#ok a lot of smut

[makmakgoose]

Stars Above, Stones Below

After the disastrous end of his betrothal to Gwen and the regret of his offer to Princess Mithian, Arthur swears off finding a wife until he's ready to wed. When Merlin offers himself to Arthur as bedmate, Arthur suggests they hand-fast in secret for a single year of mutual pleasure without obligation. As their year together unfolds, and secrets and betrayals unravel around them, Arthur and Merlin learn there is no such thing as uncomplicated pleasure. Everything they thought they knew can change in the span of a single year.

LINK

[uc1wa]

jason todd who’s a little religious and says he wants to wait for marriage to fill you full with his cock and cum. jason todd whose tongue is lapping at your entrance and his fingers are circling your clit, reminding you that the bible doesn’t say anything about the inability to do this.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Finally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Plot: Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, fluff and angst.

Words: 9,1OO

A/N: Recently I’ve been trying to understand what it is people want to read of my works and I have no idea, so here is my brain in scrambled pieces. I'm so sorry it’s so long, I swear it's worth it!

Romania.

It isn’t often you agree to such an extensive trip to meet up with one of your clients, but apparently this particular one can’t be seen in the more supervised countries. Besides, you’ve never been to Bucharest before, so you’re quite enjoying your drink at the small picturesque café.

You’ve done your research and know damn well who you’re meeting up with. A small part of you is screaming at you not to agree to do business with him or back out now, but your curiosity overrules any common sense. Last you heard, Hydra had lost their favourite asset and you can confidently say you were relieved to hear it. It had been a few too many times that specific organisation had made your job more difficult than it had to be.

A many number of things could have happened to the Winter Soldier. He could’ve been killed, corrupted by another organisation, fled to live as a hermit– You really want to know. It’s the spy in you that enjoys knowing the ins and outs of the criminal world. He’d tried not to mention who he is, but you had a few offers on the table, he needed some leverage to get you to agree to meet him. Safe to say, you were surprised he’d told you he was the Winter Soldier. Big chance you will now be the only person to know about the asset’s current whereabouts. That is, if you live to tell it of course…

Every hair in your neck stands up straight, despite the comfortable weather and the easy going crowd roaming the street. The sudden change in atmosphere has your spy senses stand on alert. Your spine stiffens and you casually look around, slightly discouraged at the way your body has never responded to anything in this particular manner.

You cross your legs and turn to look behind you, scanning every face in the crowd. When you turn back, the seat next to yours is taken, only a rickety metal table separating you from the large man sat in the other chair. Your breath halts in your throat and you look him up and down, instantly recognising the buff man as the Winter Soldier. How? You’re not sure, you’d never really seen a picture.

You check his hands. Gloves. With this weather? To cover up. You check his build and take a particularly long time to do so, because God, this man is broad. He’s all sturdy flesh and muscle, firm and casual. His thighs look like tree trunks and you know the man is fast, despite his build. You force the deliberate sweep of your eyes over his body to appear more nonchalant and confident than you feel.

Then your eyes reach his face and the breath gets knocked out of you. There is nothing in that face that hints towards a stone cold killer. Dark blue, deep set eyes, freckles pattered over his nose and cheeks, lips bitten raw from contemplation and an expression on his face that almost looks like… Nerves?

“Hello,” you start carefully, unable to keep your surprise from your tone, but sounding relatively cool to your own relief.

“Hi,” he says and the tone of his voice is deep, but rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages. You think that maybe he hasn’t.

“Should I refer to you as the Winter Soldier?” you ask, composing your cool nature entirely now. “Or would you say that is a bit on the nose?”

He huffs a laugh and you smile, feeling the overwhelming urge to make him do that again. “James will do, thanks.”

“Alright James,” you say, taking your time to let your mouth get acquainted with his name, “what is it you need my services for?”

“I hear you’re a spy,” he starts and searches your face. “A good one– the best one.”

“Well now, I’d hate to disappoint,” you purr. “What do you need?”

“It’s not so much a document or one piece of information,” he mumbles and his face hardens as he collects himself. You sit upright and frown as you study him. “I need you as a partner for an assignment.”

You instantly shake your head, “Absolutely not. I’m not working for Hydra, that organisation is–”

“Not Hydra,” he quickly cuts in. “Just me. It’s a personal assignment.”

You wait for him to continue, not appreciating his vague communication if he wants to become partners on whatever this is.

He sighs, “I– I have a lot of… gaps. Things I don’t remember, things I can’t quite place. Years of information. The things I did for Hydra– I wasn’t there for most of it. Neither were a lot of people. So I need someone with access to some dark shit to help me figure it out.”

Chewing your lip, you process the information he gives you and empathy clenches your heart together. James gives you the time you need to put the pieces together. You’d heard of Hydra’s experiments with brainwashing and had already sort of assumed some of their soldiers had only worked for them because of that reason, had stayed far away from the organisation’s shit to steer clear from that danger.

But it’s so different to see it in real life, or what is left of it, you suppose. Many things aren’t quite clear to you just yet. However, you slowly start nodding your head. Your brain starts running a million miles an hour, all the gears turning to form a plan, the way you always do before you agree to a job.

“Can you pay me for the service?” you ask, already wondering to yourself if you’d help the clearly hopeless and damaged man for free, and to be honest, just for kicks. The things you’d dig up from everything he’ll give you– Selfishly, you’d kill for it. Anyone would kill for it.

He gives you a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “Not that much. But I can save up more.”

You think. Your gut tells you he won’t kill you after he gets what he wants, even though he could. And though you will always keep a close eye on him and everything he’s capable of, your gut feeling has never disappointed you.

So you sigh and shake your head. “That’s okay. I’ll do all of it for free, and you can pay me what little you have to insure that I stay quiet. Sound fair?”

His eyes narrow with a twinkle that you hadn’t expected from a man like him and he says, “Deal.”

“Alright,” you say and finish your coffee before clearing your throat. “First order of business: tell me your full name.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Oh shit.

You do know him.

Germany.

Relief seeps into your bones as you cross the threshold of your building and you slip into your routine of coming home. Tired feet drag you through your building and to your apartment, and muscle memory unlocks your door. After the week you’ve had, you are ready to turn off your brain and settle down.

You enjoy being this tired though, revel in it. Exhausting yourself with a normal person job and the way it puts your usually restless body to sleep at night is exactly what you wanted for your life.

One step into your own hallway, however, makes your daydream of a quiet night in crumble to your feet. Something is off. You can blame your trained senses for being so instantly on edge, but the apartment you just stepped into isn’t a place that has been vacated for the past nine hours. This apartment isn’t empty.

An even older routine settles into your bones this time and you creep into your home on light feet. The air is warm and the space is completely quiet. You’ve been alive long enough, seen enough, to know quiet is never good.

You don’t turn on any lights and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Ears perked and muscles at the ready to spring into action, you slowly make your way further into your home. And when you slip around the corner and look into your darkened living room, you let out a frustrated sigh at the dark figure lounging on your couch.

“How did you find me here,” you grumble and it is hardly a question.

You can feel him sit up and tune in to your presence. You couldn’t explain it if your life depended on it, but you instantly knew who it was. The dark figure in the dark apartment, waiting patiently for someone to catch him. After all, he will deny it until his dying day, but he does have an awful lot of dramatic flair for someone so stoic.

“Better question is: why are you here?” he counters and you drop your bag onto one of your dining chairs, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Trying to stay off the radar, are you?”

“And failing, clearly,” you say before he can say it for you. “How did you find me here, James?”

Your eyes are finally fully adjusted and you see the smirk forming on his face. You haven’t seen that smirk in five years. “I have my ways,” he says and pushes off the couch, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now, what are you doing in this abandoned town?”

“It’s not abandoned,” you counter and slip off your coat, deciding to just go about your old routine and ignore his presence as much as you can. Maybe then he’ll go away.

“It’s a shit town and you know it.” He cocks his head at you, eyes tracking all of your movements.

You notice his puzzled look. He’s genuinely wondering what is left of his old ally and you can’t quite blame him. Perhaps he can easily see your lame attempt at finding a normal life for yourself. He has probably tried a thousand times himself to escape the roaring life of saving the world, has probably failed every time, too. But you’re determined to make it work – make yourself normal and live a full life.

And that is all you were to him anyway, just an ally. The entire time, you’d felt that he paid a little too much attention to you, but you supplied critical information and occasionally wiped someone off the map. A spy. Nothing more, nothing less. However, for the infamous Winter Soldier to need your alliance again, you cannot help but feel wary.

After the first time he approached you, you’d spent months together. It was an effort not to grow too close – too much effort. Because you had. It was impossible not to, helping someone literally piece their life together through intimate and awful memories. Digging through protective walls and coping mechanisms to help him rebuild some of his life again. With a lot of reluctance from both of you.

Yes, you’d grown close then. Grown close enough that you fell asleep slumped over the kitchen counter in his awful Romanian apartment, your face sticking to the countless research papers. You’d woken up hours later on his poorly constructed bed on the floor with a blanket thrown over your frame. Close enough that you’d eventually asked him to assist you on your missions. Ones that required a different skillset than your own. Close enough that you cooked for each other, sometimes shared clothes, roasted one another for the mental health issues that lead you both to your current occupations.

After a while, you couldn’t describe your relation to Barnes in any other way than a partnership. Partners. Who had kissed once. Maybe twice. After some bad Vodka.

You sigh and turn to him, “Why are you here, James?”

“I need to lay low for a while.” A wider smirk, his eyes narrowing at you. “I remembered I know someone who is very good at that.”

“Careful,” you warn and roll your eyes. “You just gave me a compliment.”

His smirk turns to a smile and he shrugs off his own jacket, instantly making himself at home in your apartment. A strange thing when it comes to Bucky, since you don’t recall that man feeling at home anywhere. Then, he did always have this incessant cocky streak around you and he is awfully good at getting on your nerves, so he probably sees the perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

“If you so much as sneeze on anything, I swear–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, his tone unimpressed. “You’ll skin me alive. You’re always so weird about your stuff.”

You give him a tiny proud smile and decide to make yourself something quick to eat, only to feel him peer at you from the edge of your kitchen. He’s met with a confused frown before you raise your brows at him to make him spit it out.

“What’s the catch?” he asks warily.

You smile and look down at the sandwich you’re making. “Nothing. Just fix your shit and get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

He winces slightly and you turn to him fully now, slowly taking a bite.

“What.”

Bucky sucks in a short breath and gives you an apologetic look before he speaks, “It might be a while…”

Your brows drop, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I–”

“Bucky.” You cut him another look, one shaped by many, many instances of working together. “What. Did. You. Do.”

“It’s not important. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but decide against it, already done with his shit. Yes, he is doing better and supposedly now qualifies as a good person. But you know the man before you and the soldier cannot stop himself from lying about pretty much everything. He has damaged tendencies. Give him an inch and he will take a mile, show him a weakness and he will exploit it. You genuinely think he doesn’t know how to be different, how to not abuse those effortless skills he trained all those years working for Hydra and surviving it.

“It’s my weekend off,” you tell him instead. “If you get between me and my plans, I will change the locks.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I can’t get through a simple lock?”

Another glare is his answer and he raises his hands in surrender. You walk around him and toe off your own shoes, grabbing everything to take a shower as you shove the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Bucky slowly strolls through your place and examines everything that belongs to you.

“Can you not pretend like you haven’t completely scanned the place already before I got home?” you ask him as you make way for the bathroom.

“It can’t hurt to have a second look,” he mumbles, but you have already closed the door and move take the shower you’ve been looking forward to the entire day.

You should probably work harder to get him out, should probably make an escape plan and move somewhere else. But you know arguing with him is futile and the best approach with him is to patiently wait for him to move on. Bucky doesn’t get attached and doesn’t nest, so he’ll be gone soon enough.

As the scalding water trickles down your scalp and spine, you realise how much more alert you should have been when you noticed someone was in your home. Especially with all of those loose ends and enemies you have scattered across this planet (and others). Yet, somehow you think your body knew it was Bucky waiting for you. After all, it isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, waiting up for you. Usually because you kept something from him, he found out and would start ambushing you to fess up.

And even though technically, you haven’t exactly kept anything from him this time, you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that explaining your current situation will be the hardest thing to ever speak up about. How pathetic, to try and live a normal life when you’re ‘extraordinary’. Ugh, you hate that word. You’re trained well and you refuse to be anything but good at what you put your mind at.

Now, Bucky. He is extraordinary. He has potential to make a difference. You have always felt that. Hated working with him because of that. Not because of him – he never made you feel less than him at all. But–

The water turns cold and you groan audibly, time having slipped away from you as you got lost in thought. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you get ready to walk out of the bathroom. You’re met with Bucky sitting on your couch, reading one of your books.

“Let me guess, warm water’s gone?” he asks, not looking up from the book.

You walk to your bedroom and shrug, “Cold showers are good for you, I heard.”

“I suppose I’ll take the couch then?” he asks, finally looking up from the book.

You turn back and peek through your doorway at him. “You can take the floor if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Not by choice.”

He smirks, “You liked it.”

“You snore.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He grins at you.

You make to get to bed when you pause and turn back to him once more with a slight frown. “Why are you so cheerful? Aren’t there people after you?”

“Well,” he says, casual as always, “these may very well be my last days, so I might as well be in a good mood.”

You find yourself swallowing hard and desperately search his face for any intel on how true his statement is, without giving away that you might just care a little bit about his well-being. But his grin stays firm in place and he raises his brows in wait for you to call it a night.

Without another word, you close the door between you and crawl into your comfortable bed. And you wonder why it is that you can’t quite get comfortable this time.

…

A powerful jolt rips through your body as you lift out of layers of sleep. You’re too tired for whatever made you wake up so suddenly. It’s too goddamn late for this shit.

But as you gain more and more of your consciousness, your senses start perking up and you realise you might very well be in danger. The gentle and calm voice calling your name with a warm stroke of a hand down your arm, confirms that for you. That specific type of calm in Bucky’s voice sends your body into overdrive.

“We’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he murmurs and is already throwing clothes onto your bed. “Now.”

You sit up and rub your eyes and it dawns on you after a week of Bucky staying at your place. This man wasn’t going to leave you until he got chased out of your apartment. And that day has come.

“Bucky,” you start with a hoarse voice as you climb out of your warm bed and quickly throw on the clothes he picked for you, “who the fuck is after you?”

He takes his time to answer, pulling two fully packed backpacks from the corner of your room that you surprisingly didn’t know he hid there. Oh, this man is going to get an ear full about this bullshit.

“Some weird underground cartel that deals in tech or something,” he grumbles and throws you a pack. You are nearly too slow to catch it before you sling it onto your back. You gape at him after his answer and his face stays solemn as he pushes a hand gun into your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.”

He stops and turns to you fully. “It’s bad, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”

He groans out your name, peeking outside while he impatiently chews on his lip. “Don’t do this right now. You can be pissed at me later!”

“I will be pissed at you now,” you seethe, “and later. How about that?!”

He sighs and then grabs your arm, giving you a boyish grin before shooting two bullets through your window, breaking the glass, slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and jumping out of the fucking window with you clinging to him. It’s only when you fly about five stories down, that you realise the two of you are attached to a bungee rope that eases your descent. His feet touch the ground first, yours following. He cuts the rope and grabs your hand before he starts running towards the parking lot beneath your building.

“Bucky, you piece of shit!” you yell at him as you run, hearing the faint sound of gun fire behind you over the sound of your ragged breathing.

“I’ll make it up to you!” he simply yells back.

You can hear the smile in his voice. And the worst thing? You feel yourself smiling as well when you realise how easily you’ve slipped back into being his partner in crime.

…

Bucky checks one more time, his gleaming metal hand pulling the sheer curtain aside to peer out onto the dark streets. You hear some shouting coming from outside and still feel your heart pounding, even when you know you have definitely outrun those people coming after you. You hate how out of practice you are. And how much you missed the adrenaline of being on the run with Bucky.

He turns back to you and finds you with your arms crossed, glaring at him. Oh, you know the perfect way to let out this adrenaline. There might be actual steam coming out of your ears.

Bucky cringes and slowly strolls over, already reaching out his hands to use his irresistible charm on you. Like the time he dropped the cake you made one afternoon and tried to make it up to you. Or that time he left some very important documents in one of the buildings he set on fire. Or the time he accidentally deleted your recordings off the TV when you had been looking forward to watching the next episode for two weeks.

However, your burning eyes stop him dead in his tracks and he opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it and closes his mouth again. A second later, he tries again, “Okay. Give it to me.”

You give him a satisfied, albeit sadistic smile, at his willingness to take your scolding and then, you start yelling. You have no idea what words specifically are rolling off your tongue, but your speech starts somewhere during that first meeting in Bucharest, drifts to your entire time together as partners, how you drifted apart, only for him to show up whenever he pleased, and you continue to how he stood at your door a little over a week ago, to him terrorising your happy little life in Germany… To now.

Your voice rises with every instance you tell him about, fire burning in your core and hands flailing to give your story that much more power (even though you couldn’t stop your conviction if you tried). As the grin on his face grows through your rambling, a metal hand pressing to his lips to stop it from showing too much, you burn even brighter with fury.

Then you stop, breathing heavily. You give him a withering look to get him to start speaking up, because let’s be honest, all the two of you really needed was only just a look.

His shoulders slowly stop shaking and he drops his hand, eyes sparkling like a glass of Prosecco in the light. Devious asshole. “I just– I haven’t seen you this alive in a while. It looks fantastic on you.”

You gape at him like a fish and you wonder if the warmth in your face still belongs to your anger. Though you fear it belongs to quite the opposite. Either way, this man certainly knows how to make you passionate. And you realise he knows what you have been trying to do with your fake little life here in Germany.

“I don’t think you–”

“I’m sorry,” he says and steps forward, his large hands cupping your face as he looks down at you with earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for making your life so goddamn miserable. So tell me how to make it up to you.”

And for all the world, you can tell he means it. Can tell that he will do anything to make it up to you. You can almost feel the squeeze of pain in your own heart when you see the disappointment in his eyes after he realises you didn’t enjoy this as much as he had.

But the worst part is, is that you did. You’ve never felt more alive than with him. Never felt more like you. You wouldn’t necessarily call him an adventurer, maybe he is just a magnet for trouble. But whenever you’re with Bucky, you’ll drop anything for him and you’ll burn like an inferno doing so. He makes you into the best version of yourself and he makes you love the parts about yourself that you have been conditioned to feel guilty about.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He doesn’t let go though and searches your eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion. “I’m going to make it up to you, you know.”

You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? How?”

He smirks and your knees weaken. “I could kiss it better.”

“Shameless flirt,” you huff and roll your eyes as an excuse to break his intense stare on you.

“You’re just too proud to admit that my kisses would make you forgive me,” he prods and your eyes snap back to his. He’s right, that is pride surging in your chest to lunge at him.

“You’ve grown too cocky for your own good,” you sneer at him.

“You like it.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Manipulator.”

He feigns hurt, “Ouch.”

You huff a laugh with a roll of your eyes, “Such a fragile ego.”

He smirks again and you swallow as you fight to look at his lips. So close to your own. “Now you have to kiss me for forgiveness.”

You can’t help but truly laugh this time, your face still safely tucked in his palms and his brows raise with intrigue at the sound of your laughter.

You tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

His smile fades, his eyes large with earnest and all of a sudden, it’s the man standing before you that sat next to you in that Romanian café. Stripped down, bare, rough, and perhaps a bit vulnerable.

“Let me kiss you,” he says in merely a whisper now.

You fight for your life not to falter to that genuine request and the way he said it. “It won’t make me forgive you,” you say softly, but barely hear your own voice over the increased pounding of your heart in your throat.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for your permission either, because quite frankly, you most likely gave him a look of permission instantly at that request. His soft lips slot over yours and you could’ve never predicted the depraved moan that resounded in the back of your throat as your mouths meet. Your hands instantly slip into his hair as Bucky’s hands slide around your waist to pull you closer, fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

The kiss deepens when his tongue meets yours and he lets out a groan of his own, a sound so addicting that you instinctively tug on his hair to hear it again. The laugh against your lips is rough as he hauls you closer and changes the kiss. Something more desperate and impatient. Something hot and sweaty and slightly messy. You might be walking as Bucky finds something to press you up against or lay you down on, and you almost squawk in surprise as you fall back onto the double, motel bed.

Though before you can say anything else, Bucky is on you again, his mouth demanding and greedy against yours. His hands feel and grab and squeeze every inch of you and you grind your hips upward for his weight. You want his heaviness between your hips and on your stomach and against your chest.

Growing impatient, convinced that Bucky’s brain might no longer be working, you lock your ankles around his hips and pull him down between your legs, sighing a groan of relief at the feeling of him tucked against you so warmly.

“God dammit,” he grunts and gives one luxurious roll of his hips against yours, making you whine as your pulse hammers down in your core.

His mouth grazes against your neck now and you can hardly breathe, panting as if you’ve run a marathon. The pressure between your hips leaves as he moves further down and you buck your hips at the ache he leaves.

“Bucky,” you whimper and look down, heart slamming in your throat at the sight of him. He messily yet gently makes his way down your body. Hands roughly pushing up your shirt as his lips find the plane of your stomach, kissing from your bra, down to your hips that you can’t seem to keep still.

Your body feels so heavy, yet so light without him on top of you and you can’t remember any moment before this kiss. Before five minutes ago. Everything is solidified. Your entire history with him. And Bucky presses a kiss just below your navel that confirms that feeling, his hands peeling off your jeans. That is until he speaks.

“Listen to me,” he orders and you freeze at the sound of him. He’s only sounded like that during missions where either of you might die. So serious and detrimental. “Don’t ever try to build a life without me again.”

“Bucky–”

“No,” he snaps and you close your mouth. “Don’t ever pretend like we don’t exist. Like you and I aren’t supposed to do this shit together, like you are better off without me, like I am better off without you. That’s bullshit.” You give him a questioning look. Where is this coming from? “I’m going to kiss you and you are going to forgive me. And then I am going to kiss you some more.”

He waits then. For you to answer, to process what it is he is saying exactly. It’s a lot of words with a lot of meaning, yet you’re not sure if this is the declaration you didn’t know you were waiting for.

So you speak from your gut and let out a breath, “Finally.”

Bucky smiles at that and surges upward, clearly happy with that intuitive answer. His lips claim yours once again and then you feel his fingers inching up your thigh.

You whine softly against his lips and you feel him smile as his fingers reach your drenched core. Two fingers slip through your folds to explore your wetness and Bucky drops his head into the crook of you neck.

“Finally indeed,” he breathes and slips his middle finger into you, making you whimper and buck your hips.

The stretch against your swollen walls sends an ache through your abdomen that cries out for more. You cannot explain the desperation to have him, to have every empty pit of you filled with his essence. His finger curls up and you throw your head back, making Bucky raise his own head to look at you.

“There?”

You nod frantically and Bucky pushes in another finger, making you tense up around him. He curls that one too and you don’t recognise the sound spilling from your lips. You’re already so fucking full.

As Bucky teasingly darts his thumb over your swollen clit, he traces his tongue over your mouth and you gasp for air at the sensation.

“Bucky, fuck!” you cry and he pushes his mouth to yours in a claiming kiss, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rotates over your clit. You can barely kiss him back, overtaken by pleasure as he pumps his fingers over and over until you can hear your wetness surround his sinful digits.

It is by far the hottest thing you have ever experienced. So much time has passed and now this beast of a man who tries everything to make you blush with his flirty persona, is bent over you with his fingers peeling your pleasure to the surface like his own fucking release depends on it.

His chest is heaving from watching you, brows pulled together, eyes dark as they rake over you hungrily, muscles flexing as his hand disappears between your legs.

His leg slips beneath your knee and pulls your leg up to finger you in a different angle and your nails bury themselves in the muscles of Bucky’s neck, abdomen flexing at the wave of pleasure that courses through you. “More. Oh my God, more!”

“I know, I can feel it,” he grunts and slows his fingers. “But I’ve waited ages for this. I refuse to let it be over so soon.”

Your brain is nothing but cinders and you shake your head violently, “No! No, please. You can have everything, just let me come. Please.”

Bucky pecks your lips. Once. Twice.

“You want to come all over my hand, pretty girl?” he murmurs in your ear and you can only gasp at the press of his fingers against your spot. “Can I lick you up after?”

You clench around him like a vice, his low voice making you drip onto his palm, his words incinerating what is left of your pride. You can only nod, so you do. And his hand starts moving again. Faster, deeper, more thorough. You keep nodding, your moans raising, your pleasure retreating like a snake ready to strike. Oh God, oh God, oh God–

“Come.”

Your hips fly to the ceiling when you come, thighs trembling and closing around his hand. Bucky keeps moving and thrusting and curling until he has wrung all of your pleasure from your body and you feel like you’re made of jelly. Your voice is hoarse from yelling your release and the sheets below are drenched with your desire.

Soft kisses are pressed to your face and that is how you return from whatever plane of existence you went to. His gentle laugh makes you shiver and you open your eyes to find him licking his fingers like there is caramel dripping from them. You swallow hard and zero in on that action, making his eyes sparkle.

But something changes when you reach up to stroke his hair and his eyes flutter. Your eyes rove over his face in admiration and your entire soul sighs at the sight of him. Bucky looks down at you curiously and cocks his head.

“What is it?” he asks and you chew your lip, trying to find the words.

“You and me, huh?” you murmur with something like wonder in your voice. Bucky can only nod. You continue, “Who would’ve thought…”

Bucky leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, deep. It makes your body sing. And he shuffles back to make himself at home between your legs. Though as he does that, he remains his focus on kissing you. Deeper, more, desperate. Depraved. He moans and breathes and you swear you hear him whimper, his hips grinding over your oversensitive cunt as he gets lost in kissing you.

Raking your nails over his scalp, you once again wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down. And if Bucky hadn’t snapped his leash just yet, this does it. He turns wild and passionate and heavy. One hand of his and one hand of your own both reach down, messily working together to get rid of his jeans. He shimmies out of them, not bothering to get rid of them entirely, but bothering to at least take off his shirt.

Your fingers drag down his pecs and abdomen, trying to memorise every curve and edge with what little brain capacity you have left. You feel like no more than a flame, no more than passion and want and need. And when Bucky slides his bare cock through your folds to slicken himself, you shudder so violently, your breath shudders with it.

“Woman, you are going to kill me,” he breathes and nips at your lips.

You almost growl with impatience, “Then fuck me and die already.”

He laughs, bold and happy, before thrusting into you in a long stroke. Home. Oh fuck, he’s home. Both of you freeze, taking in the moment of being fused together before he slowly pulls out and out and out. And sliding back in with an agonizing thrust.

Something in you clicks. Something so vital, so necessary. And Bucky feels it too.

“Yes,” he groans and presses another kiss to your lips, like he can’t get enough. “This is it.”

You nod and close your eyes in pleasure. In relief. You shudder with emotion and clamp onto him. Bucky keeps pressing kisses to your skin. Your neck, your lips, your cheek, temple, forehead.

“This is it,” you choke out and Bucky smiles. “You’re it.”

Bucky breathes a sigh, as if he’s been waiting ages for you to admit it. “Finally.”

Infinity War.

Biting your lip and bouncing your leg, you try to let the rumble of the swift jet calm your nerves. Your eyes search the cabin and go over the confusing screens for the thousandth time.

“Nervous?” Natasha’s sensual voice sounds next to you and you force a smile.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask and smirk at her. “We’re only stepping into a war with the probability of us winning being like…” Zero? Less than zero? You sigh, “I don’t want to think about that.”

She bites back her own smirk and raises her eyebrows. “Wasn’t talking about the war. Are you nervous about seeing him?”

Bucky.

You glare at her after quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard her, making Natasha try even harder to hold back a smile.

Yes, you were nervous to see him. So much had happened. So many aspects of your spy work had suddenly intermingled and now you are fighting along with the Avengers. Even after you were sure they had torn themselves apart over Bucky. Being caught in the middle of that had put you and Bucky’s relationship –if you could even call it that– so far to the back of both your minds, you barely had time to mention it to anyone until Steve shipped him off to Wakanda to get some real help.

You and Bucky were over before it even started and you think that maybe it’s for the better. Neither you nor Bucky are any good at that relationship shit anyway. It showed over and over.

Luckily enough, you’d found plenty of distraction being on the run with Sam, Natasha and Steve. No Bucky in sight, but knowing he was safe and taken care of. Private mission after mission with other people you cared about, people who didn’t know about you and Bucky, one of them eager to forget about Bucky himself.

You barely gave it any thought.

Except you thought of Bucky every day.

And now you get to see him again. However, if any time would make you reconsider any commitment at all, it would be now.

“No,” you answer and then turn serious. “I mean, I was. But now I’m just preparing myself for either grief, or death.”

“Are those our only options?” she asks with a displeased frown. “Why not prepare for victory or somethin’?”

Giving her a long and hard stare, you sigh deeply. “Yeah. You’re right. If I die, I might as well die hopeful.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins and you bump her shoulder with yours, finding your own smile breaking through.

That’s when Steve gives Sam the coordinates to fly through a barrier and show you the hidden – and beautiful – kingdom of Wakanda. So you ignore every jittery feeling you have in your stomach at possibly seeing Barnes again, and you channel it all into hope.

…

Natasha strokes her hand over your shoulder as you walk up to king T’Challa, who’s flanked by his closest guard and a palace that screams to get you on your knees to worship. You barely hear the conversation the king has with Steve, partly because you’re still in awe of the beautiful place around you.

Now this, this is a refuge.

“How are we lookin’?” Natasha asks from next to you and that’s when you start to pay attention. You’d need a hell of a lot of man-power to win this.

“You will have my Kings Guard,” T’Challa starts, “the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…”

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” finishes a voice that makes your entire system dysregulate. Oh God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard the warm timber of that voice.

You notice your hands have started shaking and clutch them behind your back, squeezing courage out of them to face your past, as Bucky Barnes walks up to hug Captain America.

“How’ve you been, Buck?” Steve asks and Bucky answers with a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, not bad,” he answers, “for the end of the world.”

They share another warm look before Steve turns to everyone behind him and then to the king, “Should we prepare?”

A few minutes later, you’re following the king inside with all of his closest guards and your own team, which now includes Bucky. Focusing your eyes on everything around you, you barely notice the large hand slipping around your elbow and pulling you into another hallway.

You know better than to scream for help and you use the momentum to swing the person around and pin them to the nearest wall with a knife to their throat. But the air rushes from you when you stand face to face with Bucky.

“There she is,” he grins and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

You back away slowly and look at him like a gaping fish, your insides pounding and swirling and thrashing as your body heats with adrenaline. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“New arm?” you ask him, your voice coming out surprisingly steady, and he glances at the appendage, flexing his hand between your faces.

“Yeah, you like it?” he asks and he almost sounds like a young boy, genuinely interested in what you think of it, of him.

And you calm. Everything inside of you settles and the heat turns to warmth. Your insides seem to melt with relief and you throw your arms around his neck, almost tipping over until Bucky’s arms automatically slide around your waist to pull your pliant body tightly against his. He’s so big and strong and warm.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he laughs softly and one hand starts to stroke your hair gently as you huff out a sob into his neck. “Oh, sweet girl. You’ve never been sad to see me before.”

You finally pull back and cup his face as he lets you survey him closely, him grinning widely at the worry in your every feature. You breathe, “You’re good. You’re safe.”

He nods and takes your hands, pressing a kiss to your palm. “So are you,” he whispers and you nod.

“Not for long,” you add, deflated.

He gives you a sad smile. “Now, who would we be if we didn’t go down fighting, hm?”

You smile slightly at that. “Back on the same team.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and the planet stops turning.

“Finally.”

The Blip.

Another knock sounds and you roll your eyes, throwing on a quick cardigan as you hop over to your door. Unusual, for your quiet, lonely evenings to get interrupted like this. You’re ready to cash in what you can only assume is some complaining neighbour or your awful land lord when you open the door and are met with a familiar face that makes your heart squeeze together.

“Steve,” you breathe.

“Hey.”

You step aside to let him in and take a deep breath.

“Want something to drink?” you ask as you close the door behind him and let him venture into your home. Or, whatever you have tried to turn into your home. It had never been more than the latest home trends and some empty picture frames.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?” he asks and you get a feeling of déjà vu.

But you shake your head with a forced smile, “I left a trace for Natasha to track for emergencies. I know how you found me.” You give him a pointed look and Steve actually has the decency to look slightly apologetic.

That look tells you enough about how much of an emergency this is and you wonder what prompted Natasha to decipher your code and hand your location to the Captain. Maybe he was the one breaking and could use a familiar face. Maybe something turned him awfully worried about you. Maybe-

No.

“Aren’t you mad that Natasha told me?” he asks unsurely and you give him a tight-lipped smile, taking a seat in one of your dining table chairs and ushering for him to do so as well.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face after five pretty lonely years?” you refute and he gives you a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kid.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two and you fidget with your hands, staring at them intently before raising your face back to Steve. “Why are you here, Cap?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Ever since the Blip,” he starts and you can feel him debating whether to continue, “I never– I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about Bucky.”

You freeze and slowly turn your gaze to him. “Okay. Now I am pissed at her.”

“Natasha didn’t tell me,” he quickly assures and you raise a brow at him. “He did.”

You fall quiet at that. “Bucky told you about…”

“What,” he laughs. “Didn’t think you two were serious enough for him to tell his best friend about it?”

You reply with a humourless laugh of your own. “He um– He wasn’t a very committing guy. And I don’t blame him. Why commit to something if you might lose everything all over again?”

The pity in Steve’s gaze feels burning to your skin. “Well, if you’re that scared of losing something, it might be worth committing to,” he says and you find yourself agreeing with the wise bastard.

“Well, I committed and look where I am now,” you huff. “Turns out, he was right all along.”

“Kid–”

“Why are you here, Cap?” you try again, all of a sudden too eager to get rid of him.

It takes a while for him to answer and dread settles low in your belly. When he starts talking, you’ve already started shaking your head. “We have found a way to bring them all back.”

You still. And you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe another five years have passed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he tries.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. We figured out a way. Time travel.”

You bark a laugh and give him a pointed glare. However, your vision is already slightly impaired by the tears pooling at your waterline. “Don’t,” you stop him before he continues elaborating. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this in the past five years? That you, or Nat, or even Tony fucking Stark himself would stand at my door and tell me we figured it out? About a million times, Cap. And the more normal this delusional scenario became in my head, the more absurd it seemed to be. And now, you expect me to just believe that nearly five years on the dot, you have figured out a way to return everything to normal?!”

Steve can take it, the sudden outburst of your disbelief. He has definitely encountered a whole lot more scepticism in his life. But his heart breaks a little for you. Bucky had tried to be so casual when he finally told Steve about you, but Steve had caught the sparkle in those hundred-year-old eyes and he couldn’t describe the relief of Bucky having found someone, let alone you.

But now, to see you so far removed from Bucky – from hope. He hates it.

“I waited,” he almost whispers. “Until I was completely sure. We need you for this.”

You blink away your tears and one rolls down your cheek. Steve quickly reaches to catch it and cups your face. A touch normally so very unwelcome, but now you cannot help but bury your face in his palm.

“You’re sure?” you ask, voice breaking.

Steve pulls you in and up to his chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Time to bring our best friend back, Kid.”

Time Travel.

You cannot help but smile when you see the handsome brainiac hunched over a laptop near some high-tech stage that you can’t seem to look at too long without talking yourself out of this.

“Hey, Tony,” you say quietly as you walk up and his brown eyes light up when he hears your voice. Stepping away from the screen, he opens his arms wide and pulls you into a tight hug. Another comfortable embrace that you can only breathe in and cherish.

“My favourite spy,” he murmurs and pulls back.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

He gives you a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Good. Until he showed up,” he sneers with a pointed look at Steve, who simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he has a way of interrupting peace.”

Tony snorts. “Now that, is what I call a paradox.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder, “Pepper and Morgan?”

“They’re wonderful.” He grins, but you can see the fear shining in his eyes and you give his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.”

He smirks in answer. “I swear, if you and Barnes don’t openly kiss after all I am about to sacrifice, I will find the stones and undo both of your existences.”

You shoot a thunderous glare to Steve, and to Natasha who is walking up behind the Captain. But Tony stops you before you can scold them on their horrible secret-keeping skills, “Pepper told me.”

You grit your teeth.

The Avengers are a bunch of gossips.

The Endgame.

You stumble backward, your sprained ankle and broken ribs somehow only a faint ache over the sight before you. You almost trip over debris, or a body, or just air and you keep blinking to see better or to make it all go away, you don’t know.

He did it. Tony did it. You’re sure you can still feel the snap of his fingers vibrate through your spine. And there he is. Slumped against more debris, half of his face cracked like burnt coal, his suit barely reflecting its original colours. The blue light at the centre of his chest is fading, shuttering and then… it goes dark. With Pepper’s hand over it.

Your own hand barely muffles the sob trying to break through and you stumble over and over again as you back away from that horrible, awful reality. He did it. But at what cost?

You turn around and start jogging. How? You’re not sure. Your body is in no state to hurry. But it’s incomplete. You were barely strong or extraordinary enough to be of any help during the fight, but you tried your best. Helping people in the field, some war medic patching up gushing wounds. You’d cashed some punches and kicks yourself. Dealt them, too.

It was all because you needed to be there. Because you needed to stay alive. Needed to stick around to see him again. And now… Now… You barely survived this, barely made it through. And Tony died. Tony Stark. The chance of him still being out there-

You start running faster. Hobbling and grunting from the pain.

“Bucky,” you voice is raw and frantic, it’s barely a sound as you cry out for him. “Bucky! Bucky!”

Head swinging from side to side, you hope the soldier reveals himself from behind one of the plumes of smoke. Further and further away, you flee from the horrifying scene of whatever is left after Thanos. You need to find him, but you can’t identify anything on this war ground.

If he’s dead. If Bucky is dead–

Your head whips around so fast, your neck might crack, when you’re sure you hear your name. Everything about you goes quiet and you hold your breath like it will make any difference. Slowly, you walk in the direction where you assume the sound came from, but you almost cringe at the idea that you might just be going insane. After all those explosions, your hearing can’t possibly be this sharp.

Though perhaps intuition is at play here, because you’ve always been able to feel him. Always knew it when it was him waiting up for you, or looking for you, or needing you.

“Bucky,” you croak again.

“Here…” It’s so quiet. But you hear it over everything else and follow the echo of the sound.

“Bucky,” you rasp out. “I’m coming!”

And there he is. On hands and knees, struggling to get up. You can only describe your approach as a dive, as you crash onto your wobbly knees and wrap your arms around him. His body instantly stops struggling and falls into your rib cage.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“Yeah,” he groans. “’M right here.”

You had no idea you were sobbing it to him, but you don’t care as your hands grapple for a better hold of him. He does the same until both of you are kneeling in front of each other, cupping each others’ faces to check for injuries.

“You look pretty all roughed up,” he mutters and you smile through your tears.

“You look awful,” you reply and he chuckles before pulling you into his chest. “But you’re home.”

He shudders and you might actually hear him let out a sob of his own as he tightens his grip on you.

“Finally.”

[blorbologist]

UHM. SHE WEAR HE COAT... 2?

[punk-in-docs]

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary; You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! some dub con/ threat/violence/basically forced marriage/forced smut situation/Geta is such a vile human being/Macrinus is villain sorry denzel ily

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

You certainly didn’t come here of your own free will. Your father had tugged you here from Corsica. Employed clever charm with letters and schemes from his high position in the senate.

As the role of your sex; you were born to obey.

He sent you imported silken stolas the colours of cornflowers or lazurite, with gold fibulae at the shoulders. Gem inlaid jewellery, rings to decorate every finger, and earrings the sway. A golden net for your hair. Wheedled you into coming to join him. Sending servants to travel with you and take heed of your every comfort.

He made sure you dined on plump fresh fruit. Seafood of lobsters and crabs. Drank wine so rich dark it looked black.

You despise it. The stone pillars and temples. And gods of old. Eyes watch you everywhere. See you. Follow you.The governing heat and noise and sweaty heaving mass of all forms of life.

You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa.

Salacia. The ocean nymph and the being of your name. Crowned with seaweed in your hair. Sea foam dripping off your fingers. Ripped from your home, an isle by the sea, at the whim of another.

Imprisoned here in this cold marble city. A fish out of water. Gasping dry on the shore.

Pulled inland and stolen away. You can’t hear gulls or waves anymore. It sickens you. Heart pangs that throb for home.

When you arrived, pulled back your folded palla down to your shoulders. He welcomed you with open arms and fondness. Wrists linked in gold cuffs. Tugged you to his chest and embraced you warmly. Hissed in your ear - abrasive like harsh sea spray - spies are everywhere.

He needed you close by. For reasons you had yet to fathom.

You dined like spoilt deity’s. Breads and wines, fish, fruits from far regions fattened by the suns heat, and succulent meat roasted in sweet cassia spices on a spit.

He had urns of flowers - picked by the servant - placed in every room. Lilies, juniper branches still bearing dark fruit, lavender, oleanders.

Companions join him and he is boastful of you. A nubile creature offered placement at a table of old muddled men. He introduces you to trusted friends and advisors in the senate.

One man in particular takes keen interest as to your recent arrival. His name was Macrinus. Man of information and resources. Dealt in cunning and cruelty though you found him sincerely charming. Your father watched you with a desperate eye.

Macrinus bore a smile so dazzling and blinding it made you dizzy; made think of the sun god. Apollo and his light cast across golden wheat fields. Notes of fine music. He sipped his wine slow, as he learned the flavour of your name. Where you came from. Understanding the rolling sea foam in your veins.

There’s a game to be held at the coliseum. He will have your father as his guest - and you by a very pretty extension. He nods at you; his eyes glimmer like pooled liquid gold in the half lit dark. It almost makes you feel safe.

They dine and drink into the small hours. Yet you slip away.

You watched this awful city out your window that night in your silk dress the colour of night time tidal waves. The air is stale. Carrion to you. Hot. Full of dust and sweat. Here, It smells like mulberry trees and a green garden waiting for blessed rain.

You couldn’t hear the sea. Or your sisters. Your mothers humming as she wove cloth and mended clothes. And you wept.

Salt found in your tears to be your only sacred comfort of home.

~

You are soft to this hard stone city. The coliseum is magnificent. As large as it is those who hold their powerful fists over its rule. Clutched in gold. Fine for the rich. Deadly for the slaves and warriors thrown into the pit at the whim of others. Met with carnivore teeth and sand and death.

The senators, generals, and the rich merchants watch from their perch, up among the gods they serve, presiding in shade and clothed in perfumed silks and jewels. Ladies and men both.

Your hair took hours to fasten in its current coiled style. Plaited and weaved. Your dress is the colour of the softest blue shore. Your servant lavished your arms and fingers in golden finery. A serpent cuff coiled around your arm. Skin draped in lemon oil because it’s the small piece of Corsica you carry here with you. Serenity to push against this place of gore, butchery and death.

You find yourself seated here amongst giants. Macrinus is seated one side. Your father the other. He fondly lays his hand across yours in gentle touch.

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

His face looks haggard with age. The lines by his eyes more prominent. Rome is poisoning him. The golden apple just a fingertip shy of his reach. St Bartholomew flayed and stripped of skin piece by piece. Schemes and plots lay thick in his mind like rot. Sweat beads down across his brow and the thinning salt pepper of his hair.

He says something to Macrinus that you’re too absorbed to hear. It’s low. Dragged through a growl. He appears unmoved, with a slow flick of his eyes to you. Watching this finery and loudness devour you. Your eyes so full wide and round. Salt and innocence entwined.

You all rise when the emperors pass by, Geta and Caracalla, who stride in, garbed in gold and cloaks. Come to take their rightful place at the mouth of the box where you are seated.

They are like twin suns to the Roman people. Lion gold hair kissed by fire. They burn and twist and shine with it. Make noises like gold coins that clack when they move. Strung in riches and golden crowns of olive leaves and branches.

Together they make you think of Romulus and Remus. Raised rabid by wolves. And they certainly make an impression. You’ve heard tale of the voracious nature of the blood sport they all but live for. Faces limned in the glory of gore.

The crowd cheers for them. They nod and wave but it appears barbed. The games begin with a wave of applause and a regal hand.

Caracalla twists and casts an eye in your direction. Seeing new meat.

The way you sit sedately and can’t cast your mind into the butchery and violence happening below. The clash of steel. The hollow squelching cries that proceed death. The spill of viscera and the scatter of brain matter from split heads.

Each new gash or split in skin made them smile. The taint of blood. Metallic sour. Spilling of offal and exposed bone.

He tilts his head like a clever wolf. Eyes darken. His sneer as terrible as a skulls. He leans across and whispers something to his brother with a knock of his arm to gain attention.

Another set of wolfish eyes join the first in hooking to your skin. Silly soft girl. Made of gentle sea breezes and lapping blue waves calm and soft enough to wade in. Pearl shining in moonlight. So watery and weak. So good. Untouchable.

Geta swept his gaze on you from head to toe. Appraising you hungrily through greedy eyes. The beauty of your figure in that soft folds of that stola. The gold that crushed your neck. Broaches at your fair shoulders. Hair glistening and finely arranged.

He liked the way you winced when another sword blow came. The pull of your brows and how you had to look away. He wanted you gathered up in his lap; fingers crushing your jaw as he turned your head; force you to watch as the men cleaved at each other and drew blood. Hacked off limbs. Laugh at your revulsion.

Looking at you sat there; He has an urge to take his dagger, slit that fine silk from your shoulders and bare your real beauty. Grab it off you and snatch your dress down. Spoil himself on your curves. Grab your breasts. He’s sure you’ve tits that even a goddess would envy. He’d reel you in by grabbing your ass that definitely needs a spank and some attention.

You’re even prettier than some of the finest whores he’s had grace his bed. They never kept his interest too long. Too entwined in filth and sin like him; you look pure as a vestal virgin.

He likes that. He wants to pluck it off you and spoil it.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Of course you don’t. He’s an emperor. He could have you executed for looking at him wrongly. Instead; you wring your hands in your lap and squirm. Close your eyes tighter with every dying wail.

He turns back to the fight. As do you. A gasp flies from your mouth when you draw your eyes to one of the measly soldiers in the arena. Your father left his seat to stand, mouth gaping.

You saw the familiar arrangement of strong limbs. Garbed in warriors clothing. The way his arms shook holding a sword. Inexperienced and struggling. The fight was not fair. The same head of hair that matched your own.

Your oldest brother.

Macrinus grinned. “He’s not my finest fighter. But I wager he’ll be good sport.” He smirks.

Your father turned, cursed the gods, and exploded with venomous rage. Flew for the man with his fists. Grabbed his clothing. You tried to restrain the storm of his temper - but then you’d got that trait from somewhere hadn’t you? - an ocean thrashing wild and free. Terrifying in its rage.

“You promised me.” Your father roared. Spittle flying.

“I never promised to protect your traitor of a son. Let us see if the gods spare him. Yes?” Macrinus commented.

You couldn’t take your eyes from the pit. Nor could your father. He clutched to you like he could barely stand. Weakened and shrinking. Hand a vice on your shoulder. It burned like the sting of sun but you couldn’t shrug him off.

Your brother was meeting with an opponent far larger than he was. A Retiarius. Helmet, trident, dagger and a net.

Of which had currently knocked your brother to the blood dusted dirt. Spearing the trident deep into his thigh. Pinning him to earth like a bug. His cry of pain ringing out. Blood sheeted down one side of his head. His scream is the most horrible thing you’d ever heard.

You can’t help it. Where you’re stood, you cry out. It pours forth from you.

The Retiarius loomed over your bother like a terrible storm cloud. Looking up at the stands for direction. The whole audience cheered and screamed for more.

Geta stood up and the crowd bayed. He sneered at the sight before him. All the power of a god; crammed into a mortal man.

He raised his arm. And hesitated for a moment. Before he smirked. And pointed his thumb right up.

Death.

Your father wailed. The huge lumbering gladiator descended onto your brother. Flinging the net off and cutting his throat in one fast slice. Blood poured and pooled around lifeless eyes. Stained the sand.

Macrinus stood to his feet and clapped along with everyone else. The emperors’ laughed like hyenas at the sight. Blood and pain only made their smiles grow.

Before you knew what was happening, the palace guards had you and your father surrounded. Hands viced around your arms. Your shoulders. Your father too.

Traitor. He decried. A traitor in the senate. The tarpeian rock.

Just like his now dead son. People’s poised against the glory of Rome. Against Caracalla and Geta. Death to all.

Macrinus spoke harshly to the guards to release you. He backhanded you across your cheek. Your eye felt like it was going to burst. Cheek flamed with fire. Lip cut and bleeding down your chin from his ring.

He then wasted little time in digging his fingers into your finely done hair. Hauled you along screaming. Tears streaming.

Your father could only watch, limbs wrenching forwards in terror to help, as Macrinus marched you across the stands to where they sat.

He threw you to the ground like a feral animal. Tumbled you onto your knees. Skimmed your hands. As you squirmed and cried at your body twisted to his cruelty.

“Your majesties. I have personally uncovered a traitor in your court. Senator Aurelius. Not only was his first born placed in rebellion against Rome. But he himself has been sowing seeds of treason in your senate. I bring you his filthy kin as recompense…” He spat at the Emperors. Releasing your mussed hair to throw you to their feet.

They examined you as one would a creature. Nothing of humanity left. Devoid of any feeling. You crawled slowly to your elbows. Tried to claw away sobs. Raising up but not daring to look at them. You weren’t worthy. You feared them.

Geta was the one who rose slowly to his feet. Coming to stand before you. “We are most grateful for your revelation, Macrinus. You will be rewarded for such loyal service.” Though he spoke to him, his eyes never left you.

You father shouted and cried pleas. They go unheard. He snaps to the guards who hold him. “Silence that treacherous snake-“ he barks. They beat him into submission.

You stay cowering on the ground. In amongst the gritty dirt, and the blood like those slaves and gladiators. That’s how they saw you. That’s how much you were worth. Held in the same regard as the dirt on their shoes.

You feel a ring clad hand tip a finger under your chin. Blood dripping down onto that digit as he made you raise your head to look at him until your neck hurt.

“What is your name, pretty little traitor-“ He sneers. Because that is all you are. They’ve tarred and feathered you with the same brush.

You give it to him through tears that run freely. You give this awful golden haired emperor with dark lecherous eyes your name.

“Salacia.” You cry. Voice watery and cloaked in heavy salty sobs. Lips parted. So soft and pliable. Lovely and ripe and waiting for him. A gift from the gods-

He tilts his head down at you. Looking like some sun gold lion. Showing his canines in a cruel white smile.

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

He thinks he may have them bring him your fathers head on a platter. Strangulation seemed too soft. Too forgiving. He had to make an example of you.

He had a particular way in mind for your fate. He watched you get led away crying as he sucked your sweet blood off his thumb.

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people—

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @ceriseheaven @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[twilighttowayvision]

NSFW ALPHABET - VESSEL 💘

HI OKAY SO!!!! let it be known that i do not and cannot write to save my life but the horny parasites within me simply demanded this of me so i had to listen to them

fair warning — i am absolutely feral over this man!!! vessel in my head is GROSS and KINKY so don’t say u haven’t been warned!!! (saying that i am feral for this man is the understatement of the century actually but i just don’t have a better word!)

very nsfw thoughts under the cut 🫡

————————————————————

❥ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

• vessel would be so fucking soft with you after sex i just know it.

• extremely cuddly, pulls you close to him, hands running over your body, stroking your hair, giving you soft little pecks all over your face.

• if you’d had a particularly intense scene he would absolutely check in with you afterwards, seeing what you liked, if there was anything you didn’t like. your favourite parts (he would absolutely tuck this knowledge away for later to drive you crazy in the future).

• would be more than willing to get you anything you needed after so you didn’t need to move a muscle. would wrap you in a soft blankie, get you water/snacks, would hold you and hum sweet tunes to lull you to sleep.

• would be absolutely BURSTING with praise for you afterward (also during and just like, always, but we aren’t talking about that right now!!). “you did so good for me, baby. i’m so proud of you.” “such a good girl for me.” “you took me so well, darling.”

❥ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

• his favourite of his own? has to be his toned chest and stomach (we’ve all seen the way this fucker shows it off — there’s no way it’s not his fave).

• fucking loves when you run your hands all over his torso, will absolutely walk around shirtless and smirk when he catches you ogling him.

• his favourite of yours? your lips/mouth, without a doubt. no one will ever convince me ves does not have an oral fixation.

• is obsessed with kissing you, feeling how soft your lips are against his.

• loves the way your lips feel on his skin as you kiss all over his body.

• just about cums in his pants when you put his fingers in your mouth and suck on them.

• swears when you suck his cock that he’s died and gone to heaven, can’t stop staring at his cock disappearing past your lips, will burn the sight and feeling into his memory for the rest of eternity.

• has to stop himself from pouncing on you when you do something as simple as pouting at him when you don’t get your way, or giving him a particularly sweet smile.

❥ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

• this man cannot get enough of his cum all over/in you i just fucking KNOW it.

• not a wasted drop of cum with this man!! ALWAYS in or on you in some way.

• thinks you look so fucking pretty when he paints your face with his cum, and tells you as much every single time. always wants to take pics of it that he can look at when you’re apart.

• sometimes will use his fingers to scoop up the cum he’s painted your face with, just to feed it to you to make sure it’s not being wasted (i told u he’s gross ok!!!)

• is also OBSESSED with cumming inside you, no matter which hole he’s cumming in. loves feeling his cock twitch and pulse while he’s deep in you.

• absolutely DOES have a breeding kink so his ultimate fave is definitely cumming deep in your pussy. nothing makes him feel closer to you than this.

❥ D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

• listen. two words. panty! sniffer!!!

• will pocket your soaked panties and take them on tour with him so he can still smell your pussy when he’s not with you.

• embarrassed as hell when you find out. turned on as HELL when he realises you’re just as gross as he is, intentionally leaving your panties around the house, giving him a little wink if he notices.

• just about loses his fucking mind when you mail him a pair while he’s on tour.

• also a lingerie lover!!! loves to see you dressed up all pretty for him.

• makes him absolutely FERAL!!!! apologises profusely after ripping every piece of lingerie you ever wear in front of him right off of you (but you lowkey love it and start dressing up more and more just because of the reaction you get from him).

❥ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

• oh vessel ABSOLUTELY knows what he’s doing. expert with his fingers, expert with his tongue, expert with his cock.

• regardless of how many people he’s actually slept with, he’s done his research. knows how to do things and knows how to do them properly and safely.

• also experienced with bdsm. knows how to dom the FUCK out of you and will enjoy every second of it.

❥ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

• some ppl will say this is cliche but — missionary king!!!!!

• loves it so he can look into your eyes & make you look into his.

• means he can watch your pretty mouth and listen up close to all the noises that come out of it as you unravel.

• means he can kiss you as much as he wants!!! can and WILL kiss/lick/bite anywhere he can reach: your lips, all over your face, your neck, all over your chest.

• means he’s in a perfect spot to whisper absolute filth into your ear as you whimper beneath him.

• he loves that missionary means you can also kiss all over his neck and chest, that your whimpers and moans go straight to his ears, lowkey loves when your nails dig into his back hard enough to leave a mark.

❥ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

• i think it depends on the scenario and the moment, but most of the time hes gonna be very serious about giving you pleasure and seeking out pleasure himself.

• takes making you cum/teasing you incredibly seriously.

• if y’all are in a more lighthearted moment, he’s absolutely not above having a little laugh or a joke with you while in the midst of it.

❥ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

• very well maintained — trimmed short. nothing exciting! wants to make sure you don’t have a face full of bush when he fucks your face.

❥ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

• the MOST intimate man you will ever meet.

• inside and outside of the bedroom, incredibly touchy feely. always wants to be touching you. holding your hand, a hand on your thigh, your thigh against his if you’re sat next to each other. he just wants to feel you physically close to him (you can’t convince me his love language is not physical touch i will never believe u!!!)

• absolute hopeless romantic at heart!!! will send you flowers while he’s away on tours. hand writes and mails you love letters. writes you poetry. writes you songs!!!! will do anything and everything to let you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

❥ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

• if he’s with you: why would he ever need to masturbate when he’s got three perfectly good holes right there with him?!

• only time he’ll jack off when he’s with you is to tease the fuck out of you. he’ll have you restrained and be stood right in front of you, out of your reach, making you whine and beg for his cock in your pretty mouth.

• if he’s on tour: this man is so horny, there’s no way he’s not getting off while he’s away from you. forever wishing he was deep inside you, but he’ll settle for getting off to your pics and videos.

• begs you to send him voice messages and videos of you masturbating and moaning so he can cum to the sound of you.

• absolutely sends you filthy voice messages and pics and videos in return.

• will sniff the aforementioned panties so he can smell you, look at you, hear you, while he cums thinking about you. wants all his senses to just be you, you, you.

❥ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

• KINKY MOTHERFUCKER, just try to fight me on this!!!!

• dominant as FUCK. loves the thrill of you being completely under his control. loves that you trust him enough to submit fully to him. makes him feel so close and intimate with you in a whole new way. mostly a bit of a soft dom, but if the mood strikes, he can definitely be a bit of a mean dom too (and yeah, maybe sometimes you’re a bit bratty just to bring out his mean side. you can’t help that he’s so hot when he’s like that!!)

• dirty talk KING! this motherfucker will NOT shut the fuck up in the bedroom. he doesn’t even do it on purpose, it’s just like a stream of consciousness. spilling out all his filthy thoughts and desires. can and WILL also whisper these thoughts in your ear in public just to get you all flustered.

• ownership kink. has multiple collars for you, some with his name, some with his favourite pet names for you. some with a matching leash, some just for the bedroom that look more obviously like collars, cute ones that look more like necklaces with his initials on them so that you can wear them in public and still feel and know that you’re owned. will remind you VERY regularly that “you. are. MINE.”

• along with this, vessel is also lowkey (highkey!!!) possessive as fuck. if he sees someone else getting physically close to you or flirting with you? you better be prepared for the angry “you’re fucking MINE, you belong to me” rough and nasty kind of sex. forever leaving marks anywhere and everywhere on you. hickeys, bite marks, bruises, anything to let everyone else know that you’re spoken for.

• breeding kink!!! forever wanting to fuck his cum as deep into your pussy as he can.

• oral fixation: this goes both ways. he wants your mouth everywhere on him and his mouth everywhere on you. wants his fingers in your mouth, his cock in your mouth. fucking LOVES the way your eyes glaze over as he fucks your face. could spend hours between your legs getting lost in the way you taste.

• primal!! this is a man that would chase you through the woods just to fuck you on the forest floor once he caught you. thinks it’s fucking HOT to think of himself as the predator hunting you, and you his prey — to do as he wishes with once he has you in his grasp.

• you cannot convince me this man isn’t at least a little bit of a sadist and masochist — “let me wrap the chains, addicted to the pain.” “manifest pain at the core of pleasure.” — you get the idea, yeah? i think homeboy is into some pain, both giving and receiving. nothing too crazy but i just know i’m right on this!!!!

• bondage — loves having you restrained and helpless beneath him.

• edging/orgasm denial. like i said earlier.. very possessive man w an ownership kink!!! you belong to him. you’re HIS. that includes your orgasms. he won’t let you cum without his permission, and will rarely let you cum if you’re apart while he’s on tour. will get you on the phone with him, touching yourself and bringing yourself to the edge just so he can hear the sweet noises you make, but will tell you he doesn’t want you to cum unless it’s around his cock/fingers/tongue. when you’re together? will edge you until you’re begging, pleading, crying for release. then he’ll make you cum over and over and over and overrrrr again until you’re begging, pleading, crying for him to stop (and you fucking love him for it all).

(i truly could probably continue this list as its own post for all the boys lmao)

❥ L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

• listen. this fucker is chronically horny and will happily take you anywhere and everywhere you will let him. he can barely keep his hands off you!!! he’s taken you in countless green rooms and random rooms backstage at shows, if you’re snuggled under the same blankie watching a movie with the boys, he is absolutely teasing and touching you. getting you all worked up while you try to stay quiet. just so obsessed with you he wants to be touching you all the fucking time. big fan of teasing you in public!!

❥ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

• as previously mentioned, lingerie lover!!! seeing his love all dressed up for him like the absolute GIFT they are will instantly get him rock hard!

• i just fucking KNOW my man is a sucker for neck kisses. you kiss his neck? you better be ready to get absolutely RAVISHED by him.

• he really just loves the way you look when you’re all fucked out. the thought of that alone is enough to motivate him.

❥ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

• he won’t let anyone else cum inside your pussy. that’s for him and him only!!!

• won’t let you not have a safeword. even if you say you won’t need it, absolutely insists on it!!! will put the brakes on absolutely everything if u don’t respond properly when he checks in mid scene.

❥ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

• once again this man has an oral fixation so he is OBSESSED w this both ways! both giving and receiving.

• giving: man will eat you like you’re his last fucking meal. gets absolutely lost in the way you taste, the way you smell, the sounds you make.

• gets off on it so much that if you could focus for like 2 seconds you’d see him rutting and grinding until his pre-cum has leaked a wet spot onto the bed.

• would happily stay between your legs for as long as you’ll let him (and will sometimes insist on staying even longer).

• loves when you lose control of your own body and clamp your thighs together around his head.

• i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, he’s GROSS so he really just wants to try and make you squirt all over his fucking face. just once!!!

• receiving: fucking loves loves LOVESSSSSS having his cock sucked. will lose his mind over a messy blowjob.

• adores when you take your time to really worship his cock, makes him feel so fucking good and like he’s the only thing that matters in the world…

• but there’s only so long he can handle things being slow and leaving you in control of the pace of things. can and WILL end up fucking your face and throat without fail every single time.

• the noise he makes the first time his cock hits the back of your throat and you take him even further, deepthroating him? absolutely fucking SINFUL.

• ever since, he’s been obsessed with the feeling of his cock deep in your throat and loves throatfucking you until you’re a gagging, drooling mess for him.

• is absolutely the type to pull you straight back up to him after sucking his cock to give you the most violently passionate open mouthed tongue kisses.

❥ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

• he can be either — totally dependant on the vibe/day/his mood/your mood, etc!

• if he’s mad or needs to get out a lot of pent up energy, it’ll be fast and hard and maybe he’ll be a lil mean (all consensually obviously, as w everything else i’ve mentioned in this post).

• if he’s feeling soft and lovey dovey, it’ll be slow and so so fucking passionate, but it doesn’t mean that it won’t also be a little rough sometimes.

• no matter the actual pace, he would always find a way to make it feel sensual as fuck.

❥ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

• maybe a controversial opinion based on what i’ve seen on these nsfw alphabet tumblr posts from others but i think he fucking LOVES a quickie!

• this man is chronically horny and is fucking OBSESSED with you. if you think he’s not pulling you into a green room to make out with you and then fuck you stupid just before or after a show, you’re soooo wrong!!!

• that being said, he fucking LOVES taking his time with you, letting the rest of the world melt away until there’s nothing but your bodies tangled together.

❥ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

• soooo down to experiment!! like i said before he is GROSS. u never know when you’re gonna unlock a new kink!!!

• will absolutely mess around and fuck you in risky places where there’s a chance you could get caught, but he lowkey loves the thrill! (and loves getting to clamp his big hand over your mouth or make you suck on his fingers to stay quiet).

❥ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

• have you seen the way he fuckin moves around like a gremlin at rituals???? man could literally last all night!!!!

• lasts a fairly decent while each time (he’s well practiced!!), but after he cums, he will absolutely continue messing around and keeping you all hot and bothered for him until he’s ready for another round.

• multiple rounds, all night long, i said what i said!! this man cannot get enough of you ever.

❥ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

• he definitely owns handcuffs and ropes and other things to help restrain you.

• blindfolds, gags, y’know — the fun things to heighten any experience you might have together.

• don’t think he himself owns a lot of toys unless they’re ones he’s bought specifically to use on/with you.

• but be will happily make use of any toys you might have, especially if he knows they drive you crazy.

• will MORE than happily use a vibrator to edge you over and over and over and over until you’re drooling from both ends.

❥ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

• patron saint of teasing!!!! you will never find another man that will tease you more.

• edging and orgasm denial is like the fucking teasing olympics and he is absolutely going for the gold.

• will whisper absolute filth in your ear when you’re in public.

• will touch and tease you when and where possible in public.

• just thinks you sound so fucking pretty when you beg for him.. so he wants to make you do it ALL the fucking time.

• just wants to keep you turned on, worked up, and needy for him 24/7!!!!

❥ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

• as previously mentioned this motherfucker will not shut the fuck up EVER in the bedroom!!!!

• will absolutely NOT hold back any moans, growls, whimpers, etc.

• will especially not hold back any sounds because he fucking knows how much they turn you on to hear how good you’re making him feel.

❥ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

• will share you but only with the boys!! they are the exception to his rules.

• he will still absolutely be possessive as fuck about you when you’re with them tho don’t get it twisted!!

• while one of the other boys is balls deep in you he’ll still be whispering about how “even though i’m letting someone else fuck you, that pussy still belongs to ME,” or how “you’re making such pretty noises for him, baby. but he doesn’t fuck you like i do, does he? nobody else fucks you like i do. that’s why you’re all MINE.”

• if he sees one of the other boys has left any marks on you? FERAL!!!! sedate this man!!!! he will mark you the fuck UP!! will leave a bigger, more impressive mark right over the one that was left by one of the other boys as if to claim you.

• highkey loves watching you with the other boys though, turns him on so much and makes him swell with pride at how well you take them and how fucking good you make them feel.

❥ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

• we already been knew this man has a MASSIVE cock. it’s not a secret with the way he jumps around on stage in those pants!!!

• a few hidden scars.

• one or two small tattoos that are easy to keep out of sight in his stage fit.

❥ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

• INSATIABLE!! if you haven’t already got the message, this man is almost ALWAYS horny!!!

• highest sex drive you’ve ever seen on anyone.

• will finish, be cuddling with you, and you’ll feel him getting hard again within minutes because of the way you’re pressed up against him or because he’s thinking about how good you took him or how good you looked while you were cumming around his cock, etc. etc.

❥ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

• depends on the day/mood/etc!

• will stay up with you all night if you want.

• always always ALWAYS makes sure you’re okay/taken care of before sleep ever crosses his mind.

• will happily tangle your limbs together under the covers and fall asleep with you after if you’re sleepy!

• lowkey think he would enjoy watching you fall asleep feeling safe in his arms so maybe he waits up, trailing his arm up and down your back, playing with your hair, soothing you to sleep, just so he can stare at your pretty peaceful sleeping face for a little before dozing off himself.

———————————————————

once again i cannot and do not ever write but the brainrot has become too much and i simply had to get this out!!!! i’m only even posting it so like 2 specific people can read it lol SORRY I MADE VESSEL GROSS BUT ALSO !!!! tell me i’m wrong (u can’t i won’t believe u!)

[itsphantasmagoria]

Thank you for tagging me @orange-peony ❤️ I don't have six sentences for Sunday, but I have four arts! These are some things I did this week: a lil coffee animation exercise, gremlin husbands doodle, omegaverse smut (heavily cropped, sorry lol full art in my smut thing on Ao3) and a wip sketch for drarry minibang, cropped on Luna’s face because she’s so cute and I love her ❤️❤️

Tagging @arminaa8 @mallstars @pl0tty @appleslightning @soliblomst and anyone else who wants to share some things! ✨

[gojonanami]

thinking about professional volleyball player!gojo and how he falls for the new manager for his team, who shows barely any interest in the young new ace and wing spiker. only when you're getting unwanted attention from other players from other teams, and gojo steps in to diffuse and extract you with a pointed glare and not so veiled threats, he's got a hand pressed to the small of your back, and he finds you staring at him -- really staring for the first time.

and it's only a matter of time before the two of you are sharing secret touches whenever no one is looking, sneaking kisses during breaks (for good luck, he says), and stealing away in his hotel room during away games for both of you to fuck the stress away.

[simply-ewok]

ghost always has a knack for making you beg for him at the worst moments. the moments that your begging has to be through silent pleas that only he can see.

like when you're being briefed for a mission, and when everyone is too focused on the board in front of them to notice the two of you, he grabs the fat of your ass underneath all of your gear in a quick, firm pinch, and it's enough to cause a quiet gasp from you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

so you turn your head to peer at him behind you. only you failed to realize just how close he was in your proximity, and you are met with his torso towering over you, and the hand you assumed he had used to grab your ass with was clenching his vest, innocently.

it's been a week of nothing between you, and suddenly now he chooses to act? you're annoyed at his choice of timing. he's not even looking at you. his eyes are glued to the mission details in front of the squad. so you let your gaze linger, just to let him know you're not playing this game with him at this moment.

but you have to admit, he always looked so delectable all geared up.

his armoured chest and tactical gear decorating his body, and the black paint he's swiped across his eyes which peer forward in a steely gaze beneath his mask. it's enough to make you bite your lip, and he notices it before you're able to look forward.

in the brief moment of you checking him out, he moves his hand, sliding his gloved fingers down his torso and to his waist, where he readjusts his bulge for you. your cheeks swell with warmth as you blush. then you feel the ache in your stomach as your arousal grows for him. he's teasing you so simply and you both know it, and yet it has an overwhelming affect on you.

as if that wasn't enough to get you going before, ghost shifts his weight and brushes up against your waist from behind, and while leaning down ever so slightly, he raises his fingers to your chin to direct it forwards.

there's a strong flutter from between your legs and you clench your thighs to subdue it. but it's too late. he's got you right where he wants you, and with no where to run.

no one pays you two any mind as you're both stood in the back of the dimly lit room. you always knew him to be quite bold with his interactions, however, this was a first.

as his fingers slip away from your jawline you squirm in place, your own fingers shifting to fiddle with the holster straps around your chest. your feet shuffle beneath you. you begin to take a deep breath when you suddenly feel him press his crotch onto the curve of your back. even through his thick cargo pants you can feel how warm his body is, and how hard the pulse in his cock was beating through them.

if only you were alone together so you could tear them off of him.

without missing a beat it's like he's read your mind. ghost carefully and silently wraps an arm around you to take your small wrist in his much bigger hand, guiding it down your side and pulling the palm of your hand against his zipper.

he releases a low raspy groan for only your ears to hear as he forces you to work over his growing bulge. jesus, he's big.

he silently demands you to begin undoing his pants, all while both of your eyes are locked to the front, where coordinates are brought up of the places you'll be relocated to soon. but it's getting so hard to focus as ghost guides your fingers across his zipper and you pull it downward for him, because you're his obedient girl. his hand leaves yours for a brief moment as you finish undoing him blindly, and suddenly you feel the rough material of his pants give way as he undoes the button on his waistband.

immediately his cock dips into your palm, the tip of it already dripping for you, twitching, as you ever so softly begin to squeeze it.

your pussy is throbbing at the sensation of him. even worse, he already knows how swollen your lips are from the arousal, how your clit is begging to be played with, all while your warm, perfect slit is soaking your panties. it's all enough to push you over the edge as your blushing cheeks intensify, the corners of your eyes crystallizing small tears of frustration as you look behind you once more.

only this time, ghost's eyes are piercing into yours when you meet his gaze. he wants you just as badly as you do him, and he makes it all too well known by thrusting into your hand, dripping his sticky, self lubricant all over your fingers.

you pout for him, flashing him your big eyes, please, simon. i can hardly stand this..

then he does the worst thing in that moment.

as quickly as it all began, he pulls back, tucking himself back into his pants. he leaves you there, your hand still behind your back with your fingers folding into your palm to conceal the precum he left for you, and takes a step away. you can only continue to eye him in, although this time it's in distaste, all while he ignores your fiery, lingering gaze as his eyes meet the front once more.

just in time for the lights to come on again, and for the final statements to be read to the group before everyone's dismissed.

but before you're able to leave, ghost grasps your arm to stop you.

"meet me at our usual spot... you didn't think i'd let you go that eas'ly, did you, love?"

[blindmagdalena]

Trick & Treat

18+ 2.1k Dullahan!Homelander x F!Reader. established relationship, body horror, dirty talk, cunnilingus, cream pie. written for monsterlander mania

A world in which all supes are the results of humans experimenting on one another with the blood of Fae from the Seelie Courts. Homelander is one such amalgamation, and as a result of his Gan Ceann blood, he has a particularly neat party trick to show you. 

Homelander always kisses you like he means to devour you. You’re certain he could, especially when your teeth touch the sharp juts of his canines. Never do they seem more like fangs than when he’s dragging them along your throat, licking the salt from your skin with a wicked, hungry noise.

“You said you were going to show me a trick,” you remind him with a giggle, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Mmmm, that I did,” he hums, walking into you, forcing you backwards until the back of your legs bump his bed. You laugh as he gives you a gentle push, sending you down onto the plush bedding with a bounce. “Think you can handle it? It’s an awfully spooky trick,” he warns, those fangs of his flashing in a brilliantly white smile.

Sitting up, you scoot forward on the bed so that you can begin working his belt loose. “I’ve handled everything else you’ve thrown at me, haven’t I?”

Dating Homelander has more or less been a gauntlet of how many strange quirks you can endure from a single partner. You’ve grown accustomed to his fussiness when it comes to the rules of hospitality, his severe aversion to any and all iron, his penchant for milk–he likes it best when you leave it out for him unprompted–and most importantly of all, his deep love of jokes and trickery.

“True,” he supposes, cupping either side of your face. He strokes the rise of your cheeks, smiling down at you with the kind of tenderness that makes your stomach flip.

Returning his smile, you tug at the zipper of his pants, but he stops you. “Ah ah ah. I’ll be the one giving you head tonight, missy. But first,” he says, which tells you he most definitely has a scheme in mind. “Undress for me.”

Huffing a playful breath, you withdraw your hands and instead pull off your own shirt. You shimmy out of your pants and underthings next, leveling Homelander with an expectant look once you’re fully undressed. He lets out a low whistle, leaning down to kiss you. “It’s like a self-opening present. Never gets old,” he says, nipping at your bottom lip.

“What’s the trick?” You ask, bouncing lightly on the bed. 

He laughs. “So impatient! Fine, fine, alright, Christ,” he says, reaching up to the collar of his suit. He unzips a concealed zipper, and tugs the opening loose. Watching you, he places both hands flat over his temples, and gives you one last lingering look, lips curled in a devious grin. “Y’ready?”

Apprehension crawls into your gut and nestles there, your own smile faltering slightly. “Ready…”

You jump when he snaps his head to the side with a strange sound. It almost sounded like the tear of velcro, and before you can question what the hell it was, the wind is knocked completely from you when he lifts his head clean off his neck. No connective tissue, no blood, no gore. He simply holds his head up like a trophy, the bottom of it an empty, black abyss.

“Surprise!” He says, his disembodied head still grinning as he suddenly holds it out to you.

You scream, scrambling back on the bed, your eyes wide. “What the fuck! Oh my god, what the fuck? What the fuck, Homelander!?”

He starts laughing, kneeling on the bed. “Whaaat? I thought you liked tricks,” he says, placing his head on the bed while he adjusts his collar. “Yeah, we don’t advertise this one too much. Freaks people out,” he says, rolling his eyes. It’s beyond surreal to watch him emote like this, his neck cushioned by the bedding while his body continues to operate behind him.

Mouth agape, you continue to stare at him, a morbid curiosity slipping in amidst the horror. “How… How is this possible?”

“Same bullshit that makes flight and laser vision possible,” he says, watching you. It takes you a moment, but beyond the perverse enjoyment of your shock, you’re sure you see a flicker of apprehension in his expression. He’s waiting, you realize.

Waiting to see how you’ll respond. If you’ll reject him.

These are often the stages of your relationship with Homelander. He parts the curtain of himself bit by bit, daring you to flee with each confession about his existence. This is by far the most alarming reveal so far.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, the tension in your body easing.

He looks surprised, as if no one has ever asked him that before. Behind him, his body shrugs. “Uh, nope. Feels like stretching.”

“This is insane,” you say, crawling towards his head. Of all the things supes are capable of, you’ve never seen anything like this.

His smile slowly returns. “Pick me up.”

Your expression blanches. “What?”

“C’mon! Pick me up. Gimme a kiss,” he says, puckering his lips, coaxing you with kissy sounds.

Oh god.

“I…” You sigh. “...Alright, I’ll… Okay. Let me just…” You slip your hands behind his jaw, cupping the back of his neck, using your thumbs to brace him from tipping forward. “Oh, god, okay, I don’t want to drop–your head is really heavy,” you grunt, surprised by the density of it.

“Thirteen pounds, baby,” he confirms proudly.

“I was sure all the hot air would lessen the load,” you say, hefting him up to your eye level.

“Veeery funny,” he drawls. “Kissy time.”

After one last beat of hesitation, you lean in, bringing him close as you do. Closing your eyes, kissing him feels like it always does. His lips are as hungry for yours as ever, coaxing them into a dance. If not for the weight of all thirteen pounds of his head in your hands, you might forget anything was different at all.

Distracted, you don’t notice the bed dip behind you until you feel Homelander’s gloved hands on you, pulling your back to his chest, startling you. “God,” you gasp as you look back, a shiver running up your spine at the image of his headless torso poised behind you. “That is so fucking scary,” you say, returning your gaze to his head in your hands.

“Relax, babe,” he purrs, licking his lips. “You got your trick. It’s only fair you get a treat now.”

“What do you–oh!” You startle at the press of his fingers between your thighs, grip tightening on his skull. “You seriously want to–to fool around like this?” You ask, unable to do anything but fall back against his chest while his fingertips stroke your clit, his other hand sliding up your side, cupping your breast.

“Do I seriously want to eat your pretty pussy while I fuck you? Uh, yeah. I do,” he says, which admittedly lights a spark right at your core. “C’mon, sweetheart. Like this,” he says, taking his hand from your chest to grab a handful of his own hair, pushing your hold on him down, bringing his head between your legs. He nudges your knees further apart with his own, and brings himself close enough to drag his tongue over your clit, glancing up to watch you shiver, the glint in his eyes downright wicked.

“This is so weird,” you say, but it fades off into a moan as his tongue swirls. He only stops so that he can suck his own fingers into his mouth, thoroughly wetting them before he returns to licking your clit while his spit-slick fingers stroke your cunt, rubbing back and forth a moment before slowly sliding in.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, hips jerking. “Oh, ffffuck…”

It’s almost like being in bed with two different people at once. Homelander is as voracious as ever, licking and sucking every drop that spills from you. You feel his tongue lap at where your pussy is stretched around his fingers before dragging back to your clit, lips closing on it while the pointed tip of his tongue swirls.

“That’s it,” he says between the drags of his tongue. “Taste so fuckin’ good, babe. Ready for me?” He asks, slipping his fingers free. You’re not left hanging for long, the wet head of his cock eagerly nudging your pussy. He moans at that first hot press, giving a playful little growl as he nuzzles against your cunt, sucking hungrily at your clit.

“Yeah, yes, yes, m’ready,” you pant, thighs shaking. His head is getting heavy, but his tongue feels too good to let go of, or even adjust. “Don’t stop, keep–keep doing that.” He eagerly complies, humming against you while the head of his cock splits you open in one slow delicious slide.

You’ve had his head between your legs, and you’ve had the fullness of him inside you, but never could you have imagined both at once. The sheer heat of him is overwhelming, and you shudder bodily against him. His arms move to either side of you, and he nudges your hands out of the way, taking his head from them and relieving you of the weight.

“Touch me,” he groans against you, bracing you firmly in place within the bracket of his arms. You do so readily, slipping one hand into his hair while your other falls to his thigh, gripping it tight. He snaps his hips harder, knocking a moan out of you as he picks up a rhythm, his tongue never once faltering. Your breaths grow pitchier the faster he moves, his arms giving you nowhere to squirm, no reprieve while he fucks and devours you to his hearts content.

All you can do is hold on.

“I-I’m gonna come,” you whine, struggling to get the words out with the way each crack of his hips knocks the breath from you, edging you closer and closer to your climax.

“Me too,” he murmurs, though you feel it more than you hear it. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Do it. Wanna taste it when you come on my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck, Homelander, Homelander!” You cry, your nails biting into the fabric of his suit, yanking hard on his hair as your body locks up. The orgasm that hits is torrential, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you. Your thighs shake, and if not for Homelander’s arms braced on either side of you, holding you tight to his chest, you’d collapse. 

All the while he sucks and licks you through it, fucking greedily into your quivering pussy, gasping hot and wet against your clit as he comes, too, fucking it into you as deep as he can while lapping up whatever spills on his tongue.

You sink back against him, loose-limbed and shuddering. Every pass of his tongue earns a jerky little thrust from you, the wet slide of it creating a burst of little aftershocks of pleasure.

Eventually, overstimulation begins to edge out your enjoyment. “Okay,” you rasp, giving his hair a gentle tug at the same time you pat his thigh. “Okay, good, good boy, that was… Fuck.”

Homelander pulls off of your clit with a pop, humming a pleased little purr. You completely collapse against him as he lifts his arms from you–lifting them over your head like the bars on a rollercoaster–and takes his head with him as he does. You hear a shuffle of fabric, and then an odd kind of crunch not unlike the one you heard when he first popped it off.

“Mmmmm…” He sighs, wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling at your neck. As he tenderly kisses up your neck, it's good to feel his lips where you expect them to be relative to his body again. “God, I’ve been thinkin’ about that for awhile,” he says, nipping playfully at your ear.

“I can confidently say that I had never once considered that,” you say, your words half slurred. You barely feel like your own head is attached after how hard you came.

He laughs, the heat of his breath on your ear giving you goosebumps. “Think you’d do it again?” He asks, voice pitched low and wicked, but you can hear the slight edge to his voice. You’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants to know that you liked it. That you like him. 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and you can’t help but smile. You kiss him, licking the shared taste of you both from his lips. He squeezes a little moan out of you, hugging you like he’ll never let you go.

“Yeah,” you say softly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. Part of you is surprised you don’t feel some kind of seam. “In a heartbeat.”

[astolfofo]

Notes: Slight lapse in judgement moment. (Please comment or reblog with something because I actually dedicated time for this one. I am humbly begging.)

Tw: non-con, gunplay, slight blood play, abusive behaviour, mentions of murder, yandere.

Tagging @yandere-romanticaa on this one, thank you for being the enabler to this (jokingly)

Also on a side note, if you want to listen to something when listening to this, it was inspired by sex with a ghost by teddy hyde, and bo en- pale machine (entire album)

Word count: 4.4K

Dazai had never quite sunken this low before.

He lays down onto the bed, with the gun clattering to the ground. He disregards it as he throws it to the floor, watching it slide across the room. It was useless now, anyways. There were no bullets inside, and it was quite the outdated model, that would be useless against anyone with even the slightest of strength.

All that’s left now is an overwhelming shame. An overwhelming shame that he touched himself, using that weapon for several previous hours, as a means to relieve himself. He feels so disgusted in himself again, as he looks at the rifle, which was now covered in a mixture of his own sweat and cum. It was so disgusting to look at, almost as evidence as to how much he had become a slave to his own desires. Almost as if he was succumbing to some kind of poision that plagued his mind on the daily.

And it didn’t even feel good, he thought to himself. I merely relieved myself enough to clear my mind, if even that.

Dazai looks around the room again. There’s nothing to see, and nothing to feel other than a sick sense of shame. A sense of shame that he decided to touch himself with a gun, while thinking of you. He wasn’t really thinking when he did that, he kind of just did it on impulse, without previous judgement. Yet as Dazai’s eyes dart back to the gun, and his mind drifts to other places. He pictures you cum, and sweat, with a mixture of yours and his cum dripping out of your hole. Your neck is covered with hickeys and bite marks and bruises running down your body. You’re panting, and slightly whimpering from pain, yet you also know he’s the only one who is able to fuck you this good.

He looks down at his cock, which is yet again, hard. He ignores it this time, not wanting to deal with his own arousal, instead choosing to lament over the fact that you were long gone from his life.

But still, he longs for your presence. A person long gone from his life. He longs for you to come back, but you never will.

Dazai shakes his head out of those thoughts, hoping to temporarily think about something else, anything at all that will make prison even slightly more bearable. He looks at the ceiling observing the fluorescent lights, and the solid white ceiling, which reminds him of the situation he’s currently in. Once again, he’s painfully reminded of why he was here. A detainment for ability users, built so they could stay here until they would eventually rot and die. There wasn’t any more to it than that.

He turns on the side again. He doesn’t want to think about that right now, either.

As he lays there, he’s painfully reminded how it’s been two years since you had broken up with him. Not that he was able to keep track of time in prision, but if he were to logically deduce the amount of times he had waken up and fallen asleep, it was about two years since you had broken up with him.

Yet the ghost of your presence haunts him constantly. Even after two years, Dazai had still not gotten over the breakup. No matter how badly he wanted to, he would always come back thinking of you. That you were still there, with him, and not somewhere else. That you still lived with him, that you never ran away from Yokohama, and that he never kidnapped and held you captive. He wanted to imagine that you’d be sitting at home, waiting, wondering where he was, instead of hopping on the nearest train, running away from him.

That you were the same person as who he met you first as, that somewhere at the back of your mind, you still thought of him, at least just a little.

However, he knew all of that was false. You were probably living a normal life again, back in your hometown, maybe with someone else you thought was better for you. Maybe by now, you had recovered from all the injuries he had gaven you over the years, maybe had gone back to the initial person you were, an individual he found so intriguing and rare, that he unwillingly fell for.

He was happy for you, if you were. As happy as he could be, if not exceptionally bitter.

He closes his eyes and imagines you again, how you would look right now, smiling and with some… other guy. It’s not a pleasant feeling imagining you with someone else. Jealousy, envy, and a eerie sort of anger arise in him. No… it’s not anger, he’s not sure what it was. It was closer to an urge to take you away from him, for whatever unknown reason.

Still, you had long ago let go of him, but he’d never let go of you. You had never loved him, but he’d needed you more than man needs air to live. He pictures the scene again, and that possessive feeling comes back again. It felt almost as if the air was being knocked out of his lungs the longer he looked at you and the man together.

You plagued his mind constantly, to the point where Dazai was willing to relieve the pain by almost killing himself with the rifle earlier. Still however, Dazai recognized he needed you as man needs air to live.

Yet he felt rooted in the ground, as his mind went blank again. He felt as if he was fighting a primal urge. He felt as if he was struggling in a room devoid of air, as the helplessness begins to settle down. But he won’t give up, he’ll fight until the very last second to stay alive. All he needs is for that man to be gone. Witnessing so… happy with another man made it feel like every breath he took was poision, and every step he took feel like stabbing his foot. He doesn’t want to see this again.

His vision goes blurry, and then black.

-

Dazai’s now walking down a dark alleyway. He’s not sure where it is, or how he got there, but he feels as if he’s stuck here now. There’s no sense of urgency, rather, a small, creeping sense of paranoia of why or how he’s here. The alleyway feels endless as if he was trying to escape a large maze. He can’t see to the other end of the alleyway, instead, constantly running into dead ends.

He wonders where he is. Was this another dream of some type? He can’t say for sure, it feels too surreal to be reality. But whatever it was, he felt like he was supposed to find something. There was something else in the maze… that was more important than a way out.

You.

At that exact moment, he hears footsteps. He turns around to see you walking in a different direction, at the entrance of the dead end he currently stands in. You’re calm, you look the same as you always did. And he’ll chase after you this time.

Dazai walks as quietly as he could, following you, to wherever you plan on going. You make several turns; one right and three lefts, before you stop at a door. A door that would likely lead you elsewhere, away from him. To somewhere you wanted to go, or needed to go. But that wasn’t the concern. If he let you go through the door, you’d be gone again. Gone forever.

And he’d lose you again. He can’t lose you again.

“Leaving so soon (Y/N)?”

You look at him. You finally turn around and look at him. He can’t tell the exact emotion of your facial expression, but he takes it with relish either way. Your eyes are wide, contorted with fear, yet anger, with some kind of underlying urgency. A urgency to run. Escape the situation.

But Dazai’s faster than you are. As you try to push open the door, Dazai manages to grab onto your arm and push you back first. You gasp for a quick second, and then regain your composure again, glaring daggers into his eyes.

“Let… Let me go you fucking bastard.”

Dazai smirks, “No.”

As on instinct, your breathing becomes shallow and rapid, as your face fills with dread and anxiety. You’re fighting against his grip, trying to break free from the position Dazai has you in, with your arms pinned against the wall, and his knee in between your thighs, keeping you in place. Dazai, on instinct, grips you by the arms tighter, until you feel like there’s no blood going into your hands.

“You were going to leave, weren’t you?” He mutters. “You were going to leave me alone here, and escape. You know I was going to find you either way, right?”

You open your mouth to protest at him, to tell him to fuck off, but nothing comes out of your mouth. Your jaw feels glued shut, it feels paralyzed.

“You can never truly escape from me, no matter how hard you try to forget the days I held you captive. No matter what, you’ll meet me again in some way, some shape, or some form,” he continues. “You should just accept that.”

Your heart is racing. You want to speak, you want to scream, but your brain doesn’t seem to be able to command your body to do these things. You’re struggling. Your hands are still shaking, trying to break free of his grip. You’re doing everything you can just to not give out on the spot, because you know, that Dazai will take you away if you do that. But you can’t win against him either. Not like this.

Your jaw trembles, as you attempt to call for help, scream, see if anyone is there. But Dazai is faster than you. He covers your mouth and you make out a muffled sound instead. “Shh.. don’t scream. There’s no one here to help you anyways.”

His voice sounds so gentle, so soft, it sounds loving, and genuine, if only you didn’t know what he had done to you at all. Dazai was always good at this, you could never say no to him, he always knew how to make your irrational heart win against your logical brain. Even though you could deny it to yourself all you wanted… if Dazai wasn’t so… cruel to you, you would have fallen for him several times over. But he wasn’t.

He was a monster. A monster with a luring personality, and a luring face, waiting for you to fall. Waiting for you to fall so he can posses you wholly. And you would have never known otherwise, until truly understood who and what he was.

“Just let me have my way with you, just this once, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. It wasn’t like he was going to listen whether you said yes or no, anyways. No matter what your answer was, he was going to continue with his actions.

And so, he kissed you. As always, they start off so gentle, so tender, that you could believe it was true. That he wasn’t going to be rough with you later on. His sweet demeanor could only last so long before he lost control of himself.

So you were right. Within moments of your lips touching, his kissing instantly became more desprate, as if his life depended on it. Soon, you begin trying to pull back to breathe, but Dazai won’t let you. He’s waited two years, he’s not going to wait any longer.

So you try to breathe through your nose with as much oxygen as you can get. Dazai doesn’t stop, he’s trying to engrain the taste of your mouth inside his brain, he’s trying to make this last forever. It’s what he truly wants.

And so the gentleness that masks him as human is gone now. He’s doesn’t care if you’re struggling to breathe, or if this is all wrong, that he should let you have your own free will. He’s acting as a man who has not seen oxygen in years. A man that has been rejuvenated back into life by your presence.

And so his actions, initially kissing, have now turned into an action so rough, that it was making your mouth bleed slightly. And he doesn’t stop. The blood gets smeared over both your mouths, the taste of the iron stinging your tongue, and the back of your throat. It gets into his mouth too, and smears over both your lips, almost like a lipstick.

And only when it’s like that, does he stop. But you know this is far from done. You know what happens next and you don’t want it to happen. You inhale through your mouth, trying the best to ignore that your mouth is bleeding. You chest heaves up and down, while Dazai watches, wiping the blood off your blood off his mouth, and tasting it.

It’s addictive. It tastes so sweet to him.

Dazai then grips your chin with his index finger and thumb, while running his thumb over your lips. It’s supposed to be an intimate gesture, maybe a slightly romantic one, but you flinched either way.

You had always reacted this way to Dazai’s touch. No matter how many times he touched you, it always felt foreign to you. None of his actions felt they were done purely as of itself. They always led onto to something, often meant to confuse you. You hated it. You couldn’t what he wanted to do when he did certain actions and you always got the feeling he was playing with you for the fun of it, and that was most likely the case, most of the time.

Dazai smears the blood on your face and admires you.

Your face is visibily red, from the aggressive makeout session,, and your hair is discheveled, covering fractions of your face. Dazai brushes those strands away, as he looks at you. In return, you glare at him, feeling slightly grossed out, but in no position to protest. He then lets go of your arms, letting you fall slack against the wall for a second, and the realization hits again. Your heartbeat quickens at that, and you feel the urge to run, again.

Before you can make a move, you’re held in place again, by Dazai’s knee, which held you securely to the wall. You watch in terror as he takes off his coat and tosses it aside, discarded on the floor. No words are exchanged between the two of you, as you stare at him. Dazai moves his hands towards your chest, and starts unbuttoning your shirt as well.

“D-dazai… please stop…” you mutter.

Dazai puts a finger over your lips. “Just relax, and try to enjoy it, okay? I’ll make sure you feel good, and that you’ll never forget this time.”

“N-no that’s not what I mean. I don’t… I don’t want to do this…please…”

“It’s okay, darling. You know you want this, either way.”

The very air around you and Dazai seemed to be suffocating in a way you couldn’t quite say. It was tense, almost like an elastic band pulled to the very limit of what it could do, awaiting to snap at any moment.

And you were angry. Angry at Dazai that he wanted to do this. Angry at yourself for being caught by him. You felt an indescribable rage inside of you for what he had done to you over the years. Yet everytime, he still says he loves you.

Dazai would never let you go.

No matter where you went, he’d always find a way to get you back. You’re the only thing that he has left. The only thing that he truly wants to live for.

But you didn’t want to accept that for yourself. In fact, you couldn’t care less why the stupid bastard was so obsessed with you, to the point where you got sucked into this dream. You use the free hand, and slap Dazai in the face. It catches him off-guard enough for you to run back towards the door and open it. It creaks open, only for his hand to cover your mouth again, pushing you back against the wall, and keeping you in place.

“You’re not leaving.” Dazai snarls into your ear. “Try all you want, but I’m not letting you go.”

You claw at his hand, trying to pry it off.

“Maybe I should fuck you stupid enough, so you never think of doing that again, hm?”

You gaze at him in horror this time, while his hands travel back to your shirt and unbutton it completely this time, letting it fall to the floor. You wince slightly, due to how cold it is in the alleyway. Dazai then moves to your pants and begins unzipping them, and pulling them down to your ankles.

You once again, slightly recoil in disgust of his actions, but in no position to protest or escape. Now, you’re almost naked, left to the mercy of Dazai to do what he likes with you.

Tears sting your eyes. The, what felt like, slow torture of this entire situation felt painful.

Finally, Dazai takes off his pants. He’s painfully hard, and you cringe in disgust about how your fighting, struggling, and even crying aroused him so much.

Dazai moves his hands behind your back, unhooking your bra, and then he moves to your underwear. The last barrier separating you and him. He takes it off, noticing how wet it really is, and then tossing it aside too.

“My, my, (Y/N). You were that wet from just kissing? I thought you didn’t want this at all.”

“I-I don’t.”

“But your body does. You may deny it all you want, but your body yearns for me. You’ve been leaning into my touch ever since we met. Sure, you’re disgusted in what I’m doing, but do you want to know what your body thinks?”

A pure look of anger which slowly changes into fear fills your face. Dazai leans into the crook of your neck.

“It’s nice to be held be Dazai, isn’t it? You can’t change biological desire. And I think… you know I understand that better than anyone.”

And so, Dazai turns you onto your back, and pushes his entire cock inside of you. You hiss from the sudden intrusion that felt all to familiar and foreign at the same time.

And it reminds you of how painfully well he knows you, yet how little you know him.

And you feel his hands grab onto your hips, and he begins bouncing you up and down on his length, never failing to hit that place inside of you that sent sparks of pleasure up your body.

And he wasn’t being gentle this time, too. If he had been going any faster than he already was, you were sure it would have hurt more than brought pleasure to you.

And he repeats these actions, over, and over. It’s always been that way. Yet your mind felt like it was still melting from the actions. You can’t help it. You can’t help yourself. It feels so good, and you know only Dazai can do this to you.

You almost have to bite back on moaning as he constantly hits that spot. You refused to give him that satisfaction.

Dazai seems to notice this as well. “Don’t hold back. You know I’ll get what I want in the end, anyways.”

Your breath hitches. You knew that. But you didn’t want to give Dazai the satisfaction of having all power over you. But that was all slowly becoming impossible as you came to the realization that physically, you had always wanted Dazai carnally, your mind just believed otherwise.

And as Dazai pushes you down particularly hard that time on his cock, you can’t help but loudly squeal at how good it really felt. It felt mind-numbing lay good. You enjoyed the pain, all too well.

Dazai smirks against your neck again, knowing that he had gotten you in a state where he has all the power. He leans into your neck. He bites down on the flesh, hard enough to draw blood. He licks at the blood enjoying the taste.

And at this exact moment, your hole clench around him too, signalling that you were close to your high.

Dazai groans slightly, taking in the pleasure of the feeling. But he was never kind enough to let you reach your high on the first round.

And he wasn’t going to be kind this time, either.

He bounces you on his cock at a more rapid pace, as your moans get higher and higher, until your cunt is clenching around him tight enough that he almost felt like you could snap his cock off.

And to think you didn’t like it? It made him scoff.

Dazai feels himself chasing his high too. It had been so long… since he had last done this. He felt fulfilled. He felt like he, himself, were on cloud nine, all his previous emotions relieved, instead a dark sort of pleasure replacing any previous emotions.

You’re no different yourself. Despite your anger and hatred towards him, even from one look at your eyes, he could tell you were craves this in a carnal way as well. And for miles around, only the slapping of skin, combined with wet noises, and moaning could be heard. There was no need for anymore than that.

But then it all stops. You look at him in confusion, whining slightly, as he pulls out. Dazai never let you come the first time. He would reduce you to a whining, brainless, mess before allowing you to cum. Only to let you cum so many times, that you wouldn’t even be able to walk the next day.

Yet as for himself, he would cum countless times, until your holes were filled with him, and until your body was covered in it. His cum.

You wince at the gross sticky sensation between your legs again. You feel Dazai’s cum running down your thigh, and it feels disgusting. Normally, you’d yell at him for him to pull out, but right now, your mind was too hazed with other things to care.

“You think you get to cum on the first round after acting like that?”

You don’t respond, trying to get rid of the feeling of being so empty.

“You’re really that desperate, aren’t you?”

You still don’t respond, breathing heavily. Your mind is numbed again, still trying to recover from the myriad of sensations hitting you. Your mind is still hazy with lustful desire.

Dazai sighs, “I suppose I’ll just have to make you cum over, and over, and over, until you can’t anymore.

Your eyes slowly widen again, as you stare at him. “No…. No… please anything but tha-“

“Shh… shh… it’s okay belladonna. You’ll feel so good at the end of it. Promise.”

“No please… Dazai, I didn’t mean it like that. Please, please… it’ll hurt….”

Dazai caresses your face. It’s a gentle, tender action that you want to lean into. But you know it feels more like a nurse preparing you for a needle. A very painful needle that would scar you your arm, that would make you look in shame for the rest of your life.

He kisses you, again, and you have no choice to accept what he gives you.

-

Dazai looks at you. You’ve came more times than he could actually count, to the point where you weren’t even conscious anymore. You’re covered in cum, sweat, and scratch and bruise marks. A mixture of yours and his cum drips out of your hole, and he takes the sight in with a sick sort of satisfaction.

He’ll a,ways love you. In his own sick, twisted way. Every step he takes, every breath he takes. He’ll do it all for you. You don’t belong to anyone else. You’re his, only his.

No matter how far you go, you’ll always be pulled back to him.

He picks you up, and kisses you on the forehead. You look so peaceful.. sleeping. He drapes his jacket over you, and puts his clothes back on.

“Let’s go home now, shall we Belladonna?”

He walks out of the alleyway, his footsteps echoing throughout the walls.

—-

One light flickers.

Static fills Dazai’s ears. He opens his eyes. He sits up disoriented, looking around at his surroundings.

That’s right.

He’s still in prison, he’s still detained in this room, and he forever will be. Until he tries to escape. Until there’s a way out of this, he‘ll just have to stay here, and hope for the best. At this moment, he remembers why he was here in the first place.

He turns on his on his back again. The desolate ceiling mocks him.

But his mind doesn’t want to think about that now. That dream he just had…. It felt so surreal yet real at the same time. He wonders if you were actually there, or if it was just a figment of his imagination.

There’s an obvious answer to that question, though. It’s not even worth asking.

You’re gone. Forever. He doesn’t even know where you are. You don’t know where he is either.

He thought of that dream just to relive his own desires. There’s nothing more to it. Everything is still the same. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel some delusional hope that something was different today.

But he should crush that hope before disappointment gets to him again.

Just then, there is a knock in the door. He wonders who it is. As he walks towards the door, he wonders why the prison guards are bothering him. Yet again. It wasn’t like he had done anything over the previous days.

He twists the doorknob, thinking about what he’s going to say this time. Maybe he’ll even punch them in the face.

However, as he pulls the door back, it’s not what he expected at all.

No… maybe being hopeful worked, for once. Maybe the dream was to tell him something.

It’s you.

You’re here.

And if looks could kill, he would just be about dead now.

[daddyricsdoll]

Im feeling quite nice today so I'm gonna share a little something I stumbled across on the internet the other week. Been gatekeeping it but thought it just needed recognition because OH. MY. GOD. when I tell you... When I tell you it sounds like Lando Norris? bae... just listen

https://open.spotify.com/episode/0RmLxd51pfepkKU6094ce1?si=7QmGaqhHSCmJTJ2Wi4sVNg

Ok so it doesn't sound like him totally, but girl, it's there🤭 P.S if you go to that account, search for episodes where maximumwill is credited

OH! MY! GOD! I know what you mean when you said it kind of sounds like Lando, that British accent. I- I am not ok, I listened to more than just that one, and… 😩

Thank you a million times for sending this, it has given me quite a few ideas and feelings 🤭 But I can imagine Lando doing these things, not just him though!! Ahhhhhhh 🥵

(Definitely didn’t skip to the good part)

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Rebound

Part two to Underground

Pairing: Fighter!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You lose your last tether to the normal world and Bucky has to make a decision. You’re officially part of the Underground. Does he help you, or not?

Warnings: 18+. Angst, violence, fluff and smut.

Words: 5OOO

The demanding throbbing in your feet nearly feels delightful as you drag yourself home to your cramped apartment. As the sun rises and the city turns pink and orange, your building starts to come alive. Though you can barely manage to keep your eyes open.

You can tell the Underground is starting to toughen you up. You make longer days, are a bit paler in your face, making your features sharper, and the bravado you muster as you survive every night is surely something that has started to cling to your face and posture permanently. The people that start their days at sunrise, the ones that weren’t blipped from society and still have a life to return to, they walk around you in a big circle now.

It only makes you feel smug. The society slowly casting you out – starting to fear you.

However, your confidence has a short lifespan when you walk up to the front door of your apartment. The fresh paper with red capital letters stamped on it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You have tried to hold this moment off for as long as possible, going even as far as to take small side jobs in the fighting dome to make some extra money.

You suppose it was only a matter of time before you’d have the words ‘EVICTION NOTICE’ stamped across your door.

And your adrenaline spikes again, realising the time has come that you are officially homeless. You have been well and truly cast out by society, something both you and Natasha had been trying to fight and hold off for as long as possible. This is why the spy had introduced you to the Underground, to make some sort of living. And Nat had never judged you for staying in denial a little longer, even though you knew you would have to get used to the Underground fast, because it was only a matter of time before it would be your new home.

So no sleep for now.

You rip open the door and start packing, leaving all the old furniture that was already there and ending up with one big, stuffed duffel bag and a smaller bag. And then you stand in your place that is no longer your place and truly has never really felt like your place. You look around and feel angry …and hurt. After all, you have been chewed up and spit out, like so many before you.

You stuff that feeling far, far away and vacate the building right as de evening rolls back in. Evening already – since you have tried to put off this moment for as long as possible, have extended packing for hours. Since you don’t have a clue where Natasha lives, if she even resides in the country right now, you are forced to step to the one person you do not want to go to…

As you enter the dome, the place eerily quiet since the nightlife is a long way from commencing, you mildly greet the bartenders and crewmembers readying for the night. You scrunch your face at the stench, wondering if the place ever really gets cleaned. In the darker corners you see things that you decide are none of your business and you drag yourself through centre of the Underground, the capitol of dodgy business.

Making your way to the locker room, you breathe a sigh of relief when you find it empty. Finding a locker in the far back, you stuff it full with your last belongings and pray that none of it gets stolen. Maybe you can find a place in this building to sleep in. You have definitely seen other people crash here for the night, though you debate how safe you’d be. You hardly think you’d close an eye in a place like this.

Then, all the hairs on your body stand up straight.

You slowly turn to find Bucky staring at you, one brow quirked and that being the only sign of his curiosity. “Why are you already here?”

You swallow, “Just trying to get some extra work in.”

Neither of you have talked about what happened nearly a month ago. How you rode his leg with his fingers inside of you until you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life. And how that had been enough for him to come nearly untouched. Well, you say untouched, but you had felt just how heavy he was on your tongue and that’s where you wanted him coming next. Badly.

And you can’t exactly say the tension between you has shifted much. Something that made you realise just how high tensions between you already were. But you dropped it, so had he.

“You have to be careful with those side businesses,” he tells you as he turns to his own locker, one that does have a lock. “People will take advantage of a woman like you.”

“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you,” you snap at him and move to find your bag of supplies for the fight. You try to calm your breathing as you find the bag, kneel down and rummage through it, checking if you need to restock any of your supplies, if only to give yourself something to do for the upcoming hours.

But your spine stiffens again and it’s a little darker around you. So you turn and immediately stand up with you see Bucky looming over you. His eyes rove over your face, peering straight through to your soul, where it quivers before him.

“If you could take care of yourself,” he drawls, “you wouldn’t be homeless right now.”

You startle, “What? How do you know?”

He smiles, but it feels more vindictive than smug. “Because word travels fast, sweetheart, and a pretty girl like you on the loose is gold in the Underground.” He pauses and then his smirk turns smug, “Especially when she’s desperate.”

“I’m not desperate!” you squawk in outrage and he takes a step closer, close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face.

He clenches his jaw, eyes hardening. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“That is none of your concern.”

Bucky lets out a humourless laugh, tilting his head up and running his tongue over his teeth in annoyance before he lowers his gaze back to yours. “You see, it seems like I’ve signed a stupid fuckin’ contract where that is my concern. So please tell me you have a plan and I don’t have to intervene.”

“Intervene?” you sneer and roll your eyes. “Please, it’s not like you can offer me anything out of this place. You’re not here by choice.”

He quirks his brow, seemingly intrigued by that assumption. “Is that what you think? What if I was here by choice, huh? What if I chose this life?”

You fall silent at that, and decide to keep it like that. An argument with him won’t be worth it. Besides, what are you going to tell him? You have nothing and no one. You are officially at your wit’s end and for you, that is saying a lot. The silence stretches… and stretches…

“Give me something to do,” you tell him quietly –deflated– when he doesn’t break the silence either. You don’t see Bucky’s face soften when he watches the defeat in your face before you stare down at the ground.

Bucky’s skin prickles like there is electricity in the air. Because he’s angry. He’s pissed and furious and so fucking angry. That the world can spit out a woman like you, like it has let down so many good people after the Blip.

And the anger doesn’t cease. It only gets worse, like magma bubbling under his skin and boiling his bones. That night, he beats up opponent after opponent in what seems like a record time. People get killed in these fights all the time, they fight to the death all the time. After all, there are too many people and they know what they signed up for when they enter this place. Yet, it’s a line Bucky has never crossed, never will cross. Not anymore.

It’s difficult, to stay of this side of that line tonight. He wants to kill. He feels the soldier crawling under his skin, flipping knives in anticipation, begging Bucky to unleash him. And he thinks he has hardly been this angry before. Bucky yanks on that leash and fights, each punch and kick doing nothing to quench his thirst for justice.

Win after win, Bucky ruins everyone who dares to take it up against him. But he doesn’t hear the crowd – the screams for more blood and sensation, the cheers that he is the most dangerous man in the Underground. He only hears the rushing of his blood in his ears as he thinks about the woman the world has abandoned – as he thinks about you.

…

“Grab your bags. You’re coming with me.”

You gape at your two bags sitting on the leather bench and peer back at all of the lockers, each of them seeming like they have been ripped open with brute force, some of them dented in a manner that looks like a metal hand gripped its edges. You briefly glance at his metal hand and then up to his face.

Unflinching. His command and his face.

So you grab your bags and follow after him silently. Through countless of alleys and wild crowds that seem to think the night of violence has only just begun, even though the sky is turning lilac with dawn. You sometimes hobble to catch up with the soldier, your arms quaking under the weight of your duffel bag. But you keep marching onward, the last dregs of your energy fuelled by what is to come.

The stairs of the industrial building are almost too much, but you try not to stumble since Bucky is walking behind you and that would severely hurt your pride. The fatigue is making every step feel like torture, like you’re climbing a sandy hill and you have to move carefully to keep from slipping into the dark depths. When you do stumble slightly, the weight of your duffel tipping you backwards, you feel the faintest nudge of a warm hand at your lower back, just enough to tip you back and let you continue your trek up the stairs.

Bucky overtakes you at last and opens a door with around twenty locks attached to it, all of them unlocked. He walks in like it’s habitual and you trudge after him, your energy spiking enough to take in the sight. Bucky walks over to the floor to ceiling windows and rolls down the beige canvas curtains. Just as the sun peaks over the horizon of the city and orange light pours into what you can only assume is Bucky’s home.

It's big. Simple and imposing, but cosy nonetheless. There are plants, a fact that has you fighting to keep from smiling. And brown leather furniture, a beautiful and clean kitchen… You turn your gaze back to the man of the house, who is now standing beside a massive bed with cream sheets and fluffy pillows. Your eyes become bleary at the sight, sleep fighting its way to the surface and threatening to drag you to the floor.

Bucky panics slightly at the look on your face and strides over, grasping your bag from your trembling arms. He has to hold back from cursing at the thought that you must not have slept for over forty-eight hours and how dreadful the past day must have been for you.

He guides you to his bed and lets you collapse into the sheets as he pulls off your boots. Bucky knows you would have put up more of a fight if you weren’t so exhausted, but he won’t use it against you. Just like you didn’t use his weakness against him when you were massaging him.

That massage.

He cannot cast the thought from his brain. Never mind what followed the massage. The woman that was on his knees for him, that came around his fingers and was moaning for him so beautifully – she seems like such a far cry from the woman before him. How you can be so careful and feisty, yet such a dream when it comes to his most sinful fantasies. What you did to him in that locker room that day has been playing in his head on repeat. And he wants to slap himself for wanting to crawl beneath the sheets now, drag those clothes off your body, spread your thighs and bury his face between them–

He quickly stands from the bed and clears his throat, casting you one more look before he’s off to the kitchen area and refill his energy in other ways.

…

When you wake up, it’s dark again. It takes you a while to orient yourself, your body fighting off the heavy blanket of sleep you have been swaddled in. The bed below you is more comfortable than anything you have ever felt and the smell–

Pushing up to a seat, your body becomes alert of your surroundings just in time to hear the rattle of about twenty locks opening. In walks Bucky, slumping as he moves his bruised body across his own floors. He notices you, doesn’t pay you any mind, and then plants himself to sit at the edge of the bed you are laying in. He bends down with a quiet grunt, unlacing his boots and peeling them from his feet.

He seems exhausted. And judging by the darkness, he has called in an early night. You push off the sheets and crawl towards him. Bucky tenses almost imperceptibly, but you gently put your palms on his wide shoulders. You swear you see him shudder, before his back bends over more in relaxation.

“I lost tonight,” he tells you as you slowly circle your warm palms over his back.

He lost. That’s unlikely. Something must have happened for him to lose. He must have been distracted. Or someone new has joined the Underground. Something’s maybe different. Shit, you were supposed to take care of him yesterday. He’d fought harder than you’d ever seen him fight. He must have been broken this morning– But, no. He has fought fights without your care for God knows how long. It couldn’t have made a difference now.

“What happened?” you ask, doubtful he’ll open up to you.

His head snaps backwards and you flinch at the look in his eyes. “What do you mean ‘what happened’? You happened. Can’t fucking focus with you being all dramatic with your personal bullshit.”

You draw back. “Excuse me?! I don’t recall making my problems yours!”

“Well, they are now, aren’t they?” he snipes back and runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

And you think maybe it’s not you he’s frustrated with.

“What do you want from me?” you ask quietly. Timidly.

You barely hear him, his voice muffled by his hands as he speaks, “I want you on all fours.”

But you did hear him. Some part of you heard him, that’s for sure. The heat that left your body after your endless sleep is returning to you in a different form, pebbling your skin with anticipation. You swallow hard and barely manage to get out, “What?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and slowly turns to you.

“Lie on your stomach.” The order is soft, but so, so clear and not gentle by any means. You search his eyes frantically, but only find his immovable self. Your traitorous body lights on fire at what she finds. So you do as you’re told.

And you wait.

Two large, warm hands travel up your clothed legs. Kneading your calves, your thighs, until they knead your ass. You cannot help but push your hips back to seek the pressure. You feel his looming presence crawl over you and you hold your breath. Soft lips press to your shoulder that got exposed after your shirt slipped slightly.

His hands slip around your hips and under them. The feeling of your jeans popping open, makes your core throb with need. He pulls your jeans down, but not off. No, just far enough down for access and to keep you in place, barely enough give even allow you to squirm.

Then, you feel his weight press into your body and you could have never imagined feeling his weight would be enough to make you want to moan. That’s when you register the feeling of his hard bulge against your ass and you push up against him again. Bucky answers with a muffled growl against your shoulder, followed by a gentle bite as a warning.

“Careful,” he drawls, one hand holding him up slightly as his other spreads over your side and slips under your shirt to feel your bare skin. You shudder at the feeling and bite your lip, your fingers curling into the pillow below your head.

How is this even possible? How can you deteriorate so quickly when he has barely touched you? His breaths turn heavy against your neck and you twist your head to hear him better, your mouth so close to his now. You wonder why it is that his breathing is coming out more laboured, but the only thing you can come up with is that it’s plain old restraint that is stiffening his body, his lungs.

One of your hands reaches back and up, and you scrape the pads of your fingers over his stubble. Bucky’s grip on the sheets tightens and his hips roll down into you in response. His mouth attaches itself to your neck and he hums as he grazes his teeth over your skin, his tongue soothing the pain instantly.

“Bucky,” you whisper and he rolls his hips again. The hand under your shirt slides to your front and grabs your breast, kneading the flesh in his hand. Desperate, clingy. He groans.

Something is shifting between the two of you and you feel a rawness coming to the surface. You remind yourself Bucky is requesting this for a reason, but he might be lost in it. In you. Then, you hear him mumble against your skin. Something you’re not sure he wants you to hear, but you give a soft coo to urge him to repeat himself.

“Please,” he moans softly. “Please.”

His hand slides down and wastes no time before slipping into your underwear, his entire hand cupping your cunt as he rolls his fingers through your folds. You gasp and let out a moan, writhing your hips when you cannot choose between moving up or down.

He’s rutting into you like a starved man, his fingers indulging in their exploration like he’ll find salvation between your legs. You open your mouth to ask him what he wants, but he rolls his fingers over your clit and you let out a whimper instead, making Bucky nuzzle his nose right below your ear.

“You’re all warm,” he mumbles and kisses your neck, your jaw – so close to your lips. His fingers are torture, so devious yet so innocent. As if he’s completely content playing with you like this for hours. Your belly flutters and tightens and warms at the sensations he coaxes to the surface.

It’s selfish, what he’s doing. This is all him, trying to console himself.

“Don’t,” you breathe desperately and roll your hips into his hand. “Don’t tease, Bucky.”

“ ‘M not. Just feeling you,” he whispers and you open your mouth to fight him on it, but then his warm mouth covers yours and the moan that spills from your throat is sinful. His tongue immediately invades you and you melt as he consumes you everywhere that he can. One finger slips through your wetness and into you and Bucky inhales the response you give him, groaning in response.

He grinds down, so do you, completely out of sync and with mouths moving desperately over each other. You cling to your pillow with one hand and bury your other in Bucky’s hair, pulling when he adds another finger and his weight keeps you from moving into him more. You whine against him, sensations at war within you when he keeps playing with you like a selfish cat.

“I’m so fucking wet,” you whimper and Bucky grunts in agreement, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Just stop playing–”

Bucky laughs then – laughs – a manly chuckle as he nudges his nose against yours. You want to cry for mercy and your toes curl when his fingers do, making you clench around him tightly. Your orgasm is being dangled in front of you like a carrot and you wonder if he just wants you to feel the way he feels. Frustrated, angry. Like he has no control whatsoever.

But what he does next goes so fast, it makes your head spin. Your body goes cold when his fingers leave you and when his body rises from yours, leaving you behind. But your hips get lifted and the pillow below your head gets snatched and shoved beneath your hips. You try to move, if only to accommodate his inexplicable actions, but your jeans are keeping you from moving.

You feel him crawl over you again and this time, you do moan at the pressure, bending your back to press up against him. He grinds down in response and you feel the pressure of the pillow against your womb, shooting tingles through your limbs when you realise what he’s done.

One of Bucky’s hands slides over yours and pins it to the mattress, your fingers automatically curling around the security of his. And it’s nice, the feeling of him engulfing you. It feels safe and warm and insanely intense. You turn your head, hoping to find him near. Your heart swells when he presses a kiss to your cheekbone.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmurs against you skin and you nod frantically, making him chuckle again. “I’m not against begging for it at this point.”

And apparently, you’re not entirely gone, since your lips curl into a smirk and your voice drops to a low purr when you tell him, “Please beg for me.”

How ironic, to beg someone to beg for you. Though, your brief confidence doesn’t falter. If anything, it is about to skyrocket.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his soft lips moving against the sensitive skin. “Let me inside you. Let me make you feel good.” He sounds so genuine, so depraved and full of longing. You have to swallow down the carnal desire that crawls up your throat. You nearly choke when you feel the tip of his bare cock nudge against your folds. “Open up for me. Let me slip right in and I’ll fuck you into the mattress, okay? My mattress.”

You nearly whine, all ready to completely cave for him. And then he finishes it with a whisper in your ear, “Please, sweetheart. Let me have you.”

Yeah. Yes. Oh, yes. You mouth the words, but no sound comes out. You might be slipping outside of your body. The way Bucky sounds – his voice so deep, yet needy. You can only nod your head and squeeze his hand, rubbing yourself up against the tip of him.

“Hm, good girl.”

He slides home with one easy thrust, pressing you down into the mattress and skating his cock over each of your swollen walls. You cannot form a sound, or a thought, or catch a fucking breath. Especially not when he rotates his hips slightly and presses down even further.

You nearly choke, quiet for a long second, before you heave in all the oxygen that you can manage, “Oh my god!”

He pulls out slightly and rolls back in, keeping you full and stuffed and only nudging your spot with the tip of him. Over, and over, and over–

“That’s the spot, huh?” he pants against your ear and ruts into you further. “Right… there.” You gasp on a whine and he presses a kiss to your temple. The pillow adds a delicious pressure and you wish to put your hand there, just to feel him move in and out of you.

It’s so perfect, so sating, so much and deep and– You didn’t know it could be like this. Didn’t know it was possible to suddenly realise how screwed you are for the future. How nothing and no one will ever be able to compare to this. To him.

Your orgasm crawls closer and it feels like nothing you have felt before. Your clit is throbbing and aching and your walls are hugging Bucky like he’s never allowed to leave. Your hips tighten and your shoulders scrunch as your orgasm clamps down on you like a snake ready to strike.

“Bucky, I’m–”

He tightens his grip on your hand and latches onto your hip. “Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

You hear the strain in his voice, the hint of disappointment and you scramble to get your brain back in order. “Come in me, Bucky. Come inside me,” you rush out through quick breaths. You can’t elaborate. You just need him to fill you.

He leans back over and slows his thrusts, his breath fanning over your flushed skin. “Yeah? You want me to make a mess of you? You want proof that I fucked you deep enough?”

You let out a grumpy whine and he laughs beautifully as he drops his forehead to the back of your head. He picks up his thrusts, slow and deep and steady. His swollen cock slides over every cushion inside of you and you shudder at how sensitive your are so close to your orgasm. But it comes quicker than you anticipated. You wanted him to go faster, but with this tempo, you feel the orgasm that is coming closer might drown you.

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him to speed up, but the wave has already reached the shore and your ears hollow out.

The tremors seem to start from within as you swell with pleasure, seizing around Bucky and threatening to curl up. You think you might be grasping for something to hold onto as Bucky remains consistent through your orgasm, fucking into you with a steady rhythm and meeting you with every contraction of your high.

It is so completely overwhelming that you barely feel it when he comes, if it isn’t for the litany of beautiful moans and whimpers from him against your neck. He bites your skin to ground himself through his own orgasm and then melts over your body, pulling your hand to his lips.

Bucky quiets his own breaths to make sure he hears yours and is happy to learn how sated and satisfied you sound with your soft pants. He crawls off of you and gently tugs you over on your back, smiling as he watches you bend to his will.

Peeling off your jeans, he keeps his eyes on you, mesmerised with the sight and the feeling of having you in his bed. A feeling he had yesterday, too. Not just lust…

Your eyes peel open and you peer down at him while he strokes his sweaty palms up and down your calves and thighs. “Is this part of my ruse as a physical therapist and personal nurse now?”

Bucky quirks a brow at your wit and you feel something unfamiliar at the relaxation on him. How he seems more expressive and gentle and less guarded.

“No, this is private.”

Bucky’s eyes rove over your body and you flush with warmth, both from his words and from his assessing stare. You feel him drip from between your legs and swallow, fighting the urge to close your thighs. But Bucky, ever the trained assassin, immediately notices and lets a smirk crawl over his face.

He leans down and presses his lips to your left knee, eyes narrowing in on your cunt. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you told me to come inside of you.” You freeze at his words and keep a close eye on him. “I fucking knew the sight would be good, but–”

He lets out a starved groan.

You sound wary, “Bucky.”

He spreads your knees and crawls down to kneel at the foot of the bed, tugging you towards the edge. Surely, he wouldn’t–

You throw your head back when Bucky dives head first between your legs, running a flat tongue through your folds. You’re not sure if it’s the taste or simply the idea of him licking you clean of himself, but Bucky growls and hauls you closer, nudging his nose against your clit like he’ll never find anything better than what’s between your thighs.

You cannot help but bury your fingers in his hair, the wild throbbing between your legs pushing your mixed essences out and onto his tongue where Bucky drinks it up appreciatively. His fingers dig into your flesh and it takes a while for Bucky’s ministrations to have any other purpose than to taste you. But when he sucks your clit into his mouth, you tug on his hair with warning, making him chuckle.

“You don’t fight fair,” you choke out and he grins up at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, if you knew what the prize was, you wouldn’t fight fair either,” he murmurs and moans in delight as he continues his feasting. “Now how about you give me that prize and come on my tongue, huh?”

No, Bucky didn’t lose tonight.

[trashybread]

I'm posting this in a sleep delirium but do you kno what the cod fandom desperately NEEDS? Cliche 2015 wattpad AU fanfiction plots. You don't know how much you need it until you start thinking about it.

I need a psychiatrist Soap going into his new job at a mental asylum and meeting Ghost and other patients like gaz, price, everyone. Need makarov to be the boss. Ghost being the crazy but helping soap gain everyones trust. Need soap to start questioning if theyre actually mad because strange things keep happening and they're always right (I've been thinking about this one for days) doesn't even need to be a mental asylum, just a mental hospital. Gaz with a PICA, Ghost with psychosis or schizophrenia, price with severe OCD, roach maybe w/ cptsd so he's muted bc of it? maybe he acc got forever 14yo mentality not the infantilizing way but forever the apocalyptic phase and v sweet THEREFORE no one worries abt Talking secret matters w/ him around cuz he's basically a kid, he wont tell anything ever ... Right.

Or one where gaz finds a number in the gay bar bathroom stall (there's number and "amazing head and advices") but its a dead number so he starts venting like once a month to the voicemail and one day someone does returns. Make it spicier and its actually his neighbor. Make it even SPICIER and his neighbor KNOWS IT but it just doesn't click to gaz so now he's stuck between the phone guy "Johnathan" and his divorced neighbour Mr. Price. It all ends when he gets in big money trouble and calls Johnathan in a last hope alternative to save him and price shows up out of nowhere to get him hmmmffhfmmf

COFFEE. SHOP. ALTERNATIVE. UNIVERSE. WANNA MAKE THIS EVEN COOLER??????? SUPERNATURAL COFFEE SHOP. YEAH. Roach works in this coffee shop that actually has supernatural beings visiting but to normal human eyes it's fucking empty. The coffee shop is completely hidden unless you search for it really fucking hard and Ghost, weirdo that he is, is livid to find this empty coffee shop away from traffic and human noises. He always wonder how they can keep the business going with one client (him)

UNIVERSITY AU!!!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!!??? JOCK X NERD. ROOMMATES!!!! THEY HATE EACHOTHER BUT HAVE TO DO A GROUP PROJECT TOGETHER AND END UP GOOFING AROUND IN THE OTHERS HOUSE AND BECOME BFFS. MAKE IT ANGST BC JOCK (Sorry! Soap vibes..) DOESN'T WANT TO BE THE NERDS FRIEND AND THROWS HIM UNDER THE BUS. DON'T WANT ANGST???? MAKE IT SO JOCK STARTS ACTING LIKE A GUARD DOG AFTER THAT. MAYBE IT RUINS HIS REPUTATION BUT HE HAS HIS NOW BOYFRIEND.

COD fandom needs to tighten up! No more souless 4k pwp oneshots. Let's remember our roots.

[grace122]

he’s so big i’m mgghhhhhhhhh

[itsphantasmagoria]

Weekday Snippets

Thanks for tagging me @appleslightning ❤️❤️❤️

The ones on the right are smut and are heeeeeavily cropped lol

Tagging whoever wants to do this! (I am tired and brain cells aren’t colliding right now)