

  - Her clothes reflected her line of work: dirty, unpleasant, dangerous  

  - But despite that, she would drape them over you herself, no matter how worn they were: if she thought you might be cold, without a word, you’d find a sweater or hoodie on your shoulders  

  - And even though she’d glance at you from the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t stop watching you for a single moment when you wore something of hers  

  - It was a matter of homeland—there was no ownership in Zaun, not even last names, as even the family you belonged to was irrelevant compared to what you could do  

  - And the gangs, thugs, and troublemakers wouldn’t hesitate to steal what was yours  

  - But you were hers, and you couldn’t be stolen. And that shirt was hers, but she didn’t feel mutilated, like she normally would, when you wore it  

  - In fact, she loved it, opening her arms to invite you to snuggle up, holding you carefully so the prosthetic wouldn’t bother you, adjusting the clothing on you ten, a hundred times, almost unconsciously  

  - And when you wore her clothes, it felt like for a little while, you could wear her skin too, to understand her better, and she suddenly seemed more vulnerable  

[helaintoloki]

Can you write a fic between Bucky and an avenger reader (maybe she’s just a little older than Peter (like she’s in her mid 20s)and she always had a crush on Bucky)

notes: thank you for sending this in ! i hope you enjoy

warnings: fluff, mentions of night terrors

summary: you think you’re too young for Bucky to be interested in you. ironically, Bucky thinks he’s too old for you to be interested in him

“So how did that date go?” Wanda asks while watching you mindlessly scroll through the selection of movies Tony has on the entertainment room TV.

“I bailed,” Natasha admits shamelessly with an innocent shrug, prompting both Wanda and yourself to turn to her in shock. “I’m not really interested in giving up my personal time for something as trivial as a blind date.”

You hum thoughtfully at her response, only half listening as Wanda begins to pester her for more details about the man she had stood up. The three of you are enjoying a rare night of peace in the tower after forcing the men to vacate the premises and allow you to have the space to yourselves. The three of you are outnumbered on the team, so sometimes a break from the intense amounts of testosterone are needed for you all to decompress. Girl’s night is a simple tradition, but you all enjoy each other’s company more than anything.

“What about you, y/n?” Natasha prompts while gently nudging your side and breaking you from your daze. “Any guys out there you think are first date material?”

You shift uncomfortably now that the spotlight is on you and try to mask the embarrassment that washes over you in response to the question. You know your answer, but you think you’d rather die than admit the truth. You try to remain as nonchalant as possible by offering a seemingly uninterested shrug and answering with a quiet ‘No,’ but you unfortunately can’t hide the truth from a mind reader.

“She has a crush on Barnes,” Wanda blurts out before she can stop herself, causing your eyes to widen in horror at being exposed. Natasha lets out an amused huff while her counterpart quickly utters out apologies. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say it. It’s just your thoughts get so loud when you think about him.”

“You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that,” Natasha jokes much to your dismay.

“Is it really that obvious?” You groan before allowing your head to fall back against the couch in defeat. Wanda pats your arm sympathetically, obviously still guilty about her slip up. You’re just thankful no one else is in the tower other than the three of you.

“Not to him,” the Widow consoles with a faint smile, “the man isn’t exactly the greatest at navigating social interactions. But I’ve seen the way you look at him from across the room and how your eyes light up when Steve puts you together on missions. You like him.”

“It’s pathetic, I know,” you admit with a defeated sigh, looking between the two in despair. “I don’t even know how it happened! One day we’re just teammates and the next I’m suddenly realizing just how blue his eyes are instead of paying attention to a debrief.”

“There’s nothing pathetic about your feelings,” Wanda says with a comforting smile, “it’s only natural. Maybe you should try talking to him about it.”

You look at her as if she’s grown a second head before scoffing at her suggestion. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way I’d ever be his type. Besides, he probably sees me as some kid considering I’m only twenty-six and he’s basically a hundred years old.”

Natasha can’t help but to let out a small chuckle at your predicament before taking the remote from your fidgety hands. You don’t exactly appreciate her amusement towards your self-depreciating rant, but you know she means well, and you also know you have a tendency to be a bit dramatic.

“Don’t sell yourself short, y/n/n,” she advises before finally deciding to hit play on a random comedy movie. “Remember that you’re the prize, and any guy or girl would be lucky to have you. Besides, you’ll never know what could happen if you don’t give it a shot.”

The conversation ends there as your trio becomes engrossed with the movie, but her words linger on your mind for the rest of the night. You really doubt Bucky could have anything but platonic feelings for you, and it would be embarrassing to confess your feelings only to have him shoot you down. You don’t think you could show your face around the tower again if that were to happen, but you also know that you would give anything to win the super soldier’s heart.

Your inner turmoil persists, and you go to bed that night unsure of how to move forward.

~~~

“Barnes, y/l/n, how are you holding up?”

“We’re pretty much fucked, Cap,” you grunt into your earpiece after being slammed against a wall. You thought the room had been cleared, but you were soon proven wrong by the assailants who had been hiding in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Bucky was currently taking on three on his own while you tried to fight off the woman who seemed hell bent on killing you. “If I survive this will I still be written up for swearing?”

“Focus, y/n,” Natasha’s voice chimes in. “Do you guys need backup?”

You manage to chance a glance over at Bucky and see that he’s fairing rather well on his own, and after returning your attention back to your own attacker, you swiftly lift your knee so that it slams into her gut and forces her to stumble back. It doesn’t take you long to disarm her and render her unconscious so that she no longer proves to be a threat, and you’re finally able to return to your own task.

“No, we’re good. Bucky should be able to hold them off while I plant the chip into the computer system,” you finally reply before setting to work. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“I hope so because they’ve got reinforcements already on the way,” Tony alerts over the earpiece. “You need to be out of there within the next five minutes.”

“Yep, you got it,” you affirm before looking over your shoulder to see Bucky finishing off the last of your attackers. His broad shoulders rise and fall with his labored breaths, hair falling perfectly into place and blue eyes looking up to meet your gaze. You swallow nervously and return your attention to the computer in an attempt to act inconspicuous. Luckily for you, the files you came for have been uploaded. “Alright, let’s get out of here before someone slams me up against another wall.”

“What?” Bucky retorts, eyebrows scrunched in confusion and cheeks slowly turning red at your poor choice of words. You pay him no mind and begin your trek towards the exit, though your stomach flips at the mere thought of having him cage you in against a wall and having you at his complete mercy. You shudder and try to shake the thoughts away, but it’s hard to do so when the man in question is right beside you matching your brisk pace.

“You okay?” He asks, eyes scanning your figure for any sign of injuries.

“Definitely going to have a bruise in the morning, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you note with an easygoing smile.

“I’m on dinner duty tonight,” Bucky notes thoughtfully before kicking down the doors and clearing your path to the outside. “You interested in lending a hand?”

“Oh, definitely. You and Steve can’t be trusted with dinner anymore after the last time.”

“I’ll have you know tuna casserole was a popular dish back in my day,” he retorts defensively only to make you laugh instead.

“Okay, grandpa, whatever you say,” you giggle much to his annoyance. He retaliates by playfully nudging your side with his elbow so that you stumble away, but he can’t hide the amused smile on his face at your antics.

“It’s about time,” Tony retorts impatiently after you two finally make it to the Quinjet. “I’d appreciate some sense of urgency, you know.”

“You said be back in five minutes, it’s only been three,” you reply defensively only to earn an eye roll from the man.

“You and Barnes can flirt with each other on your own time,” he quips to your dismay. You immediately feel yourself heat with embarrassment and do everything your power to avoid looking at Bucky who shifts uncomfortably beside you.

“We weren’t-“ Bucky starts to say only for Tony to interrupt.

“I don’t need the details, I just need both of your butts on the quinjet now.”

You’re mortified as you step foot inside where the rest of the team sits waiting. All eyes land on you and Bucky, and you try to ignore their gazes as you take your seat beside Wanda.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she whispers after leaning in closer to you, “his thoughts about you are loud, too.”

You swallow nervously and chance at a peek at the super soldier only to find he’s already looking right at you. You immediately turn your gaze towards the floor before sinking down sullenly into your seat.

It’s going to be a long flight home.

~~~

The tower is silent when you make your way to the living room in search of a distraction from the terrible nightmare you’d just endured. Your body still trembles with unease despite the blanket you have wrapped tightly around your figure, and it was times like these where you heavily contemplated begging Wanda to use her powers on you despite her reluctance to manipulate your mind.

There isn’t anything good playing this late on TV, but you don’t mind watching reruns of old sitcoms if it means you don’t have to sit in silence. You fixate your gaze on the screen, but you’re hardly paying any mind to your surroundings as you simply begin to dissociate. No one knows about the night terrors or the bad dreams that plague you after missions; you fear coming off as weak or unprepared for the life of an Avenger by telling any of your teammates about your dilemma, so you’ve learned to deal with it on your own by escaping through trivial distractions.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t detect the presence of someone else in the room until a hand rests on your bare shoulder. You jump, obviously startled as your wide eyes look to the perpetrator sitting beside you. Bucky immediately yanks his hand back and raises his hands in surrender, his features apologetic at having startled you.

“Sorry, sorry,” he immediately says. “I tried calling your name first but you weren’t exactly responding. You okay?”

“Yeah, I um- sorry,” you utter with a soft shake of your head before swallowing, “I just got lost in thought I guess.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

You normally would have insisted you were fine and tried to change the topic, but there was something about the gentleness in his eyes and the comfort his presence brought you that made it easier for you to open yourself up. You sigh, shifting in place so that you’re facing him now. He offers you a an encouraging smile and already you can feel yourself melting.

“Sometimes I have night terrors,” you confess quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it out loud. “They usually tend show up after a mission or an intense fight. When they happen I just come out here and watch some TV until my brain shuts up enough for me to get some sleep. Pathetic, huh?”

Despite the humorless laugh you let out, Bucky frowns before uttering, “I don’t think that’s pathetic at all. I get it. This job is tough, and sometimes you see things you can’t unsee no matter how hard you try. Don’t beat yourself up for having a normal human reaction to trauma.”

“You sound just like a therapist,” you tease, prompting him to let out a sheepish laugh in return.

“I may have picked up a thing or two in therapy myself,” he admits. A beat passes before he takes your hand in his own and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Just know that if you ever need help chasing the nightmares away, I’m right here.”

Your heart pounds in your chest while the warmth of his hold encompasses your hand and spreads throughout your entire body. His eyes are full of sincerity, but you also detect something that you’ve never seen from him before. This look is different than the ones he normally gives you, more intimate, and you find yourself nervously biting the inside of your cheek while trying to decipher what it could be.

“Thank you,” you finally voice with a tired smile. Wanting to lighten the mood, you ask, “How come you’re up this late, anyway?”

“Made the mistake of having a cup of coffee after dinner,” he confesses with an embarrassed chuckle. “You mind if I keep you company?”

“Of course not, silly,” you retort as if it’s the most absurd question you’ve ever heard.

You and Bucky settle into a comfortable silence as you tune in to the sitcom playing on the TV screen. A sense of calm has washed over your body now that you’re no longer being tormented by the remnants of your nightmare, but there’s still a part of you that remains nervous around the man you secretly harbor feelings for. You find your mind drifting back to what Wanda had said you earlier and wonder if there was any truth to her words. What did she mean by it?

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky prompts after the episode ends.

“Anything,” you reassure him, grabbing the remote to lower the television’s volume so that he can have your undivided attention.

“I know it’s just your way of poking fun at me, but when you call me ‘grandpa’ or ‘old man,’ is that… that’s not how you see me, is it? Old?”

You’re honestly taken back by his comment, not expecting him to have thought this heavily into the subject. Of course you knew the man was out of his time, and if he had been given the chance to age naturally you most likely would not be sitting here on this couch with him, but you had never thought less of him because of the fact.

“No, of course not! Honestly sometimes I forget you’re technically 106.”

Bucky lets out a chuckle at that, but there’s still doubt lingering on his features as he self-consciously looks down at his hands in his lap. “I just see you with Peter and Wanda sometimes and wonder if I’m too old for you to be hanging around with.”

You shift closer to Bucky so that you can rest a comforting hand on his bicep, prompting him to lift his head and meet your softhearted gaze. Your entire being emanates warmth and tenderness, and it draws the soldier right in to you. You have no idea the effect you have on him or the way a single brush of your fingertips against his skin can satiate the yearning he feels every time he looks at you. Wanda had been telling you the truth; his thoughts are always loud when you’re around him.

“I guess sometimes it’s easier to connect with them considering we’re closer in age, but I like that you and I are so different because of it. I think there’s more to learn with you and more to appreciate. I genuinely enjoy any minute that’s spent with you,” you confess adamantly, prompting the corner of his lips to quirk up. “Besides, it’s going to take a lot more than a number to scare me away from you.”

Bucky only responds by wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you into a long awaited hug. You try to stifle your gasp of surprise at suddenly being so close to him, and you hope he doesn’t pick up on the fact that your heart is nearly beating out of your ribcage. You feel his lips press to the top of your head and swear you must be dreaming this because there’s no way the Avenger you’ve pining after for months is now so boldly giving you his affection.

“How about we go away for a weekend?” He finally says after holding you in silence for some time.

“Go away?” You repeat, curiously peeking up at him.

“Leave New York, explore somewhere new,” Bucky reiterates, his features relaxed as he looks down upon you with an adoring gaze. “Be regular people for a few days.”

“I’d like that,” you profess quietly, sighing in contentment when the man pulls you against his chest once more before settling back against the couch. You can feel your eyelids already starting to become heavy, and the soothing circles he rubs into your back doesn’t help. You don’t want this moment with Bucky to end, but you also know that there’s so much to look forward to.

“Bucky?” You hum quietly after allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

“Yes, doll?”

“When we go away for the weekend, can we be regular people in a relationship?”

You feel his body gently shake from the quiet laugh he lets out at your response. You feel his lips press to your forehead as you drift to sleep, missing his answer when he replies, “I’d want nothing more.”

~~~

You slept through the rest of the night without issue; Bucky’s comforting presence was enough to lull you into a peaceful rest, and you entrusted him to chase away the nightmares for you. The two of you remained entangled together on the couch all the way until sunrise, and neither of you had bothered to consider the repercussions of your actions in the morning.

“I feel bad waking them,” Steve sighs, arms crossed over his chest as he and Natasha look down on your sleeping forms. There’s an almost proud smile on his face as he takes in the sight of his best friend holding the woman of his dreams in his arms.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let them sleep a little longer,” Natasha notes with a knowing smile before promptly ushering the blond out of the entertainment room. Unbeknownst to either of you, by the time you wake up you’ll be the talk of the tower.

“So how much do you owe Wanda?” Steve asks after quietly shutting the door behind him. Natasha lets out a disappointed sigh.

“I’m out twenty bucks. I bet it would take at least another week before they finally got their heads out of their asses and confessed. But I guess as long as they’re happy…”

“That’s all that matters,” Steve finishes for her with a nod.

The team is happy they’ll no longer have to endure your obvious pining over each other, and they make sure to tell you so when you finally wake up.

It’s an eventful morning to say the least.

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Mel and Viktor being drawn to each other but repelling each other at the same time... Ughhh you know I critique the fuck out of the writing sometimes but someone COOKED HERE

[legolambi]

say it with me melvik pre series toxic situationship

[jinxyjinxer]

˗ˏˋ MEALTIME ˎˊ˗ how they give head

⟢ characters : Ambessa Medarda, Caitlyn Kiramman, Ekko, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Sevika, Silco, Vander, Vi, Viktor

⟢ warnings : non-specified genitals, head (reader receiving), possible wlw and mlm

˗ˏˋ STARVED ˎˊ˗

They give head as if it was their last time doing so. They're sloppy, getting you and whatever surface is underneath you two wet. Not only that, but they do not fear of getting too messy, in fact it turns them on even more. They'll eat you so long until they're satisfied, often leaving you overstimulated and sore afterwards.

⟢ Jayce Talis, Silco, Sevika, Vi, Vander, Viktor

˗ˏˋ TEASINGLY ˎˊ˗

They're a tease and probably have some sadistic tendencies. Whenever they find themselves having your privates in their face, they can't help but do everything to make you when and beg for them to finally let you finish. And if that wasn't enough, they take great pride in seeing you cry from frustration, even getting turned on by the hot liquid rolling down your cheeks.

⟢ Ambessa Medarda, Caitlyn Kiramman, Sevika, Silco

˗ˏˋ GENTLE ˎˊ˗

For them, giving you head is solely there to pleasure your needs instead of their own. Which doesn't mean they don't enjoy themselves of course, in fact they find seeing your pleasure contorted face arousing, knowing it's them who gives you all this pleasure and not someone else.

⟢ Ekko, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Vander, Vi, Viktor

[satoruan]

FRIENDS WHO PLAY TOGETHER STAY TOGETHER ! ! — ARCANE

( tw ) f!reader. FF pairings. modern AU! masterbation. fingering. squirting. cunillings. dry humping. reader is kinda possessive in Vi’s. some yearning.

featuring. Violet, Caitlyn Kiramman & Mel Madarda

authors note. When you off that honey packet and ur home girl the only one in vicinity. Mel is so 🤭 I can’t she my type to a teeee. Anyways I’m about to go watch Act 2 WISH ME LUCK IM SCARED. Also idk how I feel about Kaits part I could do better 😔

VIOLET 

You and Vi were at another one of your friends' sleepovers. You didn't wanna come, you wanted to spend the Saturday just the two of you, alone. You hated sharing her attention, she was your best friend. You were each other's number one, why did you need other friends when you two were each other's everything. It was late now, almost everyone was sleeping or about to fall asleep when Vi crawled between the bodies of people to where you were laying. You didn’t notice until you felt the familiar embrace of her against your back. Despite yourself, you felt yourself relaxing against her body.  

“Are you still mad at me?” she whispered into your ear before placing a gentle kiss on your bare shoulder. “You know my favorite person. You have nothing to worry about.”  

“Yeah, whatever.” You grumbled. You weren't truly mad anymore but you knew what came next, what Vi did to reassure you that you were special to her. Her only best friend. You weren’t surprised when her hips rocked into your ass, when she pressed her tits against your back nor when her hand traveled underneath your oversized sleep shirt and cupped your breast. 

“Vi…” You sighed nuzzling into the arm underneath your head. She tightened her grip on your breast and rocked her hips into you. You push back harder and soon enough you guys find a rhythm. Your ass pushing down on her hips when she grinds up into you. Her callused palm grazes your nipple and you whine softly. She whimpers into your shoulder, finger going to your nipple when she pulls and twists. You wish her mouth was on you, you wish your mouth was on her. You turn your head to her “I love you the most. My favorite forever.”  

You feel her smile into your shoulder. “You're so beautiful, you know that?” translation: I love you too. 

MEL MEDARDA 

You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend’s tongue was inside of you. Licking you. Her lips were sucking on your clit, her teeth were biting your pussy lips. You could hear how wet you were—you could feel yourself leaking all over her face. “Mel!” You scream out into the dark room before slamming your hands over your own mouth. You don’t want anyone to see you—you don’t want her mother to see you, what a scene she would make. Seeing her daughter nose deep into her childhood best friend. Mel pulls her mouth off your clit with an embarrassingly loud pop. “Do you feel that? This is how you’re supposed to eat pussy darling.” She smiles when you just nod. Afraid that if you remove your hands from your mouth, you might confess something you don’t want.  

Plus, this was just a favor, strictly platonic, you were just friends. That’s why she was eating you out in the first place—you wanted to finally dip your toe into the dating scene but you were scared because you were inexperienced, you didn’t wanna leave your future partners disappointed in your nonexistence skills. And that’s where your best friend came in. Where you didn’t know anything about sex, she knew what felt like everything. Though you never saw her with anyone, she talked like she knew the ins and outs of men and women and she offered to teach you.  

“Now after you use your mouth and get them wet you wanna bring in your fingers, like this.” Mel grabs one of your thighs and pushes it down, giving her a better view of your dripping pussy before using her free hand and pushing a slender finger into you. You gasp. “I know you’ve fingered yourself before sweets, how many fingers have you shoved into this pretty pussy?” 

You whimper, hesitantly removing your hands. “T-two Melly.” You answer bashfully, using the nickname you gave her when you were children. She hums and adds another. You bite your lip, lower abdomen clenching when she curls them into your spongy g-spot. 

“Now pay attention to me alright?” She leans down to place a kiss on your pubs, leaving a trail of light kisses until she reaches your clit. She moves her hand out of you and a fast pace, fingers curling when she knuckles deep. You moan at the feeling of her hand pounding into you.  

She gives your clit a few kitten lips before wrapping her full lips around the swollen area. She bits hard enough for you to wince before she starts sucking. You feel yourself coming apart on her face before you can stop yourself. She hurriedly removes her fingers, mouth sucking you even harder when you feel liquid gush out of you. You grab the back of her head and scream. You can’t stop it, you don’t want to. You throw your thigh over her head and curl your foot into her back, still riding the high. When your pussy stops shooting the mysterious liquid out Mel’s fingers find themselves back inside, four this time. 

You feel tears collecting in the corner of your eyes, as she finger-fucks you. Mel pops back off your abused clit to whisper praises, good girl, you're doing so good, look at how well you take me, you feel heavenly, and when she goes back to playing with your clit you know you don’t want anyone to fuck you unless it’s her. Maybe you can ask her to teach you how to give hickeys next. 

CAITYLYN KIRAMMAN 

You were horny. Cait was horny. You both kept glancing at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking, sussing out what the other was thinking. The movie you guys were watching was a rating away from being straight porn. When it was over you, both decided to call it a night. It was late she said. You guys had class tomorrow you said. When the lights turned off, you both said goodnight and laid down in your shared bed. You two were so close and loved being near each other that on the first day of the semester you pushed your twin beds together. Oh, how you were regretting that idea now. All you wanted to do was fuck yourself. You knew you weren’t going to fall asleep without an orgasm and so after twenty minutes when you thought Cait was asleep, you found your hand traveling into your boy shorts. You sighed in relief when your fingers grazed your throbbing clit. You rubbed it for a few seconds before shoving two fingers into yourself. 

That relief was short-lived when you heard a breathy moan that didn’t come from you. You tensed up and stopped. When you didn't hear anything—maybe she was making those noise in her sleep—you slowly started to move your fingers in and out, palm rubbing against your clit. You bite your lip to stifle a moan and turn onto your back. You could barely move your fingers in and out lying on your side. You part your legs and moan when you finally hit your G-spot. You're so horny but your imagination isn't cutting it. Opening your eyes you turn your head to find the outline of your best friend who was the star in some of your fantasies, her hourglass figure would for sure spark a fantasy. When your eyes adjust to the dark you're shocked to see Cait staring back at you, her blanket pooling at her hips when you could see her hand abruptly stop moving. Your Cait was masturbating too, in the same bed as you. A grin spreads along your face. 

“I-I’m not—”  

“I am.” You whisper, pushing your blanket off you. Her eyes immediately latch onto where your fingers are slowly pushing in and out. Your other hand comes up to your tank top where you push your shirt down. Your breasts spill out. Cait’s face turns into a tomato, eyes widening even more than they already are. She doesn't remove her gaze from your breasts when she starts fingering herself again. You watch her mouth part into a small O and her eyes roll to the back of her head. You imagine what she looks like riding your face and start to speed up. Your other hand twisting your nipples.  

“I-m gonna..” Cait whimper and spasms for a few seconds. You moan at the look on her face, so pleased with herself, and soon enough you're squeezing your eyes and coming too.  

[ivyglow]

2 things:

1. Do you still watch hockey, even though you don’t blog as much about it anymore?

2. Are your hockey fics still up or did you take them down now that you’re not primarily a hockey blog anymore?

(P.S. you did create some really good hockey fics)

Hi, love, sorry for the late answer! <3

I don't keep up with the games as I used to, but sometimes when I turn on the tv and it's a match I def sit down to watch if I have the time. I plan on getting back to it this year tho, it's something I enjoyed doing

All of my works are still up, you can find them looking for the tags in my blog either mels writing, or player + imagine, I don't know how long you would have to scroll though haha but everything is still here <3 Thank you so much for the kind message! It means a lot that you still like my old works, they weren't masterpieces, but still, I hold each of them close to my heart, glad to know you remember them *mwah* :,) (I'm adding the mels writing tag to this ask so you can just click and find it on my blog easily, alright? Hope this helps)

[heatcaged]

smiles at a compliment not even meant for him oh we’re so unbelievably up

[deltamel]

Big Man, Little Dignity

── MEMORISED ALL YOUR LINES, FANTASISE YOUR DEMISE. satoru is more likely to strip naked and stroll through tokyo tech like he owns the place—to risk a fine for public fucking indecency—than to submit, mind and body, to you. word count. 5.5k

CONTENT. MDNI. fem!dom!reader, manipulative!sub!gojo, (brief mention of reader having a cunt but otherwise no description), bratty sub gojo, manipulation, foot humping, degradation, light choking, no prior discussion of kinks or aftercare, toxic dynamic, existing relationship, friends with benefits, pwp

MEL'S NOTE: what began as a character study of manipulative!gojo devolved into sentencing him to come in the most deliciously humiliating way. title insp. is the namesake song by paramore. a massive thank you to my gorgeous beta @nyxomniax (nyx's ao3) <3

“I really don’t like your attitude.”

Although attitude is a crude euphemism—Satoru’s sharp gaze seems to penetrate even through his blindfold. If looks could kill, as the saying goes. 

You sigh. Tonight was supposed to be a taunt, a challenge, a plea—all rolled into one tight, conniving quip that would snake its way around Satoru until the tips of his ears turned red where he knelt before you. You shouldn’t be surprised, really, at how your words roll off him, as though they’ve physically hit his Limitless and have slowed to the point of non-existence.

“Well,” he starts, petulant. “I really don’t like how long this is taking.”

You scoff, crossing one leg over the other as you lean further back into the cracked leather of the sofa you're sitting on. It creaks beneath you in protest.

“So how about we skip to the good part?” Satoru grins widely at you, utterly unashamed even as your eyes dip down to the hard outline tenting his uniform slacks. 

You’re bored, you realise. Uninterested in acting out the same scene and reciting the same worn, tired script to a man who, to your knowledge, couldn’t give less of a shit if you were completely mute as you let him rut into you.

It is… strange.

Months of hushed, sweaty hook-ups flash through your mind, like some kind of slideshow that should be playing all of your favourite memories before you die. These are anything but; they’re a twisted amalgamation of simmering anger and bestial grunting way too close to your ear to be enjoyable.

Why had you let it get this far? Spin this far out of control?

“Oh sure, I have all day,” Satoru says, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Absolutely no rush whatsoever. Take your time, even!”

You press your lips together, unimpressed.

Shame burns through you like you are no more than bone-dry tinder unfortunate enough to be in its path. You wanted to lead tonight, to set the pace—and you believed forcing him to kneel at your feet and feeding him the command to behave would be sufficient. That he may finally take the bait. Naturally, you seem to have asked too much, and you’re utterly lost as to how you’ve deluded yourself into such a fictional image of him. One that is flushed and moaning and writhing beneath you. One that would beg you for more.

He’d never.

Satoru is more likely to strip naked and stroll through Tokyo Tech like he owns the place—to risk a fine for public fucking indecency—than to submit, mind and body, to you.

“Now, I may look the picture of youth, but if I’m sat on my knees any longer, we may have an issue when I finally fuck you.” He laughs, presumably imagining himself as a hobbled-sorcerer or something equally inane, hell-bent on clumsily thrusting into you. “And we can’t have that, can we? How will I satisfy that greedy cunt of yours?”

It’s an unconscious impulse as you kick hard at the centre of his chest, anger flaring at the hit to your own ego, only to be rebounded by Satoru’s Limitless. You never stood a chance.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you snap. “I’ve never met anyone who loves the sound of their own voice as much as you do.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, admonishment smeared over his face. “Ask nicely.”

Breathing out through your mouth, you try to summon the patience that seems to be rapidly eluding you the more Satoru talks.

“‘Ask nicely’,” you repeat blandly.

“Yep,” he says, emphasising the pop of the p at the end.

“Like how I ‘asked nicely’ for you to behave?”

“I wouldn’t say you ‘asked nicely’...” he trails off, looking askance as though he’s working hard to recall the memory from only five minutes prior. “More like demanded and expected that I, bearer of the Six Eyes, would obey.”

“Huh,” you tilt your head, “that’s funny. I’m pretty sure you’ve been demanding to fuck me.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, heaving a labouring sigh, as though you’d told him that his favourite coffee shop—the quaint, crumbling building a few blocks away from the school run by an elderly couple, that you’re near positive Satoru only frequents because he can bat his lashes and they will give him free coffee—has run out of the sugary atrocity he usually drinks.

“Did you miss,” he waves his arms down his body, presenting himself, “the bearer of the Six Eyes part of my sentence? That was pretty integral info.”

Wishing you were surprised at the lack of gravity he’s giving the situation doesn’t come easily. He’s always been like this, since as long as you’ve known him anyway; years of dropping ill-timed jokes and unbothered banter in the face of national threats and almost always imminent death. It’s illogical. And above that, it’s quite frankly insane. So why would you be the exception to his whims? Why would he afford you real concern when it proves no benefit to him? You could tear at those towering walls surrounding him, brick by brick, until your bare hands are broken and bloody and unrecognisable, yet there’d hardly be a dent big enough to warrant his attention.

Before you have a chance at spitting back any lacklustre rebuttal, he speaks over you.

“So let’s cut whatever bullshit you’re trying to pull. Honestly. What are you trying to achieve with me down here and you up— wait.” He perks up, likely seeing you anew from behind his blindfold as he rambles. “Was this all an elaborate plot to get me to eat you out? Because baby, I do not have to be on my knees to have you on yours. Why didn’t you ask sooner?”

You launch forward, sinking a hand deep into his unpigmented hair—allowing yourself only a split-second of astonishment that he allowed you to make contact with the real him, not his Limitless—before yanking him forward to unbalance him. That’s all it takes. One slip-up, intentional or not, and you use the momentum to force his face down into the floor between your feet, pressing his cheek against the rough grain of the wood. The connecting thunk is the most satisfying sound you’ve heard from Satoru all evening.

Against the dark wood below him, Satoru’s alabaster skin is downright ghostly. Stark and obvious in every way that Satoru is himself. It’s fitting, really. You savour the colour rushing to his cheeks, the strands of hair fallen over his blindfold, the blood welling in his lip where he must have bitten himself on impact. You want to taste it. To draw more than just blood from his lips.

The bounds of his Limitless do not protect him from himself, you think. How ironic.

Satoru’s chest stutters where he’s bent over awkwardly, still kneeling. His hands are trapped underneath him like he meant to stop his fall. You know he could have. So why didn’t he? And why is he letting you hold him down, making no effort to brush your hand from his hair or sit up as you watch him try to regulate his breathing?

Hell, he’s not even said a word. Quiet as a field mouse where he’s pressed down between your heeled shoes.

“You want to eat me out?” you murmur, leaning over your lap to study the side of his face in interest.

Satoru exhales sharply, and at first you think you might finally have him snared—a hunter’s high when the bullet rings loud and sharp in the air, the elation when their prey drops to the ground like a stone. But then he angles his head further to the side, twisting as though to catch your eye through the blindfold, and he smiles.

Smiles.

A scoff bursts from your throat before you can help it—an ugly sound, perfectly complementary to the resentful look smudged across your face.

Well.

You tried, at least. But it’s beyond clear that Satoru Gojo is a lost cause—a fool’s errand—and you are no such thing, not for him. No matter how much you desire to see his pale skin painted with deep red want as he pleads for your touch, pent-up and desperate, an orgasm withheld tenfold until he’s panting and whining, bucking his hips up to knock his dick uselessly against your leg—how he would tip his head back, baring the smooth, unmarked column of his neck for your teeth to sink into and… god.

Your imagination is painting cruel washes of colour over the pallid picture before you, and you bite your lip in frustration, yearning for some kind of restraint to resist being his fool. Shifting his knees slightly, Satoru hums thoughtfully and shatters the illusion your mind has conjured. The sound fills you with dread. Nothing good comes from his premeditated words.

“I’m not sure anymore…” he trails off. Does he sound breathless? No—he can’t, right? No. You’re the one who wants this. He’s just messing with you. “You’re being kind of mean to me.”

And now he’s pouting. The revered six-eyed sorcerer is pouting against the floorboards. You tighten your fingers in his hair, relishing how it makes him hiss at the sharp pricks of pain. Again you wonder, why hasn’t he put his Limitless back up?

The harsh treatment doesn't, however, stop him from barrelling forward.

“I have feelings you know! I’m not some sex doll you can push around however you like—although you’d probably love that, thinking about it now… you know, I can probably find a guy for you. I’m talking someone real shady. Under-the-table type of deals. All I have to do is put up one ad on Craigslist—’hot single in urgent need of a man who won’t talk back’—and the offers will come swarming in. It’ll be uncomfortable, but for you…” he laughs. “Just for you, I’ll bite the bullet if you’ll consider shelving this stunt indefinitely!”

His mouth is moving a thousand miles a minute, like it’s replaced his heart and is running to keep him alive. To pump the very blood around his body. You know he has it. Blood, that is. Your eyes flicker to the beads of it that are shifting on his lips as he speaks, hardly taking a breath between each sentence.

“Satoru,” you say, interrupting him impatiently. “Please shut the fuck up.”

He grins, all teeth. There’s a smear of red on them.

You stare down at him. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” Satoru breathes through the ugly smile. “Probably. That would explain why I’m still hard, even with a psycho bending me over.”

You can’t even wipe the indignant expression from your face if you try, because your brain latches onto the fact that Satoru is still hard, and runs with it despite your protests. You try to form some kind of barb, a cruel insult at least—but you’re fighting a losing, bloody battle of the highest dishonour with yourself. You know every offensive and defensive move in your arsenal, and so you are defeated, your traitorous brain attempting once more to make the man underneath you submit.

“I’m the psycho?” you prompt.

He hums, his cheek still against the floorboards. You wonder if you’d be able to feel the reverberations of it under the soles of your feet were you not wearing heels.

“Huh, maybe you’re right,” you say, levelling your eyebrows and veiling the trepidation buzzing behind your features. “Hands behind your back.”

Your words are plain, and you hold your breath as he mulls over the request. His fingers flexing and flagging on the floorboards where his hands are tucked beneath his torso.

Please.

One of his hands moves to brace himself on the floor and you can feel the heat pulse in your core, expectant and hopeful, only to be slaughtered as easily as a curse in the face of his boundless power when he slowly pushes himself upright. He doesn’t dislodge the tight grip you maintain on his hair and you don’t bother trying to keep him pinned. Satoru has evidently decided he’s done with your little display of dominance and you can’t overpower him. Even if you wish fervently to have the ability to do so.

“I’m good, actually,” he says. Matter-of-factly and in a tone so chipper you want to strangle him just to hear his words wobble and break from the sure path they’re on. “But thank you.”

The flush you can feel creeping up your cheeks is humiliating, degrading you impossibly further when Satoru simply watches you. His face is an expressionless mask. Frustration wraps itself around you, coiling until you can’t breathe and you use your hold in his hair to shove him. Your palm forces his head to the side like it may give you a reprieve, but when you hand drops, his head simply swings back to face you a moment later. Bright eyes stare at you impassively, as though he’s watching a bug crawling by his stupid, shiny shoes. Too small to care about. Not worth the effort to catch, nor kill.

“Fuck you,” you say. But there is no anger in it, not anymore. You’re deflated, and the level tone you try to uphold barely masks the hurt you feel trembling through your words.

You’ve been a fool, after all.

Months spent convincing yourself 'one day’, while deluding yourself over scenarios that could never be—because you’re, well… you’re you, and Gojo Satoru is the Six Eyes. You’ve been kicking up circles of dust running from that very notion since the first time you slept with him.

“Come on,” he broaches, voice light as he shifts back to sit on his haunches more comfortably. “You still going to let me hit?”

You are nothing to him. You know that now—the ember is glowing bright and burning through you, sacrificial in every right—and you will only be saved if you are cleansed of Satoru.

“I’m done,” you mumble, eyes shifting to drink in the Tokyo skyline from your apartment. Thousands of minuscule lights flicker, each a person tangled in their cobweb of life as insignificant as your own. “I can’t do this anymore, Satoru.”

It’s ironic, really, that now seems to be the moment you’ve finally stunned Satoru. His mouth opens but no quick quip or joking response comes forth. He closes it again. You can see it in your periphery—the blinking lights call your name as you let your gaze drift over each building, every life, and the sun dipping slowly behind them.

“Hey,” he starts, voice guarded. “I thought this was all part of our give and take.”

An apology? No. An excuse? Hardly.

Of course he wouldn’t debase himself with atonement; you aren’t worth that. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Satoru apologise to anyone—not when he decimates acres of land fighting a curse, nor when he bumps into someone and knocks the coffee they held from their hand. Perhaps this should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. You inhale a deep breath.

“You take and take and take. There is no give with you— no—” you pause, eyes flitting over to Satoru but not lingering long enough to examine his expression before they drift back to the sunset. “I have nothing left to offer. You have wrung me dry.”

You don’t expect an immediate response. After all, when have you ever rejected his advances? When have you before had the courage to sever those threads trapping you both together? He may have a silver-tongue, but that does not mean he cannot falter.

“Okay.”

…okay?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you drag your attention to the man kneeling before you.

“Okay,” he repeats. “You want me to give or you leave.”

His tone is blunt, no trace of a question to be found where it should be. He’s got it wrong—as though reading the lines of your reaction backwards. Has Satoru ever tried to understand you?

“It’s not an ultimatum,” you say tiredly. “We’re done.”

We’re done.

You’ve never referred to what was going on between you and Satoru as we, and even as it rolls off your tongue, it feels strange; like an ill-fitting sheet with its seams stretched beyond repair just so that it may barely clutch onto the mattress. It feels fraudulent. But the words have been spoken and you cannot swallow them back.

“I can give.” Satoru implores, his large hands rest on his thighs, painting the very picture of composure.

“I don’t want what you offer.”

I want your submission.

You can’t say it, even now. Even with this goodbye between you forming the perfect stage for one last hurrah—an act he won’t forget. That he may even care about.

It won’t matter, you remind yourself.

The silence branches between you, pushing you further and further and further from Satoru with each passing second.

He won’t reply.

You have been his fool, through and through—played the part well enough one might think you’d been bred for such a role. Perhaps you do not want him to reply, because if he speaks, if he pushes, you don’t know what you will do—for better or worse. So, bringing your hands to the sofa underneath your thighs, you tense and begin to push yourself to stand—to leave—when Satoru moves all at once. Clumsy and disorganised in a way you’ve never seen from him before. Urgent in a way he never is. You pause.

Satoru shuffles forward on his knees, closer and closer, until he’s a hair’s breadth from your crossed legs. The peculiar twist of his mouth has your gut swooping, a foreboding feeling rising within you at the serious expression. The distrust must be plain across your face, but when you open your mouth to protest, he leans forward. Cautious, like the possibility of you striking him is a real one—like he wouldn’t just block you with his Limitless—and gently, he places his chin on your crossed knee.

You freeze, and the breath you were inhaling lodges in your throat.

A long, slender finger hooks under one side of his blindfold and lifts the corner up to reveal a wide, beseeching eye staring up at you. Your own widen in response. You’ve never seen him look like this before. He looks…

Harmless. Almost innocent. 

And then, as if you’re not preoccupied worrying over whether in the time you were looking out the window, Satoru had been somehow possessed, he speaks.

“This is what you want, right?” His voice is so soft. “You want control.”

He’s demented. There’s no other explanation. Not as to why he’s kneeling in front of you like an entirely different person. Not as to why his tone and his stupidly big eyes have heat rushing to meet you like it never left. How does he know? All this time you believed him to be oblivious, he’s—

You have underestimated him. Again. He knew.

“You want me to beg,” he continues, his eye glued to yours. “To ask to touch you. To come.”

The leather sofa creaks underneath your fingers, where they curl nervously into the material.

“I…” you trail off, unsure as to what you’re even trying to say—what you even want to say.

The heat from his chin is leaching through your trousers, penetrating the layer of fabric and you fear it may scald your skin, marring it permanently. You can smell his cologne. He doesn’t let you breathe before uprooting your entire world—destroying the threads woven through you both that have kept you safe, that have kept him happy. 

“Please,” he breathes. Breathes, not whines, because if Satoru Gojo just propped his chin on your knee, looked up at you with his pleading, blue eyes, and whined, you really would be convinced he’d been possessed.

The wave of heat that washes over you is so filthy you barely have the forethought to worry if Satoru can feel it radiating from you as you screw your eyes shut against it. Against his exposed eye and its analysing stare.

“Please.”

You choke on a sound at the back of your throat, scrabbling to keep it inside you. To not allow him to stoke the burgeoning fire threatening to engulf you. The smoke is thick and blinding. Why it has taken you near leaving for him to play along with a desire he’s clearly known about for god only knows how long baffles you.

You can’t think straight.

It’s like any semblance of logical, rational thought has fled you to safer grounds, abandoning you to deal with the consequences of your desires alone as though it’s what you deserve. Perhaps you do. Wanting to grind Satoru, a man who holds Six Eyes and the most powerful sorcerer the Earth has ever encountered, into mere dust beneath your heel cannot possibly be normal.

Gradually, as unassuming as the approaching tide, a sick curiosity calls out: would he let you? The urge to answer that question commandeers your mind, screaming and hollering for attention that you can’t help but grant it because… what if he does? Months of yearning for this very scenario are ploughing through your defences like they are no more than reeds swaying in a breeze. Is Satoru offering you a chance for the control you have been desperate for? What if this is it? Your one and only opportunity. A test.

Take the leap or never know.

Perhaps by permitting yourself to finally release the perverted desire—that which has simmered higher and higher each time you slept together—you may develop an addiction with no prospect of your next fix. But the screaming is reaching its peak—loud and distracting and you can’t think around the blaring curiosity to taste it regardless; to ruin your palette once and for all; to at least know. So you open your eyes again and unclench one of your fists from the leather sofa, raising it slowly, cautiously, to cup the side of his face and stroke your thumb over his cheekbone. Only then do you look into his eye.

“Okay,” you say, voice soft. Re-emboldened, you test the boundaries again. “Are you going to behave?”

Satoru leans his weight into your hand, so lightly you may not have noticed if your world hadn’t narrowed down to the sorcerer before you. He swallows before he speaks.

“Yes,” he breathes, shifting on his knees and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before he lets it pop back out, slick and shiny with his spit. You can feel your heart thundering like a brewing storm in your chest. “I’ll behave for you.”

A switch has flipped. Satory hasn’t been this agreeable in any of the long years you’ve suffered his acquaintance, and you feel lightheaded knowing you may be the first person to see him like this. You nod, trying to disguise the way you shiver at the realisation.

“Hands behind your back.”

The blindfold slips back over his eye when he lets go of it, and you would mourn the loss of eye contact if not for how he immediately obeys. The pliancy sends you reeling. You want to see. Are his hands clenched? Relaxed? Fidgeting? But you stay. The novelty of your situation isn’t lost on you—the things you want to do to him are so great in number that it’s overwhelming. You’ve had practice, however; you’ve imagined Satoru like this enough times you may well have thought through every possibility as to how this night could go. You don’t hesitate.

“Good.”

He swallows.

Feeling suspicious would probably be a smart idea, one that would prepare you for the rug he may pull out from under your feet. Because the possibility that his actions are a means to an end or a new opportunity to laugh in your face before he flips you over and ploughs into you—like his submission was a mere hallucination—is real. But you can’t quite bring yourself to commit to the feeling for more than a few seconds before there’s an itch under your skin telling you to touch. Your other hand joins to cup his face, and you tilt his head away from your knee until his throat is entirely bared. His blindfolded eyes study the drab ceiling above you both.

“So pretty,” you mumble, eyes tracing the long line of his pale neck.

You want to lean forward and bite, but the night is young. There will be time. You do not have to rush something so precious. You must savour this like a woman on death row with her final meal.

Satoru’s mouth drops open slightly, baring his teeth, and you can see his chest rising and falling fast. Intrigued to test a hypothesis you’ve held close to your heart for months, you dip your thumbs down below his jaw and dig them into the soft skin there. He releases a breathy sort of ‘hah’ at the sensation, shifting again on his knees. You press harder, the skin turning white beneath your thumbs. His pulse is pounding, but it’s not enough—you want to hear him. Releasing the pressure, you study the irritated pink that frames two deep nail marks on either edge of his jaw.

Ever so slowly, your palms cup his nape and you drag your thumb nails down either side of his windpipe, hard enough to leave two trailing scratch marks. Satoru muffles a surprised noise that tapers off when your thumbs come to rest at the base of his throat, your hands collaring him.

Squeezing your hands against the base of his throat, you listen to how his breath chokes off at the pressure. The tip of his ears begin to redden as you hold his breath between two states. His mouth drops open further, desperate. You let go and listen to how he heaves in a deep breath before releasing it, controlled in an attempt to level his breathing. To keep the spots dotting his vision at bay. You can see the tears clumping at his lash line—a response no one can control in the face of being choked—but fuck, the power rush you feel as you study the tears threatening to spill over is hedonistic.

Slipping your fingers back up the sides of his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, you hook your thumbs underneath his blindfold and tug it off, dropping it on the ground by your feet. He doesn’t protest, eyes fluttering open. Leaning back in your chair, you sever the contact between you. After a few seconds, he drops his head down and looks at you, making a confused sound in the back of his throat.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks. 

Is his voice hoarse, or is that your imagination?

No.

His voice is hoarse—rough with a desire you’ve instilled into him.

You quirk an eyebrow and Satoru flushes in response, eyes darting around where you sit. Wordlessly, you uncross your legs, stretching one out until your foot rests against his thigh.

“You don’t want something…” You drag the toe of your shoe up the inseam of his slacks, voice low. “More?”

“I…” Satoru swallows. “Yes.”

Lifting your foot, you press the point of your heel into the meat of his thigh, hard enough you’re sure the pressure must be uncomfortable. He doesn’t do more than clench his jaw. Your lips purse and you nod silently, content to wait.

The lull stretches between you, thick and sticky like sap gathering at the wound of a tree.

“Uhm,” he starts warily, “please?”

The corner of your lip twitches.

“Can you touch me?” he asks, voice firmer now at your reaction. “Please?”

Satoru sighs in relief when you remove your heel from his thigh, but the calm is quickly shattered when your leg extends further, the ball of your heeled-foot coming to rest on his cock as you press gently against it.

“Ow,” he gasps, but he doesn’t sound very pained at all. In fact, the red flush creeping across his nose bridge is all-too incriminating. You smile.

Running your fingers through your hair, you push it back from your face before straightening your barely-wrinkled clothes, steadfastly focusing your attention on anything but the man in front of you. It doesn’t take long for Satoru to squirm, and you only increase the pressure of your foot in response. He makes a strangled noise through his clenched jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” you say, tapping your nails on your thigh impatiently.

Satoru’s bright eyes flick between your own curiously. When you don’t say anything further, he lifts his hips into your foot slowly, watching you. A breath escapes him at the pressure. His eyebrows scrunch up in concentration and he reaches out a big hand to wrap around the back of your calf, forcing your foot forward as he begins to gently roll his hips. You let him—the effort is not yours to expend.

“Surely you can do better than this?” you ask when he continues his cautious, slow thrusts, voice bored.

He huffs, eyes flitting up to meet yours before focusing back on where the bright lacquer of your heel meets his dark slacks, and the arousal slowly bleeding through. The hand clutching your calf is uncomfortably warm, yet the tightening fingers and low moans on every thrust command your attention.

“To think that I’ve let you fuck me,” you say through a sigh. 

Satoru bristles beneath you but the stutter of his hips gives him away. These cruel words you spill are a means of catharsis, months of bitterness rotted down to pure acidity—never would you have guessed he’d enjoy the taste. 

“This is as humiliating for you as it is for me, Satoru.” 

You’re lying—of course you’re lying. You would wear Satoru’s humiliation like a second skin if such a scientific feat were possible; something so intrinsically tied to your body it may never be taken from you. Satoru huffs a strained laugh, feigning indifference as though it could fool you.

“I’d hope— it is—” he says between pants.

Leaning further back on the chair, you spread your other leg, tracking how Satoru’s other hand is curled tight into a fist atop his thigh. Blood pools in his cheeks, infecting his face like a virus he can’t fight. 

“Bearer of the Six Eyes,” you drawl, letting the words hang in the air between his pants before you continue, “humping my foot like a dog.”

“Haah— shut— up—” he spits between each sticky press of his crotch against your shoe, fingers digging into your calf painfully in punishment.

It’s filthy—the way his thighs strain in his slacks as he moves; the way his baby hairs stick to his forehead; the way Satoru bites his lip to contain his noises.

“Why have you resisted this for so long?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, doesn’t even seem to acknowledge that you’ve asked him a question and your ego bruises. He’s too caught up in the chase of his high to bear you a second thought. You dig your foot into his cock cruelly.

Ignore me now.

“Oh fuck—” he gasps, his movements stuttering underneath you. “Ah— you’re— mean—”

You take in his reaction, humming. A moment passes before you deign to reply.

“I’m being mean?” you pout. “You seem to be enjoying it, though.”

Satoru moans aloud, harsh and tortured. You dig your foot in again just to hear his voice catch in his throat. The pace of his hips is frantic now, and he uncurls his fist, splaying it out on the wooden floor behind him so that he can roll into your foot faster, harder. Satoru’s head tips back at the new angle and he pants, open-mouthed, into the air. Barely-there moans escape on every exhale. You watch with fascination.

“You’re close, huh?” you tease, all-too pleased when Satoru nods his head rapidly.

“Yes— ah— yes.” His voice is thin and torn. Glassy eyes watch you carefully when he tips his head back down and you hum in recognition.

“I want you to say ‘thank you’ when you come.”

Satoru’s eyes flare wide, but he doesn’t protest. If anything, the roll of his hips grows unforgiving, his pace quick and punishing as he drives himself to the edge he’s so desperate for—the one that you’ve granted him. Enraptured, you increase the pressure on his cock, trapping it harder against his pelvis. Satoru groans as he ruts against your foot. The trembling wracking his body worsens, and he squeezes his eyes shut when his back bows towards you.

“Thank you,” he keens, mouth dropping open as he comes, hips still quietly rolling against your foot as he rides it out. “Thank you, thank you, haah— thank you, oh— thank—”

Leaning forward, you press your finger into his open mouth and pet it across his tongue to quiet him. His eyes flutter open to take in your dangerous grin. 

Satoru is finally human like this. Mortal, even. Skin flushed and damp. Breaths coming short and fast. At last, you can reach him. Hooking your finger into his cheek, you drag him closer before he has a chance to calm, until you can feel the warmth of his feverish-panting on your chin.

“You’re welcome, Satoru.”

thank you for reading, reblogs are always super appreciated if you enjoyed! <3

✦ masterlist ✦ ao3 ✦

© deltamel '25 — do not plagiarise, modify, translate, or repost my work onto any platform.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[helaintoloki]

Winter Flower

pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x reader

warnings: themes of kidnapping, drugging, violence, trauma, suggestive content. mentions of pregnancy, eventual happy ending

notes: wanted to try writing something out of my comfort zone so pls let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more!

summary: fate binds you to the Winter Soldier, but will it be enough to keep you together when you’re constantly being pulled apart?

“We’ve decided to give you a new pet.”

The Winter Soldier isn’t sure what to make of the barely conscious woman that’s been carelessly thrown at his feet by his handlers, but he knows better than to ask questions by now. His handlers seem to find his predicament comical as they laugh at a joke the Asset is not a part of and watch the scene unfold with malevolent smiles.

The woman, unbeknownst to the soldier, had undergone weeks of physical torture and anguish as various Hydra doctors poked and prodded at her mind and body until there was not a single ounce of fight left in her body. She’d been battered and bruised until she was almost nothing, and in the end it had all been a complete waste of time. Their hopes for a new weapon were diminished by the discovery that her body had not taken to the serum; her brute strength and aggression had only lasted for three days before she had crashed and returned back to normal. The experiment had failed, and Hydra now looked to their prized possession to dispose of her properly.

“We will let you have your fun,” his handler had snidely remarked before slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the Winter Soldier locked in his holding cell alone with her. She hadn’t moved in the time since she’d arrived, so the man felt it necessary to firmly nudge her ribs with his boot to wake her up. He didn’t want her here, didn’t enjoy a stranger in the only space he could remotely consider his own, and he wanted this to be known.

Slowly, the failed experiment uses every ounce of strength she has left to lift her head and will herself to look up at the man tasked with terminating life. Unlike the soldier, she knows why they have thrown her in here with their deadliest killer, and the trembling of her bottom lip reveals her trepidation. He initially expects to feel disdain and disgust for this supposed pet that lies at his feet, but when her wide eyes meet his own something inside him shifts.

The Winter Soldier was never one for compassion or empathy; he was programmed to kill without remorse, to void himself of any warmth or humanity, but as he looked down at her his chest swirled with emotions he could not name. It wasn’t pity or mockery, but a compulsive need to protect her from harm the way one wishes to protect a helpless animal from awaiting predators. She is not a pet, but he decides in that moment that she will be his to look after.

Wordlessly, the soldier scoops her limp form off of the tile ground and rests her in the small cot he calls a bed. A pathetic whine of pain leaves her body at the discomfort of being moved around, causing his chest to tighten unbearably. This shouldn’t be happening, there shouldn’t be a sense of longing suffocating his entire being when he gazes upon her weakened form, and yet the man finds himself taking extra care to tuck her under the blankets.

He lets her sleep, keeping careful watch over her form like a guard dog as he seats himself in front of the metal door and basks in her presence.

The Winter Soldier had a new purpose now.

~~~

No one had expected the Asset to become so taken with you.

When the guards came to see if the Soldat had finished the job, they were stunned to find you fast asleep in his bed while he stood watch. They had tried to terminate you themselves only to be met with gruesome ends after just looking at you. The Winter Soldier was adamant that you were not going anywhere, and no one could understand why he had become so fond of you within such a short span of time.

The answer had been discovered a week later by the scientists tasked with creating the new weapon. Though your body had not taken to the physical changes of the serum, they found that it had permanently altered your inner body chemistry and DNA as a result. Your new genetic makeup had triggered something within the Winter Soldier as soon as your eyes had locked with his own, almost as if your blood spoke to his. You were bound together on a biological level by this new serum, and this bond could not be broken.

The deaths of twenty men left Hydra with no choice but to let him keep you as the ordeal was not worth losing more valuable resources than necessary. Your survival did not come without cost, however, and they made it clear that you were expected to earn your keep. The Winter Soldier’s handlers had decided that you could be quite useful in forcing the Asset to comply. The cost of any mistakes or failures were yours to pay, and the possibility of your torture or isolation from one another proved to be a good motivator for the Soldat to execute missions without flaw.

You are an unwilling prisoner in all of this, your freedom taken from under you with no regard to your autonomy, but you know that this is the best possible outcome to have happened to you. Being a pet is much better than being a weapon to abuse or a failed experiment to get rid of, and you know that no real harm can come to you under the protection of the Winter Soldier. You have no choice but to make the most of the course life has chosen for you, and so you fall into your role as his companion.

“I don’t like when you leave,” you utter quietly while making careful work of combing his hair. He is scheduled to be sent away to Italy to locate and execute a deserter known to have important Hydra files with them, and your soldier will be gone for a week. His absence is isolating, and you know that once he is gone a nurse will arrive to hold you down while the doctors drug you to prevent you from causing any problems while he is away. Your brain becomes foggier and foggier with each dosage, and as time goes on the details of your life before the Winter Soldier become hazier until you almost forget everything.

“I must,” is his gruff reply. “It will keep you safe.”

“I want to leave, too,” you whisper despondently, taking great care to ensure your words cannot be heard by anyone other than him. He stiffens, and for a moment you fear being reprimanded, but his quiet utterance in reply has you hopeful for a chance at something better.

“You will.”

~~~

You wake to a man violently grabbing you by the hair and dragging you out of bed. You kick and claw at his arm in a fruitless attempt to free yourself, but he remains unfazed as he drags you to your destination. You know these hallways well enough to know where you are going, and despite your groggy state at having just been woken up from your drug induced slumber you are aware enough to know what is about to come.

Your soldier is waiting for you when you finally arrive to his handler’s office, eyes wide with fury and helplessness as he watches the man lift you by the hair before slamming you back down onto the ground. You cry out in agony and reach for your companion only to have a heavy boot land down onto your hand. The Winter Soldier moves to attack only to have several guns pointed at him, and he is forced with no choice but to stand down and watch you take on the abuse.

“You did not comply with orders, Soldat,” the man says simply, casting an irate glance your way at the sound of your pathetic cries. “I asked you to return with those stolen files and instead you lost them. What good are they to me now?”

A swift kick is driven into your ribcage and you curl into yourself with a sob. His entire body is vibrating with anger, each blow landed only fueling his need for vengeance, and yet he cannot save you. This was the arrangement made, the only reason you were allowed to still be alive, and it was his fault that this was happening to you. A single tear slides down his face at the sound of bone cracking when you take another hit to the ribs, and just when he thinks he can’t take anymore the man raises a hand to signal the assailant to cease his abuse.

“Do not fail again, or next time she will endure worse than a broken rib.”

The guards file out until all that remains is the Winter Soldier and his battered pet that lies unmoving in the center of the room. He’s on you in an instant, hands that were built to kill being used to gently lift your broken form from the ground. Every movement sends painful jolts throughout your body that make you let out pained shrieks and cause his chest to tighten as a result. The Asset cradles you to his chest like a child would their favorite teddy bear and does his best to console you. His metal fingers gingerly comb through your hair as you sob into his chest, and his mind is frenzied with thoughts of how he could ever possibly make this better.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck, his salty tears staining your skin when he presses his face against you. “I’m sorry, my pet.”

You are a prisoner just like him, and he cannot help you when he himself is bound to Hydra forever.

~~~

A week has passed and your injuries have improved gradually overtime, though your Soldat still takes great precaution when touching you or holding you close at night. He handles you with care, and it will never cease to amaze you how a man who was created to be the perfect weapon can be so tender with a woman who would mean nothing to him if not for the serum running through her veins.

He has been gone more often as of late, assisting in the training of a new batch of soldiers. At times you worry he might take to one of them the way he did you, might abandon you in place of a new pet, but from what you have gathered from overheard conversations the scientists had fixed this issue when creating the new serum. They couldn’t risk him showing loyalty to others and chance him deciding to fight back. He was yours, and admittedly you liked it this way. Perhaps it was the constant drugs being put in your system or the isolation of being confined to this building forever, but you loved him.

“I want a name,” you tell him when he returns from a grueling day of training. He looks at you almost puzzled as he removes his tactical clothing in preparation for a shower.

“Name?” He repeats with furrowed brows, planting himself in front of where you sit on the edge of the bed. You open your legs to allow him refuge in between them and hum in approval when he reaches down to gently run his metal fingers along the lines of your jaw.

“I don’t remember mine anymore, or anything before I came here, not completely. I need a name now.”

The Winter Soldier had never stopped to consider these details before you’d brought them to his attention; he didn’t know anything about himself, and he’d forgotten that this was considered abnormal. You had a life before him, an identity, and yet he’d never stopped to try and ask you.

“цветок.” You tilt your head in confusion and he smiles, a rare laugh escaping him as he explains, “Flower.”

He bends forward to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and in that moment you decide you like your new name.

You prefer being his Flower over his Pet, and you make sure to express your gratitude for this change when joining him in the shower.

~~~

Your privileges, while not many, have increased with your time spent as the Winter Soldier’s companion. You aid Hydra in keeping the man in line and ensuring optimal execution on missions, and your permanent bond to him means you never once have tried to escape in his absence. Thus, they felt it appropriate that you finally be able to leave the four walls of your bedroom.

You now have the ability to follow the soldier once a week to training, and you accompany one another to doctor’s visits rather than having them send the physician to you. So long as neither of you screw up, you can continue this routine of leaving your confinement to enjoy a small taste of freedom.

One of your new privileges is the responsibility of grooming the Winter Solider. Now that you can fully be trusted around sharp objects, you can trim his hair and shave his face while he sits back and enjoys how sweetly you fawn over him. Hydra had lost several workers to this task as one accidental tug of hair or cut to his chin could cost them their life, so this was one job they were happy to rid themselves of.

His blue eyes stare intensely up at your scrunched features as you carefully frame the pieces around his face. You work with practiced ease like you’ve done this before, and maybe you have, but there’s no way for either of you to find that out now. Your tongue pokes out discreetly from between your lips while you trim his ends, and the soldier envisions pulling you into his lap then and there to steal a kiss. He’d never do so in front of watchful eyes such as those of the guard who supervise your activity, it’s too intimate and he refuses to share you in such a way, but it brings him solace to envision a word where he can love you without inhibition or fear of putting you in harm’s way.

“I wish they would let you keep it long,” you hum thoughtfully, voice followed by the quiet snipping of the scissors.

“Not good for missions, Flower,” he reminds you before allowing his eyes to flutter shut at the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair.

“You’re leaving again?”

“Not for long,” the man consoles, flesh hand coming to rest on your thigh before giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hydra says I must complete this one last task, and then we both will go to sleep.”

“Sleep?” You repeat hesitantly, pausing your ministrations to meet his steely gaze. His silence has you unnerved, and you return to your previous work in order to distract yourself from the nerves that begin to settle into the pit of your stomach. “Winter, I don’t want to-“

“It is an order, so we must,” he interrupts. He doesn’t mean to be harsh, but he needs you to understand that even with these new freedoms you are still under Hydra’s commands. He cannot risk you becoming bold, becoming defiant, because he knows better than anyone what Hydra does to those who step out of line. He will not have that for you, and he would rather you understand to comply now than have it beat into you later.

You set the scissors down and step back to admire your work. His blue eyes follow your every move as you begin to clean up the mess, and his chest tightens with yearning as he pictures a life of normalcy. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend that you are a normal couple living a regular life- you’re with him because you love him and not because your biology had been programmed to yearn for him only, and your trimming of his hair is an act of love rather than a necessity forced upon him by his handlers. You’ll never know just how much it pains him to know you will never truly be his, and it is his fault you have been subjected to this life.

“Winter,” you call out gently, breaking the man from his obvious turmoil. You say his name so gently, different from what he is used to. His lips barely quirk into a smile, and for you that is a win. “I love you.”

Placing his metal hand on the back of your neck, he carefully pulls you closer so that your foreheads are pressed together. You can feel the gentle fanning of his breath on your face as his nose gently brushes against your own and inhales your scent. One day he will free you from this cage, even if it is at his own expensive.

“I love you.”

~~~

Your Winter returns to you in shambles and it scares you.

You’ve never seen him so frenzied, so unsure of himself and the world around him. His eyes are welled with tears, and he’s on you the moment he spots you, nearly yanking you out of bed as he pulls you impossibly tight to his chest and begins to comb his fingers through your hair.

“Winter?” You whisper meekly while scrambling to find purchase in his hold. You feel his hot tears trickle down onto your neck and the tremble of his hands as they splay across your back, but his hold never relinquishes.

“There was a man,” he shakily whispers into your hair, faltering to swallow the rising bile in his throat, “a man on a bridge.”

“What happened?”

“I knew him,” he whispers agonizingly, the turmoil evident in his tone. His shoulders tremble with each sob he fights to hold back, but the feel of your fingers gently rubbing circles into shoulders allows him the strength to continue. “He called me- he called me Bucky.”

Your features contort into a frown as you hold the sobbing man impossibly tight. You know just how difficult it is to have no semblance of your past or your identity before Hydra, but you can’t imagine just how awful it is to be given a piece of the puzzle only to have nowhere to place it. You want to help him but you don’t know how, and it pains you to be so useless.

“I think he knew you, too,” you reassure him quietly in case of any prying ears. “Maybe Bucky is your name, and this man is a friend. Maybe… maybe he can help us.”

The soldier stiffens at your words, carefully pulling himself out of your grasp to meet your gaze. You fear that perhaps you’ve misspoken and angered your companion, but once you see the rare glimpse of hope shining through his tears you realize your words have struck a chord within him.

With feverish movements he pulls your body back to him and slams his lips onto your own, swallowing your startled gasp and pushing you back towards the mattress. You accept him willingly and without complaint; you let him take you over and over again to the point of exhaustion until neither of you can hold yourselves up any longer. He worships you, comforts you, ensures to you that he will take this new lead and run with it until he can gain your freedom. His mission has always been you, and you trust him with your entire being to complete it.

They come for him hours later. The door to your room slams open, and two guards stand on the other side. Despite your entangled limbs and state of undress, you know well enough to immediately move yourself out of the way by pressing yourself as far back into the corner of the wall as possible. They grab him roughly by the arms before dragging him out of bed, and you watch helplessly from behind the cover of the sheets as he is taken from you once more. Despite the roughness in which they handle him, his eyes remain gentle as they look upon you fondly, and your heart sinks in your stomach when you note how differently this gaze feels. The door shuts harshly behind him, and a part of you fears that the look on his face wasn’t an expression of love.

It was his way of saying goodbye.

~~~

You haven’t seen your Winter in three weeks, and no one has come to check on you in five days.

You feel like you’re losing your sanity with each second that passes- you never thought you’d miss the interactions that came with your daily injections or the physical touch of the nurse holding you down. You’re thirsty, starving, dirty, delirious, and spiraling in your isolation. What could have happened to make them abandon the Winter Soldier’s pet? What could have happened to make him abandon you? Maybe he’s dead, or maybe he had never truly cared about you enough to get you out of this place, and you’re not sure which is worse.

You think you’re dreaming at first when the door to your prison slowly begins to creak open, and the sudden downpour of light is so blinding you can barely make out the figure standing before you. You whine and tightly shut your eyes, but you’re still able to hear the careful footsteps that approach you as if you’re a scared animal who might bite at any sudden movements.

“I’ve got something,” the feminine voice murmurs. “East Wing, last door to the right. They left someone behind.”

You attempt to open your eyes again and are met with the kind features of a woman. She offers you a comforting smile and attempts to reach for you only to flinch, but she’s quick to immediately retract her hands and hold them up in surrender. It’s clear she doesn’t want to scare you, but your bouts of torture and mental scarring don’t allow you to trust so easily. The Hydra nurses had often smiled at you the same way before strapping you down and aiding in your torment.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she coaxes softly, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Are you with Hydra?”

She shakes her head. “My name is Natasha, and I’m an Avenger. My friends and I are here to help you. Can you tell me your name?”

The name strikes a chord within you, but it isn’t impactful enough for you to truly grasp her importance or bring recognition to your mind. It is enough, however, for her to gain your trust and answer her with a quiet utterance of the word, “Flower.”

She hums thoughtfully before extending her hand to you again, and this time you take it without trepidation. Natasha slowly helps you to your feet, but your lack of nutrition and dehydrated state causes you to keel over immediately. The woman catches you in her arms and keeps you upright by allowing you to lean against her, but there’s evident worry on her features now that she fully knows the extent of your physical state. You appear weak and frail, delirious, and she hates to even think about what has happened to you during your stay at the Hydra base.

“Nat,” a new voice calls, and you muster up enough strength to lift your head and lock eyes with the man in the doorway. His features are kind and his eyes blue like your Winter’s, and his build nearly takes up the entire frame. His brows are etched with concern once they catch sight of you, and he’s quick to assist Natasha in guiding you out of the room.

“Flower, this is Steve,” she introduces in a hushed tone, “can he pick you up so we can get out of here faster?”

“I can’t leave,” you murmur hoarsely, eyes beginning to well with tears.

“It’s okay, no one is going to hurt you now if you leave,” she tries to assure you only for you to vehemently shake your head.

“If I leave he won’t know where I am o-or how to find me.”

“Who won’t know?” Steve presses gently, catching your figure as you stumble into his grasp before bursting into a fit of sobs.

“Winter,” you choke, too lost in your crying fit to note the way Steve’s body stiffens at the mention of the man. He shares an uneasy glance with Natasha before composing himself and offering you comfort through the careful rubbing of your back. Your cries echo throughout the abandoned Hydra base and send chills through the Captain’s spine.

He isn’t sure what the next step is or what to even make of this situation. They had been sent here to explore the Hydra base in search of any remaining personnel or files after the aftermath of Pierce, and while he had hoped to find some trace of Bucky he hadn’t been prepared for a battered woman to be the only link left to his missing friend.

Carefully lifting your frail body off the ground and into his arms, Steve trails closely behind Natasha as the two make their exit. You’re an inconsolable mess, but Steve does his best to offer the only words he can think of.

“We’ll find him, I promise.”

You never thought you’d ever get to see the sunlight again, but when Steve carries you over the threshold of the base and out into the open world you find yourself being blinded by its brightness. The feel of fresh air is jarring, its warmth kissing your skin as you are carried into their awaiting jet and set on the softest gurney you’ve ever been on. A multitude of voices surround you, but you can’t seem to focus on anything but the simple fact that no longer are you a prisoner to Hydra and their abuse.

You are free.

~~~

It took hours for Natasha to settle you so Bruce could properly examine you, but no one could blame you for your aversion to doctors and fear of needles. No one had ever been as patient or kind with you as they had been during the process of running blood tests, conducting a psychological profile, and settling you in with an IV to get you hydrated again. You clung to the Black Widow like a lifeline, but she never once seemed to mind. You almost got the impression that she understood the horrors that you’d been through, and that was enough for you to put your entire trust in her.

While your tests are being conducted, Tony and Steve sit in the intelligence room staring at the profile before them on the screen. Your innocent face stares back at the two men, a stark contrast to the woman who sits in the exam room with Banner and Romanoff. Your face is youthful and full of life, and the longer Steve stares at your photo the more the knot in his stomach twists.

“Her name is y/n y/l/n. She was a hairstylist in Manhattan before she was declared missing,” Tony reads along solemnly.

“Does she have any family we can contact?” Steve asks only for his counterpart to shake his head dejectedly.

“Parents passed away when she was in college and there’s no immediate family left. Hydra knew what they were doing when they picked her for their program.”

Sighing, Steve pinches the bridge of his nose in rumination before leaning in back into his chair. He felt a sense of responsibility when it came to your wellbeing; though he didn’t know the exact nature of your relationship with Bucky, he knew you must have been important to him considering how worried you were about him finding you, and that mean you were important to Steve now too. But there was so little to work with when it came to helping you enter back into the real world again, and who knew how long it would take for you to reacclimatize to your newfound freedom.

“This poor girl was tortured for who knows how long. If I could have found her sooner-“

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Tony interrupts with a deep frown, “that doesn’t help anyone. We have her here now, and we’re going to get her the best treatment money can buy to help her get through all of this.”

Before Steve can reply, the two men are interrupted by the presence of Dr. Banner who holds a folder of tests results in his hands. The Captain is on his feet immediately, looking at Bruce expectantly with bated breath as he waits for the prognosis.

“As we suspected, there is super soldier serum running through her veins. However, it appears dormant since she showed no signs of increased strength or aggression or any other possible abilities. We’re not sure what effect it has on her, but I think she should be able to live a relatively normal life despite it being active in her system.”

“You couldn’t remove it?” Tony questions.

“She didn’t want me to. She said it’s what keeps her connected to Barnes, what kept him from killing her when Hydra dumped her on him.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Steve murmurs quietly. “Will she be okay?”

“Well, it’s going to take some time for her to psychologically recover from the torture and the isolation she endured, but there is a good chance her memories can be restored with time as well. Physically I’d say she’ll recover, and I’ll ask again when she’s in a better mental state about removing the serum, but…”

The hesitation in his voice is clear, prompting Tony and Steve to exchange uneasy glances before urging him to go on.

“What is it, Bruce?” Tony presses. Sighing, Banner adjusts the frames of his glasses and looks between the two men before landing his eyes on your holographic picture. He doesn’t want to voice the reality of the situation, but he knows he must if they want to help you.

Finally, he replies, “She’s pregnant.”

The room becomes deafly silent as the doctor’s words hang in the air, and it feels like ages before Steve finally works up the nerve to speak.

“Pregnant?” He nearly gawks in astonishment, clearly not believing the words he’s hearing.

“The blood tests and an ultrasound both came up conclusive,” Bruce confirms solemnly.

“And the father?” Steve hesitates to ask.

“Based on the details she shared with Nat, I think it’s safe to say that Barnes is the father.”

“So you’re telling me this woman is carrying a baby super soldier?” Tony questions bluntly much to Steve’s chagrin.

“It would be appear that way, yes,” Bruce replies almost annoyed at Tony’s poor choice of words.

“Is it safe?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think the serum running through her veins increases her chances of survival and the possibility of a relatively normal pregnancy. We’ll just have to keep an eye on her in the meantime and hope for the best.”

“Well, Rogers, it looks like you’re going to be an Uncle,” Tony congratulates with a hearty clap to his back in an attempt to lighten the mood. Though Steve doesn’t exactly appreciate the jokes, his nerves are somewhat put at ease when he continues, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets everything she needs for the super tyke.”

It seems that finding Bucky is more important now than ever, and Steve is determined to do whatever it takes to reunite you with the man you love.

No matter the cost.

~~~

It’s been two months since you were freed from Hydra’s prison, but sometimes it only feels like just yesterday you’d been tangled in the sheets with your lover planning your escape. Should you even call him that? You’re not sure anymore. Your new therapist had affirmed you were an unwilling participant in all that had happened to you, but so was he, and he had taken care of you as best as he could given the circumstances you found yourselves in. You think you do love him even if she says you’d only forced yourself to feel that way as a means to survive.

Along with a new therapist, you’d been given all the resources possible to start your life over. Despite their insistence that you were welcome to stay at the Avenger’s compound while you healed, you were adamant about wanting the autonomy that came with having your own apartment. You wanted to learn to be your own person again, to live in your own space by your own schedule, so Tony had helped you find the perfect apartment in a quiet part of town.

Steve visited nearly every day to ensure you and the baby were doing alright considering he felt you were his responsibility now in Bucky’s absence. No leads have been found yet on the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier, but he is doing his damndest to find Bucky by all means. Natasha stops by every once and while when Steve cannot, offering you company and support during your transitional period.

Your body has healed from the grueling abuse you’d endured, but it’s taking your mind a little longer to catch up. You remember your name now, your real name, and vague remnants of your past, but it isn’t enough for you to complete the full picture. Bruce says it will take some time for you to regain your memories, but you’re not oblivious to the possibility that your mind might not ever be fully restored.

Natasha had accompanied you to another ultrasound appointment to check on the health of the baby and your own before taking you grocery shopping. The doctors say you’re almost three months along with a perfectly healthy baby, and Nat had cooed sweetly at the grainy image displayed for you both on the screen. You never knew how exactly to feel every time they showed you the baby- you didn’t hate it or detest the fact that you were pregnant, but the circumstances in which it had all occurred certainly weren’t ideal, and it served as a reminder that you would be going into this alone.

Once you were coherent enough, Steve had sat you down and carefully explained that your Winter once went by the name of James Barnes, though most people just called him Bucky. He told you of their friendship and how he had thought him to be dead all these years until the incident on the bridge, and he assured you he was doing everything in his power to bring you both together again. Of course, that had been a month ago, and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. It pained you to know that he wouldn’t be here to experience any milestones with you, to see his child grow inside you, to hold them and love them and enjoy his chance at having a family. You were supposed to start a new life together, but instead you and your little one are all alone.

You step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment with an arm full of groceries after finally making the trip home. Natasha had offered to help you bring them up, but you insisted you’d be fine on your own. You look forward to the hearty soup you plan to make for dinner and to frame the latest ultrasound on your fridge, and you don’t mind the fact that most days you dine alone. You’ve learned to get used to solitude once more, though it helps when it’s out of your own volition and not because you’ve been locked away in your own personal prison cell.

The apartment is quiet and untouched when you enter and hang your keys on the wall, but it’s only once you make it to the kitchen that you realize there is an intruder standing in your home. Your newly bought groceries fall to the floor with a deafening thud, fruits and vegetables scattering everywhere as you stare at the familiar pair of blue eyes that pierce straight through you. His hair has gotten longer again and his features are covered in stubble, but you know it is him.

“Winter?” You whisper in a trembling voice, afraid that if you speak any louder he might just disappear.

“Flower,” he breathes out, and before you can even blink he’s on you in an instant. Your frame is lifted from the ground when he picks you up in a bone crushing hug, one hand wrapped around your midsection while the other cradles the back of your head. He breathes in your scent as you nestle your face into the crook of his neck and begin to sob with the amalgamation of emotions within you. You missed him terribly, but you hated him for abandoning you and for loving you so much that Hydra had decided you were too valuable a resource to lose, and yet you were so relieved to see him alive and breathing in your little apartment.

“You left me,” you sob into his neck which prompts him to tighten his hold on you in response. “You promised you’d come back.”

“I could never leave you,” he hushes you, trembling lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “I could never ever leave you. I tried to come back for you but you were gone, and I couldn’t risk coming near you with the Avengers around or else they might take me away from you.”

“They wouldn’t do that, Steve has been looking for you. He promised we’d get to be together.”

“That isn’t his promise to make,” the man utters solemnly, finally relinquishing his hold on you so he can step back and admire your beautiful tear stained face. You look so different from the last time he’d seen you; your face was fuller and brighter, and the length of your hair had changed, but you were still just as beautiful as ever. “Flower-“

“Y/n,” you interrupt him. He falters at the name and furrows his brows in confusion until you clarify, “my real name is y/n. And yours is James, but Steve calls you Bucky.”

A look of recognition washes over his features and he nods. “We were… friends.”

“Steve can help us,” you attempt to reassure him again, but Bucky is not so easily convinced.

“No, no, I can’t… I can’t stay here. Many people want me dead, so it’s better to just disappear.”

“Disappear?” You blanch, already feeling the panic beginning to bubble within you. Your hands begin to tremble and you take a step away from him as you desperately try to process his words. “No, you can’t- you can’t leave me again!”

“I came here to say goodbye,” he admits solemnly before gently taking your shaky hands in his own. “You deserve to have a life without me in it.”

“I don’t want that!” You insist through tears only for him to shush you.

“My Flower, the serum bound us together, but it doesn’t mean that I have the right to ruin your chance at freedom. There is no future with me, a life on the run is not what you deserve. I will not put you through torment again. I-“

“I’m pregnant,” you finally blurt to get him to shut up. His wide eyes and stunned silence prove that your methods are effective. You feel his hold on you tighten as he takes a pensive swallow and slowly looks you up and down.

“Pregnant?” He repeats quietly in disbelief.

“I’m pregnant, and that means I do deserve a life with you in it. I deserve to raise our baby with you, to have you by my side. Please don’t leave me again.”

Tears steadily fall down your cheeks, and Bucky is quick to cup your face in his hands so that he may wipe them away. The apartment is quiet as he soaks up the news he’s just been given. He once thought he’d spend the rest of his life a slave to Hydra with nothing to lose and nothing to keep, but then he’d met you and everything had changed. You were his mission, his reason to fight, and now so was this baby. The answer is clear right in front of him, so he takes it.

“Pack a bag,” he urges you gently. “Pack a bag so we can leave and start over somewhere else together.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at his insistence, but you don’t think twice about scurrying off to your room and gathering whatever items will fit in your bag. You did want a new life, a fresh start, but no apartment in New York would fill the hole within you caused by Bucky’s absence if he left you behind. You are grateful to the Avengers, to all they have done for you, but Bucky is right. Your chance at a happy life is not their promise to make.

You leave a note for Natasha and Steve to find explaining that you are safe and will be okay on your own, that they don’t have to look for you and can rest assured knowing you are perfectly happy wherever it is you are. You thank them for everything and leave behind the keys to your apartment, taking one last look at the place before following Bucky to his getaway vehicle.

“Where will we go?”

He rests a comforting hand on your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze before meeting your gaze. The hopeful glimmer in your eyes fills his heart with warmth and only further fuels his need to protect you and ensure your happiness. He hopes he’s doing the right thing by bringing you along with him.

“Romania,” he finally answers. “I think you’ll like it there.”

~~~

The soft cries from the bassinet rouse you from your slumber, but Bucky is gently pushing you back into bed before you can even remove the covers.

“I got it,” he murmurs hoarsely, sleep still evident in his voice when he speaks. The sun is barely beginning to rise as its warmth seeps through the curtains, and you comfortably stretch yourself awake in bed as Bucky brings the mewling infant to your awaiting embrace. “Hungry again.”

“It feels like she always is,” you jest with a fond smile while lifting your shift and allowing the infant to nurse. Bucky presses a kiss to your temple and repeats the act to your child before retreating into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee for the start of your day.

Your life in Bucharest has been relatively quiet for the past year. As Bucky had promised, you’d made a fresh start in a new home for yourself, a home of your choosing where you could live in peace with your daughter and without worry of anyone finding your hidden paradise. Time had helped heal you both, and though there was still much progress to be made, becoming parents had softened you both and given you all the more motivation to be better versions of yourselves for your daughter.

Natalia Rose Barnes had been born eight months ago in a small hospital room and was deemed perfectly healthy despite your initial concerns of how the serum might affect her growth. She was the most beautiful little creature Bucky had ever seen, and his heart had bursted with pride when you’d handed her to him for the first time. He never once thought it possible for him to have a family, to take part of the creation of something so innocent and sweet after years of atrocities committed by his own hands, and yet here he was watching her tiny hand wrap tightly around his metal fingers.

Your days consisted of staying home to take care of Rosie while Bucky completed odd jobs around Bucharest to earn money. You practiced journaling often to keep track of old memories that would resurface with time to allow you to continue piecing your life together, and Bucky did the same. The thought of the Winter Soldier reawakening always lingered at the back of his mind, but he made it his mission that he would never show that part of himself to your daughter or to you ever again. You were no longer Winter and Flower but Bucky and y/n, and he was determined to keep it that way at all costs.

“I have to go out into town for groceries today,” he informs you whilst holding the cup of coffee to your lips and allowing you to take a drink. “Rose needs diapers, and we’re out of plums.”

You hum thoughtfully in response and reply, “If there is enough money leftover can you stop at the bakery for muffins?”

“Of course,” Bucky replies with a gentle grin, gently brushing his knuckles against your chin. “Anything you want.”

“I think Rosie and I will go for a walk in the park today,” you tell him. “Maybe you can join us once you’re done and we can walk home together.”

“I’d like that,” he affirms. You know how paranoid Bucky gets when you and Rose are alone, especially when it’s out in public, but he tries not to restrict your freedom too much and allows you to do certain things on your own.

You both prepare separately for your days and accompany one another out of the apartment. Bucky assists you in setting up the stroller and strapping a sleeping Rose in her seat, and he gives you a tender kiss before parting ways with you. The day is bright and beautiful, and your heart is content as you walk through the streets of Bucharest and to the local park.

You don’t have any friends or family in Romania, so you appreciate the friendliness of locals that greet you in passing or simply offer a smile your way. Many people especially like to stop and fawn over Natalia, so your guard is down when a woman seats herself next to you on the park bench and interrupts your journaling by cooing at your daughter.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, I-“ you begin to say only to freeze once you look up from your writing to acknowledge the stranger. She gives you a pointed look, but her smile is playful as she watches you process her presence before you. “Natasha?!”

“You’re hard to find, you know,” she quips with a raised brow, but she isn’t given a reply when you instead choose to throw yourself into her arms and hold her impossibly tight.

“I-I can’t believe you’re here,” you breathe in disbelief, eyes welling with tears at the comfort that comes with seeing a familiar face.

“I can’t believe you already had the baby,” she replies before pulling out of your hold to take in your face. “Are you alright? Banner was worried it might be hard on you because of the serum.”

“It was perfectly safe, Rose and I made it out fine.”

“Rose?” Natasha repeats before casting her gaze to the cooing baby sitting in the stroller.

“Well, her middle name is Rose, but her first name is Natalia,” you correct with a sheepish smile after seeing the way Natasha looks at you in surprise. “I wanted to name her after someone important, and after everything you did for me it only felt right.”

“I’m… honored,” she expresses, still getting over the initial shock. A new emotion flashes across her face for a split second before becoming unreadable again, but you detect the change before she can hide it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking you first,” You immediately jump to apologize in fear of upsetting her. You’d been so excited to see her you hadn’t even considered the fact she might be irritated with you for leaving without a trace and not bothering to reach out with your new location.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… well, it makes this next part a little harder,” she admits mournfully, taking in the way your eyes widen slightly and lips begin to pull into a frown at her sudden change in demeanor. “As much as I wish I could say I’m here for a friendly visit, I’m actually here to bring you in for questioning.”

“What?” You gape in quiet bewilderment. You can already feel the unease beginning to grow at her serious tone, and your mind is racing with possibilities of what you could possibly be in trouble for.

“A bomb was recently planted at the Vienna International Centre and killed several UN representatives including King T’Chaka of Wakanda. Security footage revealed that the person responsible for this was Barnes.”

“That’s… that’s impossible!” You immediately argue, mind scrambling to catch up with the news Natasha has just dumped on you. Your heart is racing in your chest and body beginning to feel the oncomings of a panic attack when you realize your peaceful little life in Bucharest has been abruptly ended by a false accusation. “He couldn’t have done that, we’ve been together almost every day with Rosie.”

“They have him on camera, y/n. My hands are tied. I’ve been asked to bring you in because of your connection to Barnes, but if you can honestly say he’s been with you here in Bucharest this entire time then that might help him out. Steve and Sam should be with him right now.”

You can almost feel the hope draining out of you as you process the fact that the life you’d built for yourself was crashing down all around you. No matter how far you run, the past continues to catch up to you both. Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, he’s trying to be better, and you wish others could see him for who he is rather than for what he has done.

“I’ll go with you if you promise they won’t take Rosie away from me,” you urge her. Natasha frowns.

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise that no matter what happens she’ll be safe. Can you trust me on that?”

You do, and that’s why you follow her willingly to Berlin for questioning. Bucky is already there when you arrive, and your heart breaks when you see how they have chosen to restrain him. His eyes are filled with sorrow at the sight of you and Rosie being escorted to a separate room, and he wants nothing more than to be there for you both, but he can do nothing as you are taken from him once again.

The prime focus is on Bucky, so you sit alone in the interrogation room for some time before the door finally opens and Steve enters. He has a tired smile on his face meant to hold up his facade while he hands you a glass of water.

“I thought you might need this,” he offers before taking a seat across from you.

“Are you here to question me?”

“No, I’m here as a friend. I don’t think you should be locked away in a room like this on your own.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” you offer bluntly. You don’t mean to be crass, but you’re beginning to become fed up with constantly having your life uprooted without any consideration of your feelings or autonomy. You didn’t choose this life for yourself or plan for it to be this way, yet it seemed you were always being punished for loving a tortured man who was trying to do better.

Despite your brashness, the air is void of tension and instead filled with the happy babbles of Rosie who continuously tries to reach across the table for Steve. She has Bucky’s eyes and his smile, and Steve feels a sense of protectiveness wash over him every time he looks at her. He has a duty to you and to Rosie to help prove Bucky’s innocence, and he hopes you’ll be able to see that he is on your side no matter what.

“Would you like to hold her?” You ask him after noting the way he eyes her so intently. He happily obliges, and you’re filled with a sense of ease to see your baby being coddled by Captain America. At the very least Rosie has a super powered support system, and this fact helps alleviate some of your stress.

“She’s gorgeous,” Steve compliments, allowing the girl to press her hands against his face in exploration. “This is all I ever wanted for Bucky. A chance to have the life that was taken from him, to start a family with a nice girl who loved him despite all he’s endured. I just wish it could have happened differently.”

“I know,” you reply solemnly before casting your gaze to your hands resting in your lap in order to hide your welling tears. “I do too.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply only to be interrupted by the blaring sounds of an alarm. The interrogation room is coated in red, and Rosie begins to shriek at the assaulting noise. You look to Steve with wide and fearful eyes when he quickly rises from his seat and hands you back your daughter. The alarms are reminiscent of the ones at the Hydra base, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart for the sake of your baby. Steve rests a gentle hand on your shoulder and provides you a reassuring squeeze before instructing you to stay put.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he avows before bolting out of the room. Your breathing comes in quick gasps as you press yourself to the furtherest corner of the wall and slowly sink to the floor with a crying Rosie to the floor. Your mind attempts to retrieve the therapeutic techniques you’d been taught to help you deal with such episodes, but none of them come to fruition fast enough for you to settle. You feel like you can’t breathe, and the blaring alarm has turned into a distant ringing as you curl in on yourself with the baby pressed tightly to your chest.

You don’t know long you’re stuck waiting in that room, unable to differentiate between minutes or hours, but you’re finally freed from your prison when the door swings open and Natasha rushes to your side.

“We gotta go,” she urges you whilst helping your trembling figure off the ground.

“Natasha, what’s going on?! Where’s Bucky?!” Your press for information falls on deaf ears as she uses one arm to keep you close to her form while the other holds out her gun for potential attacks. “We can’t leave him!”

“Someone activated the Winter Soldier,” she finally answers you after ensuring the area is secure and urging you forward. “It’s not safe for you or the baby.”

“No…” you breathe out before stopping in your tracks, “no, that’s not right.”

“Y/n, we don’t have time-“

“He wouldn’t hurt me, Natasha. The serum, it-“

“I’m not taking any chances,” she states adamantly before forcing you along with her to the exit. You can only stumble after her quick pace and follow her to safety while Bucky wreaks havoc on the building. The next few moments are a blur once you’re shoved into the back of a military van and sped off to a secondary location. The building grows further and further away, separating you and Bucky once more.

~~~

A warm breeze brushes through the grass around you, serene and comforting while you stare pensively at the lake before you. You’d sat at a lake like this once years ago with your parents when they were still alive, and it brought you the same comfort then that it did now. The world is calm here in your bubble, and you think you can finally breathe.

Rosie sits a few feet away from you in the grass playing with two of the local girls from the nearby village. The children adore your toddler and flock to visit her nearly everyday, but you don’t mind. This is what you had always wanted for her, to see her play with other children and know a world of peace where no harm could come to her. This was the most relatively normal childhood she could have, and you were grateful to be here in Wakanda.

After the Winter Soldier had been activated that fateful day, Natasha had stashed you and Rosie into a safe house while she dealt with the aftermath. Days passed before Steve finally came to get you, and you were promptly taken to be reunited with Bucky in Wakanda where T’Challa had granted you both asylum. They would work to erase his programming while you were there, and you would get to raise Rosie without the fear of having to up and leave at a moment’s notice. You’ll be forever indebted to the King for his kindness towards your family, and you truly think this could be the end of all your worries.

Your rumination is interrupted by the shifting of the grass when a new presence joins your side, and almost by instinct do you immediately lean into his side and rest your head upon his shoulder. You sometimes still expect to feel the sensation of cool metal against your cheek, but his appendage is gone now along with the Winter Soldier. Time has healed your husband, and there is no chance of anyone using him as a weapon now.

“I never thought life could be like this,” he voices aloud, a small smile forming on his lips at the sound of Rosie’s echoing laughter.

“It’s nice here,” you agree quietly. “Peaceful. We don’t have to run anymore.”

There’s a pause of silence following your words before he speaks again. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

His comment has you turning to look at him in puzzlement, your brows furrowing with uncertainty at what he’s trying to convey.

“Thanked me?”

He nods before shifting his gaze to you. His face is melancholic and full of sincerity when he reaches for your hand to take in his own. His eyes are swimming with devotion and admiration, and it has your stomach doing a nervous flip at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“For giving me this second chance, for giving me a family. Hydra brought our paths together and the serum bonded us to one another, but Banner could have removed it from your system so you could live a normal life in Manhattan without a connection to me. You refused it. And when I returned you followed me to Romania despite me trying to set you free. You loved me anyway despite all you’d been through with me, you never gave up on me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

You smile up at him with complete adoration and devotion before resting a hand upon his cheek. He immediately melts at your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he releases a relaxed breath and savors the feel of your palm against his skin.

“You’ll never have to thank me for that,” you assure him with complete sincerity. “I will love you for the rest of my life with or without some stupid serum. We came into each other’s lives for a reason, and this is it.”

You pull him towards you for a passionate kiss that both of you ensure to savor before returning your gazes to the landscape before you. The sun sparkles on the water while the wind rustles through grass, and Rosie begins to make her clumsy ascent towards you both with hands outstretched for her father. Bucky is quick to pull her into his chest and hold her securely in his lap as your little family enjoys a peaceful afternoon in Wakanda.

Life is still and perfect, and for now you can continue to remain in your peaceful bubble blissfully unaware of the dangers yet to come.

[cherry-coffees]

"Yes, Princess"

princess!Caitlyn x lady in-waiting!reader

cw: 2.7K words | forbidden love, 18+ mdni, smut with a hint of angst, fingering, oral sex, implied scissoring, top!Caitlyn, mommy kink, praise kink, my first time writing smut so I apologize!

Head up, eyes bright, graceful walk, sweet smile.

Those are the words that repeat in your head over and over again like a broken record as you enter the ballroom. The Kiramman ballroom, to be exact: one of the grandest rooms in the Piltover palace. The scene is breathtaking: chandeliers emitting a warm glow over the room that’s filled with expensive champagne and linen tablecloths and gold trimmings along the walls. A picture of elegance and grace that perfectly matches the Kiramman royal family.

You walk as gracefully as you can into the center of the ballroom to mingle with guests, bowing slightly and introducing yourself with a last name that always seems to catch people’s attention. You’re a Piltover noble, that much is clear. A pretty one at that: dressed in a baby pink, floor length gown that hugs your torso and chest just right, trailing into silk that parts in a slit up past your knee. Carefully chosen accessories, styled hair: you’re the picture of grace. 

After a few minutes of mingling with the other nobles in attendance, Mel finds you easily. “There you are!” She exclaims, gold flecks dusting her cheeks. “I thought I missed you; you took so long to join the party!”

Relief sweeps through you at the familiar face. “Sorry,” you sigh, adjusting your hair over your shoulder. “I was helping the princess get ready, and it ran a little late. I had to rush my own getting ready afterwards.”

“Ah, of course, my favorite lady-in-waiting,” Mel laughs airily. “How else would the Kiramman princess survive? And you look stunning, by the way; I’ve seen more than a few guys eyeing you since you came in.”

“I’m just happy I look composed” you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, surrounded by important guests. “These shoes hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well,” Mel’s lips quirk into a mischievous smile. “It must be working because there’s one person who hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.”

Oh.

Your stomach churns a little as you follow Mel’s glance behind you, to the front of the ballroom where the royal family is standing. Or, more specifically, the Kiramman princess: Caitlyn. Navy hair combed out and hitting her mid-back, with a simple navy gown to match. Her posture perfect and poised as always. But through her polite smile at the nobles that greet her, her icy-blue eyes were focused elsewhere: you. 

You try to suppress the wave of heat that goes through you. You know those eyes. You see them every day, had zipped up her dress and clasped her necklace around her neck not even an hour ago. A usual everyday task for you as her lady in-waiting, it might seem, but you still have your moments of your cheeks flushing pink. How can you not? It’s Caitlyn. She must have been destined to be a princess, to be admired by millions with her Gods-given beauty.

In this moment, though, you only let yourself lock eyes with her for a second before you’re turning back to Mel. “Um, yeah,” you blink, desperately hoping your carefully applied blush covers your flushed cheeks. “She, uh, recommended this dress to me, so she probably just noticed I ended up wearing it.”

Mel nods, seemingly dropping the topic, though there’s a hint of knowing in her raised eyebrows. “Right. Anyways, I’ll find you later. Wanted to say hi before I grab more champagne.” She squeezes your arm and flashes you a smile before she disappears into the crowd.

Now alone, you’re thrown right back into the scene of music and ballgowns and a few too many overly nice men. You smile sweetly, making polite conversation. What’s a lovely lady like you doing by yourself? You look beautiful. Are you really the lady in-waiting for Princess Caitlyn? 

You can only take so much of the same conversations, the same flirtatious glances and smooth offers to dance. You’re knee-deep in another exchange with some noble man from Noxus, who thinks he’s being way more charming than he is, when you feel a presence behind you. And, when you see the man go wide-eyed, you have a pretty good idea of who it is.

“Excuse me,” Caitlyn’s posh accent rings from behind you. “I was wondering if I might steal my lady in-waiting for a moment?”

“O-Oh! Yes, of course, Princess,” the man stutters, hastily managing a bow and backing away — to find another girl to hit on, most likely. You turn to face Caitlyn, tilting your head upward to meet her gaze. Damn, she’s tall.

“If you’ll come with me,” her formalities don’t falter once as she gently takes hold of your arm, steering you towards a less-crowded corner of the ballroom. It’s inherently obvious that you don’t really have a choice.

Caitlyn lets go of your arm once in the corner, and you take the moment to adjust your dress, fluffing it out a bit. Her eyes follow the movement. “Having fun?” She asks, her voice calm and unwavering.

“Ah, you know,” you sigh, tilting your head. “Greeting everyone.”

“Mm.” Her hand makes its way back to your arm, tracing lightly over your skin. “Any suitors catch your eye?”

Her words are posed as an innocent question, but you know her too well to believe it. Her hand’s motions don’t cease, and you can’t help a half-smile. “Possessive,” you mumble, so soft that Caitlyn might not have heard it if she wasn’t so focused on your every breath.

She hums in response. “Can you blame me? Some of the men are a little too handsy. More than what’s appropriate for a ball.”

Again, you fight the instinctive roll of your eyes. “Sure.”

The reply causes Caitlyn to step forward, eyes just slightly narrowed. “Don’t sass me,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. 

“Then don’t lie to me.”

“Fair,” Caitlyn’s laugh is quiet, her hand falling to your waist. “So what if I want my lady in-waiting all to myself?” The emphasis on the word my isn’t lost on you. Admittedly, you don’t mind it. “Don’t think I don’t know what you��re doing.”

“What am I doing?” You ask, blinking your wide eyes up at her with a slight furrow of your eyebrows. And oh, Caitlyn’s weak to your innocent expression. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress the urge to kiss it off your face.

She lets out another hum, if a little more breathy this time. “Darling,” her voice is hushed. Now it’s your turn to go weak at the pet name falling from her lips in that hot-as-fuck accent of hers. “You know how I feel about you in pink. And with the slit? Are you trying to get me to lose it at my own ball?”

Well. You really don’t know how to respond to her accusation given that it’s true. So you just toss your hair behind your shoulder, glancing around at the crowded ballroom. “How unofficial for a princess.”

“I wouldn’t tease,” Caitlyn warns, moving behind you so her breath ghosts over the back of your neck. She doesn’t miss the gooseflesh that springs up at the contact, and she has to bite back a smirk. To anyone in attendance at the ball, it would just look like she’s fixing your dress. Her plan, you suppose.

You swallow, keeping your eyes trained on the opposite wall of the ballroom. So no one will suspect anything, you tell yourself. Definitely not because it makes you straighten up a little more and listen to every word she says when she uses that authoritative tone of hers.

“Hm,” Caitlyn lets a hint of a smug smile grace her features as she moves again, this time in front of you so your gazes lock. “I suppose I’ll see you later.” She leaves you with a brush of your hands before drifting off to rejoin Cassandra, Piltover’s queen and her mother.

You’re frozen for a moment, unsure of your next move. After a few seconds, you blink rapidly to compose yourself before moving over to take a glass of the champagne Mel had mentioned earlier. You really need a drink.

I------» ~~~ «------I

“Gods,” you exhale shakily as your body’s practically slammed against a wall. The precaution is a pale hand that cradles the back of your head, shielding it from hurt.

Caitlyn noses into the corner of your jaw as a silent apology before her mouth drops, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat. The scent of her shampoo floods your senses — some kind of flower, maybe?  

It’s been maybe an hour since the ball’s end, and you had come to check on Caitlyn before going to bed for the night. Though, not before stopping by your room to freshen up. Your guess had been proven right when she had opened her bedroom door at the first sound of your knock, yanking you inside with zero hesitation. She had been waiting for her chance, it seemed.

You can’t help another breathy sigh as her lips find your pulse point, sucking the sensitive skin into her mouth in a way that makes your hands find her shoulders, squeezing gently. “No marks,” you breathe, and you can feel Caitlyn’s annoyed huff against your neck.

“Why can’t I just mark what I want?” She presses another hot kiss to your pulse. She’s almost like a child, pouting over things she can’t have. But it’s not either of your doings. 

You can’t say anything to that because, if it had been your decision, you would have let her paint your neck with her love bites long ago. Caitlyn, too, seems to notice your tension, and she lifts her head back up. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmurs, her nose brushing against yours. “Don’t.”

Any reply dies on your tongue as Caitlyn kisses you with a fiery passion, presses of lips turning into the strokes of her tongue into your mouth. Her knee finds its way between your thighs, even with both of you still adorning your long dresses. You gasp, but she swallows it, continuing to kiss you deeply like she’s been wanting to for hours.

“Still worked up from earlier?” Her mouth breaks from yours, lips twisting into a lazy smirk. 

Your cheeks flush with a pink hue, and you glare at her. You both had gotten more than a little distracted when you had helped her get ready for the ball, ending with heated kisses and grinding that did little to relieve your ache for her. “Don’t tease.”

“Mm, you’re telling me what to do now?” All it takes is an arch of Caityn’s eyebrows and your gaze drops from hers. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, conceding by leaning up to kiss her jaw. Though, when you see the muscle flex, you feel a sense of satisfaction rush through you. She’s not as immune to you as she might pretend. That much is clear when she tugs you over to her bed, bringing you to straddle her lap.

“You’re making me crazy,” Caitlyn mouths at your collarbone, her hand sliding up the slit of your dress to squeeze your thigh. “I hated everyone looking at you. You’re mine to look at.”

“Ah,” you sigh, running a hand through her now-messy navy hair, the locks tangling in your fingers. “Everyone’s looking at you, Princess.”

Caitlyn’s icy eyes flash at your emphasis of her title, and before you know it, she’s flipped you onto you back on her bed, one of her hands pinning both of yours above your head. “That’s not what you call me when we’re alone.” 

“Cait-"

“Nope,” she tightens her grip on your wrists as punishment. “Try again.”

“Mommy-"

“There we go,” Caitlyn coos, letting your hands free and trailing her perfectly manicured nails down your arms. “Now, why don’t we get you out of this dress, hm?”

She’s tugging at the zipper of your dress before you can even respond, and you arch your back — half to give her more access and half because this all feels so good that you crave more. More of this, more of her.

And when Caitlyn tosses the fabric to the floor without sparing a glance at it, you swear the look in her eyes is predatory as she stares at you in your lingerie. “Beautiful,” she breathes, like she hasn’t seen you before, and you feel a wave of heat straight down to your core. 

“You knew I’d do this,” Caitlyn accuses, making quick work of slipping off your bra and panties. More specifically, the navy set that's her favorite of your lingerie. She claims it’s because the color suits you, but you know better. You know it’s because she likes you in her color: a silent claim on you. “You wore this knowing I’d want to fuck you.”

“You want to fuck me?” You question in mock-surprise, though immediately regret teasing her when she tangles your hair in her fist and angles your face up to meet hers.

“What was that?” Caitlyn’s voice is strict, composed even as her other hand grips your hip so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. 

“Nothing,” you’re quick to assure, because if you sass her, Caitlyn won’t let you come. And gods, you want to come. She’s already worked you up so much that your thighs are slick with anticipation.

“And?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “‘m sorry, Mommy.”

“Good,” she releases your hair to move down your body and you hate how much wetter you get at the smallest of praise. “Now, be a darling and spread your legs.”

Your thighs fall open at the order, and you don’t have to see Caitlyn’s face to feel the smug pride radiating off her. She presses her thumb to your swollen clit and coos at the strangled gasp you let out. “I- please,” you whimper, pleading for any kind of relief.

But Caitlyn, though very sweet and attentive, is just a little bit mean, too. So she teases her fingers along your soaked slit, not giving you the penetration you desire. “What do you want, love? Fingers, tongue-?”

“Anything,” you whine because it feels like she’s been baiting you forever now, if only a few minutes. 

“So desperate for me” Caitlyn smirks teasingly as her gaze meets yours, but gives in all the same, plunging two fingers into you. Because she loves it — loves how badly you need her. She starts slow, but eventually builds up speed when you whimper in protest.

“Oh,” you mewl, fisting at her sheets when she angles her fingers upwards to meet that sweet spot inside you that dissolves you into pure pleasure. “Oh, please, I need-"

“Shh, I know,” Caitlyn soothes, her other hand on your thigh surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the rapid thrusts of her fingers. And she does. She’s so in-tuned to your needs, knows exactly how you like to be touched after months of secret affairs that no one in the palace would suspect.

With that, her lips wrap around your aching clit and suck, tongue teasing your most sensitive nerves as her fingers continue their rough motions inside you. You let out a squeal of pleasure, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises. But Caitlyn doesn’t let up in her relentless stimulation, and it doesn’t take long for you to keen into your palm as you come around her fingers.

She helps you through your release, letting your hips angle against her mouth as your orgasm racks through your body, before she gently slips her fingers out. You shakily prop yourself up on your elbows and god, you could come again just from the dark look in her icy eyes as she looks up at you from between your thighs. “Fuck, Caitlyn.”

“You’re not done, you know,” Caitlyn murmurs, smiling all the same as she moves up your body to kiss you. 

“I know,” you mumble against her lips, reaching up to tug her hips down to meet yours. Caitlyn hisses, shifting to slip off her own lingerie before pressing her dripping core against yours. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

And, as she descends upon you once again, the brief thought enters your mind that you really hope you get to stay like this forever. Even if forever is only until the sun comes up.

Ugh. Need her.

As said, this is my first time writing smut so...I hope it didn't suck? Thank you sm for all the love and support on my writing in the month-ish I've been on here! Sending love to everyone <3

Reminder that my inbox/requests are open :)

[pastel-peach-writes]

Hello! I adore your writing. Can I request a fic with female arcane characters when they have a touch starved gf? (Definitely asking for a friend ahah 😅)

RAHHH. ARCANE LADIES LETS GOOO. tbh, im not that in tune with Mel and Sevika as characters so they may be OOC. Thanks for requesting!

Arcane Ladies w/A Touch-Starved Reader | Headcanons

╰┈➤ PLOT: Headcanons of Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, and Sevika with a touch-starved lover and/or discovering said trait.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Lower Case Intended (Kinda?), Suggestive Themes (Mel/Sevika), Not Proofread, Short

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

JINX ᝰ๋࣭𝜗᭡

- In a romantic setting (or really any setting), Jinx is touch-starved herself.

- when taking hostages or messing with those in her way, she will often touch them such as stroking her nail along their jawline or grabbing their chin when they're hurt and on their last limb.

- now she does this not because she's a bit insane and wants to add salt to their wounds but because she's curious. "What would this feel like?" "What would happen if I do this?"

- Much like most things in her life, curiosity is the main thing that gets her into trouble

- in terms of touching, you're not exempt from her touching curiosity.

- she'll drag her nails along your spine. cup your cheek and chin, and squeeze you like the baby you are to her.

- it's not until you linger after a hug that she notices your touch-starved like her

– since that moment, she made a mental note to cuddle you, kiss you, or poke at you more

– even if you tell her to stop annoying you or that she should focus on her work and not mess with you, she'll continue to poke and hold you.

– why? well because you're smiling through your complaints and she can't get over that smile you try to hide when you let yourself melt in her touch

–––

VI ﾒ

– much like her sister, Vi is touch-starved herself.

– y'all saw how she acted with Caitlyn and when she reunited with Jinx. She was all OVER them. With you, she's the exact same

– With her, you're more reluctant with touch. You want to hug her, cuddle with her, cling onto her like the clingy thing you are but you're scared to.

– you didn't grow up in an environment where that was normalized so it was out of your comfort zone to go out and cling to someone.

– in the beginning of your relationship, Vi was touchy until she noticed you weren't super comfortable with it.

– when she noticed, she had a discussion with you. – "Hey, are you comfortable with me hugging you 'n stuff? I noticed you get kinda tense when I first hug you." She'll ask you on a random night in the living room. You were hesitant at first, wanting to immediately ease her insecurities and tell her everything was fine.

– But if you lied, even if the lie was more a half-truth, your initial reaction to her touch would be the same. Tense at first then ease seconds into the touch.

– So, because you couldn't do anything but bite the bud, you told her

– Since telling, Vi said she'll help you work on getting more comfortable with touch.

– She'll even tease you when she notices you're more hesitant than normal.

– "Oh, come on," she'll tease you with her arms squeezing around your torso and your cheeks smushing to another. "You know you love it! Ease up, Mufifn."

–––

CAITLYN ᯓ

- With Caitlyn, you literally CANNOT get off of her. Can't blame you though.

- 6' foot something to cling onto? YUM.

- Caitlyn didn't mind your touchiness. She assumed you were that way so she didn't think anything of it.

- It wasn't until she met your family that she saw that your touchy side is something you keep hidden from your family, if not the world.

- You were so stiff around them, uncomfortable dare she say. You kept to yourself, restricted that pretty smile of yours, and you wouldn't let yourself ease into her touch.

- At home, she brought this up to you and you told her that being affectionate wasn't something your family did. To them, holding each other, hugging, expressing hellos and goodbyes with kisses was weird. Unfortunately for you, you're a naturally touchy person so you had to keep that part of you concealed.

- Caitlyn didn't like the thought of you hiding yourself from your blood kin. You didn't deserve that treatment so at home, after the event, Caitlyn went out of her way to be more touchy with you.

- she cradled your head when cuddling on the couch, gave you kisses on the cheek, and when she complimented you on something or congratulated you, she kissed the top of your head while giving you a polite squeeze.

– being super-duper-mushy-gushy-affectionate wasn't something she wasn't used to but she'll do anything for you. Plus, a couple extra kisses and squeezes haven't killed her yet.

–––

MEL౨ৎ

- You didn't care about touch all that much before your relationship with Mel. At the start of your relationship, you and Mel were younger so you had fewer responsibilities. All your free time, literally all of it, you guys spent with each other

- walking arm-in-arm while shopping, resting on each other on hot Summer days with your feet in a body of water, and mindlessly playing with each other's clothes or hair during late-night talks.

- but as she got busier, you saw her less, and seeing her less meant fewer touches.

- Mel wouldn't call herself touch-starved but starved for your touch.

– She'll miss your lingering touches on her fingers while you lay in bed, your lips on her back as you held each other, and your face in the crook of her neck.

– In a way, you both were touch-starved for each other. Maybe even a different word but this is a PG-13 space LMAO.

– at night, you would wrap your limbs around her tight and in the morning, you'd cling even tighter. What do you mean it's time for her to go already? She just got in bed!! (it's been 7 hours.)

– with Mel, your touch-starving-ness doesn't go unnoticed. In fact, whenever there's a time she notices you're more touchy than normal, she'll make it up to you

– And you never once complained about her way of making it up to you.

–––

SEVIKA ⚠︎

- oh lord, where do i start with this one, hm?

– One, Sevika loves the crap out of your touch-starved-ness. She won't admit this out loud but she thinks its the cutest thing in the world.

- She'll see you go in for a hug or maybe a wrap around her arm but then decide against it because of your own insecurities.

- Sometimes she'll take matters into her own hands and wrap her arm around you, pull you into her lap, or sneak a kiss on your cheek but other times she likes to make you suffer.

– "Mm, what was that?" she'll tease with a smirk on her lips. "Oh, did you want to hug me? Kiss me? Cling onto me or something?"

- Tbh, if you're with Sevika, you gotta be a little bit of a brat, right? right. So, you'll refuse the allegations she put on your name.

- That is until she pushes and pushes and boom. Like a perfectly boiled egg, your shell has been cracked and peeled, and the softness of your personality has been brought to light.

– with embarrassment plastered along your body and face, you'll do what you were too shy to before. (Cling, hug, kiss, etc).

- Sevika plays a big game but she loves it when you cling to her because just like you, she's a bit touch-starved too. The only touches she gets on a day-to-day basis are punches, kicks, etc.

- When you swallow your pride at home, you'll pull her down to your chest and hold her tight. She'll ask what's up but you'll just ignore her and she'll melt into your body like you intended.

WC: 1,229

[aingeal98]

The way Mel doesn't even flinch when Ambessa slaps her, doesn't even react. Just keeps trying to negotiate, keeps trying to get her to see reason right up until that final fight. Your mother is the only person in the world left who truly knows and loves you and yet she does not respect you.

Thinking about Cait smacking Ambessa right as she was about to give another condescending smirk and line to Mel, snapping at her to shut up and fight even with a dagger in her gut. And she would have died seconds later if it wasn't for Mel.

No one can understand what it's like being raised by Ambessa. Not anymore now that Kino is dead. The level of abuse, manipulation and genuine love all tied together is something only Mel carries with her. Cait certainly can't understand it, but she was trained for a few months at Ambessa's side, each other's shadow of a replacement for their respective mother daughter losses. And sometimes that's enough.

Sometimes the spark you need to finally heal your inner child and stand up to your mother is your feral twenty two year old baby sister in law essentially choosing to die fighting rather than bow to your mother's will. Just that one little push past the point of no return, and suddenly your mother is dead and you have killed her and she is finally, finally proud of you.

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Something about Meljayvik's respective relationships with legacy, Jayce's trying to live up to and honour his father's, Mel living in the shadow of her family's - specifically her mother's, and Viktor trying to make one for himself but not having the time

[silknspice]

STICKY SITUATION

⎯ ୨୧ pairings: fake dating! vi x reader

⎯ ୨୧ content: mentions of alcohol, college au, lying, swearing, fake dating tropes used, lowercase intended, not proofread, wc 3.5k

“no telling anyone, i’ll be coming to all of your hockey games and after parties, and absolutely no tongue when kissing.”

you looked up at vi for reassurance after reciting the pink-written “rules” paper in front of you. the pinkette hummed, muscular and defined arms moving from their position draped over the top of the couch to her manspread knees as she shifted to lean slightly forward. 

caitlyn kiramman and violet lane were officially over. it was assumed to be a mutual breakup that both parties would grieve on for the appropriate amount of time, but the soft launch the pinkett awoke to on caitlyn’s story the next morning spoke otherwise. maddie nolen. getting with the woman she told vi “not to worry about” was low, all vi could do was go lower. 

and so she enlisted you. stunning, charming, intelligent, an all-rounder. the way caitlyn clung onto her ex-lover for dear life when you were around, as if vi were a mere moth and you were light. if anyone would give the “mongoose”, as vi called her, a run for her money, it’d be you. 

“it’s a solid contract, for now.” she agreed. her eyes lingered on yours for a moment before flickering to her dorm window, the absence of light prompting her to lean back once more and speak. “it’s late, y’know. why don’t you stay the night?” 

you paused on your way to stand before finishing the movement. “charming, really, but you don’t have to offer that, vi. i’ll walk back to my building. thanks thoug-” the girl drowned out your words with her reassuring ones. 

“stay,” she simply insisted, backtracking as a beat passed and she had yet to explain. “it’d look good for the deal, y’know? besides.. we have some details to solidify.” as she finished speaking she lifted a hand and waved you over with only two fingers. 

you set your bag back down and scoffed at the action. “i’m not a dog.” your feisty claim was cancelled out by the way you followed her command like a puppy. 

you sat on the couch next to violet. closer than usual, but still too far for her liking. the hockey player rolled her eyes, a hint of a smirk crossing her face. “not there, honey.” you furrowed your brows, looking around to see what could possibly be wrong with your arrangement. “then where am i supposed to sit?”

vi’s hint of a grin attempted to stay hidden, tongue poking the inside of her cheek as she leaned over and grabbed your hips to flip you to straddle her lap on the couch. 

“where it’s easiest for me to give you a hickey.”

you laughed, shaking your head and using your arms to lean back from vi’s chest. at the sound of silence in the room your smile dropped, staring at the girl eyeing you expectantly.

“you’re serious?” you asked louder than intended, mouth agape as the girl moved her hands to rest at your hips. “people won’t believe we’re a couple just because we said so,” she started. “especially not caitlyn, she’s too smart..” you added, beginning to understand her perspective. 

“exactly,” she whispered, leaning in. “b’sides, we need to practice.”

vi leaned in, caressing the back of your head to hold you closer as she latched onto the side of your neck. she placed a gentle kiss before sucking a bit harder. you hummed as she slid a hand up to hold your hair before detaching from your neck with a pop. 

“there.” she spoke softly, eyeing the red and purple love bite forming. “perfect."

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 “perfect,” you smiled, picking up the letterman jacket vi placed in front of your position on the bed. “violence” was written on the back rather than her last name. clad in nothing but a t shirt and shorts as pajamas, you slid the jacket on to see how it fit. as you adjusted it and fixed your hair, vi walked up to her bed and held up her phone. 

“smile,” she spoke quickly, snapping a photo of your soft smile and slightly confused eyes. 

“what was that for?” you muttered, watching vi’s frame as she sat next to you and turned her screen. 

already posted on vi’s snap story was a photo of you, sat on her bed, legs appearing bare as the girl’s letterman and oversized tee covered your shorts. the text on the screen read “post ‘workout’”. 

“vi!” you sputtered, letting out a gentle laugh as you hit her shoulder and earned a playful grin from the girl. “hey-  now we’re on the map.” the pinkett reassured you with a smug look as she opened the various messages responding to the story. 

‘ITS NINE IN THE MORNINGG’  ‘crazy work’

you felt the girl’s gaze on you as you watched the reactions roll in with an amused smile. fellow classmates praising vi for ‘making a move’, saying how cute you two look together, even claiming to have ‘known this would happen all along’. for a moment, you let yourself forget it was all pretend. 

a veiny hand placed itself on your thigh, making you flinch at the sudden contact. you looked to violet, eyes locking in the moment before ridding of the tension. 

“see that? we need’a get rid of that.” she grinned. 

you scoffed, flicking her hand off of you as you stood and rid yourself of the thick letterman. “nothing in the contract says you need to grope me,” you teased, hands on your hips as you turned to pick a shirt from vi’s messily folded space. 

“gro-  what?” she scoffed, caught off guard as she attempted to defend herself. “nobody’s gonna believe we’re a couple if you jump every time I lay a hand on you!” the girl huffed, her gaze turning every which way before leaning back on her forearms. 

you only hummed as she continued to talk, turning with your back to her as you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head.

vi‘s words died in her throat, eyes widening at the line of your back. your smooth skin and pearly smile blinded her as you turned your head, picking up one of her shirts. 

“what? nobody's gonna believe we're a couple if you choke up when you see my body." your cocky smile filled your face as you turned away from the girl.

"by the way, you're drooling."

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“ew, you fucking drooled!” jinx’s loud laugh drowned out the room as she scolded her boyfriend, despite the roaring party atmosphere. all throughout the frat house was a crowd of students looking to get wasted, heaps of alcohol, and bad decisions waiting to happen. 

“i did not!” ekko defended himself, wiping away any possible evidence from his lips. you giggled at the two and leaned into the strong arm wrapped around your waist. after a few days of casual pda across campus to keep up the act, vi was finally able to touch you without you scolding her about ‘the contract’ or making a gasp that she found adorable. 

she figured an arm wrapped around your torso was appropriate after the third guy in a row  came up to you and asked to dance. you figured this was a good way to warn people off so that she didn’t threaten anyone else and get jayce to ban them from the frat. 

“alright, another! i wanna be moving out there tonight,” jinx exclaimed, picking up a liquor, pouring two shots, and stopping over the third glass. you had already opted out on alcohol, so the blue haired girl’s gaze trailed to her sister. “vi? you pregnant or something? haven’t touched a glass yet. i’m worried.” the girl teased, tilting her head.

“ha ha,” vi rolled her eyes playfully, her grip on you becoming present once more as she spoke. “can’t. i’m drivin’ honey home tonight.” the younger girl fake gagged, downing her shot with her boyfriend following in suit. as the couple continued their antics, vi leaned into you. the space between you thinned as you grew to feel her soft exhales on the back of your neck. “look to your left, at the end of the couch.” her words were hushed to a sneaky whisper that kissed your ears as she kept your body warm with her proximity.

you obeyed, holding back a smile as you peeked to your left. a girl, decorated in blue locs, was staring back at you with stars in her eyes. she blew you a kiss that was mentally intercepted by vi with a scoff. “more competition.” you teased, turning your head to face hers. 

“y’know, if i’d known you attract this much attention-” you cut her words off, bringing your hand up to fix a pink strand of hair that’d fallen in front of her face.

“you’d have what? chosen another girl to torture with your silly ex drama?” you hummed.

the pinkett snickered, cocky smile painting her face as her grip on you tightened ever so slightly. “not a chance.” 

the moment between you fell silent and soft despite the roaring music surrounding before jayce’s smiling face filled your vision. “evening lovebirds,” the man grinned, taking a shot from the jinx’s hands and downing it while she groaned with anger. vi smiled, thumb tracing patterns absentmindedly along your hip. “shouldn’t you be losing a game of beer pong right about now?” she teased her friend. 

“hah, no.” the sarcastic response made you giggle, fanning your face gently with one hand as the room’s air only became stiffer at the arrival of more guests. “mel and i are hitting up the hot tub with some.. other guests.” he lifted another shot glass, this time one that powder poured for him. 

getting some fresh air sounded so good right now. 

vi hummed while letting her hand slide off of your waist, her touch just grazing over your lower back before sticking her fist in the pocket of her baggy jeans. without speaking, she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in question. 

“yes please.” you begged, already handing your phone to jinx to watch over. most likely a decision you and your phone storage will regret later, but that was a future problem. jayce let out a chuckle, flashing his pearly whites before setting his last shot glass down and waving you and vi to follow.  

your hands intertwined, jayce leading you who’s hands embraced both his and vi’s. the man pulled you both through the drunken community and let go to exit through the decorated doorway. the colorful lighting dimmed and was replaced by the blue hue of the pool and light from the night stars. jayce found mel’s gaze from across the space, a grin growing on the frat member’s mouth. he hastily removed his shirt and shorts, tossing them onto a table by the poolside. “just join us when you’re ready!” he rushed out, jogging over to his lover. 

vi let out a sharp “hah”, muttering something about talis being “pussy whipped”. you only smiled, turning to the side as you fixed your arms across your torso and lifted the cropped top over your head. vi’s playful mutters died in her throat, and a soft “oh” was born. that ‘stripping practice’ wasn’t much help. 

she hoped and prayed you’d suggest giving it another try. 

two sets of clothes fell, every fabric hitting the floor adding to the heavy pile of tension, one too complex and thick to cut with a knife. the two of you hummed, taking each other in as your gazes travelled up and down with heavy lidded eyes. 

rather than a knife, jayce’s call to you from across the landscape successfully dissipated all conflicting and curious thoughts. momentarily. “yo, what are you waiting for!” 

the pinkette’s lips curled into a smile, her arm finding its resting spot around your waist. you exchanged no words as your feet moved with purpose, anticipating the feeling of the steamy water that would soon encase and soothe your body for the time being. 

or not.

“violet?” 

it wasn’t your mouth that spewed the name. you radiate love, the way in which you called out vi’s name warmed her and provided an indescribable feeling. it was said cold, surprised, and almost with distaste. 

 “caitlyn.” vi’s response was equally distant, a hint of shock at the end. the newfound emotion quickly switched to anger as she turned to the man looking like a deer in headlights. “jayce..” her voice was low, a warning. 

wide eyes flickered between the past lovers before swaying to his immediate left. “mel?” he called for help, the woman only laughing as she relaxed into the warm water. “you’re on your own.” 

the ginger girl at caitlyn’s side looped an arm around her bicep, squeezing gently to grab her attention. “let’s go, yeah?” she tried, but the woman didn’t budge. 

you scoffed, a snarky remark on it’s way to sneak past your lips when jayce interrupted. “hey- okay wait wait!” he started, gaze travelling between the girls. “i know how tense everything is right now, but i care about both of you. i hate having to choose sides or run back and forth to be with you guys. can you at least try to be civil tonight?”  

the loudest silence fell upon the group, you and maddie not daring to make a face until your lover– or faux one decided. 

“fine.” 

the night progressed as jayce dreamed. vi sat with you on her lap, your skin plush against one of her thighs, her arms wrapped around your waist as the water threatened to take you away. she suggested it was the “easiest position to whisper in your ear discreetly”. you were on top of her before she thought of the explanation. maddie and caitlyn sat directly across the hot tub, the ginger holding onto one of the bluenette’s biceps in hopes of calming the annoyed look that covered her face. mel and jayce, ever the mediators, carried the tense conversation to the best of their abilities. 

after a draining thirty minutes of passive aggressive disses, everyone nodding and pretending to understand jayce’s technological talks, and you standing your ground during an intense staring contest with maddie, you’d had enough. 

“oh it was disastrous. then of course i had to miss a couple days as i was ill with a cold–” caitlyn’s story was drowned out as you spoke up with a smile sweet enough to cause a toothache. 

“really?” you tilted your head. “i heard you got mono after a party,” you hummed, voice laced with fake concern. you had no clue if the claims were true, you were just tired of her talking. 

the bluenette’s eyes widened only slightly, her mouth slightly agape. maddie turned her head, a brow gently furrowing in suspicious confusion. “but.. i didn’t have-” 

“well that’s what happens when you’re freed from a past situation that was unskilled in such acts.” caitlyn spoke over the girl. her gaze flickered over to vi and back to jayce who was desperately praying to change the topic. you bit your tongue with a small scoff under your breath, vi’s muscular arms tensed their grip around you subconsciously before relaxing at the thought of an idea. 

“you wanna crash this shit?” vi whispered, words kissing your ear with her lips just inches away. you nodded your head with desperate eyes.

she tapped on your leg below the water, making you turn your head and torso ever so slightly towards her. without warning, her lips crashed into yours, arms adjusting their position to hold your waist. “keep going,” she whispered between one of the many kisses. your hands trailed up to tangle in her hair, gently gripping as you felt the pinkette softly bite on your bottom lip. your mouth opened just enough from shock that the muscular girl could slide her tongue in, allowing it to get tangled with and slide against yours. 

fuck. 

you allowed all of it to happen. the way her hands slid up and down your side, the way her lips encased and warmed yours, the way her tongue explored every inch of your mouth, the way mel and jayce noticed in shock and amusement, and the way caitlyn and maddie looked as though they’d explode within the next second. 

you did anything but stop, hardly listening as caitlyn scoffed, letting out an “unbelievable” as her and maddie climbed out of the hot tub and stormed off. it wasn’t until mel questioned “was this display for us or them?” that you pulled yourself from vi with a cheeky smile. you didn’t miss the way she followed after your lips. 

the pinkette flashed that infamous smirk, apologizing to mel and jayce with a laugh before leaning in one last time to whisper in your ear, “good job, honey.” 

your heart raced at the comment, but it didn’t stop you from pushing the girl back with an almost-serious expression on your face. “you broke the contract!” you exclaimed, pressing an accusatory finger to her chest. 

it wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy it, like you didn’t slide your tongue along hers as she claimed your mouth. 

it was the fact that every time you moved further in this fake affair, you grew more worried. the fact that all of your firsts with her would be fake tugged on your heart strings. and when the drama boils over, what would happen between the two of you? in your mind, as your tongues entangled, so did your hearts. 

vi choked on her words, searching for an explanation. why did she do that again? she couldn’t help herself. not good enough. oh, right. “i told you! couples-”

“contract?” 

the two of you froze, turning back to jayce and mel who eyed you suspiciously. 

fuck. 

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“fuck,” 

jinx huffed out under her breath, barely audible with the loud bundle of students in the surrounding stands. “it smudged again!” the girl whined, looking into the camera of her phone as she attempted to fix a line of eye black on her face. mel chuckled, muttering a “give me that,” as she held the girl’s face and evened out the line with a tissue. 

it was nearing the end of the second intermission, with your school and the neighboring university tied. the three of you had spent two hours picking out the best bottoms to match your lovers’ jerseys that covered your body, tying the perfect blue and white ribbons in your hair, and decorating yourselves with body paint. jinx, apart from the messy lines on her cheekbones, painted little blue doodles on her legs. mel simply painted jayce’s number on her cheek. you drew two pink lines under your eyes, along with vi’s name perfectly placed on the front of your thigh. 

a loud whistle blew seconds before the players skated back on the ice, fans cheering and clapping as they anticipated a win for their respective team. you only cared about finding the player with the intimidating name plastered on their back: “violence”. 

the game flashed before your eyes, screaming and squealing along with the girls whenever one of your companions got the puck. 6-6. 6-7. 7-7. excitement and anticipation in the atmosphere only rose as the teams skated back and forth across the ice. 

the anticipation distracted you. distracted you from your conflicting feelings, vi’s curious actions, the fact that you didn’t have to be dressed like this as caitlyn nor maddie were present, the worry of this deal coming to an end, the terrible fact that you were worried, and the terrifying idea of telling her how you really felt once the game came to an end.

7-7. 7-8. 7-9. time!

the stands erupted into cheers as ekko slammed the winning shot. powder jumped up and down while you and mel laughed at the girl’s glee before cheering along with her. 

“they usually take a minute, showers and all.” mel informed you as you waited for the players to exit the locker room. the two girls found a spot on a bench while you paced back and forth. it’s fine. it’s fine. does she really need to know? 

“honey?” 

the sweet voice startled you, prompting you to turn, the fast-moving pink haired girl still clad in her uniform filling your view. “vi?” you smiled, only taking two steps before the girl reached you. “what’s– huh?” you choked on your words as the girl wrapped a hand around your waist, the other coming up to cup your face. 

“have t’ do this before the adrenaline wears off,” she muttered with determination and a haze in her eyes. before you could respond, she leaned in, lips connecting like puzzle pieces. the kiss wasn’t rough or showy like the others, it was needy and real. she kept you in a trance, minds, bodies, and mouths connected until powder’s complaints pulled you out. “jeez, breathe!” 

the girl’s annoyance caused you to giggle, allowing you to feel vi’s smile against your lips before pulling back. 

her face, only inches away, sent a numbing and fuzzy feeling through your brain and body. the look in her eyes as she soaked in every detail from your puffy lips to wide and love-struck orbs had you all but melting. 

oh. 

©silknspice