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winterarmyy · 3 months ago

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Against All Odds | Part II

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 6.4k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, sprinkles of fluff, death, blood, violence, a truck load of angst, heartbreak, and honestly… just raw pain. so, i'd say grab a box of tissue or a shoulder to cry on, just in case.

A/N: i am sorry for what is about to happen in this chapter. but, please know that I love you. and oh, did i mention that release date is based on my local time zone (UTC+08:00)? anyway, I hope you enjoy your time.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N was stirred awake from her dreamless sleep by none other than the restless movements on the shared bed. Blinking her eyes open, the dim light from the moon intruded her sight; her blurry vision glanced across the room, the light casted a pale glow on the surface. On her side, Bucky was tossing and turning; his face contorted in utter distress. His muscular body was taut, sweat glistening on his skin. His breaths came in harsh, uneven gasps, and his hands clutched on the sheets as if he were holding on for dear life.

“Please, no, please,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with desperation. Y/N’s heart ached at the sight of him in such torment. Reaching out, her hands gently touching his arm. His skin was clammy and hot, his muscles twitched under her fingertips. She could feel the frantic pulse under his skin, the erratic rhythm mirroring the chaos in his mind.

“Bucky,” she called softly, her voice laced with concern. “Bucky, wake up.” She sat up and leaned over him. Her hand moving to his sweaty scalp; caressing through his hair, gentle and soothing. “It’s okay, Bucky. You’re okay. Please, open your eyes.”

Bucky’s body jerked as he jolted awake causing his wife to startle at his sudden movement. His eyes wide and unfocused as the salty tears spilled from the corners. His haunted gaze stared into the void, his chest heaving, body shivering. He seemed disoriented, his heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the world around him. Y/N’s voice, however, managed to pierce through the ringing in his ears.

Her words were like a lifeline, a beacon in the darkness of his mind. Each gentle whisper seemed to pull him further from the grip of his nightmare, grounding him back in the reality where he was safe and loved. She repeated his name, each utterance calm and reassuring, hoping to anchor him to the present. “Bucky?”, her tone soft; filled with worry.

He blinked, finally able to see her. “Y/N?” His voice sounded small and broken compared to his large and seemingly powerful build. It was a voice filled with vulnerability, a voice that seemed almost alien coming from someone who is usually so strong. His eyes, typically so steely and determined, were now wide and clouded with fear and confusion; lingered with trails of terror from whatever it was he saw behind his closed eyes.

It pained her to see him like this, reduced to a shadow of the man she knew. The dissonance between his imposing physique and the fragility in his voice was contradicting, making her heart ache for him even more. “Yes, Bucky. It’s me,” she replied gently, her hands delicately traced his clenched fists; drawing meaningless circles around his knuckles.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe she was real; sitting so close for him touch. Her bare skin glistened underneath the moonlight. The soft pink of her cheeks and lips, the bright gleam of her eyes; it made her look ethereal, almost otherworldly. An epitome of warmth and light; she looked so… alive.

Within seconds, without warning, Bucky’s body surged forward, engulfing her in a fierce embrace. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice trembling as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His body shaking with silent sobs. She could feel his breath, hot and ragged against her skin, each exhale filled with a depth of emotion that he rarely displayed.

She held him tightly, her hands running soothingly up and down his back. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here, Bucky.” Her heart ached for him, for the pain that he was obviously carrying alone. Her thoughts raced, wondering what kind of demons were haunting his dreams, what kind of pain he was enduring. She felt a fierce protectiveness grew within her, a desperate need to comfort and shield him from whatever it was that tormented him. Each sob that wracked his body seemed to pierce her own heart, deepening her resolve to be his strength.

Bucky’s body trembled with suppressed sobs, as she continued to stroke his hair, whispering soothing words until his breathing began to steady and his tears slowed. She could feel the tension slowly leaving his body, his muscles relaxing under her touch.

Her whispers were a constant reassurance, a reminder that he was not alone, that she was there. Each stroke of her hand, each soft word, was a promise of her unwavering support and love. She could feel him clinging to her, as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

As Bucky reluctantly pulled away from her arms, she looked up at his broken state; noting the redness in his eyes and nose, the tear stains on his scruffy cheeks, “What’s wrong, my love?” she asked softly, wiping away the remaining tears flowing. Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were filled with determination.

It had been a few months into their marriage, and the seasons had changed since Y/N had first arrived at Bucky’s mansion. The cold, snowy landscape of winter had gradually given way to the bloom of spring, and with it, the promise of new beginnings.

In those early days, Y/N’s feelings for Bucky had been built on a foundation of simple trust. As his wife, she had expected to offer support and loyalty, and in return, she hoped for a stable companionship. Yet, it didn't take long for those initial feelings to deepen into something far more profound.

She had been drawn to his warmth and the vulnerability he rarely showed to others. It was in the quiet moments, when they were alone, that she began to see a different side of him. Far from the heinous rumours people blatantly consume; a side that was not just a fierce protector, but also a man capable of deep affection.

Yet, amidst the beauty of their budding romance, one thing had remained constant: Bucky's nightmares. They were not as frequent as they had been at the start, but they were consistent, recurring often enough to disrupt their otherwise peaceful nights.

Y/N had grown accustomed to waking in the middle of the night to find him thrashing in his sleep, his brow furrowed in anxiety, his breaths sounding fractured, his skin sticky with sweat. However, she had never seen him like this; tears freely fell from his eyes, looking so fragile and broken. It was both heart-wrenching and humbling to witness. She worried about him, about the torment he seemed to carry within him. She longed to understand the source of his pain, to be his support system even for a little bit.

She continued to gently probe him to tell her the truth; to share his darkness only for him to shake his head, tears filling up yet again as he unwilling to put his pain into words. Instead of speaking out, he leaned in and kissed her deeply, his lips conveying a need that went beyond physical desire. His hands caressed her bare skin, tender and fervent, as if seeking solace in her touch. Each kiss was a wordless plea, a desperate attempt to find comfort and reassurance in the only way he knew how. His touch conveyed an urgent need, a gentle exploration that spoke of his love and longing for her. The desperation in his kiss was clearly evident, a tangible manifestation of the torment he was trying to escape.

Y/N responded with equal tenderness, understanding that this moment was about comfort and connection, not lust. She understood that he needed this, and though she longed to know what was haunting him and hoped to share his burden, however, she respected his silence. It was his story to tell after all, so for now she’ll let him hold her. To have their bodies entwined the way he wanted; to let him have the relief he so hopelessly craved for.

Bucky’s love was passionate yet filled with love that she felt tears pricking at her own eyes. She sensed the depth of his emotions; in each thrust into her heat, in every trembling whisper of “i love you”s, every drop of his warmth spilling into her. She could feel the weight of his sorrow, the intensity of his need for her. Her heart swelled with deep affection, her own tears mixing with his as they clung to each other. She wanted to take away his pain, to be his sanctuary in this moment of vulnerability.

Y/N sat in the sunlit parlour, the soft rays of the morning sun casting a golden hue over the elegant room. Her fingers traced the delicate patterns on her teacup, her thoughts drifting as she absently stirred her tea. Across from her, Wanda sipped her tea with a relaxed smile, her demeanour calm and inviting. Despite the serene setting, Y/N’s mind was occupied with the troubling events of the previous night.

Wanda’s eyes, sharp and perceptive, caught the distant look on Y/N’s face. She tilted her head slightly, her tone teasing yet concerned. “What’s on your mind, Y/N? Has Bucky been bullying you again?” The playful tone was intended to lighten the mood, but Y/N’s thoughts were remained dark.

A soft laugh escaped Y/N’s lips, and she shook her head, a genuine smile breaking through her thoughtful expression. “No, far from it. Bucky has always been a sweetheart, you know that.” she replied, her voice warm with fondness as her thoughts wandered back to her husband.

Wanda scoffed softly, “If making you walk weird every morning is not bullying to you, I don’t know what is.” She was quick with her wit of banter. Y/N shook her head as her cheeks glowed with a pinkish shade. Her memories meandered to the time when she had first settled into their new home in the northern region.

The shift from the bustling capital to this colder, more serene landscape had been a significant change, but one she embraced with open arms. It was the beginning of winter, and the snow painted the landscape in a pristine blanket of white. The gentle snowflakes drifted down, and beneath the thin layer of snow, resilient flowers continued to bloom. The contrast was beautiful and invigorating; a sense of peace and tranquillity engulfed her.

She remembered her first days in the sprawling mansion, its grandeur both overwhelming and exhilarating. The staff members, a group of dedicated and welcoming individuals, had eagerly guided her through her new responsibilities as the lady of the mansion. Mrs. Lane, the head maid, had taken special care in introducing Y/N to the intricacies of managing such a vast estate. From the daily routines to the ceremonial duties, Mrs. Lane’s patience and kindness made Y/N’s transition smoother. She recalled the staff’s warm demeanour, their smiles and nods of approval as they showed her the ropes, their hospitality making her feel right at home.

Bucky, too, had been noticeably livelier since she had arrived. The maids, even the knights, frequently mentioned how their lord seemed more cheerful in the days when she was around. Y/N took pride in their acknowledgement, feeling that her presence had brought a positive change to their household fluttered her heart. The compliments and the warmth from those around her were affirmations that she was settling in well and that her husband was happy.

And then there was that one particular evening, as she and Bucky walked through their garden. The sun was setting behind them, the air was crisp, and the snow-covered grounds sparkled in the last remaining light of the winter sun. As they strolled hand in hand, Bucky’s touch was the source of relief against the chill of the season. He led her to a secluded spot under a snow-laden tree, a favourite place of hers that had become a sanctuary for quiet moments. There, he presented her with a small, intricately wrapped box. Its paper adorned with delicate patterns that caught the fading light.

Y/N’s heart fluttered with anticipation as she carefully unwrapped the box. Inside lay a pen, and as soon as her eyes fell upon it, she recognized it instantly. The pen was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, unlike anything she had ever seen. Its barrel was made of a rare, silvery metal that seemed to shimmer with its own light, reflecting a rainbow of hues with each movement. Intricate patterns were etched into the surface, forming an elegant design that was both enchanting and sophisticated. The cap of the pen was adorned with a small, iridescent gemstone that captured and held the light, casting a soft, magical glow.

Her eyes widened in recognition and delight. “Is this…,” she breathed, her voice filled with awe and disbelief. “I.. I never imagined I’d actually own one.”

Her fingers traced the elegant curves of the pen; heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and wonder. The pen was more than just a beautiful object; it was a tool of her craft. Its smooth, balanced design promised an effortless writing experience, and the magical quality of the pen added a touch of enchantment to her translations and writings. It was an instrument that would transform her passion for ancient languages into something even more special. The rare, magical properties of the pen would make her translations come alive, imbuing her work with a subtle, otherworldly grace.

Bucky smiled, his eyes brighten with a blend of affection and a knowing gaze as he recognized the sparkle in her eyes, “I’m glad you like it,” he said, his tone was gentle.

Her curiosity piqued as she asked, “How did you know?”, her voice a mixture of wonder and intrigue. “I never told you about this pen before.” Y/N's mind raced as she tried to recall if she had ever mentioned it in passing or left any clues that Bucky could have picked up on. She couldn't think of a single instance. This pen had been a private dream of hers, a wish she had never shared with anyone.

Bucky’s smile was warm, though his eyes carried a hint of enigmatic depth. He took her hand and wrapped it around his arm. “Maybe I’ve been paying attention,” he said with a hint of playful mystery. “Or maybe I just know you better than you think.”

There was a depth in his eyes, a flicker of something significant that Y/N couldn’t quite place; an intensity that suggested an understanding beyond the ordinary. It was as if somehow he managed to delve into her innermost thoughts and desires, uncovering a secret she had kept even from herself. The pen, though exquisitely beautiful, seemed to hold an unspoken meaning; a connection that went beyond the surface.

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion as she gazed at Bucky, realising just how much he meant to her. His gift was not just a luxury; it was a symbol of their growing intimacy. It was a reminder that Bucky had been attentive; that he had taken the time to understand and appreciate her in ways she had never imagined. Their relationship had started with hesitancy and uncertainty, a tentative dance around each other’s flaws and reputation. Now over time, he had become her rock, her constant companion, and the person she loved more deeply than she ever thought possible.

As her focus returned to the present, Wanda’s voice cut through Y/N’s reflections. “Then what’s bothering you?” Wanda asked, her tone shifting to a more serious note.

Y/N's thoughts then drifted to the moment she met Wanda.

It had been an unexpected yet delightful encounter, filled with a sense of destiny. Wanda was a powerful witch from the magic tower, renowned for her skills and wisdom. Despite her young age, she was considered a prodigy, the youngest ever to hold such a prestigious position.

She had met Wanda through Bucky, and their bond had been immediate. Both women shared a deep fascination with ancient languages, and their mutual interest had led to a close friendship. They spent countless hours together, deciphering old grimoires and delving into the intricacies of forgotten tongues.

Though they had only recently come together, Y/N felt an odd sense of familiarity with Wanda, as if their connection had roots extending beyond the present. It was a rare and cherished connection for Y/N, one that made her feel even more at home in her new life.

“Y/N,” Wanda said, her voice firmer this time, “Snap out of it. I’m serious. What’s troubling you?”

She set her teacup down, her expression growing solemn. “Bucky has been having nightmares,” she began, her voice tinged with worry. She recounted the restless nights, the desperation in Bucky’s voice, and how he had clung to her, unable to let go.

Wanda listened intently, her silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. there was sense that she knew more than she was letting on, but Wanda’s demeanour remained calm and collected. “Maybe it’s just the memories from the war taking their toll,” Wanda suggested softly, though her eyes harbouring a deeper understanding.

Y/N’s heart ached at the thought. Maybe it was; maybe it was just the souls he had slain coming back to haunt him; but something in her guts says otherwise. She could sense that this wasn’t just a recurrence of old wounds. Because sometimes, when Bucky awoke from these terrors, she could hear him muttering her name, his voice barely above a whisper; laced with despair. And then it always ended up with Bucky burying his cock deep inside her as he held her close for the rest of the night, clinging to her as if she were his anchor in a storm.

She continued to explain things that did not add up to Wanda’s theory, “And each time these nightmares haunt him, he ends up…” she hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “...ho-holding me for the rest of the night; refusing to let me go,” she explained, her voice threaded with genuine frustration and concern. It was as though his need to hold her was an instinctive response to stave off the terror that plagued his dreams.

Wanda’s eyes twinkled with a hint of playful exasperation. “Oh so you’re bragging to me now? That your husband loves you so much he won’t let you leave the bed?” Her comment, though seemingly light-hearted, carried an undercurrent of truth. In hindsight, it simply might have sounded like jealousy from an unmarried woman but especially to Y/N, who failed to see Wanda’s words as more than just playful teasing , the hidden meaning went unnoticed.

Her cheeks tingled with a deep blush; her laugh was a sound of an underlying embarrassment. “No, it’s not like that!” she protested flusteredly.

Wanda’s laughter was light and carefree, hiding the subtle shift in the atmosphere. “Well, it certainly sounds like it. But seriously, if Bucky’s having nightmares, it’s probably remnant of what he had gone through in the wars he fought. Men like him carry those scars deeply,” Wanda said, her voice softening with a note of empathy.

As they continued to enjoy their tea, Y/N tried to shake off the lingering unease. Wanda’s teasing and their shared laughter provided a temporary respite from her worries. But as she looked at her friend, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky’s nightmares than the memories of the war. For now, though, she let Wanda’s playful banter and their camaraderie soothe her, even if only for a little while.

Bucky stood in the dimly lit room, the soft hum of a nearby lamp casting long shadows against the walls. The air was thick as the cold of the night mingled with the lack of warmth in his eyes. On a heavy wooden table in front of him lay a collection of weapons, each one meticulously arranged in a precise order. The blades, all different in shape and size, gleamed menacingly in the dull light, their sharp edges catching the faint glint of the lamp’s glow.

Carefully inspecting the weapons in front of him, his fingers running over the smooth steel with a precision that bordered on obsession. He picked up a particularly long and slender dagger. And as he turned the blade in his hand, the metal caught the light and cast a cold, eerie reflection of his face. It was a haunting image; his eyes, usually a clear, expressive blue, were now shadowed and distant, their depths hollow and impenetrable. There was a deadness to them that spoke of countless battles fought and horrors witnessed. His face was a mask of stoicism, but beneath the surface, there was a storm raging, a maelstrom of past regrets and unresolved anger.

Bucky’s grip around the handle was tight, his knuckles white with the intensity of his hold. The veins in his hands stood out prominently, a stark contrast to the smooth, polished steel of the weapon. Each knife was a reminder of the skills he had honed, the battles he had fought, and the assassinations he had carried out.

He moved to another knife, a small throwing blade with a wickedly sharp edge, he tested its balance with a practised flick of his wrist. The blade spun through the air with a deadly precision before landing with a soft thud into a luxurious painting hung against the wall. His eyes followed its path, and for a moment, a flicker of anger flashed across his face.

Wanda observed him with a mix of respect and concern. The light-hearted air that usually surrounded her had vanished, replaced by a more sombre and serious demeanour. She approached quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound on the floor. As she neared, her voice broke the oppressive silence. “Everything’s ready for the mission,” she said, her tone was devoid of the usual playfulness. Her words were carefully measured and the gravity of the situation reflected in her gaze.

Suddenly, a figure materialised from the shadows, revealing itself with a slight shimmer. Wanda had been there all along, invisible, her presence unnoticed until now. She stepped into view with a wry smile as she glanced at the knife that had embedded itself dangerously close to her. “Whoa, didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that,” she said, her tone a mix of surprise and light-heartedness.

The room was silent for a while, only the faint sounds of Bucky’s movements carried through. He was deeply engrossed in his fortitude, his concentration absolute, a far stretch to the gentle, affectionate man he was whenever Y/N's near. In this moment, Bucky was a figure of intense focus and grim determination. His silence was punctuated only by the clatter of knives and the soft hiss of steel slicing through the air as he continued to hone his weapons.

Bucky didn’t look up, his hands moving with grace as he continued to arrange his arsenal. “I’m almost finished,” he replied tersely, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. His focus was unwavering, his mind wholly consumed by the mission that lay ahead. The weight of his resolve was palpable, filling the room with an air of silenced tension.

Wanda’s expression softened slightly as she watched him. She understood the depth of his commitment and the toll it took on him. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know?,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a note of gentle concern.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, suddenly remembering the brutal betrayal that had led him to this predicament in the first place. The memory of the past; that fateful decision and the ancient magic that brought him back to this very moment, surged through his mind.

The night was alive with chaos as Bucky rode with frantic urgency, the pounding of hooves on the snow-covered ground mingling with the roar of a storm that mirrored the tempest in his heart. His breath came in sharp, visible gasps as he urged his horse to greater speeds, each beat of its powerful legs seeming to push him closer to the nightmare he feared. The familiar landscape of his northern estate was barely visible through the blizzard, the swirling snowflakes obscuring his vision and adding to the mounting dread.

His mind raced, his thoughts a blur of fear and desperation. “No, please, no,” he muttered under his breath, the words a futile plea against the encroaching darkness. The relentless clamour of battle reached his ears, a discordant symphony of clashing steel and anguished cries that only heightened his anxiety.

As he neared the mansion, the sight that greeted him was one of utter devastation. Smoke billowed from the once-pristine home, and the sounds of combat grew louder, more intense. Bucky's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of the urgency to reach his wife. He dismounted quickly, his boots sinking into the snow as he sprinted toward the entrance.

The once-beautiful halls of the mansion were now a scene of utter carnage. The rich tapestries were torn, their vibrant colours now marred by bloodstains. Bodies of servants and knights alike, lay scattered, their lives snuffed out like candles in the winter wind. The floor was slick with a dark, ominous red, and the walls bore the marks of a brutal struggle. Bucky’s gaze was steely, his rage a palpable force that seemed to drive him forward, each step a grim determination to find his wife.

His hands tightened around the hilts of his weapons, the familiar weight of his knives and sword was a small comfort in the midst of the chaos. With each enemy he encountered, his movements were swift and lethal, the precision of his attacks was such a visible difference to the disarray around him. The flashes of steel and the sharp cries of the dying filled the air, but Bucky’s focus was singular. He barely registered the battle around him, his mind a relentless drive toward that one singular goal: Y/N.

Finally, he reached the door to their private quarters. It was ajar, hanging precariously on its hinges. Bucky pushed it open with a forceful shove, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that met him. The room was eerily silent, save for the soft, steady sound of the cold wind outside. His eyes swept the room, a chilling realisation dawning as he took in the scene.

There, amidst the wreckage, lay Y/N, her once-beautiful form now crumpled on the floor. Her delicate back was marred by a series of gaping wounds, the result of a brutal assault. The sight of her lifeless body, curled protectively on the bloody floor, sent a jolt of horror through Bucky. Tears sprang to his eyes, blurring his vision as he stumbled forward, each step heavy with dread and despair.

As he drew closer, the true extent of the tragedy revealed itself. Y/N’s arms were wrapped tightly around something; a small, fragile bundle. His heart clenched painfully as he realised what it was. With trembling hands, he gently pried the baby from her cold embrace, his fingers barely able to grasp the tiny form. The baby was motionless, the silence of its little body a crushing blow to his already shattered soul.

“No, no, no,” Bucky’s voice was a desperate whisper, choked with indescribable grief. He cradled Y/N against his chest, his tears falling freely now as he held the lifeless bodies of both her and their child. His sobs were raw, guttural, the sound of a man who had lost everything. The weight of their deaths was unbearable, a suffocating agony that seemed to crush his very spirit.

As he held her, a torrent of emotions surge through him: anguish, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. His world had come crashing down, and the weight of his misery was almost unbearable, his tears fell from the blue of his eyes, “Please, please.” His breaths came in shaky, tortured gasps, as his quivering hands cupped her pale cheeks, “Open your eyes, my dear. I beg of you.” Her closed eyes remained stubbornly shut, unaffected to his hopeless pleas. The stillness of her form was a cruel reminder of those tender mornings when she would pretend to sleep just a little longer, feigning ignorance to his gentle kisses as he tried to rouse her

His hands moved to caress his child, the tiny body so still and unresponsive. The weight of his grief rendered him speechless, unable to utter a single word through the crushing pain. The absence of the high-pitched chortles and shrieks, the silence that echoed back at him, was a devastating reality to the lively sounds he had grown accustomed to. The baby, who had always responded to his touch with joy and curiosity, now lay motionless.

His heart shattered with the brutal realisation that this was not merely the loss of his beloved wife but also the crushing end to the life of their child. The sight of Y/N’s bloodied form and the lifelessness of their child were etched into his mind, a haunting image that would never fade.

Bucky’s and Y/N’s relationship had not started with ease. In their first lives, the beginning of their marriage was awkward; Bucky’s rough edges clashing with her gentle spirit. He had not known how to be tender, how to navigate the complexities of human emotion. Months were the time that Y/N's eyes would look up at him with evident fear and Bucky’s cold exterior unable to convey his true feelings.

But his wife, his dearest, with her unwavering patience and kindness, had been a constant light in his life. She had shown him what it meant to be human, to be gentle and caring. Despite his monstrous past, she had embraced him with an acceptance that was both humbling and transformative.

Their early days together were marked by a series of stumbles and missteps. Bucky’s attempts at intimacy often fell short, his rough touch and brusque mannerisms was the polar opposite to Y/N’s softness. Yet, her constant presence was a soothing wave to his soul. Over time, their awkward interactions gave way to a profound connection. Her warmth and understanding had nurtured a deep-rooted trust between them.

Bucky had fallen in love with her in a way that he had never thought possible, his heart swelling with a happiness that was both new and overwhelming.

And when the news of her pregnancy travels to his ears, Bucky’s joy had been boundless. He vowed to protect them both with everything he had, to shield them from harm and create a future filled with love and security. The dream of their family, of a life together with their child, was a beacon of hope amidst the shadows of Bucky’s past.

As the arrival of his firstborn got closer and closer, Bucky was determined to embrace this new chapter and leave the violence behind; so he approached the Emperor with a request to retire. He sought the reward for his years of service; an end to the wars and a chance to build a peaceful life with his family. But the Emperor, a man consumed by greed and a desire to retain his most powerful weapon, refused his request outright.

Bucky, fueled by the righteous fury of a man protecting his family’s future, resorted to threats. The Winter Soldier’s formidable reputation, sharpened by years of brutal efficiency, made the Emperor cower in fear. Terrified of his own creation, the Emperor reluctantly agreed to grant Bucky his only wish; but only under the condition that he would win one last war for him.

Bucky, driven by his desire to secure a safe future for Y/N and their child, agreed to the terms.

As the cruel fate had written, the Emperor’s promise was a deceitful trap.

While Bucky was away fighting the final battle, the Emperor’s true intentions were revealed. Viewing Y/N and their newborn child as distractions; potential threats to his plans and Bucky’s dedication. So he sought out to send his troops to Bucky’s estate. Their mission was clear: remove the ‘distraction,’ the family that Bucky had sworn to protect. The Emperor’s greed and paranoia had led him to a treacherous betrayal.

Now, that dream of a peaceful future with Y/N and their child lay shattered before him, replaced by the devastating reality of their deaths. The promise of safety and love was obliterated by the cruel hand of betrayal, leaving Bucky with nothing but the hollow weight of his ruined dreams.

In a heart-wrenching moment, Wanda appeared out of thin air, collapsing to the floor, her own form battered and bloodied. She had fought valiantly, protesting against the Master of the magic tower who had conspired with the Emperor. The same Master who had helped remove the magical protection Wanda had placed around Y/N and the baby, a gift she had bestowed as a token of becoming the child's godmother.

The battle had taken its toll on her, yet the sight of Y/N’s and the baby’s unnatural stillness pained her more than any wound maiming her own body. In her dying breath, Wanda dragged herself toward Y/N, who lay silently in her husband’s arms. Her eyes filled with sorrowful determination as he gripped Bucky’s collar, “Are you willing to do anything to save her?”

Bucky was a man lost in a sea of agony, drowning in raw sorrow and overwhelming despair. His world had crumbled around him, leaving him numb and detached from reality. He could scarcely comprehend the magnitude of his loss, the emptiness that now consumed his heart. His vision blurred with tears, he could barely focus on Wanda’s words, the weight of his devastation pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

Wanda’s grip tightened, her eyes pleading as she uttered, “Dammit Bucky, answer me! Will you?!”

Bucky’s gaze fell on the soulless forms of his beloved wife and child in his arms. He imagined the light of their eyes shining once more, the sound of their voices filling the silence that had taken over. As he envisioned the warmth and laughter that had once been a part of his life, a wave of fierce determination washed over him. His eyes burned with a fierceness, a resolve that was born of immense grief and love. He nodded with resolute certainty, his jaw set in grim determination.

Wanda smirked triumphly; there was a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes as if she knew what the future held for them. “Now go and kill that fucking bastard,” she commanded, her voice strained but resolute.

The world around Bucky seemed to warp and dissolve as her magical chants echoed in his mind; the room, the blood, and the bodies fading away. Just before everything vanished, Bucky leaned down to place a kiss on Erica's lips and the baby's cheek, a silent vow to return and save them. Tears fell from his eyes, mingling with the blood on their skin. He whispered, "I promise, I'll come back for you."

It was as if the world was turned upside down as he was pulled backward through time. The blizzard outside was replaced by the heat of a summer battlefield, the familiar chaos of combat giving way to the eerie silence of a different kind of conflict.

Bucky’s breath came in ragged gasps as he surveyed the new surroundings, the scent of human flesh burning and the sounds of distant artillery woke him to a reality he thought he would never see again. His heart still raced, the pain of his loss a constant weight in his chest.

The memories of Y/N’s cold body and their child’s stillness haunted him, more than the bodies of corpses piling in front of him. The remnants of that heart-wrenching image was fresh in his mind. His gaze hardened as he realised where he was; he was no longer in the wreckage of his home but back in the midst of a war he once fought long before. In fact, exactly a few months until he is to be wed to Y/N.

As he took in his surroundings, Bucky felt a chilling sense of déjà vu, a haunting awareness that he was being thrust back into a time when the stakes were high and lives hung in the balance. The agony of losing his wife and their child was now a burning ember in his heart, driving him forward with a renewed sense of purpose and a determination to change the course of fate. And this time his mission was not to win the war but to put an end to the emperor's life.

“No. I have to do this alone.” His determination was a wall of resoluteness.

Wanda felt a deep ache in her heart for the burden he carried. She knew that the weight of his mission and the pain of his loss were almost unbearable. She thought about the fact that all of this might not even happened if not for Y/N’s discovery in their first lives.

After translating one of Wanda’s old grimoires; Y/N discovered an ancient forbidden magic where the ability of manipulating time is not a myth but actually a reality. Though she had been sceptical of its possibilities, Wanda on the other hand was convinced.

Since then, Wanda had been experimenting with time, first testing it on objects. Shredded paper reconstructed back to its original shape, and slowly she cast it on a wilted flower, bringing it back to when it bloomed. In time, Wanda learned the possibility of the magic to turn back time for more than just small things, but only at a price.

Dabbling with the magic to such an extent would mean to lose the most important trait of a person, something deeply tied to their identity or purpose. For each individual, this trait was different, and the magic demanded a unique sacrifice based on what they valued most. That was why Wanda had asked Bucky if he was willing to do anything to save Y/N.

Agreeing to it, Bucky would have to sacrifice his sight. His vision was essential not only for his prowess in battle but also for the simple yet immense joy of seeing his loved ones; Y/N and their child.

Losing his sight meant relinquishing his ability to protect them with the sharp precision he had always relied on. No longer would he be able to look into their eyes and see the warmth that sparked his every day. He would miss the simple joy of seeing his wife's pink cheeks flushed when he kisses her or the radiant beauty of her smile lighting up a room.

He wouldn’t be able to watch his child’s milestones; first steps, the way they would grow and change over time. He’d miss the subtle shifts in their expressions, the silent conversations shared through glances, and the small, fleeting moments that paint a vivid picture of their development.

That was the sacrifice he needed to make to save them.

Wanda had explained that the loss of his sight would occur gradually over time, not instantaneously. She reassured him that she would find a way to prevent it or at least mitigate its impact.

Bucky stayed quiet, contemplating the gravity of his decision, the weight of his sacrifice pressing heavily on his mind. “We can worry about that later.”

Then he diverted the conversation, “What did you say that time? Oh, ‘Go and kill that fucking bastard’?” A wicked smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

Wanda’s eyes flashed with unwavering determination. “And I meant every single word.”

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Part III >>

A/N: yes, i have been reliving this pain in my head ever since i posted that blurb earlier this year :) also, i tried really hard to hide the time-travel aspect until we reach bucky's flashback. i really hope it was conveyed well for you guys to understand what happened. anyways, please leave me the crumbs of your thoughts on this chapter for me to read. thank you so much! i'll see you in a few days.

#bucky barnes au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #bucky smut #bucky angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #medieval!bucky #winter soldier!bucky #duke!bucky #grumpy!bucky #soft!bucky

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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

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You can choose to ignore this or take as long as you want but if it's ok to get a Sebastian x gyaru reader ??

When they meet the other expendables, they get made fun of if their make up and how they dres so Sebastian defends them

Tags: Bullying, comfort

Words: 1k

Sebastian Solace was an enigma to everyone in the facility. His appearance alone made people wary of him, and his aloof demeanor kept them at a distance, if it wasn't for one of the usual business deals. But that suited Sebastian just fine. He wasn’t there to make friends, he was here to escape and get some of the sweet revenge he thirsted at.

Similar to him, you were hard to miss in this, even in this grim place. With your flashy gyaru style, bright hair, and the constant click of your heeled boots against the facility’s cold, metal floors, you stood out like a burst of color in a black-and-white world. Your makeup was always meticulously done—long lashes, glittering eyeshadow, and a shiny lip gloss that seemed to defy the harsh environment of the facility. To Sebastian, you were a light in this godforsaken place. But not everyone saw it that way.

The first time Sebastian saw you, you were huddled in a corner, your usual confident demeanor shattered as a group of your so-called teammates stood around, jeering at you. They mocked your style, your voice, your makeup—everything that made you uniquely you. He could see the pain in your eyes, even through the layers of mascara and eyeliner.

He had watched from the shadows then, his tail flicking back and forth with barely contained fury. He didn’t intervene that time, telling himself that he couldn’t fight all your battles for you. But every time he saw you, his resolve weakened. Especially when you smiled at him in the hallway, as if you hadn’t been reduced to tears just moments before. That was when he decided enough was enough.

Today, Sebastian found himself watching you again, only this time, he was ready to step in. The facility was unusually quiet, the low hum of machinery the only sound echoing through the halls. But as he turned a corner, he heard it—the familiar sound of laughter. Not your laughter, which was bright and infectious, but the cruel, taunting laughter of your teammates.

“You think those heels make you look tough?” one of them sneered, a tall man with a shaved head and a smirk that made Sebastian’s skin crawl. “You look like a clown.”

“Yeah, a freakin’ clown!” echoed another, a woman with a sharp bob and an even sharper tongue.

You stood in the middle of them, clutching your arm and staring at the ground, your usual confident expression replaced with one of quiet defeat as you silently cursed those people in your mind.

Sebastian’s tail flicked behind him, his three blue eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. That was it. He had seen enough.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice echoing through the hallway like a low growl.

The bullies turned, their smirks faltering as they saw him. Sebastian was an intimidating figure, with his tall, muscular frame and his third arm hanging loosely at his side. His three eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, all of them focused on the group of bullies.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” he continued, stepping closer. His tail swished behind him like a whip, ready to strike.

The tall man with the shaved head sneered. “This ain’t your business, Solace. Why don’t you crawl back into whatever hole you came out of?”

Sebastian didn’t reply. Instead, he moved with lightning speed, his tail snapping out and wrapping around the man’s ankle. With a quick yank, he pulled the man off his feet, sending him crashing to the floor.

The other bullies backed away, eyes wide with fear.

“You… you freak!” the woman with the sharp bob stammered, taking a step back.

Sebastian’s third arm flexed, his other two hands balling into fists. “Say that again,” he dared, his voice low and threatening.

They didn’t. Instead, they turned and ran, the sound of their footsteps echoing down the hallway.

As they fled, Sebastian turned his attention to you. You were still standing there, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. He softened his expression, the anger in his eyes fading away.

“Hey,” he said gently, his tail retracting and wrapping loosely around his waist. “You okay?”

You nodded, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to salvage your makeup. “Yeah… thanks,” you muttered, your voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Sebastian shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe not, but I wanted to.”

You blinked up at him, your bright eyes searching his face. “Why?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Because… I don’t like seeing people get hurt. Especially not you.”

A small, genuine smile broke across your face, and for a moment, the pain and sadness seemed to lift. “You’re not so scary after all, are you?” you teased, your usual sass returning.

Sebastian chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. “I guess not. But don’t tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation to maintain.”

You laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Your secret’s safe with me,” you promised, stepping closer to him.

He reached out with his third arm and gently wiped away a tear that had smeared your eyeliner. “They don’t know what they’re talking about,” he said softly. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and you looked away, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Sebastian.”

He nodded, his three eyes softening as they looked at you. “Anytime. And if they bother you again…”

“They won’t,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “Not with you around.”

He smiled at that, his tail flicking behind him in quiet contentment. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude and something else—something warmer, something that made your cheeks flush and your stomach do little flips.

“Neither am I,” you replied softly.

And for the first time in a long time, in the middle of this dark and dangerous facility, you felt safe. You felt like you had a friend—maybe even something more. And as you walked down the hallway together, side by side, you knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #pressure

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lizzy019 · 4 months ago

Text

𝒢𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁.

Darrel Curtis x Bratty!Fem!Reader

cw -> arguing, slapping (both sexually and out of anger⚠️), blowjob, squ¡rt¡ng, dirty talk

Word Count -> 1.8K

I could be this man’s brat 😔

You had a strong tendency to speak what was on your mind, whether it be inappropriate, rude, or incredibly stupid. You didn’t have a filter, you didn’t see the need to lie or say things just for the sake of people’s happiness.

However, Darry Curtis was the one who was slowly trying to train you out of that habit. He liked it, no doubt about it, your stubborn attitude was always a pleasant thing to deal with. But.. not when you so rudely told Ponyboy, his younger brother whom he loved so dearly, that his work was bad and he had to redo it.

“You shut the hell up! That’s my little brother, you can’t tell him shit! You’re my girlfriend, not his mother and sure as hell not mine!” He vociferated directly at you, eyes livid.

You couldn’t help but feel disrespected and estranged in your own relationship, but your snobby ego didn’t waver as you spit back something else to rebuttal his words.

“Did you read his work? I’m giving him advice, don’t you want him coming home with an A? Darry, I’m trying to help!” You shrieked just as loud as he did, if not louder.

Thwarted attempts at standing up for himself and his younger brother were causing him to get more internally disrupted than ever before. How could you say such nonsense as if it were so normal?

So out of anger, a hand was raised and forcefully mashed across your face to create an audible “slap” sound. The action had you covering your cheek and looking at him with bewilderment.

Darry slapped you!

Tears began to well up in your eyes, the brattiness you once clung to fading for a moment to let the pain on your face and in your heart begin to take over everything like autopilot to a vehicle in a tough situation.

This had poor Darry conflicted, as he did it instinctively but he also felt you deserved it. Should he console you? Apologize? He was frozen as he watched you scurry off into the kitchen to find a cold compress to reduce the redness and the sting.

Finding a small frozen compress, you gently pressed it to your cheek, trying to find a towel to block the direct contact so your skin wouldn’t freeze instead of your intention of cooling the burning area.

The light tingles had your nerves reacting instantly, soaking up the lovely coolness and easing the pain for the time being as Darry walked in with a pitiful expression of guilt and remorse.

“Sweetie, you know I didn’t mean it. Surely it can’t be that bad, lemme see.” He hummed thoughtfully, tenderly grasping your wrist in his hand and pulling it away from your face to see the red spot and where it had formed.

Darry’s expression grew somber, and he pressed the softest kiss he possibly could to it in hopes of not kissing the physical injury, but to soothe the ache of his previous words and accidental violence.

“Oh sweetie, ‘m sorry. You know that wasn’t on purpose, I was just mad.” He sighed, kicking himself internally for ever being so cruel to you.

His apology was sweet, so you found yourself curling up into his arms and hugging him ever so gently to apologize as well. Your brattiness and ego didn’t let you vocalize it, but you were sorry as well for being a little too rude.

Darry’s lovely, muscular arms kept you encased to his chest, his chin finding comfort in resting upon your head as the hug lasted for a few moments. The soft and tender moment was enough to have you both forgetting the previous argument.

One moment led to the next, Darry had you pinned to the interior side of his door in his bedroom as he mercilessly pushed harsh, open mouthed kisses to your precious pink lips.

Your sweet little moans were only fuelling this carnal desire of his, this desire to force you into submission and to have you in totality was clawing at him from the inside. He had to have you.

Darry’s calloused hands ran up and down your waist from underneath your shirt, the roughened skin of his hands from roofing causing you to give the softest smile from the ticklish sensation. All while his mouth began kissing down your jaw, to your neck’s muscles, and down your collarbone to reach the hem of your shirt.

It was a simple way of suggesting to get your shirt off so he could continue, a playful coaxing technique to get you to listen to him without thinking twice.

Luckily for him, you complied without much thought.

Your shirt came off, the fabric being discarded and designated as a problem to deal with later as your hands traveled back up to hold his lovely, strong shoulders.

Darry took it from there, unclipping your pretty lacey gray bra and chucking it aside to cup your supple breasts in his hands. The pads of his thumbs came in contact with your nipples, running over them so softly to elicit a soft whine from your throat.

The buds hardening at his touch, he attached his mouth to one of them and lightly suckled them, causing a much harder reaction as your hand came up to tug at his hair. The pain didn’t affect him, he was too busy engulfing himself in your smell and indulging in his dirty little fantasies.

It was silly watching you go from a stubborn bratty girl shunned by society, to a proper and prim girl who was desperate for the pleasure this man could provide for you.

You whined in displeasure when Darry pulled away from you, a palm of his rubbing the now obvious bulge in his pants. His lustful gaze was enough to tell you what his next instructions would be.

Knees folded and legs on the cold floor, you gently began unbuttoning his pants’ button and unzipped the zipper, gently wriggling down his boxer briefs to let his erection spring free and into the cool breeze of his own bedroom.

A smirk landed on his lips when you gently pressed a kiss to his leaky tip, the precum he was oozing was enough to act as lube to make your strokes on his hardened length more smooth and evenly paced.

Your mouth attached itself to his cock, beginning to suck just the head as your hand stroked the rest of his length. It had soft moans escaping his throat, resonating deep within his chest as his hand came to push your head down a bit further to meet the thick middle of his shaft.

A spit ring formed where your mouth could take his length, and you could feel yourself gagging every time he tried to hit the back of your throat with his cock. Slowly, you felt yourself getting a bit dizzy from the whole interaction.

“Yes, sweetheart, look at that. Y’feel it? The way my dick’s fuckin’ hitting the back of your throat? Awh, you’re such a good girl.” He panted out, huffing at your sloppy licks and kisses.

Darry pulled out of your mouth with a sigh, gesturing you up to the mattress so he could have you in a more pleasant manner. So you complied like the good girl you were, laid on your back on the mattress for him so prettily.

He followed suit, watching you lay so perfectly for him. It had his heart doing flips.

With gentle fingers, he gently spread your labia apart to gaze earnestly at your quivering, wet cunt. This alone had you a tad embarrassed, but your ego let the embarrassment wash away as you lightly pushed your hips into his hand.

Darry grunted with dissatisfaction, slapping the soft skin above your pussy in an attempt to get you to deter your bratty wishes.

You whined at the slap, a hand coming to cover the stinging and a small frown crossing your pretty pink lips. This had him regretting his reasoning for doing so, but he pushed that thought aside. You deserved it for having no patience.

“You shut the hell up, y’hear? One complaint comin’ from your mouth and I’ll stop everythin’.” Darry snarled, pressing his erection to your core and smirking.

So with a swift jut of his hips, he plunged himself deep into your lovely core and found himself beginning to get dizzy from the buildup of pleasure. But he didn’t stop, he couldn’t! Not when you felt so good and were making such pretty little sounds.

Regardless, you found yourself fighting the urge to push him around, tell him to manhandle you and force you to take his hard cock like the little bratty bitch you were, but he said he’d stop if you did so.

With a soft moan, your hands clutched his shoulders, leaving little crescent shapes underneath them as your hips began to push against his in an attempt to get more pleasure. You wanted hard sex, not this gentle, leisurely kind.

Darry could tell by your movements that you were growing needy, so what did he do? He slowed down instantly, resorting to agonizingly slow thrusts to get you annoyed and even more desperate for him.

“Nuh-uh, no complaining, hm? You either take it or you don’t, simple as that, sweetie.” He hummed out, watching your pout increase with dissatisfaction.

It was cute, tantalizing you like this.

You whined out in discontent, but the lovely tingles in your sweet cunny had begun to betray you as your body spasmed helplessly in joyous pleasure.

“Darry! I’ve been good, please!” You moaned out, hands seizing his strong biceps, begging for a release that only he could provide you with.

This had him smirking almost evilly, Darry was thrilled that you were finally behaving like a proper girl should, not some needy brat. So his pace quickened up, a hand of his scooping the underside of your thigh for leverage as he rammed himself into your leaky pussy.

Moans tumbled from your throat, hands grasping for the sheets and his shoulders, not knowing where would provide more purchase to ease the high climbing of your ecstasy. But of course, he took this as a sign to quicken his pace just enough to have you clenching his cock like a vice and letting out your pretty arousal fluid.

It squirted along his lower abdomen and soaked the sheets beneath you both, and soon enough, Darry found himself nutting in your welcoming womb without hesitation.

A few silent moments passed, Darry huffing out and dizzily crashing his weight against your own.

“See? It’s not that hard to.. to be good, is it?” He panted, smiling lazily up at you as you chuckled a bit to yourself.

“I guess not. But you like when I’m a brat, no?” You asked with the most innocent smile you could give. Which.. wasn’t all that innocent, but he appreciated the effort.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Go to sleep, I have work tomorrow.” He hummed, kissing your cheek and closing his eyes.

#the outsiders smut #x reader #smut #darrel curtis x reader #darry curtis x reader #darry curtis

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xxsabitoxx · 1 year ago

Text

Recoil

Haganezuka x AFAB Reader

Warnings: unprotected, rough sex. Reader is said to have stretch marks on her thighs. Not really a warning but I’m not sure where else to add it in here lol

Word count: 845

You couldn’t recall how you had even ended up in this position in the first place. Your face pressed into the sheets of someone else’s bed, fingers tangled in them as you tried to keep yourself grounded. Your knees were beginning to hurt at this point, your body arched painfully as dull nails dug into your thigh. “Hagan–Hanganezuka-san… please.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears. Haganezuka hadn’t answered you once since entering you. His hips were relentless, pounding into you steadily, with so much focus on something you couldn’t see. Haganezuke heard you, of course he did, but your desperate pleas were none of his concern. No, he was focused on something else entirely and wouldn’t stop until he had his fill.

Your body. Utterly entrancing and oh so addictive. Your skin. Soft, littered with stretch marks, ones he wanted to spend time tracing. Your thighs, your ass. Those two things in particular had him in a chokehold. Everytime his hips were buried deep, your body would jiggle in response. The simple recoil of your plump skin had Haganezuka completely and utterly entranced.

Dull nails were digging into your hips, keeping your ass up, back arched, and cunt at easy access. You couldn’t escape his grasp if you tried, the amount of times you had cum had reduced your limbs to jelly anyways. “Fuck… please Haganezuka-san… I can’t fucking take it…” his grip tightned at that, muttering a soft “Yes you can.” the only thing he had said to you since getting you in his bed, it was nearly exhilarating.

Haganezuka drew his hips back, adjusting his position behind you by putting one knee up while the other remained on the bed. With his foot offering more support, he seemed to pound into you even harsher, earning a new wave of wails from you. Your thighs trembled as you came again, release dripping down your thighs and onto the bedding below you. “Fuck…we’re making a mess…Haganezuka please…” he still didn’t answer, brows furrowed as sweat dripped down his temple. He couldn’t if he tried.

He’s leaning back, giving himself a better view of where his cock disappears and reappears with each thrust. Giving himself a better view of the way your ass and thighs shake and jiggle with each and every thrust. You were begging to bred, fucked full of his cum. “A-Answer me dammit! Cmon Haganezuka-san…” you nearly fell flat, his hands being the only thing keeping you up. “Keep taking it…” was all he said, sweat dripping from his face, sliding down his chest.

You wouldn’t mind this if you could at least see his face. You had barely gotten the time to admire and appreciate his body before he was flipping you onto your back and fucking you senseless. It was clear to you that he was zoned in, as focused as he was when crafting a sword. It sends shrills of arousal through your body, excited to know he was giving you this much attention. “It’s too much… Haganezuka-san… I’m too sensitive…” You’re tilting your head back to look at him.

“You can take it…” his tone is final, hips still pistoning into you. His stamina must be through the roof, how he hasn’t come yet you aren’t sure. From the limited view you have with your head tilted, you can feel your body reacting to the way he looks. Long black hair was hanging around his face, absurdly toned body tense, flexing even as he fucks into you. “I-I really can’t…” you wail softly, body confused with a mix of pleasure and pain. “But you look so…good.” he grounds out.

His focus is breaking, maybe he’s finally close to coming. “Haganezuka…please.” you plead again for something you aren’t even sure of. You just want to feel him, his body against yours, properly. You want to run your fingers through his hair and spend the rest of the night in his muscular embrace. Yet, he’s too determined to fill you. “Almost…almost.” he’s talking more to himself than you, eyes glued to the way your skin is bouncing with each smack.

Before you can utter another word, he’s tensing again, hips pressing into you one last time as he fills you with his release. You’re frozen, mildly shocked he didn’t pull out of you, mind foggy as he gingerly lets your hips go. You’re shaking with the effort to keep yourself upwards, pulling your hips away before he can do it himself. “Haganezuka….” you’re collapsing in a heap, watching as he moves to lay beside you. He’s silent for a moment longer before speaking.

“I…I should apologize…are you alright?” he’s wiping his forehead of sweat, chest heaving as he calms down. “...I appreciate it. D-don’t think I didn’t enjoy it… I just would like to see more of you than the blankets next time…” at the suggestion of a ‘next time’ Haganezuka seems to relax. “Noted… let me uhm… let me get something to clean you up.” It seems he’s new to this, but you appreciate his attempts to do things right.

#kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer smut #xxsabitoxx’s work!#haganezuka smut #kny haganezuka #hotaru haganezuka #demon slayer haganezuka #haganezuka x reader #kny smut #kny imagines #kny imagine #kny drabble #demon slayer drabble

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zombieplaygrounds · 6 months ago

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CW: (i lowkey forgot to finish this ><), price x afab!f! reader drabble, smut, mdni, insecure! price?, slightly toxic relationships, internal cumshot, sex while crying, cigarettes.

Fuck. You were so pathetic at the mercy of Price. His gorgeous girl, easily accessible whore. He loved you, he fucked you like he hated you - of course. And there were those occasions you really did scare him, darling. He was a broken man that you had to pick up piece by piece only for him to shatter all over again with leave. Arrives home like a fucking horror movie, covered in injuries and freshly sprouting injuries. Loves it, that glimmer in your eyes and a slackened jaw.

You'd run up with glossy eyes - you looked like you really cared. And he almost believed it. But god forbid you loved and cared for this monster known as John Price. The shiny dangling dog tag sticking to your chest and dangling around with every movement. Gave you a copy because he "isn't sure you would get the original when he dies, love".

So cruel, really. The way he tugs you in all different directions, mentally claiming you into a stupid and gullible thing. All just to spend hours fucking you so rough and rapidly, making you cry from the overstimulation and searing hot pleasure in your core. Your cunt squeezing around his cock in desperate attempts to be bred, milk him of his spawn. All while he kissed the back of your neck, digging his teeth to leave pretty indents in your soft flesh.

You'd gasp out sharp huffs of air - pleads for mercy -you would beg, not due to his cruel words, or that arrogant smirk with his hand grasping at your neck with all the power in the world. But because of the intimacy and vulnerability he had chosen to give only you to see this passionate and rabid beast he was reduced to in your presence a made you cry those fat hot tears of love. Love so cruel it would gag you.

And of course, to the painful end of it all, your head was left spinning, vision blurred - and fuck, he had you huffing like a fucking mutt. He'd pull his cock out, admiring the webby strands of arousal and sperm that connected the two of you. Groaning just slightly as the angry head of his cock oozed with more greedy substance, directing itself back toward your seeping entrance. So tempting, but based on your pathetic little whines and trembling legs - you were spent. Mewling like a kitten when he grazed his finger tips curiously across your swollen, puffy folds.

"Fuckin' beautiful." Price whispered, licking the salty, delectable cream of your cunt. The noise and awful buzz of insecurity in his mind slowly fading away to nothing but an empty, soothing silence. Gave him a chance to enjoy his cigarette, all while gently combing his digits across your bare back. Already had Price memorized your blemishes, scars, stretch marks; all of it little pieces he clung to desperately - figments of your reality. That mixed in with the markings of his hands, his nails; rigid scratches on your hips...

Perfection.

Time would pass, what felt like hours was really minutes of him just admiring the messy work of art he had splurted between your thighs. Groaning a bit as he leaned back, resting his sore muscles. Sooner or later you'd crawl to bury yourself against his soft, muscular form.

#price x reader #price cod #price x you #price mw2 #price list #141 #tf141 #cod #cod fanfic #zombieplayground #zombieplaygrounds #hungrywhilewritingthis

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on-a-lucky-tide · 23 days ago

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lowkey wanna see nikolai, the big tough guy that he is, reduced to nothing and crying and whimpering and ohhhhgh u get the picture. is it because of emotional or physical pain? or pleasure up to you. i just want this man crying

Hmmmmmmmm.

cw: dom/sub, sub Nik, dom Price.

Nik used his charming front as a defence mechanism. It was like a huge dressing over the gaping wound in his psyche that had never healed over.

The fracture of his conscience, the loss of his family and his country, the feeling of listlessness, the lack of belonging. It all built to a toxic infection that never left his system.

The best he could do was walk through life with an assured swagger and pretend everything was just fine.

Be of service, make amends.

Until John.

John, who stripped him naked in all ways - his clothes, his charm, his defences - to make him kneel, disarmed and bound, at his feet. He sliced through the layers upon layers of slippery bravado with the leather of his belt against Nikolai's back and arse, leaving reddened stripes to mark the fall of each bulwark.

Price pulled him from the floor by the thick collar around his throat, forcing him to straddle his lap. Nikolai was naked, his long prick soft between his muscular thighs, and Price dragged his fingers through his pelt of black chest hair. It was streaked with shots of silver, reminding John of badger fur. Nik was shaking, barely holding it together, his thick body hunched as small as it could go.

"Look at me, Nikolai," Price said, his voice low.

Nik kept his chin tucked, his spine hunched, proud shoulders bowed.

"Nik, look at me. We'll stay here as long as it takes." Price reached around to his reddened arse and squeezed, the belt still wrapped around his fist, and forced a choked gasp from Nik's throat, his back arching. The first sniff, a rattling breath. "Good lad. Nearly there," Price said, administering another brisk slap to a full arse cheek.

Nik straightened again, whimpering, and the first tears began to fall from those big soulful eyes. "There'y'are," Price said approvingly. "Ain't you a pretty picture, all broken open fer me."

Nik's shoulders shook as he sobbed and Price wrapped his arms around Nik's back, bringing his face to the crook of his neck. He ran his fingers, featherlight, up and down Nik's spine, making his skin prickle with goosebumps. His hands were bound at his tailbone, and Price stroked around them to caress his backside. Sore, red, it was sensitive to the tenderest touch.

Price held Nik as his body relaxed, emptying the tension, the anxiety, the stress, in a flood of tears that soaked Price's t-shirt. Later, he'd open himself up and slip down onto that huge bloody cock, proving to Nik that he was still just as attractive, just as needed, as wanted, even when his vulnerabilities had been laid bare, the bravado gone.

Nik was enough.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #dom/sub

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elicathebunny · 10 months ago

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HERBS AND THEIR BENEFITS.

Ginger:

Eating ginger can cut down on fermentation, constipation and other causes of bloating and intestinal gas. Wear and tear on cells. Ginger contains antioxidants. These molecules help manage free radicals, which are compounds that can damage cells when their numbers grow too high. It is useful in minimizing menstrual cramps, and it relaxes the muscular spasms as well

Cinnamon:

high in antioxidants, which may help protect against disease, inflammation and ageing It may improve gut health, dental hygiene, reduce cholesterol levels and lower blood pressure.

Garlic:

Garlic offers an immune system boost to help prevent colds and the flu virus. One study found that allicin, an active component of freshly crushed garlic, had antiviral properties and was also effective against a broad range of bacteria

Chamomile:

commonly used for many human ailments such as hay fever, inflammation, muscle spasms, menstrual disorders, insomnia, ulcers, wounds, gastrointestinal disorders, rheumatic pain, and hemorrhoids.

Rosemary:

antimicrobial, anti-inflammatory, anti-oxidant, anti-apoptotic, anti-tumorigenic, antinociceptive, and neuroprotective properties. It could prevent hair follicles from being starved of blood supply, dying off, and leading to hair loss.

Tumeric :

Turmeric has been used in both Ayurvedic and Chinese medicine as an anti-inflammatory, to treat digestive and liver problems, skin diseases, and wounds.

#healthy #healing #balance #physical health #self improvement

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mothiir · 5 months ago

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little rabbit, the bad ending

Inspired by reading about the big e’s mind control powers on @moodymisty’s asks and yeah this happened. It’s pretty bleak and answers the question- what happens when the emperor keeps hold of what he wants?

It is by no means the first time she has dreamed of the Emperor; he invades her dreams as he invades her body, appearing sometimes as a towering pillar of golden flame, sometimes as a slavering wolf with blood on its breath, sometimes as a a conquering barbarian, standing taller than any man she has ever known, hewn from copper and red stone, with eyes of fire. This time, he relaxes on a golden throne, his toga clean white linen, draped loosely over his muscular shoulders. She knows she is dreaming, because she can look at him without the well-accustomed headache — and because she can see out of both eyes, rather than having her right eye covered in a milky red film.

“How dare you?” she says, giving voice to the words she swallows down during the day — oh how she hates how he forces her to choke down so much; her emotions, her thoughts, his damn cock. “How dare you sit there, and pretend to be humanity’s saviour? You’re not a damn saviour. You’re a tyrant.”

He watches her impassively, and says nothing. Emboldened, she draws closer. In the manner of dreams, their surroundings are hazy and undefined; it is like she walks through early morning fog.

“You say you will save us all, but what from? You won’t say. You won’t tell anyone anything. You destroy what does not bend. You treat your sons as tools. They are human! We are all human! And you tell them that they have to purge what makes them human, all the love and the joy and —“

Her voice catches.

“Roboute loves me! And I him! And you took me! You took me, and you won’t give me back, and you — you r-r-rape me, and you toy with me, and if I am truly nothing to you, as you claim — I hear you claim! — then why don’t you just let me go?”

She dashes tears from her eyes. It’s a dream. She can cry from both eyes, here.

“What happens if you get your way? If humanity becomes like you? Cold and cruel and uncaring? If we lose our ability to love? To care? To sing and dance and — and create? If every civilisation we meet is destroyed? If everything is made in Your image? Then what? We’d be a shell! Humanity would not be human anymore! We would be a shadow. You’d sit there and rule over a universe of grey automatons, manifestations of Your will. Is that what You want?”

She stops before the throne. He’s not towering over here, here, when her mind can reduce him to the proportions of a man, not a divine being that denies its divinity. He is a tall man, but still a man. She can look him in the face.

”You claim not to be a god, but you act like one. You want to be a god but answer no prayers. You want to be obeyed as a father but not love like one. You’re a hypocrite. A coward. Dodging responsibility. Dodging everything.”

Breathless with rage, she stops, waiting for the dream-Emperor to respond. When he does, a thrill of fear races down her spine.

“How interesting.“

Her mind can replicate much, but not that — not the reverberating echo of the Emperor’s true voice. This is not a dream. Against all probability, this is him.

(Of course it is. He’s a psyker, the strongest psyker that ever lived, and to him the minds of humans are just another plane to wander.)

”I have seen the future. I have seen the horrors that await our kind. I have torn myself apart and built myself anew to avoid them. And yet…maybe. Maybe some amendments are required.”

”I don’t understand — “

He catches her by the waist, and pulls her into his lap, smiling down at her. His eyes are the heart of a sun. His mouth is the throat of a forest fire. Be thou afraid —

“You do not have to. But you are correct — Roboute does love you, and it pains him to see you so. I will fix this. I will fix everything.”

The light blinds her. And she wakes. And she doesn’t.

—

Roboute Gulliman, Primarch of the Thirteenth, walks beside his Lord Father, discussing their latest campaign against a nasty strain of orks in the distant reaches of the eastern Imperium, and how best to deal with them. It is an honour to be so close to the Emperor, and he feels his approval like a golden balm as he presents strategies, and the Emperor congratulates him on having such a sharp mind. It would be so easy for one so powerful to be a distant, unreachable god-like figure, but the Emperor is not — he may not have raised Roboute, but he is wholly his father. Roboute barely recalls his foster-father’s name these days.

A slight disturbance draws his attention; a human woman, clad in an ornate gold gown, ducks out of one of the side rooms. The Emperor beams at her.

“Excuse me, Roboute. I think my consort needs my attention. She is a needy little thing — and quite insatiable.”

Roboute’s cheeks colour a little — he’s no Leman or Horus, happy to trade bawdy jokes with the Emperor — and he politely averts his eyes as the Emperor scoops the woman up and plants a kiss on her, his tongue sliding between her parted lips.

“How’s my girl? Restless? Be at ease; I’m almost done here, and Roboute will be on his way — and you’ll have me all to yourself.”

He settles her on one of his hips, and nips at her throat. She’s looking directly at Roboute, her expression quite unreadable. Roboute realises he’s being unfanthomly rude, and offers a little courtly bow.

“My lady. It is a delight to make your acquaintance. I have heard tales of your beauty, and I can see that they were all correct.”

”Thank you, my Lord Primarch,” she says, her voice tiny.

“She’s more than a beauty,” says the Emperor, fondly. “She keeps me human, don’t you my love? She shows me how to not lose sight of the small things, when the grand design occupies so much of my attention. Without her, I fear I’d forgot how to relate to humans at all!”

Roboute chuckles politely, but there’s something about the woman’s gaze — something so sad. Maybe —

A flash of gold out of the corner of his eye — probably the sun reflecting on the walls. The thought vanishes. He will head out soon, out to war for the sake of his father, and for humanity. His great purpose. His birthright.

And all he ever wants, and all he ever wanted.

#emperor/reader #In case it isn’t clear yes the emperor tinkered with gullimans memory so he forgot his wife ever existed #-#and hey maybe this is all for the best because the emperor learning to act more like a decent father might stop the heresy #and all it takes is the sacrifice of one man and one mortal woman so that’s ok right #right

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malicedragoness · 1 month ago

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Kinktober Day 3 - Monster AU

Characters: Naga!Havik x GN Reader

Word count: 702

Synopsis: It’s been weeks since your destroyed ship washed up on unknown land. And a naga with a mangled face seems to have taken a liking to you.

Notes: I wrote this with Havik’s black and red hair (Scabbed Over) in mind. I’m not entirely happy with the end product, but I think it’s because I want to world build more with it. But if I did that, then I would just put it off until it’s like 15k words. Maybe I’ll revisit this idea and expand on it in the future. NOT BETA READ, WE DIE LIKE MEN!

Warnings: Monster rutting

Kinktober tag list: @bihanspookies

Warmth surrounds you as you gently stir awake. Your eyes crack open to catch your new lover resting against your chest, an unbidden smile tugging on your lips.

Havik’s ruined face looks more gentle, more calm when he sleeps. The fierce demeanor gone and replaced by a peaceful expression.

He loves to keep you wrapped up in his tail at night. His tail always seemed endless. Coils of shimmering onyx scales, speckled with muted reds and whites, feel silky smooth against your naked skin. Strong as steel, yet they carefully wrap around you, emanating a pleasant heat.

And his thick cock is buried deep inside you, refusing to part from the warm, safe haven your body provided.

Your walls clench around him for a brief moment, earning a low groan from the sleeping creature on top of you.

It’s been weeks since your ship was wrecked by a terrible storm at sea. Deadly waves and a raging tempest had reduced the great ship to timbers, taking many lives of the passengers on board.

You woke up shivering. Drenched in sea water and a face full of wet sand, you cursed the cruel sea for abandoning you in such a strange place. Bodies and pieces of the ship littered the dreary beach. The few survivors decided to take their chances braving the new landscape.

And not even an hour into your trek, you were being chased by a warthog. The rest of your group had dispersed and left you to your fate. Your heart hammering in your chest as the sound of hooves got closer.

Until Havik showed up.

The naga had fallen from the trees, coiling his tail around the vicious beast. His massive hands ripping the jaw off the warthog, squealing in pain. Piece by piece, he clawed it apart until he was covered in blood and viscera.

His haunting gaze turned to you, sniffing the air, “Mate.”

He took you and the carcass of the warthog back to his nest, offering you pieces of raw meat from his kill.

Over time, Havik learned how to care for you. Crafting a spit roast to cook the meat for you, bringing you fresh water from a spring, berries and fruits that were safe to eat. And he offered you the furs of creatures he’s slain to keep you warm.

It seemed like such a long time ago when his feral visage frightened you. Scars decorated his body, some deeper than others. Half of his face was burned away, revealing a sharp set of fangs. Slitted topaz eyes studying your every move.

And now that same creature is curled atop of you, basking in the warmth of your smooth skin.

You smile and clench your walls again, wanting to rouse him from sleep. His muscular abdomen gives an unbidden jerk, sliding further into you.

Slowly, the coils of his tail come alive, slithering around you like never ending waves. A low hiss could be heard as Havik raises his head, trailing the ruined cartilage of his nose up your throat.

“Mate,” his voice low and gravelly in your ear. He teases your neck with the tip of his forked tongue.

“Havik,” you murmur affectionately. A soft sigh leaving your lips as he rocks his hips forward.

Clawed hands caress your body, worshipping every dip and groove, causing shivers down your spine. His cock throbbed within you, rubbing the walls of your tight channel with every thrust.

Onyx tail props you up higher, the end of it curling around your wrists and pulling them behind your head, leaving you at his mercy.

Growls and hisses rumble in his throat.

“My mate,” his hot breath fanning your neck, his hips thrusting into you a little faster. “All mine. No one else can have you.”

“I’m yours, Havik.” Your whimpers spur him on, feeding the possessiveness inside him.

His massive hands envelope your ankles and place them on his shoulders. His hulking figure looms over you, bending your legs to your chest. Drool and venom drip from his fangs, landing on your collarbone as he ruts into you.

“I’m gonna empty every drop of my spill inside you. Until you’re filled to the brim with me.”

#kinktober 2024 #havik x reader #mk1 havik x reader #Havik x GN reader #mk1 havik x GN reader #monster love #monster fucking #Havik

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eksvaized · 8 months ago

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Part Ten [ Previous 〡 Next ] taglist: @kingsprettyangel if you want to be added - let me know!

Sharp, icy shards of the dew-laden grass pierce under the pressure of your clenched nails, as Simon’s voice, harsh and grating, commands you to rise. With a defiant shake of your head, you shuffle backwards. Each scoot is a desperate bid to stretch the limited expanse between you and him, like a terrified rabbit fleeing from a predator. Your back merges uncomfortably with the grime-stained fence. The fluffy fabric of your sweater snags on the fence’s sharp, jagged edges.

You make a silent vow not to follow him back into the suffocating confines of the house because you know, deep down, that once you cross that threshold, you will never see the outside world again.

Simon’s voice slices through the tension-thick silence like a sharpened blade. “Either you go willingly, or I drag you back inside,” he hisses, his eyes ablaze with a fury you’ve become all too familiar with. He kneels down in front of you. His imposing figure casting an ominous shadow over your frame. When you stubbornly refuse to meet his steely gaze, his fingers clamp down on your chin, forcefully jerking your head upwards.

You know, with a painful certainty, that you can’t run anymore, that your futile attempts to escape will most likely end with you trapped inside once again. You also know that your defiant actions will have dire consequences, but in this moment, you don’t care. Just like that time he tried to force-feed you, you spit in his face, the bitter taste of rebellion filling your mouth. Without waiting for his reaction, you clumsily scramble to your feet and start running.

You don’t head towards the house. Instead, you sprint across the backyard, your heart pounding in your chest as you narrowly avoid falling into the pool. When you dare a glance over your shoulder, he is there, walking towards you with the measured gait of a stalking wolf. Panic surges through you, driving you to attempt to scale the fence once again. But your strength fails you this time, too. A terrified whimper escapes your lips as the sinister shadow of Simon’s frame engulfs you, promising nothing but misery.

Simon seizes you. His muscular arm constricts with an iron grip around your fragile neck. His hold is unyielding, a vice of inescapable strength that even as you sink your teeth into his skin with all the force you can muster, refuses to loosen. Your body goes into a frenzy of panicked movements; legs kicking out, arms flailing wildly in a struggle for release. It’s only when the terrifying sensation of choking on your own saliva hits you, a result of your inability to swallow, that he finally releases you. Discarded like a rag doll, you crumple to the ground, gulping in a harsh breath as your vision blurs with uncontrolled tears.

He grants you a moment of respite to draw in much-needed oxygen before his fingers find your hair. Gripping a handful of it, he starts walking and dragging you along with an indifference to your pain. The sensation is excruciating. Your scalp feels like it has been set aflame.

To your mounting dread, he doesn’t take you back to your room. Rather, he drags you toward the kitchen, crossing the length of it to end up in the dim hallway, where a door is. The moment he reaches for the doorknob, a fresh wave of terror washes over you as the realization dawns that he intends to leave you in the basement.

“Please— I’m… I-I shouldn’t have to— S…Sorry,” you manage to stammer out, your voice choked with fear and laced with regret. You dig your heels into the floor in a an useless attempt to resist.

Summoning a final ounce of strength, you wrap your arm around his wrist, the wrist of the hand that is mercilessly entangled in your hair. He lets you go and you collapse to your knees in front of him. Self-loathing consumes you as you acknowledge the desperate state you have been reduced to, but you don’t see any other option. The prospect of surviving in the basement is bleak, especially after having spent two days in an actual room, basking in the comforting embrace of sunlight and the luxury of a comfortable bed.

“You broke the rules.” He retorts coldly, his gaze fixed on you from his towering height as he stands with his hands at his sides. To your own surprise, you reach for one of those hands and press it to your tear-streaked cheek, your silent sobs saturating his skin.

“Never again… I promise—Just, just let me go back to the room. Simon, please—I beg you — Simon,” Each repetition of his name carries an increasing sense of anxiety. A flicker of uncertainty crosses his eyes, a sign that perhaps he, too, is battling with doubts about his intended course of action. “I will do anything. I will make it up to you, p-please.”

Simon struggles to suppress the sinister smile that threatens to slither onto his face like a serpentine creature, finding a perverse pleasure in the display before him. The sight of you kneeling before him paints a tableau that stirs something deep within him - your cheeks streaked with the glistening trails of tears, your eyes shimmering pools of unshed sorrow, and your lips tinged with a shade of pink, that screams of fear. The symphony of your begging, pleading voice reverberates in his ears - a haunting melody that he savors.

Yet, what truly intoxicates him are the words that escape his lips next, words that hang in the air like a cruel puppeteer’s strings, “Fine. But before you’re allowed back in your room, you need to take a shower.”

Your head bobs up and down in an eager nod. You remember all too well what happened the last time you stepped into the bathroom and Simon, like a shadow, followed you. But you’re willing to endure it all over again if it meant that you would be sleeping in a bed, enveloped in soft sheets, instead of the thin, unforgiving mattress in the basement.

As you cross the threshold into the bathroom, he remains rooted to the spot, leaning casually against the doorframe as though it were a cocktail party and not a hostage situation. His gaze follows your every move. His command to undress remains unspoken; it’s a silent order hanging heavy in the air. You begin to take off yourself of your clothes, painfully aware of his predatory eyes feasting on every inch of exposed skin. You wriggle out of your jeans, and your sweater follows suit. Turning your back to him, you unhook your bra, allowing it to join the growing pile of fabric at your feet. Your panties are the last to go, leaving you as bare and vulnerable.

Although your discomfort is as tangible as the cool tiles beneath your feet, you find a semblance of respite in the rhythm of your own breathing. Each inhale and exhale a lifeline, grounding you in the moment. Despite the intensity of Simon’s gaze, a gaze that threatens to burn your skin, he maintains a physical distance, his hands remaining frustratingly - and thankfully - neutral. This temporary ceasefire is short-lived, however. After you step into the beckoning warmth of the shower, the water droplets cascading down your body like a thousand tiny caresses, he follows suit. The door closes behind him with an ominous click. He moves closer. Your discarded clothes are kicked aside as he invades your space; his presence overwhelming.

In a hurried frenzy, you attempt to clean your body as swiftly as possible. The water torrents over your skin like liquid silk, the droplets racing down your body, each one a fleeting, icy touch. The objective is as clear: the less the time you spend in the shower, the fewer opportunities he has to touch you.

His voice slices through the thick, palpable tension. “Let me help you.”

Swallowing the boulder-sized lump lodged in your throat, you cast a hesitant glance over your shoulder, your eyes wide. You know well enough that refusal isn’t an option, so you reluctantly pass him the loofah you’ve been fervently using to scrub away the dirt and grime. However, he blatantly takes it from your trembling hand, then, with a swift movement, flips his palm to let it tumble to the ground. At this moment, your breath halts. The air in the bathroom is heavy, laden with the steam from the shower and the chilling fear that grips you.

Ignoring the creeping cold of the damp fabric clinging to his skin, he rests his hands on your body, as if you were a delicate piece of art. At first, his touch is soft. His fingertips trace a path up your arms, kneading the muscles in your neck, and pushing the damp strands of hair from your face.

Gradually, his hands wander lower, cupping your breasts. Tenderly, he begins to knead the fat, his thumbs playing with your nipples. You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a gasp, your tears blending seamlessly with the water running down your body.

While one hand continues to fondle your breast, drawing circles that tighten with each rotation, his other palm glides down your body. It curls around your waist, coaxing you to turn around. Compliantly, you obey, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Your chest heaves with each ragged breath you take. His touch is scorching, searing your skin like a red-hot iron. It’s impossible to remain still. Every instinct screams at you to push him away.

Not caring that his shirt gets soaked, he pulls you into himself, causing your wet back to meld against the warmth of his chest. With one arm wrapped around your waist, so you wouldn’t be able to get away, he lets his hand slide in between your thighs.

“You have been very bad, you know that, hmm?” He whispers. You feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I should put you back in the basement, but I can’t bring myself to do that, especially not after you begged me so nicely, on your knees.” His fingers deftly navigate through the folds of your swollen lips, eliciting a hiss from him and a noticeable hardening against your backside.

Your body remains rigid, muscles stretched so taunt they throb with an insistent ache. Despite this, his deliberate teasing, his skillful circling of your sensitive clit, draws out a mounting desperation and a chorus of whimpers from you. You despise the betrayal of your body and mind, the way you find yourself leaning into his touch, allowing him to explore you in the way he does. But you can’t pull away, and it’s not just because you know it would be the right thing to do.

He savors each moment with you. His fingers move with a deliberate slowness that is maddening. And just as you teeter on the precipice of climax, about to plunge into the abyss of pleasure, he halts abruptly. A whiny whimper escapes your lips. He commands you to grind against his hand. “Want to finish?” he taunts, his voice as cold and sharp as frostbite. “Do it yourself then, be a good girl for me and I might forget about the stunt you tried to pull today.”

You shouldn’t obey him, but you do. Your hips start to move almost involuntarily, responding to the rhythm he sets. Your fingers curl around his arm, which is tightly wrapped around your waist, providing a sense of security amidst the overwhelming sensations. You rest your head on his solid shoulder. You can feel him pressing his lips to your neck, a gesture that sends shivers down your spine. Willingly, you tilt your head to the side, allowing him better access to the sensitive flesh of your neck. His lips leave a trail of sloppy kisses, marking you in a way that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. All the while, his free hand continues to explore your body, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

It doesn’t take long for the building pressure to reach its peak. When it does, you’re unable to hold back the moan that escapes your lips. It’s loud, desperate, and filled with such raw emotion that it prompts a chuckle and a satisfied grin from Simon. Your eyes roll back in your skull and your lips part as you try to draw in a much-needed breath. The only thing filling your lungs, however, is the steamy air, which only serves to stoke the burning sensation within them. After what feels like an eternity, your frame goes limp in his arms, drained from the intense exchange. Sensing your exhaustion, he gently nudges you away, prompting you to stand straight once again.

“Open your mouth,” he instructs, and like a puppet, you comply. He pushes his two fingers into your mouth, and you suck on them, tasting your own juices. Your mind is clouded, not thinking straight, which, perhaps, is a saving grace. Otherwise, you would surely be a huddled mass on the icy bathroom tiles, cowering beneath the weight of shame and self-loathing.

“Good girl,” he responds approvingly, his voice a low rumble, as his hand falls back by his side. His clothes are drenched, clinging to his body like a second skin, but there’s a look of satisfaction etched onto his face, as if he’s just devoured a sumptuous feast. “Now, finish your shower and then head straight to the bed.”

As he prepares to exit the bathroom, a smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I presume you won’t require an escort, and will manage to find the way back on your own—without wandering somewhere else.”

You hurry to finish your shower, scrubbing your skin so hard it begins to hurt. You refuse to think, not until you’re safely tucked away in your bed, even though persistent thoughts try to creep into your mind and remind you of what had just happened; they remind you of how you allowed yourself to be used by Simon and, even more shockingly, how you actually enjoyed it.

When you finally return to the bedroom, there’s a tray with dinner placed on the nightstand. However, you know you wouldn’t be able to swallow a single bite. The thought of food makes your stomach churn. So, after finding a long, comfortable shirt, and a pair of leggings, you quickly dress up and get into the bed. You hope that sleep will come swiftly before your mind turns back on and forces you to confront the reality.

A/N: let me know what do you think! 'cuz I feel like I rushed this, but once I started writing, I wasn't able to stop, so… >.<

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