#please let me know if you spot pasting errors before reblogging T^T

[corisanna]

Something dark for @catboy-von-seckendorff's Domestic Witches AU.

Inspired by recent posts about the dark side of Oktavia still being a witch despite living a human life.

(1) (2) (3)

warning: violence, blood

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Oktavia was absentmindedly cataloging her errands for the rest of the day after a morning session at the symphony while on her way to the subway when she heard a general broadcast telepathic cry for help from either a magical girl or a saved witch.

Oktavia took a sharp turn into an alley, threw her purse behind a dumpster, and broadcast, <I'm coming. Where are you?>

The young voice cried a landmark and Oktavia took off across rooftops. She arrived at the construction site a moment too late. She saw Sabrina, the saved Button Witch who had been a twelve-year-old named Mari, cowering on the ground in fear with her arms above her to shield as a magical girl from out of town struck a killing blow. Sabrina condensed into a Grief Seed and that new girl Satoko snatched her off the ground, held her up, and smirked.

The sea sang murder in Oktavia's head. She considered her options and chose one. Quick would be too merciful so she would play with her food and not eat it until it realized it was food.

Oktavia lightly leapt down to the dirt just within hearing range and called out, "I know you were made aware of the treaty."

Satoko had whirled to guard with her sword at the sound of her landing. She looked Oktavia up and down and raised a brow. "So I was."

Ah, Oktavia liked being underestimated for walking into a battle in casual clothes with no weapon. For looking like some random mom off the street.

"You just broke the treaty," Oktavia said as though making light conversation.

"I didn't sign any treaty, witch," Satoko said airily. "I didn't come here to play nice. I came here to hunt witches like magical girls are supposed to. And this place is bursting at the seams with witches. You're wearing human masks, but witches all the same."

"Do you know where witches come from?" Oktavia asked with polite curiosity. "Do you know who it is you're killing?"

"Of course," Satoko sniffed. "Witches are born from the weak magical girls who don't make the cut. The ones who can't keep up with the big girls." She lifted Sabrina's Grief Seed and used it on the Soul Gem in the center of her chest, then tossed it away like trash. "Too bad for them. It's survival of the fittest out here."

Oktavia held her right hand out to her side at hip height and manifested a cutlass with its point balanced on the ground and her hand lightly resting on its hilt. "Survival of the fittest, huh?" she said pleasantly. Oktavia hooked her finger in the guard and lifted the cutlass from the ground. She started to twirl it lazily. "Do you think you're the fittest in this town?"

Satoko tossed her hair in a way far inferior to Homura's use of the move as condescension. "Fitter than you, at least," she said haughtily. "You obviously couldn't cut it as a magical girl if you're what you are now, witch. I doubt you're any better now."

Oktavia's face split into a wide, bloodthirsty grin. Oh, this was going to be so lovely. She'd nibble, nibble, nibble at the worm on the hook until it fell apart. Death of a thousand cuts. Crush the spirit then crush the body. Time to play with not being bothered by injuries to build the fear of her being unstoppable, to make the enemy feel despair of ever winning. She magically reinforced her bones to maximize the punishment her body could take and prepared for deliberately self-sabotaged defense.

Still. Oktavia liked drawing first blood, so she'd start with offense. She didn't wait for any sign of readiness to fight on Satoko's part. She just rushed the girl's right side as she summoned a second cutlass to her left hand. Satoko blocked her right blade, but left her side wide open for Oktavia to score a light slash to her back with her second blade as she passed her. First blood with near zero effort. Kind of a disappointment.

Oktavia stood still and allowed Satoko to land a strong blow to her upper arm. She felt the sword hit the bone but felt no pain, as usual. She shrugged her shoulder to free herself of the blade and looked at Satoko, who had withdrawn. She smiled and said, "Swing harder next time," as her musical stave circle magic healed the wound.

Satoko scowled and attacked her from the front. Oktavia used one cutlass to block and redirect the blade to give her a deep slice at her hip. Again, she didn't react in pain. Satoko backed off and sliced the air, sending a crescent-shaped energy attack her way. Oktavia raised and crossed her blades to block and weathered the force, which wasn't much compared to the softball attacks Mami threw at her in playful spars. She heard Satoko's steps as she rushed behind the light blind and made a cross slash at just the right time to block her blade, redirect it left, and kick Satoko's legs out from under her. The girl tumbled down but rolled to the side and recovered well. She bounced back and slashed. Oktavia decided to play and dropped her left cutlass to catch the oncoming blade barehanded. The blade hit with force that should have cut her hand in half.

"Cute trick with that light attack rush," Oktavia said as she shoved the blade away and healed her hand. "You should join the circus."

Satoko briefly looked unsettled but rushed her again. However, she telegraphed her attack so Oktavia could read it as probably hitting her somewhere between hip and ribs on her right side. She decided to allow it while wary of a change of target just in case. Satoko hit exactly where Oktavia thought she would, blade slashing deep enough in to almost hit her spine. Not too shabby. Finally taking this seriously?

Oktavia backhanded Satoko in the face and sent her sprawling. She idly removed the blade from her side and threw it back to Satoko. Her insides tried to be outsides so she shoved them back where they belonged and let the wound close.

Satoko looked deeply disturbed. Good. Progress. Time to escalate.

She started to slip into near-madness. She embraced it. Now to raise the curtain on her orchestra. Let the music guide her into frenzy.

Oktavia rushed Satoko armed with just one cutlass. She slashed to achieve small injuries on the girl while leaving herself open to receiving much worse injuries from her. Injuries that would make near anyone else collapse in agony or cripple them. Nearly sever her left arm at the elbow? That was nothing. Stabbed through the chest? Prying the sword out from between her ribs and coughing up blood as the lung healed was annoying but otherwise no problem. Whenever her opponent's sword got lodged in her body she would simply pull it out and return it. Satoko's disturbance was escalating into open fear at her relentlessness and seeming invulnerability.

Like those who provoked her usually did.

Good, good. Let her feelthefear of being overwhelmed by an opponent like Sabrina had. Let her seeherdeath coming. How Oktavia loved to see the wormonthehook squirm!

"Please, little hotshot," Oktavia taunted. "Can't you do anything but play with that sword?"

"How are you still standing?" Satoko panted as she wobbled into a defensive pose again. "Why aren't you screaming?"

Oktavia laughed with a wide grin. "What, you think your little paper cuts can hurt me?" She laughed again, far less sane, and her face twisted into wild-eyed bloodlust. She threw her arms wide in invitation. "C'mon, try again. Maybe I'll feel something this time!"

Satoko hesitate. Weakness.

Beat more intoher.

Oktavia lunged forward attack. Satoko fallback desperate blocks slices. Oktavia take meaningless injuries laugh.

"Thought I couldn't cut it! What happened to that?!" Oktavia crowed.

Push back, girl stumbling.

Hack, slash. Hack, slash.

Blood.

Slash slash hack. Hack--

Strike fearintoheart. Hackslash.

Fear like Sabrinainher. Hackslash.

Revengefor sisterwitch. Hackslash.

Failtoprotect mustavenge. Hackslash.

Enemy collapse.

Hackslash.

Blood.

Laughing.

Hackhackslash.

Worm onthehook seesfish coming.

Time to bite.

Laughing.

Enemy screaming atfeet.

Hackslash.

Screaming ismusic.

Laughing, laughing.

Back off to breathe from the laughing.

"You're a monster," Satoko sobbed from where she lay broken and bloody.

Oktavia giggled and said, "Yes. I am." She smirked viciously. "Wanna see?"

She darted down and grabbed the darkening Soul Gem at Satoko's chest. She pulled back and ripped it from the girl's costume, which dissolved back into casual clothes that were immediately soaked in blood. Oktavia held the egg-shaped gem aloft between thumb and forefinger. She shifted into her monstrous form in a blink to do the same with her much larger gauntlet and loomed over the defeated magical girl, who whimpered in terror.

"How's survival of the fittest working out for you?" Oktavia asked her gleefully just before crushing the Soul Gem in her armored grasp.

The body fell lifeless. Oktavia looked at it as she came down from the high of battle. After a good ten minutes of staring and returning to some rationality, she shifted back to human form. One thought summoned her labyrinth's door and another summoned a flock of chittering Anthonies to swarm the construction site and start cleaning up the bloody mess the battle had made of it.

"Bring me Sabrina's Grief Seed when you find it, please," she ordered them. They waved their insect-like arms in acknowledgment of her order.

Oktavia stood over the body and stared for a minute before sneering, "Jumped-up little invader. Thought you could ruin what we've made for ourselves here? So stupid."

Her eyes narrowed as she sensed something. She nudged the body with her foot to roll it side to side then bent over and rifled through its pockets. Yes-- another Grief Seed. Whose? A fallen or a saved witch? Someone to try to identify. Such a mess.

Another thought summoned four Klarissas to her labyrinth's door. Oktavia grabbed the body by the front of its shirt and heaved it up into the air. She smirked at it for a moment, then tossed it at her familiars. They caught it and carried it back into her labyrinth. It would be waiting for her when she was ready to deal with it.

She picked up her abandoned cutlass and stood with her hands on its hilt balanced on its tip in front of her. Her favorite song came to mind and she hummed it while she dispassionately watched her eldritch cleanup crew bustle about erasing evidence by opening their grotesque mouths and licking up blood. One hurried to her and offered her Sabrina's Grief Seed. She thanked him and tucked it in her pocket with the unidentified one.

It took about fifteen minutes for the swarm to clean up the blood and smooth out the score marks the fight had left in the ground. Oktavia twirled her blade and carried it over her shoulder. Then she turned on her heel and led her familiars back into her labyrinth. They bustled about cleaning the bloody footprints she left in her wake as she strode down the entry hall. She heard her orchestra playing even before she reached the concert hall. When she entered it, she took a moment to close her eyes and let her Symposium Magarum wash over her. Delightful. The heavy despair and rage of it. Delightful.

She opened her eyes and looked around. The body had been placed in the center of the floor before her throne, exactly where she wanted it. She strolled across the open space and stopped over it. How pathetic it was. She smirked, twirled her cutlass, and slammed it down into the center mass of the body hard enough to go all the way through and remain standing upright when she let go. Humming lightly, she approached her throne, shifted into her monstrous form, and sat on it.

Oktavia swayed to the music for a few minutes before reaching down and delicately grasping her cutlass. She used it like a plastic sword cocktail pick jabbed through fruit in a mixed drink and raised the body up to her open maw, then placed the body within and pulled it off the blade to devour it whole.

Victory complete.

She reveled in her music for a good forty five minutes as she savored victory and more rationality returned. Her orchestra switched to something calming and she started to come down from her murdery mindset. Good. She had things to do.

When she was more even-headed, Oktavia shifted back to human form and evaluated herself. Her clothes were unsalvageable from slices and blood. Her Anthonies might be able to get the blood out of her shoes but they were really bad, too, so she wouldn't count on it. The ruining of clothes in battle always made her miss being able to transform into her magical girl costume that conveniently reset to pristine with every new use and saved her normal clothes. Clothes and shoes weren't cheap.

She took off her shoes and socks and dropped them on the floor for her Anthonies to either clean or devour and walked back toward the entry hall barefoot so she wouldn't leave more bloody footprints. She opened one of the doors she had made appear as she customized her labyrinth over the years and entered a large side hall. She looked down its curve and saw familiars she had gathered over the years from eating fallen witches' Grief Seeds peeking out of the doors to their rooms to see what she was doing. She waved at them and entered the first door on the right to go into the large bathroom.

Oktavia took the two Grief Seeds out of her pocket and set them on the counter, then stripped off her ruined clothes and dumped them in a basket to give to the Anthonies later. She had to peel them off because the blood was congealing and making them sticky. Bother. Then she went to the sink and washed her hands. While there, she looked in the mirror. Yes, she definitely looked like she had violently murdered someone. And there was so much sticky blood in her hair. Ugh. Hair was always the most difficult thing to wash when it was this bad.

She scrubbed in the shower for a long time and got everything off her body, but her hair was stubborn. Eventually, she gave up and called a Klarissa to come and pick at it with her humanoid hands. Then she towel-dried, put on her spare clothes, and checked the time.

Almost evening. She only had time to do a couple of her errands before she'd be missed by Kyoko and Mami by being late for dinner. And some of the places she had to go were probably closing for the day. Annoying. That little bitch had ruined her responsible plans.

Oktavia exited her labyrinth and retraced her path to reach the alley she had started in. She retrieved her purse from behind the dumpster and checked that her phone and money were still there. Yes. The most important errands were getting more of Anthony's favorite oatmeal so he'd have it for breakfast the next morning and picking up Mami's fancy dry-clean-only skirt she wanted for some important presentation at college the next afternoon. Those were quick, so she got home on time.

"I'm home!" she announced brightly as she closed the door behind her.

"Mama's hooome!" Anthony cheered, running to greet her with a hug around the legs as she held up the bags in her hands.

Mami peeked out of the kitchen and everyone else turned from the TV to look at her and greet her.

"Hey, Mami," Oktavia said. She shook the bags. "I ran into some major delays so I only managed the skirt and oatmeal. I'll do the rest tomorrow."

"Oatmeeeal!" Anthony cheered.

Oktavia's lips quirked and she offered him the grocery bag. "Take it to Mommy so she can put it away."

"Okay! I'm helping!"

He took it and trotted to the kitchen. Mami took it but looked concerned. "What happened to delay you?"

Oktavia had debated this. She could lie, but that wouldn't explain Sabrina's Grief Seed they had to give notification about and the other Grief Seed they had to try to identify. So she went with skirting the details.

She coolly said, "I got a call for help. I got there too late to save her but I managed to defeat the attacker after. She won't be a problem anymore. We have two Grief Seeds to handle, though."

Everyone stared at her in grim silence. Guessing.

Except for Nagisa, the Sweets Witch who understood for certain. Who would have done the same thing. Her face went harsh. "You took care of it?" she asked, voice as hard as the most rock-solid of jawbreakers.

Voice still light and cool, Oktavia answered, "Yes. I took care of it."

The others averted their eyes.

Except for Anthony, who looked curious and asked, "Mama, why is your hair wet?"

Ah. It hadn't dried all the way. Oktavia shrugged and lightly answered, "Oh, I dropped in my labyrinth for a shower on my way home."

The others looked uncomfortable. They knew what she would have to wash off after the interaction she summarized.

Anthony frowned. "Shower now? Mama got dirty?"

"Yes. Mama did something dirty," Oktavia answered softly.

"What did you do?"

"I scolded a very bad person who hurt someone."

"They got you dirty?"

"Very."

Anthony gave her a scowl that looked like a pout. "Hurting people is not nice."

"No, it's not."

"They won't do it no more cause you said no hurting?"

"That's right. They won't hurt anyone anymore."

"Yay!" Anthony cheered, thinking his mama had convinced someone to be good from now on.

Though she had showered, Oktavia felt filthy.

Even though she didn't regret what she had done, she did regret violating her son's image of her. He was a witch. He would understand one day. But for now he was so innocent. He thought she was the pinnacle of goodness. She was not.

Oktavia shied away from touching him for the rest of the night. She couldn't let hands as bloody as hers contaminate something so pure and clean.

[burberrybaby]

tasamum - تسمم

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pairing: bucky barnes x woc!reader

summary: you wake up from a nightmare hoping for a drink, but bucky gives you a different form of intoxication.

warnings: SMUT, a little fluff (bucky taking care of the reader,) knives (reader has one in her room,) alcohol mention, oral (f receiving,) fingering, dom/sub dynamics, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, praise, minors DNI!

a/n: my first official smut! english is not my first language, so if there are any errors, please let me know. any type of feedback would be lovely and, as always, reblogs are appreciated. not my gif.

word count: 2.5k

masterlist

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You scream as you sit up in bed, throwing the covers off you and immediately pulling the small dagger out from under your pillow, holding it up in a defensive stance. It takes a second for you to realize you’re in no danger as you drop your weapon and hold your head in your hands, catching your breath. You woke up after another one of your nightmares; remaining memories of people you’ve killed in your past still haunt your dreams.

Instead of going back to bed, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a quick glass of water. The compound was quiet and dark, very unlike how it usually is in the daytime. Once you finish your drink, you hear a raspy voice near the sitting area, “Y/N?”

It wasn’t bright enough for you to see who said your name, but the deep, thick voice could’ve only belonged to the one and only Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky?” you switch on the light and move towards him, setting your glass on the counter. He wore dark pants and a black buttoned-down shirt that was undone completely, exposing his gorgeous toned chest and abs. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him look you up and down. Compared to him, you were hardly dressed; a baggy Thrasher T-shirt that barely covered your ass and black lace panties.

“Nightmares?” he asks and you nod, looking away. “Come here, doll.” Your gaze slowly turns to meet his and you see him holding his hand out to you, offering his lap to you. A feeble attempt on your part to hide your shock rewards you with a small smirk from Bucky as you slowly make your way to him.

You try your best to pull your shirt down as you sit in his lap, and you blush as you feel the muscles in his thighs under you. Bucky wraps his arms around you and you lean your head against his shoulder. He rests his chin softly on the top of your head and he sighs. You can smell the scent of some sort of drink on his breath, “are you drunk?”

“No,” he chuckles softly, “alcohol doesn’t do much for me, unfortunately.”

“Oh, right.” you snuggle yourself into him, willing to let your vulnerabilities show in front of this man; suddenly feeling small and soft in his arms.

“Would it be bad if I was drunk?”

You pause, “I just- I have trust issues.”

“So you trust me?”

“Maybe,” you smile softly.

He tightens his vibranium arm around you and slowly lowers one hand down to rub small circles into your bare thigh, causing your breath the hitch.

“Do you wanna talk about the nightmare?”

You tilt your head to look at him, “No, not really... have any alcohol left though?”

“Sorry, doll, but I already finished the bottle,” Bucky looks at you curiously, “but there are other ways to make your night better.”

Your face flushes immediately to a deep shade of red as you stare at him blankly, “W-what do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Bucky slowly moves his touch from your outer thigh closer between your legs, and pauses to look at you, “there's a different form of intoxication I can give you.”

Swallowing thickly, you look down at how close his hand is to your heat, and you’d be a fool to think this man didn’t feel it. It was almost embarrassing how badly you wanted him in you right now, but you hadn’t been with someone romantically in the longest time. Compared to the man whose lap you were currently perched upon... what would he think of you?

“If that’s not what you want, I get it-“

You cut him off, “I do! I just uhm..”

“We can take it as slow as you want.”

After a deep breath, you nod, “Okay.”

It only takes a second for Bucky to adjust you to straddle his lap, and before you can even register it, his shirt is off. You can see the sudden hunger in his eyes before he moves his lips to yours, and you easily melt into his touch. Bucky places his hands back on your thighs and massages slightly.

Your tongues move in union, both of you exploring each other’s mouths. One of your hands moves to cup his face and the other rests on his bare shoulder. Bucky pulls away after a bit with a tug to your bottom lip and moves his kisses to your jawline. A quiet moan escapes your lips, and you can feel his smile against your skin. He moves his way down to your neck, only needing a second to find that sweet spot on your skin that he knew would drive you crazy. If this man didn’t feel the heat and dampness from your core and panties, he certainly did now.

All the while, you’re pressing yourself against his covered length, yearning for more than just kisses. It doesn’t take long for his cock to harden against your clothed cunt; you were sexually infatuated with each other.

You tilt your head back to give him more space to pleasure you as he pleases, and you were already at his mercy. Leaving a few nips on your neck and now moving to your collarbone, Bucky drinks up all the soft whimpers and moans you give him. Later, when he pulls away, an unintentional whimper falls from your lips.

Without moving your gazes away from each other, you feel his rough, calloused hands move from your thighs to the hem of your shirt; at this point, it had ridden up to your waist, “May I?”

You give him a small nod and he slowly lifts the baggy T off your body, laying it next to his own discarded top. You shiver as the sudden cold perks your nipples up, and he moves his hands up to cup your breasts, massaging them and attaching his lips back onto your collarbone. He murmurs, “If you want me to stop just say it.”

“I know,” you whisper and squeeze your eyes shut as you grind against him. Your act rewards you with a deep growl from deep from Bucky’s throat as his lips move down to your left nipple. He twirls his tongue skillfully around the nub and rolls your other nipple between his fingers.

“W-want more,” your voice is almost inaudible and your eyes squeeze together from the pleasure he gives you.

Bucky slowly pulls away and looks up to meet your gaze, his pale blue eyes now darkened with lust. “Yeah?”

Your nod is almost pitiful as he lays you down on the couch, his large figure overpowering you even before his cock is in you. Bucky leaves kisses down your chest and stomach, red marks that will surely bruise by morning. His breath is hot against your skin as he pauses at the waistband of your panties.

He looks up at you through his lashes, asking permission to remove the final piece of your clothing. You nod again, “please,” and after that one word, he wastes no time pulling the black lace off with his teeth, discarding it on the floor.

Bucky takes a moment to admire your body before he makes his next move, “you’re beautiful, you know that, doll?” He brings your legs up, leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs, slowly moving closer to your aching core. He touches his finger to your bare cunt and reaches his hand to his mouth to lick the wetness and makes eye contact with you. You swallow again, hard, and whimper, begging desperately for more.

He slings your legs over his shoulders and brings his face to your dripping center, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your body shudders and radiates in hot pleasure as his lips attach to your clit and he carefully slips one metal finger into you, looking up to see your mouth drop open. You reach one hand down to tangle it in his dark hair as your back starts to arch.

Not wasting any more time than necessary, Bucky slips a second finger into your pussy and begins to scissor you open, making enough space for a third metal finger. He curls his knuckles and all the while swirling his tongue around your most sensitive parts. It doesn’t matter that this is the first time he’s eaten you out, he knew exactly what you wanted, and did not hold back in providing.

A sheen of sweat has acclimated over your skin, and your back is arched highly from the couch, the edge of which you’re now gripping so hard your knuckles have paled. Your thighs are shaking from being held apart by Bucky’s large hands and your head lolls to the side as you murmur, “I-I’m gonna-“

You aren’t even given the chance to finish your sentence as you hit your climax. Your body is plunged into a deep euphoria; whether that orgasm could be described as heavenly or sinful, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter; was the best feeling you’ve had in the longest time.

Bucky pulls away after drinking up all your come and watches how you slowly open your eyes, panting, “Th-that was amazing.” Instead of responding, he leans down to give you a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and causing you to moan quietly.

“You are amazing.”

All you can do is let your mouth drop open and feel even more heat rising to your face as Bucky stands, unbuttoning his pants and slipping them off, along with his boxers. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his hard cock, pressing up against his stomach; and it was huge. How he’s managed his composure for this long, you had no clue.

Bucky strokes his cock a few times and smirks at your peaked arousal, adjusting himself back on top of you, “Ready?”

You nod and he runs his length along your folds first, then gently presses himself into you. Even though he already stretched you out, it still took a bit for your body to adjust to Bucky’s size. Once he’s fully inside you, he presses his hand softly to your stomach, and chuckles softly, “Doll, look how deep I am.”

The realization of how you felt him in your stomach had come earlier, but now looking down and seeing that bulge made you desperate. Your hips buck up unintentionally, causing Bucky to moan quietly and begin to thrust into you.

You could tell he was holding back, keeping himself from pounding into you immediately, and you appreciated that. Maybe he could sense your inexperience and wanted to help you take it slow. Or maybe he was just scared of hurting you, but nonetheless, it felt amazing.

His mouth attaches to your neck again, and Bucky’s hand moves up to roll your nipple between his fingers. You allow your hands to roam his chest, biceps, and back as your head lolls back, moans falling from your lips easily.

He refrains from speeding up his pace; instead, his thrusts are slower, but stronger, hitting you deeper, his tip dragging along your G spot. Your back arches again off the couch, and your nails start to drag along his back.

His lips move to your ear, and he nibbles your earlobe teasingly. Bucky’s low voice now in the shell of your ear, “you’re taking me so well, baby, I’m so proud of you.” Your body shivers at that, and you want to say more, but the only words that fall from your lips are, “M-more, pl-lease.”

“Asking like a good girl, hm? I’ll give you more.” so he brings his hand down to your sensitive clit, rubbing in circles with his thumb, and you can’t help but bite down on his collarbone to keep yourself from crying in the pleasure. Bucky winces and chuckles again, “marking me up, I see? Don’t worry, I’ll wear the bruises proudly.”

Your whimper is muffled against his skin and this time, without warning you come around him, your essence dripping onto both of your thighs. Once again, you’re engulfed in hot, sticky pleasure as Bucky helps you ride out your orgasm.

Panting you mumble, “Y-you can go faster i-if you need.” He pauses a second to look at you, making sure he heard you right, then he pushes your knees into your chest and takes your calves in his hands. After adjusting his position, Bucky gradually speeds up, his head tilting back in pleasure as his lips part.

Looking down to watch him, and seeing your breasts being shoved back and forth from the new speed makes you wish for a third release. You bite your lip and grip the edge of the couch tightly, trying to keep yourself grounded.

You snake one hand down to rub your clit when Bucky looks back down at you. The sight of your body; the same sight you had relished in moments before, driving him closer to his own release. So now he grunts, “Cum with me, doll.”

And of course, you happily oblige, kneading your tit with one hand and the other rubbing your clit faster as you come a third time. Your channel tightening again against his cock drives him insane, and a deep moan comes from Bucky’s throat. He comes with you, heavily coating your walls and panting as he finishes and looking down to admire how he’s made you fall apart under him.

You meet his gaze and you laugh, “that really just happened, huh?” He laughs with you, “yeah, it did.”

Your legs are shaking as he pulls out and heads to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to clean you both up. He cleans very carefully around your thighs and helps you sit up to clean underneath. Your eyes widen as you see the forming stain underneath you, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, “this couch is officially ours.”

Smiling warmly at each other, Bucky picks you up and takes you back to his room, wrapping his arms around you tightly. your head is resting on his chest, and your arm loosely wrapped around his torso.

“How do you feel now?” he hums.

You tilt your head up to look at him, “way better than before.”

Bucky smiles down at you, “that’s good, doll. You should get some rest, I plan on ravishing you again in the morning.

Chewing on your lip, you pull the blanket around your shoulders and look away.

So his smile turns to a worried frown, “Is something wrong? We don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to.”

“No, no I want to,” you pause, “it’s just… the nightmares again…”

“Hey,” Bucky lifts your chin so you can look at him, “as long as I’ve got you here in my arms, I promise you’ll be safe, doll. I get nightmares too, but now I’ve got you to hold!”

You smile and leave a lingering kiss on his lips before resting your head again, letting your eyes flutter shut, “good night, Buck.”

He kisses your forehead, “good night, Y/N.”

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mutuals:

@worksby-d @fairyevans @walkitoffsoldier @deadpocts @lokistoriesblog @sapphireplums @moonlight-onyx @witchysoldier @planetofawe @eun-dadplease @lvnarks @thesecretwriter @bucksgoat @sheisapoet @idontwannachill @gingerwriter97 @danneelsmain @titaniumstark @chanelfaerie @honeychicana @sharoncartier @jannqt @darlingsteve @a-little-counter-esperanto @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @writersbuck @cherryflavoredchapsticck @steebsbabygirl @balenciagabucky @brattycherub @sllooney

[madboxwithagirl]

No Reset

IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ:

After posting this story, it was made public that the lead singer of Brand New, the band that sings the song featured in this fic, committed sex crimes against multiple teenage girls. I no longer support this band or their work. I will not be editing this specific posting of the story, but a new version with a different song will be released in the near future. It will be exactly the same story, just with a new song and title. Thank you for reading.

10th Doctor x Reader

Hello everyone! So before I get to the story, I’d like to give the biggest shoutout to @blueboxshenanigans11 for not only inspiring me to start writing, but for also being my beta reader! Go give her a follow and read her Doctor x Reader stories (they’re really good!)

This is based off of the interlude in the song “Out of Mana” by Brand New. I would highly suggest listening to it!

https://youtu.be/kuta3PDr-4E?t=3m46s

This is my first story on here, so any and all likes, reblogs, follows, and feedback are welcome. I tried to make the reader gender neutral so all can enjoy it! I also avoid using Y/N and other similar things in my writing if I can, so just a fair warning. Enjoy!

Summery: The Doctor learns about your love for him and finds that you’ll always be around, even after your tragic death.

Warnings: Heavy Angst. Blood. Major Character Death. Cursing. Depression.

Words: 3,993

Humans are mortal creatures, this is very well known. With such short lifespans and so many outside forces that can easily shorten them more, humans are not the most resilient of beings. And yet, they survive years upon years of torment from both mind and body. Some manage to heal from what should have been fatal wounds or diseases. Miracles, they are called.

The Doctor saw a lot in humans. While they may not be the strongest of species, they’re quite mysterious at times, though many are easy to figure out. A glance into their eyes can reveal their entire souls to their viewers. A quick look and he can see their pain, happiness, confusion, and every other feeling under their rather small sun.

Yet somehow, you managed to keep your most intimate of feelings held under lock and key. Now, this rather smart alien knew full and well that you were hiding things from him, but he could never find a way to see into your soul. You were a defensive human, he knew, but he always thought that perhaps he could coax you out of your shell. He wanted to know every little thing about you from your favorite color, to your saddest memory, to your worst fear.

Despite knowing that so much of you was inaccessible, he managed to fall in love with you. He loved yet hated the mystery surrounding you, wanting nothing more than to crack open the locks on your heart and soul and loot every little thing that they held. But he would never dare to try to force open your hidden treasures. He needed you to unlock them on your own terms. Oh, how he tried to get you to show him every part of your mystery. He would pour out his hearts to you, lament to you his sorrows, silently beg you to maybe, just maybe, give him a story of your own past to make him feel less alone and perhaps relate to someone else.

But, alas, you would never allow yourself to open up to him. This impossible man didn’t need to know the struggles of a minuscule human. His life had been full of sorrows and demons that you could never fathom trying to fight. He had lost his entire species, taken by his own hand from a decision that none, not even the most powerful of gods, should ever have to make. What were your demons compared to that? No, you didn’t need him to feel sorry for you.

You sealed up your being, bound it in rope and chains. You locked yourself up nice and tight and let the key fall into your ocean of despair. You knew that this alien-man would be your downfall if you didn’t block off your emotions from him. Now, you would allow yourself to laugh along with him when he made a rather Doctor-like error and you would allow yourself to hold him close as he offered you his broken hearts to mend. You would offer up the best of yourself, the kindness and thoughtfulness that your heart would allow.

But in your struggle to keep your emotions in their prison, one managed to escape your watchful eye: adoration. You somehow had let yourself grow attached to the Time Lord, but not just as an acquaintance or even a best friend, but full blown head-over-heels in love. Night after night you scolded yourself for letting yourself fall for the perfectly flawed being who took you away from your original suffering, only to bring on more by just being so wonderful. You knew that anything intimate between the almost-immortal man would never last, so you never said a word to him.

And so you continued on, keeping a tight grip on your secrets for years, fighting off the rust and the fire from your bounds. But the rope was burning and the rust was poisoning. You were losing an uphill battle and all you wanted was to open yourself up and let everything spill out onto the TARDIS floor so the Doctor could sort through the mess and perhaps find something he liked. You wanted to stop fighting, finally give your treasures up, and maybe retire away somewhere far away from your love so you could relax once again.

The bottled up thoughts started to become too much for you. You had to get something, anything, out in any way possible. You knew you couldn’t tell the Doctor of your sin, no matter how much you desired to do so. You got yourself a journal from the library, happy that it was yet to be stained with the ink of a flowing thought. Starting off slowly, you settled with just a simple sentence in your most wonderful of handwriting.

“I’m in love with the Doctor.”

                                                          ___

It was supposed to be a simple trip to your hometown.

It was supposed to be a quick visit, that was all.

It wasn’t supposed to have any deadly aliens looking for the Doctor.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Humans are mortal creatures, he knew. Of course he knew that. But he wasn’t prepared to face that reality again so soon. And he certainly wasn’t prepared to face that reality with you.

His clothing was stained with your life force from head to toe. Not a single article was left untouched, all of it drenched in the blood of his beloved. The Doctor had held you in your final moments, hysterical and oh so terrified. He knew that you were dying, that there was nothing that he could do to fix you. There was so much blood, from each deep wound to what was pouring out of your mouth. It was so much more than he really realized that a human could hold. Not knowing what to say, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. He confessed his sin to you, kissing your forehead roughly, feeling your cooling body.

And as you began to fade away, you let your rope and chains go slack. You let him see into your soul. You stared up at him, taking in every little detail for what you knew would be the final time while he stared deeply into your glossy eyes. He let out a sob as he saw the pure fear in your eyes, something that he had never been granted to see before. You wished that you could tell him that you loved him too, that you wished you had told him sooner, that you had told him everything, but you couldn’t. You were too weak and the blood pooling from your mouth wouldn’t have allowed you to anyway. As the Doctor began to repeat his confession, you slipped into your everlasting sleep. The last thing you saw were his gorgeous but incredibly sad, brown eyes. You let your own orbs close and you let yourself slip away.

Everything the Doctor did after that was a blur. He remembered finishing off your killers and he remembered taking your body to your family. He didn’t remember ever making it back to the TARDIS, or the machine’s broken whirls upon realizing that you were gone. He didn’t know how long he was curled up on the ship’s floor, begging whatever god that was out there to bring you back to him. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten or had a sip of water. All he knew was that you were gone forever and that he’d never get to see you again.

Eventually, the broken man rose from his spot on the cold, metal flooring and he stumbled his way through the TARDIS. He needed to shower. He needed to get your blood off of his body. He needed to get rid of the smell of your death. A door appeared at the end of the hallway and he made his way into the shower that his ship had kindly found for him. He stripped of everything and stepped into the shower, turning the hot water on. His skin became red from the scalding water, but he didn’t notice. All he could register was that your blood was all over his body. It had soaked through to his skin, staining him. And so he scrubbed and he scrubbed and he scrubbed but your blood wouldn’t come off. He cried out and scrubbed harder and harder until his own blood found its way to the surface. At this, he quit his attempts and leaned back against the shower wall, defeated. Your blood would never leave his hands.

The TARDIS had taken the bloody clothing and disposed of them before the Doctor finally got out of the shower. She had replaced them with soft and clean sleepwear, for which the Time Lord was grateful. He slowly donned them and left the bathroom, nearly sobbing when he saw where he was. The TARDIS had lead him to your room. Your room was decorated from items found in the ship and gifts that the Doctor had given you on various trips. It was clean and organized, all of your valuables on display throughout the space.

And it still smelled like you.

The Doctor made his way to your bed and wrapped himself up in your blankets, wanting to take in your scent once more. It was such a lovely change from the blood that he had known for who knows how long. He held one of your pillows close to him, imagining that it was you. He used to love to cuddle with you whenever he was feeling particularly down. You would hold onto him tightly and hum your favorite songs, doing what you could to sooth him. How he wished that he could hear you hum into his ear one final time.

He eventually fell into a restless sleep, seeing images of you being attacked and hurt by the aliens over and over again. He never able to stop your death. He awoke a few hours later covered in sweat, fresh tears falling onto the pillow. He buried his face into the pillow and cried, letting all his emotions out. He needed you more than ever. How was he going to live without you? You were his most valuable treasure and you had been stolen from him.

The Doctor soon sat up and looked around your room, wanting to soak up everything he could about you. Even though you were long gone, he hoped that maybe he could learn more about you from your possessions, maybe finding out more about your values from them. He hoped that it might sooth him, even if only for a moment. Taking a deep and shaky breath, he untangled himself from the blankets and got up, immediately missing the strong scent from the fabrics.

To the Doctor’s dismay, nothing immediately seemed to be gained from any of your items. All that was there were miscellaneous TARDIS items, the many gifts he had given you, and some pretty little souvenirs from tourist traps in foreign places (though you never seemed to care, they were all new and different to you). However, upon further inspection, he saw that his presents were the most cared for and that they were the most proudly displayed. Each item was placed methodically, in places that you would be around most. They were on your dresser, your desk, your nightstand. Each was covered in far less dust than the souvenirs (how long had it really been since you passed?) and they all looked brand new.

His tired eyes locked onto one particular item on your desk. He picked up an old and worn journal that he recognized as a gift to him from a journey long passed. A bit confused as to why it was in your room, he slowly opened it, not entirely sure what to expect. As he read the first line of your familiar handwriting, he gasped and cried out.

“I’m in love with the Doctor.”

His entire form began to shake and fresh tears ran from his eyes. You loved him. You had committed the same sin as he had and fallen in love with a creature that you shouldn’t have. He sat himself back down onto the bed and tried to steady his breathing, overjoyed that you had felt the same but devastated that it was never meant to be. God, he knew that he shouldn’t read more, for it was your own personal thoughts that had bled onto the pages, but he simply couldn’t contain himself. Taking a few deep breaths and wiping his eyes, he continued to read your secret thoughts.

The book was filled with memories from your past that you had been too scared to reveal to him. His hearts cracked at everything you had had to suffer through throughout the years prior to arriving on the TARDIS. Why hadn’t you told him? Why did he have to find out through a journal after your life had been snatched from you? The Time Lord soon left behind the writings of your past life and found himself reading of life on the ship and your new form of suffering.

“Damn the Doctor. Why did he have to find me? Why did I have to find him? Why couldn’t we have just not met? I would have continued to live my boring old life, yeah, but I wouldn’t have been doomed to be in love with an impossible man with an impossible machine doing impossible things. I could just be working in a cubical or sitting at a front desk and greeting people each day. Nothing glamorous, but normal. No gorgeous alien to distract me each day and make me want to commit some weird inter-planet bestiality acts.

I don’t understand how I let myself fall in love with this man, but I did, and I regret it each and every moment of my life. I never wanted to open up to anyone ever again, but this stupid man comes in and tries to get me to spill my guts to him. And I really fucking want to. But my past and my problems are nothing compared to his. He’s suffered more than any human has. He’s the last of his kind, doomed to travel the universe alone. Every now and again, a new person shows up and spends a little time with him, but they all leave in the end, he’s said. How does he go day after day knowing this? Knowing that he’s going to live for centuries more and lose everyone that he befriends? He is a strong man, the strongest I’ve ever met.

He told me of Rose, the last person to posses his hearts, and everything that had happened. As he cried and revealed the terrible events, I couldn’t help but feel jealous. It was selfish of me, really, but I wished that he would feel the same level of attachment to me. I could never tell him that, of course. I heard of Martha. He doesn’t need to know that another human is in love with him.

It’s a terrible fate to be in love with the Doctor it seems. I hate that I’m doomed to suffer the same fate. I thought that leaving that old life behind would help me forget, or at least feel more okay with, the pain that everything had caused. What I didn’t expect was to find a new pain with the madman. Maybe one day I’ll tell him so I can stop hiding from it. It’s unlikely, though.”

The Doctor let out a bitter laugh, agreeing with your words. Loving him was a terrible fate, a curse even. Anyone who loves him finds nothing but suffering and, in turn, hurts him. He grit his teeth and let out a crying howl, angry with himself for being so selfish. You thought yourself as selfish for wanting his love, but there was no shame in that. No, he was the selfish one for taking so many away with him and causing them pain, whether he meant to or not. Every companion gets hurt in some way and it was all his fault. He brought pain to so many simply because he didn’t want to be lonely. He deserved to be alone. He wasn’t some savior or messiah, but a monster, a beast that brought destruction everywhere he went.

But yet, you had felt sorry for him. You put his problems over yours, caring for him and loving him even after finding out what he had done to Gallifrey. You comforted him, made him feel as if he was important. You made him feel like he deserved to be happy. But that was who you were. You saw who he was when you were traveling, when you encountered a foe or someone who needed help. You saw how he tried to fix everything, even if it wasn’t possible or if he would get hurt in the process. He was a selfless man, and hearing of his atrocities didn’t change your mind on that. You had risked your life for him time and time again, knowing that he deserved to live and eventually find happiness more than anyone else. You loved him.

The more he read, the more sorrowful he became, but he simply couldn’t stop. He needed to know everything about you. He had longed to know what you had kept hidden away from him, but he had wanted you to tell him on your own accord, finally venting to him each and every little detail about your life. He wanted to hold you and comfort you like you had for him. He wanted you to feel loved and protected. But fate would never allow him that. Instead, he was here in your abandoned room, invading your privacy. He truly was a selfish man.

Soon, he reached the final entries. Knowing that this would be the last of you that he would ever take in, he read through slowly.

“We’re going to visit my hometown today. So many terrible memories have been made there, but I wanted to visit the old place where I used to hide away when things were bad. Maybe that will help me clear my mind a bit. But then again, maybe I’m getting too hopeful. After all, that was where I found the TARDIS. I will never forget seeing that wonderful, blue box, meeting the strange man with the wild hair and overabundance of clothing (seriously, who needs that much outerwear?), and wondering who the hell he was. I never imagined that my life was going to change so suddenly and so dramatically.

The Doctor has truly been kind to me in the time that I’ve been here. He’s always willing to take me anywhere I want to go, excited to see the places I find the most fascinating. I know it’s really him trying to figure out more about me since I won’t open up to him, and I commend him for being creative in his ways. He’s a brilliant man, but not even he can see into my soul. But I want to tell him. It’s starting to become too much for me to bare. I want to finally get everything off my chest and expose my thoughts and feelings to him. I can’t handle it anymore. I have to tell him.

When we get to my special place, the place where we met, I will tell him it all. If it goes badly, which it most likely will, I will be able to stay there on Earth. No need to go back into the TARDIS and say my goodbyes. I can simply walk away and try to continue at home on Earth. But if by some miracle he feels the same and wants me to continue traveling with him, I will continue to do so. I can only hope for the best.”

“It’s been a few hours since the last entry and we haven’t left yet. The Doctor isn’t in the console room and I can’t find him anywhere. I assume that he’s in a room that I can’t find or he’s stepped out for a bit. I took that time alone to examine the console of the TARDIS. This box is truly an impossible machine. She’s a living being and has her own thoughts and emotions. She’s been just as kind as the Doctor, taking me to places that even I didn’t know that I wanted to go to. She seems to see more into my soul than the Doctor. I’ll bet anything that she can read minds.

Haha, as soon as I wrote that, she started to play a song that’s been stuck in my head. I suppose that proves my suspicions. I only hope that she doesn’t tell the Doctor any of my secrets. Though, if it’s been this long already with nothing coming out, I guess I’m safe. I’m hopeful that I won’t have to leave this wonderful place that I’ve learned to call my home. I don’t know how I’m going to survive if I go. I always thought that I’d live out the rest of my life here. I don’t want to go.”

“The TARDIS is continuing to play the song, over and over again. Why is she doing this? Does she want me to do something? I’m a bit lost. I think I’m going to investigate some before we head off. This blasted machine may seem to like me, but she sure makes things tough on me at times. It’s well worth it though. And considering how this very well may be the last time here, I should take in all I can. Please, don’t let this be it.”

The Doctor suddenly heard the soft sound of wind chimes throughout the room, but saw no such things. Instead, he saw an image of a lost soul appear faintly in the room. And then he heard a soft, sad voice began to sing to a soft guitar strum.

“I have to go

I want to say I'm in love with you

And I'm more than the skin of my teeth

I digress

I am a mess, I'm in love with you

I will go without water or sleep

I'm a ghost

I can't say I know that I'm even here

Or is this some eternal test

Hold me close

I'll never know if it's more or less

No reset

I love you, Doctor.”

The song ended as you spoke your most well guarded secret, your voice fading away with the declaration that the Doctor had longed to hear you say. The TARDIS must have played your song over and over until you had given in and sang along. Your eyes were closed in the recording as you slowly danced to the somber tune. It looked as if you were unaware that you were being filmed. The machine had done it as if she knew that something was going to go wrong, that you would never return.

Silent tears ran down the Doctor’s face, his eyes never leaving your form. His ship had given you back to him. She had led him to your book of secrets so he could finally solve your mysteries, so he would know that you returned his feelings. She had recorded your being so he would always have a view of you unbroken, alive, and healthy. She taped your voice so that the Doctor would never forget what you had sounded like. But the most wonderful thing that she had done was catch your lost voice saying out loud that you loved him.

With a broken smile, your Doctor closed the journal and held it tightly to his chest. Looking up at your still image, he whispered out his greatest curse one final time.

“I love you too, my Treasure.”