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novaursa · 3 months ago

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The Wolf's Flame

- Summary: When you take your son flying, Cregan keeps fires warm for your return.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after Fires That Never Freeze. To read all parts in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @21-princess

Your fingers gently trace the downy softness of Alysane's silver hair, a mirror of your own. Her tiny eyelids flutter as she breathes steadily against your chest, her warmth a comfort in the quiet of the nursery. The light filtering through the windows casts a soft glow, making the strands of her hair shimmer like moonlight on water. She stirs slightly, letting out a small, contented sigh, and you can't help but smile, though it is tinged with sorrow.

You can still vividly recall the first time Jace held your son, Killian. He had been so careful, so reverent, as if the boy was made of the finest glass.

"He's got your spirit," Jacaerys had said, cradling Killian in his arms with a grin that could have brightened the darkest day. "And a bit of Cregan's stubbornness too, I reckon. He's going to be a strong one."

You remember how his brown eyes had softened, his usual warrior's stoicism giving way to a tenderness that was rare to see in him. You had laughed then, a light, joyful sound that echoed in the stone halls, lifting the spirits of those around you.

But now, that memory is a dagger to your heart. Jace is gone, another brother taken by the cruel hands of war and treachery. The Battle of the Gullet claimed him, like it claimed so many others, leaving behind only a hollow ache where once there had been warmth and love.

Your grip on Alysane tightens ever so slightly, as if you can protect her from the world that has already taken so much from you. She shifts in her sleep, her tiny fists clenching, and you wonder what kind of life she will have in this world that seems so determined to tear your family apart.

The door creaks open softly, and you glance up to see Cregan standing in the doorway, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. His presence is a comfort, a solid anchor in the storm of your emotions. He steps into the room, his boots barely making a sound on the cold stone floor.

"She's beautiful," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion as he comes to stand beside you. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, a warm, steadying presence. "Just like her mother."

You smile faintly at his words, but it's a fragile thing, easily broken. "She reminds me of Jace," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "The way he looked at Killian… it was as if he could see all the good in the world reflected in him."

Cregan's jaw tightens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with shared grief. "Jacaerys was a good man," he says after a moment, his voice low and filled with respect. "He would have been proud to see how you're raising our children, Y/N. Proud of the mother you've become."

His words are a balm, easing the sting of your loss, even if only slightly. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, drawing strength from his steady heartbeat. "I just wish he were here to see them grow," you admit, your voice thick with unshed tears. "To see the family we’re building…"

Cregan wraps his arms around you, careful not to disturb Alysane, who remains peacefully asleep in your arms. "We'll make sure they know who he was," he promises, his voice strong and resolute. "We'll tell them stories of their uncle Jace, of his courage, his kindness. He won't be forgotten."

You nod, a tear finally slipping free, tracing a path down your cheek. "I just miss him so much," you confess, the words breaking like waves against the shore.

"I know," Cregan whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

For a long moment, the two of you stand there in the quiet of the nursery, holding each other close, sharing the weight of your grief. Alysane stirs again, and you look down at her, at the peaceful innocence on her tiny face. She is a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest times, life continues, new stories begin.

As you gaze at your daughter, you feel a small spark of determination flicker within you. You will protect her, protect Killian, and ensure they grow up knowing the love and legacy of those who came before them.

"I'll make sure they know," you whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. "I'll make sure they remember him."

Cregan nods, his grip on you tightening just slightly, a silent promise that he will stand by you, no matter what. Together, you will keep Jace's memory alive, woven into the very fabric of your children's lives, a legacy of love and courage that even death cannot erase.

The chill of the northern wind bites at your cheeks as you stand in the courtyard of Winterfell, the ancient stones of the castle walls towering around you. The sky above is a pale, wintry blue, the kind that stretches on endlessly, promising the first snows of the season. Thraxata, your beloved dragon, is a dark silhouette against the sky, her massive form casting a shadow over the courtyard as she awaits you with the patient stillness of a creature who knows her place in the world.

Cregan stands nearby, holding Killian in his arms. Your son's violet eyes are wide with excitement, his small hands clutching at the fur-lined collar of his father's cloak. His breath comes in quick, excited puffs, visible in the cold air, as he watches you secure the last of the straps on Thraxata's saddle.

"Is Mama ready?" Killian asks, his voice high with anticipation, his gaze flicking between you and the towering dragon.

"Almost, little wolf," Cregan replies, his deep voice softened with affection. He adjusts his hold on Killian, allowing the boy to lean forward slightly, getting a better view of the magnificent creature before him.

You finish tightening the final strap and turn to face them, your heart swelling with love at the sight of your son’s eager face. "She's ready," you confirm, walking over to them with a smile that feels more natural now, more present. The cold air feels invigorating, as does the promise of the flight ahead.

Killian wiggles in Cregan’s arms, his excitement barely contained. "Can we fly now, Mama? Please?"

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and reach out to take him from Cregan, who hands him over with a tender smile. "Of course, we can, little one," you say, holding Killian close for a moment before lifting him up to press a quick kiss to his forehead. "But you must hold on tight, alright? Just like we practiced."

Killian nods eagerly, his little hands gripping your cloak as you turn to face Cregan. Your husband’s grey eyes are filled with warmth, the kind that always makes you feel grounded, no matter how high you fly. He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he bends down to press a kiss to your lips, a slow, lingering gesture that speaks of love and longing.

"Fly safe," he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm in the cold air. "And bring him back to me in one piece."

You smile against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Always," you promise, your voice soft but filled with the certainty that comes from years of shared battles and shared love. "We'll be back before the sun sets."

With a final kiss, you turn back to Thraxata, your heart thudding with a mix of excitement and the familiar rush of anticipation that always accompanies a flight. You cradle Killian with one arm as you approach the great beast, who lowers her massive head in greeting, her violet eyes shimmering with intelligence and recognition.

“Hello girl,” you whisper, your free hand brushing against her polished obsidian scales, which glimmer faintly with hues of violet and blue in the sunlight. Thraxata rumbles in response, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, as if she’s sharing in the excitement of the day.

With practiced ease, you swing yourself up onto the saddle, positioning Killian in front of you. His small hands reach out instinctively to grasp the pommel, and you secure him with a careful, reassuring grip. He giggles with delight as he feels the warmth of Thraxata’s body beneath him, the thrill of the impending flight already bubbling over.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice a blend of both motherly concern and the thrill of the adventure ahead.

“Ready!” Killian exclaims, his voice filled with a joy so pure it sends a spark of warmth through you, despite the cold.

With one last glance at Cregan, who watches you with that same steady look, you give Thraxata the command to take flight. The dragon responds immediately, her powerful wings unfurling with a sound like thunder. She launches into the air, her great body rising smoothly from the ground as the wind rushes past you, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

The world below falls away quickly as Thraxata soars upward, the chill of the wind tugging at your hair and cloak, but the cold is nothing compared to the exhilaration of the sky opening up before you. Killian’s laughter rings out, a bright, joyous sound that echoes across the open sky. He turns his head back to you, eyes wide with pure wonder. “Mama, we’re flying! Look, we’re really flying!”

You tighten your grip on him, feeling the steady thrum of Thraxata’s heart beneath you, the power of her wings carrying you higher, above the walls of Winterfell and the endless expanse of the North. “Yes, we are,” you say, your voice filled with the same awe you see reflected in your son’s eyes. “Just like I did with my mother when I was your age.”

The dragon’s flight is smooth, a testament to the bond you’ve shared since her hatching in your cradle. She’s been with you through every trial, every loss, and every victory. Now, she carries your son just as faithfully, as if she understands that he is a part of you, a continuation of your legacy.

As Winterfell grows smaller beneath you, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Up here, with the sky stretching out infinitely above and the world below far removed, it’s easy to forget the weight of your grief, the loss of Jace, the uncertainty of the future. Up here, there is only the sound of the wind, the warmth of your son in your arms, and the steady, powerful beat of Thraxata’s wings.

You glance down at Killian, whose eyes are now glued to the horizon, a look of pure wonder on his face. “What do you see, little one?” you ask, curious to hear his thoughts.

“Everything, Mama,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe. “I can see everything.”

You smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Then let’s see where the wind takes us, my brave little dragon rider.”

As Thraxata glides effortlessly through the sky, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the rare freedom it offers, the bond between mother and child, between rider and dragon. And for a time, as the cold wind whips past and the world falls away beneath you, you are simply Y/N Velaryon, a daughter of House Targaryen, a mother, a wife, and a rider of dragons. The rest of the world can wait until your feet are back on solid ground.

Cregan Stark watches as Thraxata’s obsidian-black form rises higher into the sky, the great dragon’s wings beating with a rhythm that reverberates in his chest. He stands in the courtyard of Winterfell, eyes locked on the shrinking figures of his wife and son as they ascend into the endless blue, until they become little more than a speck against the pale sky. The wind whips through the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of pine and the distant promise of snow, but Cregan remains still, his gaze unwavering as long as they are visible.

There’s a sense of awe and pride that fills him every time he watches Y/N with her dragon. Even after years of seeing her soar above the battlements, it never fails to stir something deep within him. She is a true daughter of the Targaryen line, a force of nature bound to the skies, and it amazes him that she is his—his wife, the mother of his children.

As Thraxata and his family disappear from sight, he finally lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, a mix of contentment and longing. He knows she’ll be back before long, but there’s always that small pang of separation, as if part of him takes flight with her every time she ascends into the heavens.

With a final glance at the now empty sky, Cregan turns and heads back toward the Great Keep. The stone walls of Winterfell rise imposingly around him, offering a stark contrast to the boundless sky from which he has just watched his wife and son disappear. The weight of his responsibilities returns to him with each step, grounding him in the reality of the world below.

As he enters the Great Hall, the warmth of the hearth fires greets him, a welcome change from the crisp air outside. The hall is quiet this time of day, the usual bustle of Winterfell subdued, with most of the household attending to their duties. He makes his way down the familiar corridors, his boots echoing softly on the stone floors, until he reaches the chamber where his daughter, Alysane, is being tended to.

The door is slightly ajar, and as he steps inside, he is greeted by the sight of a nursemaid cradling the infant in her arms. Alysane is awake, her bright violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—tracking the nursemaid’s movements with the curious intensity only a baby can muster. The soft, cooing lullaby being sung to her halts as the nursemaid notices Cregan’s entrance.

“Lord Stark,” she says with a respectful dip of her head, adjusting her hold on the child. “The little lady has been a delight today, though I daresay she misses her mother already.”

Cregan crosses the room in a few long strides, his gaze softening as he looks down at his daughter. “She’ll have her back soon enough,” he replies, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Let me hold her.”

The nursemaid carefully transfers Alysane into his arms, and Cregan feels the familiar, grounding weight of his daughter settle against his chest. She’s so small, so delicate, and yet she has a strength in her grip that makes him smile every time she reaches out to grasp his fingers. Alysane’s eyes, so much like Y/N’s, meet his, and he can’t help the rush of love that fills him.

“Have you been good for the nursemaid, little one?” he asks, his tone lighter, more playful as he gently rocks her. Alysane coos in response, her tiny fists waving in the air as if to say, Yes, Papa, I’ve been very good.

“She’s taken to her feeding well, my lord,” the nursemaid informs him, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches the interaction. “And she seems to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Perhaps she takes after her mother in that regard.”

Cregan chuckles softly, nodding. “She has the blood of the dragon in her, no doubt. But she’s a Stark, too. She’ll grow to love these cold winds, just as we do.”

He spends a few more moments with his daughter, savoring the simple joy of holding her, of feeling her small heartbeat against his chest. It’s a different kind of peace than what he feels when he’s with Y/N, but no less profound. Alysane is a part of them both, a perfect blend of fire and ice, and he treasures these quiet moments with her.

After a while, he gently hands Alysane back to the nursemaid, who resumes her gentle rocking and humming. “Thank you,” he says, his voice warm with gratitude. “Keep her close to the fire. The day will grow colder before it ends.”

The nursemaid nods. “As you wish, my lord.”

Cregan leaves the chamber, his thoughts now turning to the evening ahead. The wind outside has picked up, and he knows Y/N and Killian will appreciate a warm welcome when they return. He heads toward the Great Hall once more, this time with purpose in his stride. The fires need to be tended, more wood brought in, and the hearths stoked to a roaring blaze. Winterfell might be a cold, unforgiving place at times, but it was also a home—a sanctuary for his family—and he would see to it that they returned to warmth and comfort.

As he reaches the Great Hall, he calls out to a nearby servant, a young man quick on his feet. “We’ll need more wood for the hearths,” Cregan instructs, his tone commanding but not unkind. “Bring in what you can carry and see to it that the fires are stoked high.”

The servant nods eagerly, hurrying off to fulfill the request. Cregan moves to the main hearth himself, where the fire is already burning but not nearly to the level he desires. He takes up a heavy iron poker and stirs the embers, watching as the flames leap higher, their glow reflecting off the stone walls.

As the fire roars to life, filling the hall with a warm, golden light, he steps back, satisfied with his work. The crackling of the flames, the scent of burning wood, and the comforting heat are all reminders of why he fights, why he endures. It’s for these moments—for the quiet, peaceful evenings after the storms have passed, when his family is safe and together under one roof.

He can almost hear Killian’s excited laughter already, the way his little boy’s voice fills the hall with joy whenever they return from a flight. He imagines Y/N’s smile, the way it lights up her entire face, and how her silver hair catches the firelight as she steps inside, Killian in tow, both of them flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of the sky.

The servant returns with an armful of wood, and Cregan helps him stack it near the hearth. The warmth is already spreading through the hall, driving away the chill that had begun to settle as the day waned. He can feel the sense of home building around him, the very thing he’s fought to protect, to preserve for those he loves most.

With the fires now blazing, he takes a moment to himself, standing in the center of the hall and letting the warmth seep into his bones. It’s a simple pleasure, but one he doesn’t take for granted. The flickering light of the flames plays across his face, casting shadows that dance along the stone walls.

He glances toward the door, knowing it will soon swing open, admitting his wife and son back into the safety and warmth of Winterfell. He’s ready to greet them, to hear about their flight, to listen to Killian’s breathless recounting of the view from above and to feel the reassurance of Y/N’s presence beside him.

As he waits, the fire crackling at his back, Cregan Stark feels a deep sense of contentment. There’s a storm coming, as there always is in the North, but for now, his world is warm, his heart full, and his family is safe. And that is all he could ever ask for.

The warmth of the fire mingles with the lingering heat of your bodies, still flush from the passion that had just consumed you both. You lie nestled in the soft, thick furs of your bed, the heavy pelts providing a cocoon of warmth against the biting cold that lurks just beyond the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan's strong arm is draped around you, his hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your bare back. Your head rests on his broad chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he takes. The intimacy of the moment is profound, the kind of peace that only comes after such intensity, when every barrier has been stripped away, leaving only raw, unfiltered affection in its wake.

His fingers slide through your silver hair, untangling the strands that had become tousled during your lovemaking, and you feel a contented sigh escape your lips. The connection between you is tangible, a bond forged not only in love but in shared trials, in the promises whispered in the dark and the strength you find in one another.

"Sometimes," you begin softly, your voice barely more than a murmur in the quiet of the room, "sometimes I wish I could be down there, in the thick of it, fighting alongside my mother. Facing the Greens with fire and blood, like we were meant to."

Cregan’s hand stills on your back for a moment before he resumes his gentle caresses. He knows how deeply the conflict weighs on you, how much you struggle with the separation from your mother and the battles you were born to fight. "You’re a warrior at heart, Y/N," he says, his voice low and full of understanding. "It’s in your blood, in your very soul. But you’re here now, and there’s strength in that too—in being the heart of this family, in raising our children with the knowledge of who they are and where they come from."

You nod against his chest, taking comfort in his words. It’s not easy to be away from the fight, to know that your family is out there, risking their lives while you remain here, safe in the North. But Cregan is right—there is strength in what you’re doing here, in the life you’ve built together, in the legacy you’re creating.

"I know," you whisper, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart. "I know. But I’m grateful, Cregan. For this, for you, for everything we’ve found here in Winterfell. It’s more than I ever imagined for myself."

He shifts slightly, turning so that he can look down at you, his grey eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. There’s a tenderness there, a love so deep it nearly takes your breath away. "You’ve brought light to this place, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "You’ve made it a home, not just for me, but for everyone within these walls. You are the heart of Winterfell now, just as much as you were born both of Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I will always be grateful for that, for you."

You smile up at him, a warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the fire. "And I, for you, my love," you reply softly, lifting your hand to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your fingers. "I never thought I could find such peace, such happiness, in a place so far from the warmth of the South. But here with you, it feels like I’ve found something even better. Something that feels like home."

He leans down to capture your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that speaks of love and promises, of the future you’ll face together. When he pulls back, his gaze is serious, his expression thoughtful. "Winter will come soon," he says, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "The snow will fall heavier, and the North will sleep beneath its blanket of white. But when the spring sun melts the snow, when the rivers flow again and the ice recedes, the North will rise. And we will march south, to deliver the justice that has long been owed. Just as I promised you, Y/N. The time will come."

You see the resolve in his eyes, the fire of his conviction, and it stirs something within you—a spark of hope, of purpose. You’ve always known that the North was a place of endurance, of long winters and even longer memories. But with Cregan by your side, you also know it is a place of honor, of loyalty, and of promises kept.

"And I will be ready," you say, your voice firm with determination. "We will be ready. For whatever comes."

He nods, the tension in his expression easing as he presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the promise between you. "But for now," he murmurs against your skin, "we have this. These moments, this peace. And we will hold on to it for as long as we can."

You close your eyes, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart lull you into a state of calm. The world outside can wait for now—the battles, the struggles, the uncertainties of the future. Here, wrapped in Cregan’s arms, you find solace, a reprieve from the weight of the world, and the strength to face whatever comes next.

As you drift off to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the furs and the security of Cregan’s embrace, you feel a deep sense of contentment settle over you. The future may hold its challenges, but in this moment, all is well. You are together, and that is all that matters.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd cregan #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark

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livelaughlovesubs · 2 months ago

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~ O2.10 - (hsr) Blade ~

Dom!reader x sub!blade - reader is gender neutral

Warning: yan!reader, NTR (?), fingering, pegging (I use dick), anal play, double penetration, marking, biting, hair pulling, sex toys, cumming untouched, teasing, dirty talk (?), bondage, dacryphilia, mind break, sub-space, obsessiveness (mention of wanting to lock him up etc.)

~ Word count: 6.8k ~

Nini!rant: I felt like a pervert writing this, also why the unnecessary drama?!

Kinktober list 2024

You really shouldn’t be mad. Of course, you were understanding and patient with him, damn it, you really were. Well, you out of everyone knew best what he was like. Cold, distant, and quiet, that icy demeanor of his wasn’t only for show. He didn’t like expressing his emotions too excessively or catching a lot of attention.

Also, work comes first, every time with no fail. Normally you didn’t mind it at all, because you adored him nonetheless. All of that wasn’t off-putting, it was what you loved about him. No matter how compliant you are with him, he’d still hurt you sometimes without noticing. You knew he never meant to do it on purpose, but you wished he was a little more considerate. If only he understood your perspective a little more.

Today was different though, in the fact that you had enough. This time you were fed up with him, to the point you could feel your blood boil. For example, you reached out for his hand, obviously because you wanted to hold it. To your dismay, he immediately shook off your touch and avoided your eyes. Was it because Silver Wolf and Kafka were also there? Sure, He wasn’t one to enjoy showing public affection, yet his reaction was too much. If one didn’t know the whole truth they’d think he disliked you, you were a little offended by it.

On the same day but later, Kafka teased blade about how much you loved him since you always looked out for your dear partner. Instead of agreeing with her, maybe even complimenting you (not that you expected him to do so), he answered with, “I can only wait til the day we separate.”

It was an accident that you heard them, you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But, what kind of answer is that?! Could this be his way of telling you he wants to break up? And the damn reason is what, because you like him too much? Your break up is not something he can decide. In the end, you couldn’t keep your frustrations and anger under control. Were you the only one who cherished this relationship?

You were understanding, really, but you had a limit as well.

Loud stomping sounds echoed through the halls, your presence was soon made known to everyone. Honestly, you couldn’t care less about being noisy right now. Without wasting any time, you walked over to him, just to grab his wrist and drag him along. One didn’t need to be a genius to guess you were furious, even someone with low emotional intelligence like him knew.

He decided it would be the smarter move to follow obediently. To be fair he always let you do whatever you wanted, because he didn’t want to hurt you. What if he pushed you away, causing you to trip because he couldn't control his strength? That man thought of his own power as something destructive and despicable, with the mindset that he was no better than a weapon.

Most of the time you were allowed to do whatever you wanted except spoiling him with affection in public.

Now that you thought about it, this was probably because he never expected your relationship to last, and he still doesn’t trust the fact that you won’t leave him or vanish out of thin air. How absurd, you wouldn't leave him even if he begs you to. Heck, not even death would be able to do you two apart. You were ready to become a parasite that lives inside him for the rest of his life, so you two won’t ever be separated. With that being said, how is he that stubborn with his mindset, still firmly believing that you would get sick of him one day.

What a naive thought. Yet that was just how Blade was, and it hurt you like a deep cut in your heart. Damn it, did he really have that little trust in you or in himself? Both options made your heart throb with sadness and sorrow. The previous anger subsided and bitterness filled your senses at the realisation. It was as if everything you thought you had built with him, achieved during all that time meant nothing. Like a fleeting memory, worth as much as a cloud in the sky. You couldn't wrap your head around how he can let you go so easily.

What to do, what to do... You’ve brought him to your room to nag him, but now you weren’t even angry anymore. Only staring at him with a familiar pity in your eyes. One that he has never seen on anyone's face when they interact with him except yours. Whenever you pulled that expression, Blade would ponder over what kind of thoughts were running through your head. Fury? Despair? Or emptiness? If only he could ease your burden and guilt only a little, he'd be willing to do whatever it takes. Maybe you two were never meant to be. Was there anything you could have done to prevent this outcome?

Blade too knew what got you acting up, he had a pretty accurate guess. You probably overheard his conversation with his fellow colleagues, which wasn’t meant for your ears. He wondered how much you heard, a glimmer of hope prayed that today will be the day you end things. He wanted you to break up with him first, so you can save more face and leave without regrets. Instead of keeping silent like always, he took the initiative this time. The boy took a deep breath first, then asked, “So you know?” Somehow it wasn’t akin to a question, more like a confirmation.

Anyone else would think he was being emotionless again, due to how he kept a nonchalant expression even during such situations. Or how his voice had that usual carefree undertone. Yet you knew. You were certain he was frustrated too. You knew him better than anyone, better than he himself. Every single one of his features, habits, and actions, you’ve got it all mesmerized and stuck in your head like a curse. If someone said he wasn’t expressive, you were ready to defend him like the best lawyer out there.

“I won’t break up with you.” You said immediately, getting straight to the point and making yourself clear. “I’d never do that, even if you don’t like me anymore.” Maybe you were a little clingy, or even possessive. Even so, you tried your best to accommodate your own desires to fit into his comfort zone. You've done so much for him, no one loves him more than you, so it’s fine to be egoistic right? “You should, I can’t return the things you give me.” He advised you, now acknowledging your efforts.

Bright red eyes reflecting the colors of a destructive fire stared right into yours, the flame was wild and uncontrolled like always. “You can’t decide that for me, I won't allow you to end our relationship so easily.” You stood by your point, not afraid to keep the eye contact with him. There was just no way you’d let him go, he needs you, and he loves you. Not to mention you do too, so what more did he need?

As if something inside you snapped, you asked him in an almost desperate tone, “What more conditions do I have to fulfil for you to stay? And who will comfort you if not me, who will care for your health if i’m not here?” Your voice was on the edge of breaking, it reflected your inner emotions very well. You couldn’t afford for him to leave. Blade sighed, he growled a little as he spoke, “it’s not about you, it’s me. I’m a sinner, and I still have a price to pay. I don't want to cling to the realm of the living any longer, I don’t deserve it, the only salvation I seek is death.”

You countered him almost immediately, speaking in a slightly more aggressive manner now, “I’m not dating you only because of you, I want it too. I don't care about your past or future destiny, I want to stay with you, in this fleeting moment, in this forsaken universe, and I don’t want anyone else.” Why were you this determined, that's so annoying. There were so many better candidates besides him, who aren’t condemned convicts and have brighter futures! Can’t you see he’s doing it for your sake? Slowly you were getting on his nerves.

A moment of silence broke out, both of you didn’t dare utter a single word. You didn’t want to break the ice first, and neither did he. After a good minute, you couldn’t stand it anymore, it was even more awkward just standing there glaring at each other. Which is why you walked up to him until you were right in front of the male, “answer me, and only this question with no strings attached. Do you- no, did you not like our relationship?”

The fury you previously held returned, now eating away at you even more viciously than before. Blade took his sweet time answering him, both of you knew the truth anyway. “I never said that,” the male those to stay as neutral as possible. To admit he actually wants to continue this path of hardship and suffering wouldn’t help him out of this situation. “I said answer my question only.” You reinforced your point, trying to pressure a response out of him.

He sighed, bawling his hands into fists as he replied, “I regret not being able to be the partner you wished for me to be.” Suddenly you grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly, “that’s not what I asked for!” Despite you sounding so angry you could explode at him, blade noticed the underlying fear and frustration in your voice. “What does my answer change? It doesn’t make me less unsuitable for you.”

“So what? Why can’t we stay together? It’s not like you are in prison! No— never mind, don’t answer me. I know you won’t change your opinion even if this continues.” You stopped squeezing his shoulders as if he would disappear if you didn’t, but you didn’t let go of him. Then you uttered under your breath, “I’ll have to make you stay in a different way then…”

He didn’t quite get what you meant by that, but he also didn’t get the chance to ask. Blade frowned at your ignorance. Don’t you know just how dangerous he is? How stupid does one have to be, to stay this close to someone bathing in blood like him? It’s not that he enjoyed arguing with you, all he wished for was your safety and happiness. He didn't think you could achieve that while being with him.

Every time he came back from a mission, the worried and bitter look on your face would hurt more than any wound he gets on the battlefield. That look you bore would follow him to his nightmares, ripping him off any shred of sleep he could have gotten. Your smile would also drop instantly whenever you saw blood dripping from his body, even if it wasn’t his. Isn’t this proof enough that you should leave? You were clearly scared of him.

At that moment, he lost himself in his thoughts, but you quickly snapped him out of it. All due to a rough push that caused him trip backward and crash onto your bed. He immediately tried to sit up because of his reflexes, since he can’t stay in a vulnerable position during battle for all too long. Though this time you were faster, trapping him between your arms without any exits. Blade stared up at you, his voice caught in his throat. Something about your vibe told him this was not normal, or at least not your gentle self he was used to.

With a cold commanding voice, you said, “strip, blade.” Your voice was so different. The tone was harsh and somewhat unsettling, he knew it wasn’t a suggestion but an order. Without questioning your actions too much, he followed your words as always. First his jacket, then his pants. Underneath his top, he wore nothing but bandages that were wrapped around his torso. Huge battle scars covered his body, proof of his countless fights and victories.

You stared at his scars very intensely. He almost thought you were thrown off by them or maybe even disturbed, if not for your next moves proving him wrong. Since you suddenly started groping his body, touching him all over with your hands. Chest, belly, and waist, all of it while not leaving a single spot untouched.

The face he pulled was almost funny. Poor boy looked so confused yet also slightly embarrassed, were you implying that you didn’t care about those hideous marks? As if you could read his mind, you commented, “your scars are nice, I like them.” He wasn’t ashamed of them, since they were his trophies, his achievements, yet calling them pretty was a white lie. At least that’s what he thought, until you changed his view on them.

To his surprise, you started kissing those scars and licking them, before you eventually left new marks behind. It ranged from bites to hickeys. Some spots were fortunate and only had red dots, other parts were less lucky and are now plagued with bruises. It almost looked like he just went to a battlefield with a beast.

Honestly? For someone who’s basically the definition of fighting, he had surprisingly delicate skin.

Despite how bold you seemed, making a move on him like that, you were actually struggling internally. What could you do to make him abandon those useless thoughts, to make him tied to you forever? It has to be something you haven’t tried yet, and it has to make him go crazy. Otherwise, you will end up in a situation like today again. Then a pretty unholy thought crossed your mind, one that made you smirk to yourself. If you made him into a sex-drunk slut, maybe he'd be dependent on you? Haha, what a joke. No way in hell that dumb idea could work. But... it wouldn't hurt to try…?

“Mhmm… uhnng- hah, haa…” In the meantime blade furrowed his brows, throwing a hand over his mouth to muffle his whimpers. You weren’t playing today, attacking his sensitive spot from the get-go. Fingertips brushed over his chest, all the way to his pelvis, stopping right above where he wanted you the most. “Tsk.” The now seemingly annoyed male clicked his tongue at your playful antics, avoiding eye contact due to his own embarrassment. How did things escalate to this anyway? Weren’t you two just arguing? Today was supposed to be the day he ended it all. Yet here he was, adding more sins to his record.

Just as he decided to indulge himself once more, you stopped. To his surprise you pulled away from him, standing up to grab some tools you’ll need for your plan, leaving him all alone on the bed. Well, this was awkward now. Him, sitting all nude on your mattress while you were fully dressed, fumbling with your drawer. Talk about ruining the mood, were you trying to tease him, or to torment him?

After a short while you came back holding a few toys as well as a bottle of lube. There were so many different things to choose from. Out of nowhere aa thought crossed his mind, could it be that you were going to use him as a stress relief? Somehow his cheeks flushed at the possibility, having you treat him like an object would be better than with care and adoration.

On your way back you noticed a certain crimson fabric lying around on the ground, hidden beneath all the other layers. It was the ribbon that was usually tied around his back. You picked it up with your free hand, or the hand with less stuff to carry, and then threw all of the tools onto the mattress. A fully developed blush covered his cheeks now, he was also fully erect.

What a naughty boy, all hard already with such a desperate look in his eyes. Did the sight of these toys finally ring a bell? You couldn’t mask your excitement behind an angry facade anymore. No matter how much he hurts you, everything is alright again the moment you remember just how gorgeous your pretty boy is. Are you too easy? Yes. Do you give a damn? Heck no.

“Stay still.” You told him as you held his wrists together, slowly binding them behind his back. To do that, you had to flip him over first. Now he was kneeling, holding his ass up high in the air. His muscles immediately tensed, not because of you tying him up, but due to the humiliation he felt in that moment. This position was really shameful, yet he couldn’t help but get excited.

Exposing himself like this, how it brought forth shameless memories. The rope you used was unexpectedly long, so you had to tie it into a bow for it to stay out of the way. It looked really adorable actually. Him, all vulnerable and at your mercy with no possibility to escape. Oh, how you wished you could just tie him up and never let him go. Sadly, he was too strong and would be able to break free from any kind of restraint. What a shame, wasn’t it?

You pressed down on his shoulder to make him arch his back further, earning a small gasp from the male. He couldn’t see or guess what you were doing since you were behind him, so he was being very cautious. Focussing on every rustle and movement he could sense, which also led to him being extra sensitive. Being on such high alert has its on advantages and weaknesses.

That was the reason why he twitched at every contact you created with him. Ever since he started seeing you, he has not only cursed his immortality but also his sensitivity which seems to multiply with each day he spends within your care. Did you feed him anything funny or how was it even possible?

You on the other hand were admiring his toned body, he looked like a sculpture with how perfect he was. Porcelain skin paired with the scars you have caressed already, hickeys and bites all over his frame as well as the faint blush clouding his face. The red ribbon wrapped around him like some accessories was a nice contrast to his pale complexion, or his back muscles that always make you go feral over him. This man was such a fine piece of art; does he really not know? Sometimes you wondered if he was just acting. It only he himself knew what a gem he was.

After finally snapping back to reality, you squeezed his butt cheek with one hand, spreading it slightly to reveal his pink hole. Then using the other hand to squish the bottle of lube, watching the contents drop and drip down his body. First his entrance, then his balls, all the way to his thighs. “Hnng- give me a head up next time..” The coldness of the liquid caught him a little off guard, earning you a yelp from the male. You didn’t even pay attention to his words, you were focused on how the lube slowly ran down his body.

This looked no different than an erotic game, everything was so perverted you almost felt shameful. He shivered a little due to the temperature of the lube was, still not used to it. Cut him some slack, alright? It was the total opposite of his burning hot skin after all. But his body temperature caused you worries as well, it was as if he had a fever. Head spinning while every inch of his body was on fire, heating up like never before.

You had to bite onto your own bottom lip to concentrate, whenever you were with him you got carried off so easily. Damn his pretty face. Really, you had to control yourself to not just force a dildo inside him here and now. Without any further delay, since your patience was on a thin line, you stuck one finger inside his ass, wriggling it around in circles.

“HmM-hngg.." A low hiss escaped him at the sudden intrusion, his rim clenched down onto you almost instantly. “Calm down, I’m preparing you for something way worse than this.” Did you really have to word it like that? This was only making him more nervous and excited. But he had to try to follow your request since it’s what you wanted from him. Even now he was acting on instincts, on the instincts you taught him, on how to be your good boy.

Blade took a few deep breaths until he inhaled and exhaled at a steady pace. After a good minute, he was ready to take more, which is why a second finger joined in soon. This time his reaction was a little less heretic. His shoulders still jumped upwards as well as him throwing his head back due to the sensations, yet that was it. You were able to split and fold him apart without any further troubles.

Eventually you changed the rubbing and trusting motions you previously used to scissoring ones, while watching him struggle not to break your restraints. What a good boy he was, only for you, the training payed off. How will you ever be able to find someone as adorable as him? His whines also picked up, and more lewd sounds of pleasure slipped from him. “Mhmm.. uhHH.!! Damn..it, haaAHH..." Gosh, he was too cute.

You swore listening to those blissful whimpers of his is erasing all your stress, as well as adding years to your lifespan. Gradually, your digits moved faster inside him, pressing against his spongy walls and making him gasp for air. You could feel his soft yet warm insides twitch around you, almost as if his body was begging for more. At this rate, he was going to cum before you get to the main part.

Which is why you stopped, pulling your fingers out of him. As soon as you took them out, his rim clenched around nothing and tensed up. A string of lube connected your fingertips with his hole, it stuck to both sides and refused to let loose. You reached for the bottle again, adding more lubricant to the already enormous amount. “HnnGh… y/n.” The way he moaned your name was so hot, he doesn’t even know just how much you adored him. Everything about him got you acting up like an animal.

Ahhh… That’s it, you couldn’t hold back anymore. On one hand, you wanted to tease him with a toy to the point he begs for you to fuck him, until he tells you how much he needs your dick. Then again you also want to pound into his puffy little hole til he’s a whiny, crying mess, who can’t stop sobbing about how amazing you feel. Until he tells you only yours can satisfy him. You wanted to make him into a slut so badly. What to do? Both options are nice, and they always give great results. Maybe first the toy, and if he begs enough the other choice? While you were still contemplating your choices, the boy distracted you.

“Hurry up.. uh-ugh... teasing me like this isn’t like you.” Blade complained, squinting his eyes while looking away. No way, he is begging you already, when all you’ve done was a little fingering? “Haha~ so needy today, aren’t you? You only show this side to me don’t you, Bladie?” You couldn't let such a fitting opportunity slip and had to tease him about it.

The blush on his face darkened again, his ears and shoulders had been infected too. Your question was met with a meek nod before silence occurred again. He only shows this side to you, only you and no one else. Heh. “My, since you like it so much.” You grabbed the silicon toy and pressed the tip against him, before slowly inserting it. Sharp gasps and groans can be heard from him, his hands clutched the sheets like his life depended on it.

“Wa-wait… y/n, y-y/n.?! It’s too su-sudden, mhmm, ah fuck..” The poor boy was gazing at you over his shoulder, his hands clenching the restrains with newfound despair. Was he really stretched enough to take something so big inside him? God.. the shame, curiosity and pleasure are mingling inside him, mixing together into a perfect blend. You always managed to make him excited and on edge, you made his life much more tolerable than before.

When the tip was inside him, he was already mewling and shaking. The deeper you penetrated him, the louder he became. At the point where you finally reach the half, he was already groaning and blabbering useless things, incoherent nonsense like, “ah, too-! MhHm, good?! oHH, ah, y/NNNnmm..!!” His moans were like blessings to your ears, the most beautiful singing that could put sirens to shame.

It didn’t take long before the entire thing was inside him, you prepared him a lot after all and you were quite generous with the lube. “Ah.. fuck, I- mhm, mo-more...” What a greedy boy, he just got what he wanted and he’s already craving more. You couldn’t help but giggle at that, cooing gently. “Shh, get used to this first.” After all that drama, you still tried to be gentle with him, to make him feel good and become dependent on you. Yet reality shows it backfired. Blade grinned a little, his feisty, kind of intimidating smirk. And it caught you off guard.

Out of nowhere, he mocked you in a snickering tone, “is- mhm, this all you’ve go-got?” He tried to taunt you, but still stumbled over his words a little. His stuttering was almost cute if it weren’t for the words he voiced out. “Huh?” You replied, seemingly annoyed now. “You said.. hah, that you’ll, ha-hnghhh… make me stay, so do- fuck..!! Do it.” What’s gotten into him, his mood just did a whole 180. Suddenly he turned into a brat? Oh how he has done it, he dug his own grave, you weren't going to be nice to such an annoying thing.

You grabbed his bottom and spread it with your hands, the dildo inserted into him was being pushed to one side. His eyes widened as if he was a deer caught in headlights, finally reaching the point of realising what he got himself into. He grit his teeth enough for you to hear, all while the ribbon started binding him to rip. Sweat was rolling down his forehead, his eyes exposed how much he loved every single second of this. Not long after, you lined your own length against him, slowly penetrating him. Now even you were amazed at how loose he was since he was able to fit two inside.

It was an act of impulse, to fill him up like that, though now you were getting into it. Just the thought of it was kind of hot, him, taking two dicks inside that adorable pink hole of his? “UgHH!! mhMM- gaAhHH!! AhHHH <3!! Too bi-big..!” Blade complained once again, his knuckles turned white with how he was clenching his fists. “Too much.., n-no!! Slower, my stomach feels so full..♡♡”

So now he’s whining about it being too much when he had been such a whore moments before, begging for more? Oh no, you weren’t going to stop now, not when he seemed to be enjoying himself so much. I mean, he was whimpering as tears collect in his eye sockets, marks from his nails forming on his palm due to the pure strength he was using. His hands weren’t on his back anymore, instead above his head and writhing away.

The way he squirmed and trashed around, desperately trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure and sensations, ahh you loved him so much! Then how about you comment on his poor, neglected cock? How it's twitching around all uselessly while dirtying your sheets? There were so many things you could do to him, and you had all the time in the world.

It took a little fighting, but you eventually bottomed out inside him. Finally fitting both of the lengthy dicks inside his soft, hot walls. “Haah, shit, you are too tight.” You growled, he didn’t know if it was a compliment or not. On the other hand there was no way you could move when he’s been stuffed full like this, the tight muscle was holding onto you for dear life. His rim squeezed you as if it would break if not. That’s when you heard sobs emerging from him, paired with the most erotic moans you’ve encountered ever.

“Oh-hmHhH!!! AhhHHhnn, fuck, fuck, fuuUckKK! Y/n, oh please..” A rough voice which used to be at least a few octaves deeper was now itching closer to the high-pitched singing of a mockingbird, alongside hiccups standing in his own way each time he opened his mouth. Simply heavenly, there were no words to describe this beautiful scenery in front of you.

And to think you were the cause of it, oh dear, he really wanted to seduce you, doesn't he?

If he really wanted to break up with you, he shouldn’t make such sounds! In the end, you had to wait quite a bit until he got somewhat used to it, so that you could move your hips slightly. Blade on the other side buried his face between your pillows, bawling his eyes out. It hurt, yet it felt so good it was mind breaking. Oh lord, he could feel himself getting stretched so much that it was almost scary.

“HnNGhh.. ahh-hic, y/n.. I feel so fu-full- damn it m’ gonna break if you continue!” Sweat rolled down his face, hair stuck to his body and his precum was everywhere. Thighs, shaft, and sheets, you name it. What a messy boy he was, so dirty, filthy and lovable. You stroked his back while he sobbed, rubbing his sacrum and spine causing him to shudder even more, just the lightest touches were enough to make him succumb to bliss and ecstasy that were otherworldly. Seriously, at this rate he was really going to break..!

Then you grabbed his hair and yanked on his locks, whispering in a soft tone again, “Bladie, you have to loosen up a little. I can barely fuck you.” “MhmMMM!! Do-don’t say it like that..! You’re embarrassing me!” Aha, so talking dirty can still earn you a loud groan from the boy, he was just as sensible as at the start of your session. If not, he only got more sensitive. You tamed him well.

The pain he felt was quickly converted into pleasure, confusing his body and tad bit. Don’t you know he’s trying his best? He’s never taken two at the same time, he could swear his butt was going to tear at any moment. Though all these tingles he felt with no end in sight, the way his nerves were being stimulated on a whole new level he couldn’t fathom, yea it was worth it.

This was pure paradise, the first paradise he got to savour. He could swear this was something normally only aeons could get to enjoy, that’s how exhilarating these emotions were. You noticed how he tried to take everything you gave him, to accommodate it and make it fit, but to no avail of course. In honour of his efforts, you added some more lube and pressed your dick deeper inside him. This time it reached his sweet spot, hitting his prostate with such accuracy it made him see the pearly gates. The boy couldn’t help but growl out loud again, “AaaAahHHH.. ♥︎♡!!! OoHh- mhMm, too deeeEEKK!!”

The way you stared at him got him breathless, it made him feel ashamed and humiliated. Letting you see all those despicable sides of him was too much, he only wanted to show you his best after all. “Do-don’t look at me.. so intensely.” Blade whined, nuzzling his face into the mattress. “Why not?” You asked him with a lewd grin, licking your lips as you admired how adorable he looked.

“I’m fi-filthy, and it’s humiliating…!” Now he’s suddenly being humble and self-conscious? When he was just teasing you moments ago? Your gaze changed into a sickly sweet one, loving, possessive even. “Don’t worry bladie, in my eyes, you are an angel.” Then you ran your fingertips over his skin again, before pulling them back to have a better grip on his body.

Every time you moved even the slightest bit, he’d let out the most intense and lewd noises ever, as if he copied them straight from a porno. The poor man was so ashamed, he didn’t know what to do. Everything you did to him felt just too damn good, he couldn’t keep himself under control. Now he was biting the soaked pillows in a pathetic attempt to muffle those sweet whimpers, shaking his ass due to his knees going weak under him. Your poor pillow.. it was wet with tears and drool, also a bit of sweat. Well, not that you even noticed.

"Fuck this is hot.” That was all you could think of in that situation. How could you think of anything but your dearest boyfriend after all? A wicked smile pestered your features while your eyes took in the view. If you had one wish, you’d wish time would stop at exactly this moment, you would have been so content. Gods, aeons, please, you needed this man so badly it was a curse. It was gnawing away at you from the inside!

The overflowing desire took over your rational mind, and you suddenly started pounding into him at a rough pace. All you wanted was more, more of him, more of his voice, more of this control you held over him. Now you were consumed by lust and greed huh? “AahHHGH?!? Y-y/nNN..! MhmMngHN...?!?” So unbelievably mean you were, rutting into him like he was some used, cheap-ass whore. As if he was nothing but your flashlight, your rag doll. He secretly loved it, but he would never tell you. Even if he was a dead men, he valued his dignity.

With one hand you grabbed his waist, with the other hand, you held the dildo to keep it in its rightful place, in case it slipped out. Damn it, you aren't leaving him any choices, are you? Not that he wanted to escape anyway. Once again your stunning little lover couldn't hold his tears back, sobbing in a meek voice about how you were too fast and too huge.

“Bi-biiiig… too mMHmm, biiiiiggg..!!” Choked out whines was all that filled the room, alongside his adorable mewling. Each time your hips snapped against his, you would create loud slapping noises that are being echoed through the room. His dick would also swing around and hit his tummy. This happened so often that strings of sticky precum connected his belly with the tip of his cock.

During your own excitement, you started babbling nonstop, repeating the same words over and over again. “Blade, fuuuck. I love you, I love you so much. Stay with me, don't leave. I love you.”

Somehow your hand found itself entangled in his long, dark blue hair again. Yanking on them like it was some makeshift leash, getting off to the sight of his pained face. How his eyes rolled back, tongue stuck out and body shaking like a weak, helpless animal. Would it be too mean and sadistic for you to say you took pleasure in him being vulnerable? He himself also couldn't form coherent sentences anymore, he has lost that skill for quite a while now. All Blade could do was scream out your name and beg for god-knows-what, while hoping you'll grant him some relief soon.

“Y/n, y/nnN! OohHH, ha-AhhNhhnN~!! Touch my di-dick too... please, oh ple-please~ mhmm...!” Right, there was still that useless yet cute little thing hanging between his legs. You hadn't touched it even once, hence why it was an angry shade of red and all swollen. Despite all that, nothing can beat how bruised up and abused his hole was. You weren’t as tender with him as you planned to, well, this was fine too.

“No way, I’m only going to fuck your pussy here.” As always, you just can't keep your mouth shut once you see his flustered and fucked out expressions, spewing one nonsense after another. "Ahh.. I'm clo-cloOohhsee <3, fuck me harder, please, y/n, please please please!!" Now he was over the moon, having already abandoned any shred of dignity he might have had beforehand.

The tears decorated his pretty face, trailing off his cheeks shone brightly. Every erotic word in the book could be heard coming from his lips, enticing you to give it your best to pound him until he gets drunk on the pleasure. He probably was already but wouldn’t hurt to keep going, right? It was also your initial plan anyway, if you hadn't lost yourself in his moans like that.

“It's alright, cum for me darling. I love you.” You reassured him, caressing his scalp now instead of tugging on it. After thinking about it for a few seconds… wouldn't this mean he is cumming untouched? This adorable but perverted bastard. Heh.

For Blade, these words of reassurance were all he needed to hear right now, that was enough to snap the final straw within him and make him finish all over the sheets. “Ah-aahHnnGHN uhNHMMM!!! Cumming- I’m cummingnnn!! <3~~!!” That was basically a scream, he was so loud, you were sure everyone on the spaceship must have heard him. All his comrades and subordinates. Somehow that made you very happy, now everyone will know your relationship is still healthy and you two have no plans of going separate ways. Not like you would have let him anyway.

If you didn't consider your bed defiled before, now you obviously do. A nice and huge load shoot out of his poor member, covering the area beneath him in white. The wet spots were overwhelming, it was so nasty that you couldn’t help but smile. As for blade, it would be an understatement to simply say he was exhausted. He was way more than just that. You basically fucked every sense of self he had out of him, turning his brain into mush that could only beg for more of your touch.

After receiving and having a taste of the Paradies on earth, he won't be able to turn back anymore. Everything was just to bind him to you forever. Well, this was fine too, if you execute everything in the right way, he won't be able to go a day without thinking about you ever again! (As if he wasn’t like that before already) His body will remember you and only you, until it can only be pleased by you. Even if you had to turn him into a cock hungry slut, you would gladly do it.

Come on, your obsession was justified! Just look at him, he's everything you ever wanted in a man, he was your only desire. Your world, your colours, your breath. If he isn’t with you, you’ll lose your mind. Then everything becomes to tasteless. What do they say again? Love changes a person.

His skin shone due to the thin layer of sweat covering his body, eyes still rolled into the back of his skull since his brain was still processing the sensations and pleasures up to this point. His orgasm and the aftermath made him so tired and battered, even after waiting for a good minute he couldn't calm down nor move a single muscle.

When you pulled out of him and took the toy out as well, his stretched entrance was gaping as if he wanted to be filled again. Then you untied his wrists, throwing the red ribbon onto the ground. Evidence of the binds and his struggles were left behind, pretty marks were around his tender wrist. You’ll need to apply some medicine later. How must he feel? Even you were a little shaken by all that tension, and you weren't even on the receiving end.

After giving him another minute to catch his breath, you deemed him conscious enough to understand your words. Without hesitation and a single ounce of shame, you whispered into his ear, "you are mine and I’m yours, bladie~ So please, stay with me, even after your immortality ends."

Tags: @ghostiegirl56 @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze @sh1-n0bu

Nini!rant 2.0:

Being a yandere irl is not hot at all, it’s creepy as heck (but in fiction I’m down for a pathetic whimpy clumsy yandere)

Yandere is a word mixed from two different ones and ordinates from Japanese. The first is ‘yanderu’, which means “to be sick,” and the second is ‘deredere’, it means smt like “lovestruck” — so yandere just describes someone who’s sickly in love, or, loves someone to the point it’s sick.

Often times they are depicted in one way only. The typical, disgusting and intimidating ones. Kidnapping their darling while threatening/ killing anyone who comes to close to them, or the potential love rivals. Due to these rather… extrem methods, yandere’s are often depicted as doms. But yandere come in all flavours, they don’t have to be just dom.

To be obsessive in love can go both ways, to want to possess the person, or to want to worship the ground they walk on. Sometimes the person doesn’t even know they were a yandere, thinking what they did was alright. There are also yandere’s that love & hate their darling, which is an interesting dynamic?

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kikixreverie · 2 years ago

Text

It's called: freefall

Bucky x Female reader

Summary - Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

Word count - 10k

Warnings - (18+) smut, fingering, p in v, friends to lovers, fake marriage, gross misogynistic man (not Bucko), borderline sexual harassment (not too intense, just gross words, and also not Bucky ofc), fluff, kinda angst, more misogyny.

A/N - Hi, this took me weeks to edit for some reason, sorry, and apologies if it's too long/wordy, i got carried away again. I'm not a big fan of the first half ngl, maybe that's because it's bad, or maybe it's because I've read it about a hundred times. The smut is good though, and that's what really matters.

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"It's just a quick job, I promise. It'll be easy."

Steve gave you a smile of encouragement, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him, before politely averting his gaze to the floor when you lifted your dress slightly to slide your usual dagger into the holster on your thigh.

"Then what's with the getup?" You asked, lifting your head to catch sight of yourself in the mirror opposite you, looking at the dress you had been made to wear.

It was a pretty dress, beautiful actually, the colour beautiful against your skin-tone, perfectly fitted in all the right places, and it flowed down to the floor, a slit travelling up the length of your left leg, ending at your upper thigh.

You felt confident in it, and it was certainly a boost to your ego when Natasha wolf-whistled at the sight of you and Steve turned an impressive shade of red, but it wasn't something you were used to, having spent the past few years of your life dodging and refusing Tony's party invites, sticking to the comfiest clothes you owned when walking about the compound. It was a beautiful dress, but you couldn't help but feel like an imposter wearing it.

Natasha strode over to you and slightly adjusted the placement of your knife, ensuring it wasn't visible through the dress. "Daniel Kozlov. He's been on Shield's hit list for years now, fucker keeps catching and killing our agents on the inside."

You scoffed amusedly and shook your head, "What, so you send me in to get killed too?"

"Don't underestimate yourself, I've seen you take down four armed men with a screwdriver; you'll be fine, plus, you'll have Bucky and he knows how to stay undetected." Steve reassured you and you smiled at him, nodding to his words.

You heard footsteps behind you only moments before another voice spoke up, and you turned to the door, your breath catching in your throat as you did.

"That I do," Bucky nodded to Steve as he entered the room, eyes focused on his hands, adjusting his cuff links with a furrowed brow, before he finally tilted his gaze up, meeting your wide eyes with his own.

You barely noticed him looking you up and down, as you were too busy doing the exact same thing to him, no doubt probably being incredibly obvious as you stared with your lips parted. He looked like pure fucking sin.

Unadulterated and unfiltered sin.

His suit was all black and his pale, blue eyes contrasted against the colour, somehow making them stand out even more than usual. His already incredibly muscular arms and legs were accentuated, the expensive fabric tight against his skin, without it looking strange and uncomfortable, it only drew your attention to how broad his shoulders were compared to his narrow waist, or how thick his thighs looked in the black dress pants.

Multiple silver rings graced his fingers, matching with the silver, designer watch on his left wrist and you did a double-take when you noticed that his watch was wrapped around skin, not vibranium.

"Your arm." You said, sounding more like a statement than a question and Bucky forced himself to tear his gaze from your exposed thigh and tried to hide his pink dusted cheeks and breathless intake of air as his eyes followed yours to his metal arm, now concealed by what looked to be skin.

"Yeah." His voice came out as a sigh. He didn't know why, most amputees like him he was sure would be over the moon with the impressive technology, but it just made him uncomfortable, seeing his arm how he did 70 years ago. I felt inherently wrong. "Tony."

You nodded, looking away from his hand. A part of you was annoyed Tony had given it to him, knowing that it took Bucky years to accept that part of himself, and this seemed like it would be a setback in that department, though you still understood why it was necessary, Bucky was the best for the job, and chances are a criminal as 'highbrow' as Kozlov, would recognise the arm.

You wanted to change the subject, and you could tell Bucky did too, so you huffed a laugh and met his eyes, jokingly poking his chest with your finger, "You look like a mobster."

He nodded and chuckled, "Thanks, I guess. You look like a mobster's wife."

"Wife huh? Is that what we're doing?" You ask, turning your head to look down at Nat questioningly as she finished with your dress.

"Did they not tell you?" Bucky asked and you shook your head.

"I missed the briefing but Steve here thought he'd sign me up anyway." You gave the blonde a jokey, reprimanding look and he sighed, picking up two folders from the table and handing them to you.

"Blue one is about Kozlov, and the black is about who you and Bucky are going to be playing."

You take the folders from Steve, handing the blue one to Natasha as you open the black one, "James and Lucille Walter. Hey, how come he gets to keep his name and I get Lucille?"

"That's just a coincidence and I'm sure Bucky isn't too happy about it either. You're pretending to be a real couple, James Walter is one of Kozlov's newest buyers, he doesn't know him very well though, that's why you two shouldn't be caught out by anyone."

Nodding to Steve's words, you quickly skim over the rest of the folder, memorising as much as you can, before swapping with Nat and reading the other one, "And where are the real James and Lucille Walter?"

"Dead."

You stop your reading and turn to Natasha at the sound of her voice, giving her a look when she tried to hide her smirk.

"Ah, yes. Courtesy of Natasha Romanoff herself, Mr and Mrs Walter are in fact, dead" Steve spoke dramatically, causing you to scoff and wink at the redhead beside you.

"We should leave now. I'll explain further in the car and give you a rundown of the plan. Should be an easy job." Bucky takes the folders from you and tucks them under his arm, signalling for you to walk out the door and you give Steve and Natasha a smirk before you leave.

"Wish me luck guys."

_______________________________________

You were picked up from the compound by one of Stark's trusted drivers and Bucky described the plan in detail to you on the way there, but as you arrived closer and closer to your destination, you felt the nerves come on.

Usually, you were behind a computer screen on missions, hacking security cameras and breaking into encrypted files, you had no doubt of your fighting skills, you've been training almost your whole life, and the few missions you've done where you've had to fight were smooth sailing, but you had never done undercover before.

You started nibbling on your lower lip as soon as the car pulled up, doubting yourself again despite the amount of times Natasha has given you a whole speech about why you had no reason to ever do that.

The door on Bucky's side opened and when he offered you his arm to help you out of the car, meeting your eyes and giving you a gentle smile, you felt the nerves calm slightly.

You and Bucky were close in a way that no one had expected, considering he had the tendency to keep himself away from people and stay quiet when he was forced to socialise. You were slow-paced and gentle with him, a huge contrast to the way Sam would constantly be on Bucky about his lack of social skills, or Tony dragging him to parties he had no interest in. Sam always has the best intentions, but sometimes can be a little too enthusiastic for Bucky, and Tony, well sometimes Tony's just a dick with full knowledge of the fact that he's being one, and not a single care in the world about it.

You and Bucky both had an understanding, you had confided in him about your fears, your anxiety, and he had managed to do the same.

You just couldn't help but develop a teeny tiny crush on him over the past few months.

"Don't work yourself up, stay in character, stay alert, and remember the plan."

Nodding to him, you took a deep breath and put yourself into character, reminding yourself of yours and Bucky's new names, keeping your head up as you entered the party, an expensive diamond wrapped around your left ring finger with a similar pattern to the silver band Bucky had on his.

The hall was beautiful, gold detailing adorned the large doors and walls, reaching up to the ceiling to create beautiful patterns against the pristine white of the building. The party-goers were even more beautiful, hundreds of gowns and suits worth more than your life, probably bought and worn for a single night, before they're discarded and forgotten in the back of their walk-in closets.

You felt like you didn't fit in at all, but you watched as party guests eyed the two of you, and they seemed to be approving.

It didn't take you and Bucky long to get situated, stood in the corner of the extravagant hall with a glass of champagne now in your hand as you surveyed the exits and bodyguards, and Bucky looked for the target.

The mission was just a small lead in a huge investigation. You and Bucky were just here to buy something from Kozlov and then get out.

"Got him, 4 o-clock. He's surrounded but he should be expecting us so it shouldn't be an issue." Bucky had leant down to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling against your neck and causing a shiver to rake over your shoulders.

Fuck, he smelled like sin too.

It made you want to take a deeper breath, made you want to pull him even closer, close enough to close that small gap between your lips and kiss him till you run out of breath, and as much as that would be inconspicuous and normal for James and Lucille Walter, it would be completely inappropriate for Bucky and Y/n.

"We shouldn't go over yet. Let's just mingle a bit, get more of a feel of this place and blend into the background as much as we can." You add, and Bucky nods, surveying the room again before meeting your eyes.

"Good idea, but when we do go over, don't make eye contact with him and don't say anything," said Bucky. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, giving him a slightly annoyed, but understanding smile, and he smiled back apologetically, "I know, it's stupid, but that's what these guys are like. If he so much as thinks that you're either, on the table or threatening his masculinity, we're in trouble. Okay?"

You understood what Bucky was saying, men like Kozlov, they see women as property, or in some cases, currency. It's best to stay off their radar as best you can, which includes not threatening his masculinity by daring to look him in the eyes.

Women were to keep their heads down.

Which was bullshit.

"Okay."

He gives you a final nod and you think he's finally about to pull away and have mercy on your heart, but before he does, he pauses and presses his soft, warm lips to your cheek in a gentle kiss.

Air gets caught in your throat as it happens, but you try not to make an audible noise, quickly pulling yourself together and reminding yourself that you and Bucky are pretending to be a couple and he's just trying to sell it better. It makes sense.

It's just pretend.

You spend the whole evening with your hand wrapped around Bucky's bicep, neither of you breaking apart for anything as random people come up to you and try to start conversations. Usually, one of you will take one for the team and has to stand there talking about money and beach houses for five minutes, plus the occasional question about kids, which seemed to make Bucky blush every time, as the other keeps an eye on Kozlov.

"So how long have you two been married?" A seemingly kind lady asks, her red dress matching her lips as they stretch into an awkward smile.

"A year in June," You respond, well-rehearsed at this point as you smile up at your pretend husband, "Can't believe how quickly it's going."

Bucky is quick thinking with the act, and he smiles down at you, his arm wrapping gently around your waist and squeezing you to his side. Your heart probably stopped beating for a moment, and you wondered how he got so good at this, before brushing the thought away and looking back to the woman in the red dress, smiling warmly at her too.

"Ah, bet you two are still in the honeymoon phase. You look completely smitten with each other, it's adorable." She scrunched her nose up on the word 'adorable', her gaze flicking between the two of you before she glanced at her own husband, standing a few feet away as he laughed with a larger group of men, a big glass of whiskey in his hand. She sighed.

You tried to keep your face neutral, smiling and nodding along, but something about what she had said had caught in your chest, and you wished you could see just for a moment from someone else's eyes, just how 'smitten' you both look.

You felt bad for the woman, who stood in the middle of the huge ballroom completely alone and abandoned by her husband, but there wasn't anything you could do for her, and Bucky was subtly hinting to you that you were to go speak with Kozlov soon, so you kissed her cheek and bid her goodbye.

You spared Bucky a quick glance and he was focused on Kozlov, his face stoic as he glanced in his direction discreetly, scanning the exits too, checking for close-by security cameras and windows again, just in case.

"I think it's time, doll." He murmured.

You quickly lift your head to meet his eyes, the pet-name he usually only used when you were tipsy and would brush it off casually, slipping off his tongue, though it had the same effect sober or not, you blushed and nodded.

He smiled at you, almost looking fond, though you were pretty sure he was just offering you a break from the stoic, mission orientated Bucky, before he took a deep breath and reached for your hand on his bicep to hold it with his own, gently squeezing before guiding you towards the target.

As you walked Kozlov's way, who was surrounded by burly, most definitely armed bodyguards, you noticed the women surrounding him too, some with their husbands and all of them looking beyond uncomfortable, staring out at the party with bored, or even nervous expressions.

"James Walter," Bucky nodded to one of the bodyguards, who had stopped you both from passing, and the bodyguard shared a look with another, before nodding and letting you walk on.

Daniel Kozlov was sat comfortably in a velvet armchair as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, seemingly stuck in a boring conversation as he stared at the wall before him, completely uninterested in what the man talking to him had to say.

"Mr Kozlov, I'm James Walter, It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Kozlov perked up at the sound of a new voice and a wide, Cheshire cat grin formed on his lips as he regarded you and Bucky, though you kept your eyes to the floor, or seemingly 'admiring' the expensive decorations as the men spoke.

"Ah, my new friend! I was hoping you'd show up, had a few men flake out on me recently," The man spoke dramatically, his thick European accent prevalent and images of his file flashed in your head, remembering that Shield had been taking down his buyers one by one, either arresting them on other charges or putting a bullet between their eyes as Natasha had done with the real Mr and Mrs Walter.

They weren't particularly very nice people, so you didn't hold much guilt for their deaths, or stealing their identity after the fact.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, sir. Heard you've got something I have my interests set on." Bucky's voice was smooth and charismatic, matching Kozlov's energy as best he could, and you couldn't lie, it made your blood run warmer, heat spreading to certain parts of your body you were ashamed to admit were reacting to the confidence he exuded tonight.

"Hm... I suppose I do. Do you always allow your wife to be a part of your deals?" Your looked up slightly at his mention of you, and Kozlov smirked wickedly at the expression on your face, "Women can be god-awful gossips sometimes."

This fucking guy-

Bucky squeezed your hand tightly, forcing the words from his tongue, "I assure you, sir. She is nothing to worry about."

He was just as pissed as you were.

"I don't know, she doesn't really seem like the quiet type, I reckon she's a loud-mouth once she's on her back, although I'm sure having her on her knees will shut her up nice and quiet." He chuckled darkly and Bucky's hand was holding yours so tight, his jaw clenching and unclenching, measured breaths exhaled through his nose, he still managed to keep his face blank though, as did you, quietly seething as you put on the frightened baby deer look that men seemed to love, staring down at the floor.

He needed to think you were in the same position as the other poor, frightened women here, that he'd get bored with you all the same.

You swallowed your tongue though, wanting nothing more than to speak up and put the bastard in his place, right before beating the absolute shit out of him, though you knew that would come in due time, for now all you could do was finish this fucking mission.

"She won't be a problem."

Kozlov laughed, knowing he was getting under James' skin. He stood from the armchair and nodded towards Bucky, the smile sinking, trying to look intimidating, despite the fact that he was practically less than half the size of Bucky, "Make your payment."

Bucky pulled a phone from his pocket, sending a single word in a text and waiting for the confirmation only seconds later, before tucking it away again, "Payment made."

Daniel looked over at a man sat in the corner with a laptop and when he nodded, he turned back to look at Bucky, his hand sneaking into his own pocket and pulling out a hard drive, handing it to Bucky before taking a step back and looking you up and down.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

You swallowed your irritation, narrowly avoiding the urge to roll your eyes at the way he was eyeing you like a piece of meat, Bucky opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by a glare.

"I asked the wife, not you. Name?" He spoke through gritted teeth, obviously quick to anger, and you fought back the urge to fucking bitch slap him, take the dagger from your thigh and press it to his neck, but you were sticking to the deer in headlights act.

"Lucille."

A smirk overtook his face, a healed scar on his cheek stretching as he did so, "Pretty name for a pretty thing."

At this point, Bucky was squeezing your hand so hard again, your fingers were starting to go numb, the rings he was wearing digging uncomfortably into your skin, but you didn't pull away, instead, you returned the tight grip to try to reassure him.

Taking a step closer to you, Daniel Kozlov lifted his hand to your cheek, making you flinch slightly and you clenched your jaw when the back of his hand caressed your cheek, his skin ice-cold against yours.

"I happen to collect pretty things."

Bucky felt sick to his stomach, knowing that he couldn't do anything besides stand there and watch, stepping out of line in any way would end in a fight, and he knew he couldn't risk lives, or the mission.

A part of you was expecting him to backhand you, but he never did Instead, he touched your cheek for a while longer, glancing over at Bucky with a smile before he took a step away from you and laughed at the murderous look Bucky was trying to hide, he knew that Bucky was in a position where there wasn't much he could do to stop him, and he openly mocked him for it, "I could take her off your hands for the night for you, teach her some manners. Maybe she'll learn to answer her superiors quickly, when they ask her a question."

"Not necessary." Bucky's voice was scarily even, but his jaw was aching from how hard he was grinding his teeth together and he started pulling you closer to him, shooting Kozlov a dangerous glare, "I think it's time we leave."

"Of course, of course. No doubt you need to get her to bed."

Bucky ignored his words and turned, pushing his way past the bodyguards and pulling you along by your hand, making you stumble in your heels.

"James." You called out as you tried to catch up with him. His grip on your hand was starting to hurt again but he kept walking with intent, pulling you out of the grand doors at the entrance to the hall and towards the expensive car you had arrived in.

He handed the driver a wad of cash and told him to leave, giving him a silent glare which obviously meant 'fuck off' when the guy hesitated.

As Bucky pulled open the passenger seat door and helped you into the car, you glared at him, though when he ducked his head into the car and leant over you to put your seatbelt on for you, the intensity behind the glare faded and you were left just staring wide eyed at him, and instead of yelling at him and telling him that you were perfectly capable of doing your own seatbelt, you were lost for words with how close his body was to yours, his breath fanning against your bare shoulder.

You could only breathe when he pulled away and slammed the door shut, rounding the car to get into the driver's seat, not sparing you another glance as he turned on the engine and put the car into gear, speeding off into the city.

his frustration and anger filled the space with tension.

"Bucky, you need to calm down," You tried but he continued to ignore you, one hand on the gear stick and the other gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. You sighed, his frustration and anger filled the space with tension, and you concluded that he was a grown man who could calm himself down.

You dropped your head against the seat as you focused on the view outside your window, the lights of the city burning bright against the night sky.

You glanced at the side-view mirror, and rolled your eyes when you realised it was the same car that was behind you when you left the party, "We're being followed."

Bucky's hearing was obviously working. When he heard what you said, his eyes lifted to the rear-view mirror and he sighed heavily, "Fuck."

"Where are we gonna go? None of the safehouses are fancy enough for Mr and Mrs Walter."

"We'll have to go to a hotel, they shouldn't give us any trouble unless we seem suspicious. There's no way Kozlov would have us killed immediately after a sale, too risky," You nod at his words, knowing that Bucky was an expert at things like this due to his past with Hydra, he knew how men like Kozlov worked, how their brains ticked, and you trusted him completely. "Okay, I know where to go." He said as you kept an eye on the car, taking note of the plate number and trying to get a view of the person driving it, "Text Nat with the burner in my pocket, tell her we'll be at The Pierre, tell her to bring backup just in case but keep them minimally armed, it's just a precaution."

You sigh again, looking away from the car behind you and back to Bucky, "Which pocket?"

"Inside pocket, left side."

You nibbled on your lower lip as you reached over to him, and he tilted his body to you slightly in assistance. Bucky gulped, and you blushed as your hands brushed against his shirt when you reached into his suit jacket, searching for the pocket.

His body was incredibly warm and it only made you want to draw out the situation even longer as Bucky fought to keep his concentration on the road and the car behind, but eventually, your fingers brushed against the phone and you hesitantly pulled it out and sat back in your seat, a long exhale coming from him as you did so and he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, shooting you a quick glance, his gaze falling to how exposed your thigh had become with the movement, though he tore his eyes away quickly.

You slipped the phone back into Bucky's pocket once you had received Natasha's quick response, and Bucky pulled up to the hotel. You watched in quiet amusement as the man following parked not-so-discreetly, a bit further down the street.

"Remember who your playing." Bucky shot you a final glance as he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, straightening out his suit jacket as he walked to the passenger side and pulled open the door, offering his arm to you and helping you out of the car.

You hated how real it all felt, him doting on you when you were trying desperately hard to convince yourself it was an act, but you still wrapped both your hands around his arm, draping yourself against his side as you walked towards the entrance, telling yourself that you did it only for the upkeep of the ruse.

The tension between you was undeniable as Bucky looked down at you, his expression serious, but not stern, only intense.

"James? Are we going in?" You asked, using his fake yet real name and it seemed to wake him from his daze, nodding as he reminded himself of his surroundings and the man now wandering closer to them, his phone to his ear, though he didn't speak into it.

"Course, doll. Just admiring my wife's beauty in the city lights."

Your mouth fell open slightly at his words but he didn't give you much time to react before he was walking you into the hotel, and you were thankful that he wasn't dragging you this time.

Bucky didn't waste any time, quickly moving to one of the people running the front desk and glaring down at him.

"Name?"

"James Walter," He spoke and the man nodded, typing something out on his computer before handing Bucky a black key-card, giving him a fearful smile.

Stepping away from the front desk, Bucky moved to your left as he discreetly put his hand into his pocket and slipped the burner phone into your hand, and you switched the phone into your right hand once you realised his plan, tossing the phone into the garbage bag on the back of a janitors cart before walking into the elevator.

You sighed heavily as you both finally entered the hotel room, trudging to the bed in the middle of the giant room and collapsing on it as Bucky started scoping out the room, quickly checking the bathroom and shutting all the curtains.

"We're going to have to stay here all night, aren't we? That guy isn't gonna go anywhere." You sighed, closing your eyes as you sunk into the mattress.

"One bed." Bucky said, and you peaked your eyes open one at a time, moving your gaze to the man now slouched in the armchair tucked into the corner of the large room, still looking beyond annoyed.

"Huh?"

His jaw ticked in annoyance as his head fell back against the chair, "There's only one bed."

Oh.

"Oh," You sat up on the bed, looking around the room awkwardly.

You didn't really want to think about what that could mean, it either formed butterflies in your stomach, or disappointment.

He didn't have to act so upset about it.

"Is it that bad?" You scoffed, half joking, half serious, and Bucky lifted his head, his eyes widening, lips parted.

"No, that's not what I-" He cut himself off, sighing and furrowing his eyebrows, looking guilty, "Sorry. I'm just so fucking annoyed."

You smiled and nodded, "I know, me too. We're one step closer to getting this guy though, Buck."

He nodded too, eyes closing again, his jaw unclenching, finding some kind of relief in your words.

"We don't have to share if you don't want, but I'm okay with it if you are. I trust you. Plus, we've fallen asleep on the couch together before, can't be that much different." You shrugged, acting nonchalant, although you felt extremely not, as you stood up, sick of the feeling of your knife's handle digging uncomfortably in your skin.

You pulled your skirt up to expose your other thigh, lifting your right foot to rest on the bed, while making sure not to flash Bucky in the process as you pull the dagger out, throwing it back on the bed, leaving the garter on for now.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight, watching as your dagger glided against the skin of your thigh as you removed it from yourself, tossing it onto the white bed sheets before dropping your foot back to the floor.

"No it's... I don't- uh." He trailed off, losing his train of thought, obviously distracted.

You looked at him, eyes dropping to follow the movement of his tongue wetting his lips, and you knew you'd never get the sight of him right now out of your mind. His legs were spread, sitting comfortably in the chair, one of his arms draped over the arm of the chair, while he rested his elbow with the other one, holding his head up with his thumb and index finger on the side of his tilted head.

He regarded you silently, his eyes dazed, and you wondered if it could possibly be because he was feeling the same exact way as you right now.

Bucky was struggling to think straight, scrunching his face up in frustration when he finally snapped out of his daze, the frustration completely different to what he was feeling before, now he just couldn't get the image of your thighs out of his mind, or the black thigh garter you still wore under your dress.

God, you drive him fucking crazy.

You chewed the inside of your cheek when he sighed again, "Buck, you need to chill out. I know Kozlov is a fucking asshole, but we expected that. We got the mission done with no big issues."

He stared up at the ceiling, feeling so guilty that he was looking at you that way, thinking about you in that way, especially after the reminder of Kozlov and how undoubtedly uncomfortable he must've made you feel.

"I know, I just hate feeling powerless. That prick was touching you and saying horrible shit and I just stood there-"

"Bucky."

He huffed a breath and opened his eyes, only to be met with the beautiful sight of you stood before him, only a few feet away, your dress clinging to all the right places and your eyes locked to his and he felt a familiar heat stirring up inside him again. He stared up at you as if you were a heaven-sent angel.

The tension in the room was so thick, and you both knew why, though neither of you had the guts to admit, nor say anything about it.

Your intentions were pure at first, and for some reason, on the way towards where he was sitting, you never thought about the very un-pure version of your actions until you were stood in front of him, barely thinking about it when you sunk to your knees before him, your hands resting just above his knees on his spread legs.

At first, you told yourself it was because you wanted to talk to him properly, make sure he was okay, and that included you being on his level physically, but now you realised it was mostly because you so desperately wanted to see him like this, his gaze heated, looking down at you between his thighs with parted lips.

It didn't matter that you were the one on your knees, you'd never felt more powerful.

His gaze was unwavering, the intense, lustful look in his eyes alone had you clenching your thighs together as you thought about your next move, and Bucky lifted one of his hands towards your face, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, just as Kozlov had done earlier, though this touch was completely different, and your eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping you as his fingers caressed your cheek, ridding the memory of Kozlov's cold skin against yours with his soft, warm touch, and you pulled your eyes open to meet his again, lifting your hand to take hold of his.

You looked down at the rings he was wearing, one on almost each finger, apparently it was a common style choice from James Walter, and it wasn't the first time tonight that you'd silently thanked the dead mobster for that fact.

They'd been catching your eye all night, and you lifted his knuckles to your lips, placing a kiss against the smooth metal of the first one on his index finger, and then the next one, and the next.

Bucky watched you kiss his rings, his eyes darkening with every touch of your soft lips to his knuckles, so entranced by you, slowly sinking further into the seat, melting with each touch.

He couldn't think of any repercussions right now, couldn't think of a single reason to stop you, all he could think about was what you were doing to him right now, and where these actions could lead you, and his pants were getting tighter by the second.

You met his eyes with your lips still on his knuckles, and you both immediately knew what this was, where this could be going, and that the thick tension between you, was sexual tension like no other.

Bucky's heart must've stopped when you opened his fist and slipped his index and middle finger past your lips, enveloping them in the hot, wetness of your mouth, your soft tongue circling over his digits, sucking on them, He couldn't help but groan, leaning his head back, though still keeping his half-lidded eyes on you.

"Fuck, doll. So fuckin' gorgeous."

You weren't thinking straight, you must not've been, because why the hell would you be doing this, why was it something you didn't even have to question, why did it feel so natural, and so fucking right.

The words that slipped past his lips were doing things to you, and the way that his fingers pressed down on your tongue slightly, but weren't nearly as heavy against it as something else you wanted on your tongue would be, you were a goner, and your underwear was already soaked.

You pulled his fingers from your mouth but kept hold of them as you crawled onto his lap, his arm immediately wrapped around your waist, holding you to him, his lips so close to yours you were sharing breath.

Slowly, you guided his fingers down, sliding them under the slit in your dress to bring them to your covered core, watching his facial expression intently, watching for any sign of discomfort.

There was none, and his breath caught in his throat when his fingers made contact, the heat of you radiating against his hand, he could already feel how wet you are.

"Fuck." He breathed, eyebrows furrowing, forehead resting on yours, "You sure about this sweetheart? You want me to touch you?"

You nodded immediately, biting your lower lip, pressing his hand against you harder, "Yes. Are you sure?"

He nodded back, "Never been more sure about anything in my fuckin' life."

You moaned when he finally started moving his fingers, circling your clit gently over your underwear, though with enough pressure to give some sort of relief, but it was when he pulled your panties aside, and dipped his fingers into your wetness, spreading your folds and gathering your slick, before pressing his fingers against your clit and rubbing you in tighter circles, that you were a mess in his lap.

"Bucky-" You whimpered, rolling your hips slightly, and he licked his lips again, nudging his nose against yours, wanting so desperately to kiss you, but also not wanting to miss a single expression you made, he wanted to watch you fall apart under his touch, again, and again, and again.

"You know something, sweetheart?" He asked, waiting for confirmation that you were paying attention to him before continuing.

You rolled your hips again, staring into his eyes, moaning out in pleasure, "What?"

"You drove me fucking crazy tonight, every time you touched me, every time you looked at me- God, whenever you said my name- I'd never heard you call me that before, my first name, fuck I don't ever want to stop hearin' you callin' me that."

His words made you dizzy, the confirmation that he'd felt the same as you all night, the confession that he loved it when you called him 'James' just as much as you loved calling him it, you were sinking deeper and deeper into this feeling, that this moment couldn't be more right, more necessary, like you'd both been needing this for months now.

By the time he had finished talking, he had slowed his touch to a complete stop, and dipped his fingers lower, pushing them inside you.

You gasped, he groaned, and when he curled them, finding that sweet spot inside you and pushing against it perfectly, you cried out, dropping your forehead to his shoulder and tucking your face in his neck.

He didn't let up with his gentle thrusting, and the insistent rubbing against that spongy spot inside of your cunt. He used his free hand to move your head from his shoulder, leaning himself forward slightly, holding you closer, and finally kissing you.

You whimpered and moaned against his lips, though returned the kiss passionately, both of your hands in his hair, your tongue gliding against his own.

This was unlike any experience you'd ever had, every touch dialled up to 100.

He used his thumb to rub your clit, still curling and rubbing his fingers against your walls, and when you started to clench down on him, he pulled back from the kiss.

"C'mon, kitten, cum on my fingers like a good girl." He purred, and your head tilted back, moaning as you came, your orgasm only spurred on quicker by his words.

"James-" You whimpered, his touch not letting up as he pleasured you through your orgasm, though when you were through most of it, you crashed your lips to his.

You kissed until you ran out of breath, doing exactly what you had wanted to do earlier, what you had wanted to do for months. Bucky gently eased his fingers out of you, and when you tucked your face in his neck again, catching your breath, you could tell he was sucking them clean, moaning at the taste of you.

It was quiet for a moment between you, only the gentle sound of your slightly laboured breath filling the space, Bucky held you close to him, his fingers gently tracing up and down your spine through the fabric of your dress, you gave a pleased hum and kissed his neck, just above his collar.

It didn't matter that you'd just barely come down from an orgasm, you needed more, you needed him.

"James." You whispered against his neck, just below his ear and he just about melted into the chair beneath you, humming to let you know he was listening, though you didn't say anything else, a part of you just wanted to say his name again, and to feel his pleased reaction to it.

His body was so warm under yours, but there were far too many layers of fabric between you and him and you desperately wanted to fix that, 'adjusting' yourself on his lap just so you could provide some friction between you, biting your lip and sighing into his ear when you felt how hard he was beneath you, he groaned and gripped your hips tightly.

"I wanna feel you inside me, James." Your voice was as sweet as sugar, breath warm against his skin, and your heated core was seated just above where his hard cock was pressing tightly against his pants, throbbing with every small movement you made.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He husked, no doubt sounding like a broken record, though he didn't care much about that, not when you were pressing yourself against him like that, slowly rocking in his lap, not when he could still faintly taste you in his mouth from where he had sucked his fingers clean, not with your mouth on his neck, whispering dirty things.

You kissed the hinge of his jaw, then ghosted your lips lower, pressing a kiss just below his ear, before making your way to the other side, leaving sweet kisses as you went.

You met his eye as you traced your hand up his black shirt, watching his expression as you slowly loosened his tie, and popped the top button open, and then the next, giving yourself better access to the skin there, kissing below his Adam's apple.

"C'mon, Buck. You wanna fuck me?" You asked, looking up at him through your lashes this time, teasing him with a smirk.

He bit his lip, holding your cheek in his palm, thumb swiping across your cheekbone, his eyes darting across your face, taking in every detail he could while he was so close to you.

So pretty.

"I do, of course I do, doll." He said back, his eyes following the movement of his thumb against soft skin. You could sense the 'but' coming, "But... I don't think we should-"

"Bucky." You interrupted, stopping what you know would've become this huge, self-doubting, self-sabotaging speech, and he met your eyes again, sighing slightly, his head tilted, "If we both want this, then why can't we have it?"

He didn't know what to say, he couldn't imagine a world were someone would really want him, as he was, much less a smart, loving and kind, beautiful girl like yourself. He believed you when you said you wanted this, but was still unsure if you would really want him, want him beyond this moment.

"If we go further, I'll never be able to get enough of you." He spoke quietly, this moment between you was so intimate, which was something he'd not experienced in decades. It was terrifying, but so perfect, so right.

"You have all of me, Bucky. I want you, not just tonight. I've wanted you for months, honey, and if you want me too then what have we got to lose? You can have me whenever you need me, whenever you want me, I'm yours, yours now, yours tomorrow. If you need a hug," You wrapped your arms around his neck as you spoke and held him tighter, "If you need a kiss," You pressed your lips to his, "If you need a release; I'll be there, because you have me, always have."

By the time you were just halfway into your speech, Bucky was a puddle, his brain short-circuiting, his heart beating much faster than it should be with him just sitting, and his whole world view collapsing.

You were his.

You wanted to be his.

He was yours completely.

He surged forward to press his lips to yours, and kissed you for a long moment, using his tongue to memorise the feel of your mouth, the heat of your own tongue against his, and he stood as he kissed you, holding you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He carried you with such ease and sat down on the edge of the huge bed, not once breaking the kiss, or putting an ounce space between your bodies.

You helped him to shrug off his suit jacket, tossing it to the floor as if it didn't probably cost hundreds of dollars, and deft fingers quickly reached to undo his tie.

The tie was silky and smooth, and your imagination was bright with ideas, the image of Bucky fucking you, with your hands tied above your head, or maybe tying Bucky up just the same, kissing his cock teasingly, without letting him touch you.

You tabled the ideas for now, tossing the tie aside.

You could experiment with him in due time, for now you just wanted to be able to touch him as much as possible.

You were both still enraptured in the kiss when Bucky stood again, this time turning around, and laying you down on the mattress, pressing himself against you as he placed one last kiss on your lips, and pulled back to admire the sight of you, blushing with kiss-bitten lips as you lay beneath him.

He traced his hands down your body and stood at the end of the bed, his shirt almost halfway undone.

His fingers glided down your legs, and ended at your ankles as he eyed the strappy heals you wore, admiring how beautiful you looked in them. He imagined keeping them on you, stripping you down and bending you over the closest surface, whilst still wearing the heels, maybe keeping on the thigh-garter too, but he wanted you comfortable, and he wanted you naked.

Gently, he undid the strap on one of your heels, and slowly pulled it off, before doing the same to the other one.

He kept glancing up at you as he did so, watching you so intently, he didn't dare miss a single moment, a single change in your expression.

His hands traced back up your legs, this time, he kissed his way up too, kissing you ankle, your shin, just below the garter.

He stopped himself though, and looked you in the eyes, that serious look returning, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes. Please, James."

He smirked, he couldn't not, and his hand drifted to your hip, squeezing there, before using both his hands to flip you over, leaning over you and pressing his hand against your back.

You gasped in surprise, and then felt his fingers against the zip of the dress, his breath against the nape of your neck.

"Should we take this off?" He asked sweetly, and you nodded silently, your voice trapped in your throat, that cocky, dominant persona you had taken on earlier apparently about to be fucked out of you. You couldn't wait.

He flipped you back over to help ease the dress off, leaving you only in a lacy pair of underwear, your chest exposed to him, and once the dress was on the floor, and Bucky allowed himself the chance to finally look at you, he groaned roughly, draping his body over yours and reaching up to caress your breasts, watching as his thumb traced over the hardened peaks of your nipples, "So fucking gorgeous."

Your hands were in his hair, back arching into his touch when he took your nipple into his mouth, paying attention to the other one with his fingers, and as much as you were enjoying it, he was still wearing way too much, and you put your fingers under his chin, pulling his mouth away from you.

He kissed you as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pulled it off, quickly followed by his pants and soon you were both left in your underwear.

You pushed at his shoulder, and he eventually got the memo, and rolled aside, letting you sit on top of him, carefully moving the dagger you had left on the bed onto the bedside table.

When you pulled back from the kiss, he continued to kiss down your chest, but your eyes drifted to the hand he had on your waist, the left one, that still looked like skin even though it wasn't.

You had almost completely forgotten about it, it felt just like skin, was warm like skin, and looked unbelievably life-like, but there was something about it that you really didn't like, it wasn't him, it might've been once, but as Bucky has told you before, he's not been the man he was back in the 40s in over seventy years, and he probably wouldn't ever be him again, which you reminded him was okay, that he didn't owe Steve the version of himself that Bucky thought he would need.

You knew about the struggles Bucky has had with his metal arm, the history that there is behind it, and the hatred he had for it when he was first rehabilitated. You didn't want this impressive Stark invention to become something he used to hide this part of himself, against the needs of his own healing.

You started at his left shoulder, and traced your fingers down the arm, stopping at the silver watch on his wrist, and Bucky stopped kissing you, watching you, waiting.

"Is it the watch?" You asked, and he hesitated, before nodding.

"You don't have to take it off."

You paused, looking down at him, he looked slightly uncomfortable, and you needed to change that.

"I'd like to take it off. Do you want to leave it on?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about your question. It made him uncomfortable, seeing the uncanny, flesh arm in place of the metal one he knew was there, and to see a human arm, yet not be able to really feel the touch of your skin against it, only pressure and heat. He didn't like it.

He shook his head, and you smiled, kissing him again as you carefully undid the watch with your mouth still on his, pulling back to see his metal arm visible again, and you intertwined your fingers with his, metal against skin.

You did the same with his other hand, intertwining your fingers, before lifting them both above his head, pressing them into the mattress. You knew he could very easily break out of your grasp, but that didn't make the sight any less pleasing.

You rocked your hips against his, just as you did before, and he groaned, lifting his own hips, seeking more friction.

Reluctantly, you released his hands, and quickly took off your underwear, leaving you naked above him, before you took his off too.

You couldn't possibly be any wetter, your inner thighs a mess of slick as you watched his cock slap against his stomach, painfully hard and leaking at the tip.

"Fuck, James. D'you know how beautiful you are?" You asked, slowly touching the underside of his cock, tracing an enticing vein, before gripping him in your hand and squeezing him.

A moan slipped past his lips, hips lifting from the bed again.

He shook his head in response to you, smiling, "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

He flipped you both over again, his hands tracing your body, lingering in certain areas, squeezing your breasts, caressing your stomach, lifting your thigh to rest on his hip, dipping between your legs to press down on your clit, "You're fuckin' breathtaking, doll, and so fucking wet."

He gathered some of your wetness on his fingers, and dipped them back into his mouth again for a taste, moaning around them.

"I wanna eat you so bad, kitten." He lowered himself to you, resting on his elbows on either side of your head, kissing your neck.

"Later. I need you inside me, James." You pressed your core against him, and he nodded, reaching between the two of you to line himself up, slowly easing inside.

You both moaned as he slid inside you, Bucky's eyes fluttering shut, savouring the sensation whilst trying desperately hard not to give in to the urge to immediately bury himself at the hilt, and fuck you without a moments hesitation.

His hips twitched, cock throbbing inside of you, both of you were so desperate for this, and when he finally pulled his hips back, and rolled them back to yours, it was relief like no other.

His first few thrusts were slower, so enraptured by how you felt around him, hot and wet, and fucking perfect. Eventually, he started to speed up, but favoured fucking you harder, rather than faster. He didn't want this to end too quickly.

You were sprawled beneath him, biting your lower lip and moaning with every stroke of his cock against your walls, his body completely draped over yours so with every roll of his hips, his pelvis stimulated your clit. When he started to fuck you harder, repeatedly hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars, you were crying out in pleasure, already feeling close to another orgasm.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good, y'know that? I'm never gonna get enough of this, gonna want to fuck you all the time, 'm never gonna think of anything else." His forehead was resting on your shoulder, one of his hands on your stomach as his other held him up on the bed, "I want you to be mine. Mine to fuck, mine to kiss, mine every minute of the day. God, I want everyone to know, sweetheart, want them to know you're James' girl."

You were moaning with every word, nodding along, whining when his hand drifted lower, his thumb hovering over your clit, but staying completely still, teasing you.

Your heart was so full, just like your cunt, and you hoped to god he'd follow through on his promises, you needed to be his, just as much as you needed him to be yours.

"James, please." You begged, arching your back into him, and he lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you, smiling with a shake of his head.

"You beg real pretty, doll, but you can do better than that. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

Your eyes practically rolled back, fuck, you loved hearing him talk like this, "I want to cum, please."

He nodded, leaning in close to you, "You want to cum? I'll let you cum, princess."

He began to rub your clit in steady circles, keeping up a steady rhythm that dragged you so close to release.

"C'mon, come for me, sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered shut as your orgasm rushed over you, and you gripped Bucky's hair tighter, your cunt clenching around him sending him head first into his own orgasm, his hips stuttering against yours as he came inside you, filling you up with his seed.

His forehead was pressed to yours, both of you slowly coming down from your high, and Bucky waited till you'd caught your breath to lean down and kiss you, slower this time, savouring the taste of you as best he could.

You kissed him back eagerly, aftershocks of your orgasm washing over you and making you clench down on him, still inside of you. Bucky groaned into your mouth, before he hesitantly broke the kiss, and leaned back to slide out of you.

"Fuck, sweetheart, such a fucking mess we made." He breathed roughly, glancing down between your legs, watching his cum seep out of you, so turned on by the filthy sight, before looking up at you again, tracing his eyes up your body, completely bared to him. He took in every detail, and smiled at your flushed cheeks, "You're so fucking beautiful."

You smiled back at him, shaking your head as you wrapped your legs around him and reached out, pulling him back down to you to nudge your nose against his, watching the way his nose scrunched up when he smiled, "So are you."

He huffed a laugh and kissed you, before burying his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you and holding you as close to him as possible, practically laying completely on top of you, though he held most of his own weight. As much as you would completely, happily welcome the weight of him on top of you, you also know that breathing is kind of a necessary thing to survive... sadly.

"We need to shower." He murmured against your skin, rubbing his stubbly jaw against your shoulder.

You hummed and nodded, raking your nails across the surface of his back.

"We should probably talk too." He followed, keeping his face hidden from your sight.

"We should, but I don't think there's much to talk about that we haven't already. We both want each other, and not just physically."

He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his expression vulnerable, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him, even with him naked above you, "So... like lovers?"

You smiled at the old-fashioned term, much preferring it to boyfriend and girlfriend, and you nodded, gently brushing hair from his face, "I'd love that, Buck, if you want that too?"

"Yes, I want that, so much."

"Good, let's make it official then."

He nodded smiling down at you, before he stood from the bed, and he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to the hotel en-suite like he had carried you to the bed earlier.

"You're my girl now, sweetheart." He whispered to your ear, loving the way it sounded on his lips.

"And you're my guy." You replied, kissing his nose.

"Sure am." He smiled proudly, setting you down on the bathroom sink as he turned the shower on, before he turned back to you, leaning on his hands, which rested either side of you, "I will be taking you out on a date when we get back, just so you know."

"I can't wait, baby."

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yaksha-lover · 1 year ago

Note

I've been thinking about the twst guys + mainly wondering who'd be most likely to get baby fever,,,

Malleus is definitely high on the list imo, as is Kalim... I think also Deuce and Rook?

Leona might not. He's already tired of dealing with Che'ka, he's probably not interested in the idea of raising a kid himself lol.

This is aged-up/set in the future where all of them are at least mid to late twenties and thinking about having children!

Most to Least Likely to Get Baby Fever:

Most Likely

Kalim had so many younger siblings growing up that he loved. That, combined with his friendly and social nature, makes me think he would love to have kids and a lot of them too. He’d be so excited to have his own family so he’d definitely get baby fever once he had a partner.

Malleus doesn’t have a lot of experience with children, but I think having a family of his own is something he would like because of his desire for closeness and a sense of domesticity, especially once he has a partner that he loves. You can’t stop this man from sweet talking you into having the next royal heir (and many more, after that).

Rook, despite what his proclivities might suggest, is very loving and dedicated to his family. He’s surprisingly domestic with his ability to cook and clean, and he loves children. He’s the most likely to have baby fever and randomly come home one day with a bunch of orphans for you to adopt.

Lilia already has Silver, of course, and I think he’d be very nostalgic for Silver’s childhood when he was still just a young baby. I imagine he’d love to relive that eventually, especially if he has a partner by his side to help him give Silver some siblings.

Jack’s wolf beastman thing about having only one partner his entire life makes me think that he’s much more domestic than he lets on. He wants the whole mate for life and have a family fantasy, and he’d definitely start to feel the baby fever once he had a partner he’s settled down with.

Deuce also has a domestic fantasy of sorts, I think he’d want to have children, but he’d also be shy about it. When he sees you playing with the neighbourhood kids, he can’t help but think about having kids together. His mom also bugs him about grandkids, so he’s encouraged by that too.

Trey is absolute househusband material, so he definitely gets baby fever once he’s settled down. I think he’d love to have kids and is pretty confident he’d be a great father, so he doesn’t feel the need to repress his desire to have a family once him and his partner have settled into their lives.

Cater wants children, probably gets baby fever from all the family vlog content he sees. You really have to sit him down and ask him if he knows all the responsibility that no one talks about. He’ll need some time to learn, but once he does he’s game on again and wanting to be a dad.

Ruggie is ambivalent because while he’s used to taking care of the kids in his town (and it comes naturally to him), he knows how insanely expensive kids can be. Once he gets a good enough job to only have to work one, I think he wouldn’t want to go back to working multiple all to have a kid. Thus, has baby fever occasionally but the cold hands of capitalism drag him back to reality.

Vil is someone I think would like to have a couple kids someday, but he’s in no rush considering his career. As he gets older and starts to see everyone else his age have a family, he would start to romanticize it more and more in his mind until he’s coming to you and asking to have a baby with his blond hair and your beautiful eyes.

Silver is relatively levelheaded, so he may get mild baby fever once he has a partner that he’s settled down with, but it’s never a huge priority in his mind. May daydream about it occasionally, but it’s a ‘see as we go’ type thing, not a decided plan.

Sebek is pretty traditional because of his upbringing, thus he does want kids with his partner eventually. At the same time, Sebek and kids don’t exactly mesh. He’d be a lot more mature at this point which would help, but his interactions with children do lessen his baby fever occasionally.

Jade is pretty relaxed about it, while he might want to have children, it’s more planned than anything. He’s aware of the responsibilities and fine with them, he just wants to wait for the right time. Also, he doesn’t care too much for other people’s children, so it will be more the situation with his partner that makes him eager to have his own family.

Floyd does get struck with moments of baby fever, but his mood swings mean it’s often just a passing thought that will dispel as soon as he remembers that kids aren’t just fun and rainbows 24/7. He finds kids fun, but can’t handle the responsibility of a lifetime commitment. Every time he starts to hint that he might want kids with you again, you just have to show him a picture of a diaper and he’ll be like ‘oh wait nvm.’

Epel is kind of in between, he doesn’t hate children but he doesn’t particularly love them either. He would want a family eventually, but doesn’t get struck with the urge to have babies particularly often, only when he’s feeling nostalgic for his own family.

Riddle is pretty self-aware about his trauma, and it scares him away from having children. He does want his own child, but he’s too afraid to become his mother. If you reassure him enough, he’ll let the domestic fantasy overtake his fear, and start to get excited about having a child in the future.

Azul is too busy working to really think about having a family. He wouldn’t mind having one or two eventually, but he doesn’t really dream about having kids when you and his work keep him busy enough.

Ace doesn’t have the patience for kids or the desire to have them. He’s happy to be the fun uncle to his brother’s kids and give them back once they need actual parenting. He might want to have one kid eventually, but he’d much rather it just be him and his partner for now.

Idia knows he can barely take care of himself, how can anyone expect him to take care of a kid? He’s happy with his little family of you and Ortho, no baby fever for Idia.

Jamil’s already had a child to take care of his whole life (Kalim) so he’s disillusioned with the fantasy of domestic bliss and having kids since he knows all its pitfalls. He won’t be getting baby fever anytime soon.

Leona explicitly doesn’t like kids, so I think his placement here is pretty self-explanatory. He’s aware just how difficult it is to raise a child and he honestly has no interest in it for now. When he’s feeling a bit sappy, I think he might fantasize about having a family from time to time, but he knows he only would enjoy the ‘good’ parts and not any of the work, so he wouldn’t want to go through with it.

Least Likely

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tragedy-of-commons · 2 months ago

Text

a deciduous thing.

scarecrow!boothill x gn!farmer!reader.

summary: Never in your life did you think that your peaceful day-to-day would grind to a halt after one of your scarecrows comes to life. Apparently, his name is Boothill, and he's insistent on making your life 10x harder than it has to be.

contains: modern au, comedy/crack with surreal elements, setting is heavily implied to be american (sorry), reader has depth, possibly inaccurate depictions of farming but i tried my best, country and southern things™, autumn hijinks

word count: 4.5k

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee, @singularity-sam, @harque, @thestarswhisper, @wystiix, @mikashisus, @tetrachrxmacy, @mitsvriii, @akutasoda

notes: written for the @/stellaronhvnters stellaween fest. my chosen prompt was scarecrow! ao3 link here 🎃

The first time you see him, it’s a crisp October morning.

Thank the stars it’s overcast today - the fall weather is just settling in, so of course it’s still hot, but nothing like the suffocating humidity you’re normally used to. Besides that, work is work; meaning that you have to get up just before dawn to go about putting a dent in your endless list of chores.

The pleasant breeze tickles your nose and the forearms flexed under your rolled up sleeves, aiding you in your endeavor of feeding and tending to the livestock. The hens cluck passively as they allow you to take their eggs inside, the cows and goats don’t fuss at all when you milk them, and to your surprise, baths also go well (despite how you’re covered in suds after). To have such an easy morning is rare, but you simply chalk it up to the arrival of autumn.

Ma used to say that fall is lucky, as it signals the start of renewal. You aren’t superstitious by any means, but the sentiment has always stuck with you, engraved in fond memories of stumbling around on your chubby legs through rows of sweet potatoes and watching the colorful leaves hit the ground, balanced on some distant relative’s hip.

Yes, today is gonna be lucky.

The sun hasn’t yet reached the middle of the sky when you drag yourself to the pumpkin patch. Normally you’d wait another day or two until the weather is sunny to harvest the rotund globes of orange, but you’re already cutting it close; Halloween is gonna be here before you know it, and you don’t want the fruit to overripen or become too bleached by the elements. Moreover, you’d like to give away a pumpkin or two to the neighbors.

Every year, it’s the same tradition. Miss Kafka and little (not so much anymore) Silver Wolf down the road have been your only companions since the farm became your sole responsibility. When the season for ghouls and ghosts is upon your little rural town, you help them hoist up gaudy decorations to show off on their lawn, politely shoving a pumpkin or three into their arms, your own addition to their festive display.

According to them, often over sheets of newspaper as you three carve crude jack-o-lanterns with switchblades, your crops can’t be beat. Not by any chain market or grocery store standards, anyhow. You take pride in that; Pa always made you promise him to never overuse pesticides or sacrifice quality by automating the harvesting process - which you honor - even if you sometimes daydream about combine-harvesters and a few other dozen gadgets to make your life easier.

The patch in question is still green and healthy, boasting vibrant fruit by the dozen. The white and orange pumpkins mesh together in a patchwork display of sunset and beige, thick vines acting as their binding agent. You’ve grown fond of the sight, despite the monotony of almost-but-not-quite tripping over each crop bigger than your leather boots. Wiping the minimal sweat from your brow, you bump open the wooden gate with your hip, glove-clad and toting around your giant pruners.

They’re a bit on the heavier side, but you found them on the side of the road for free, fixing the rust issue with a bit of vinegar and baking soda - there’s no way you’re not gonna get your use out of them. Ambling over to the first row of pumpkins, you squat down, feeling the dirt and grass cushion your knees.

The first few you inspect still look pretty good. Firm rind, no blemishes or rot, plump and tough. You decide that those’ll be the ones you give away - they’ll make fine jack-o-lanterns, having plenty of surface area to plunge a knife across, creating spooky faces that’ll scare any miscreant egg-throwing hooligans away. Well, that’s your take on things. Maybe you’re just getting too old for mischief.

The next row is even more promising, housing the largest pumpkin you’ve ever seen. You’ve been monitoring its growth for the past few weeks, sure, but it seems to have bloated overnight - to the size of two human heads! You’re still skeptical, though. If a pumpkin gets this big, this fast, there’s more room for parasites, and it could also hint at some internal mushiness that’ll make it decompose quicker.

But here’s where your ace comes into play: the test.

You ball your hand up into a fist, knocking on the big boy with just enough force. To your surprise (and subdued delight), the resounding noise is hollow - you’d almost describe it as baritone. Even better, it withstood the force with a firmness indicating that of a healthy pumpkin! Today really is lucky, you muse, readying your pruners.

Wrestling yourself over the row, knees on either side of your pumpkin of choice, careful not to damage the fruit - you eyeball about five or six inches of stem, beginning to hack away at the vine diligently. It doesn’t take long before you free the product of your labor from its brethren, victorious.

…it’s, uh, heavier than you anticipated. Lifting it up into your arms immediately, you grunt, quickly discarding your glorified scissors onto the ground for stability. At least these days you don’t make the mistake of picking up the fruit by the stem, as tempting as that is - you learned the hard way as a tween when the patch was a new feature, your first home-grown pumpkin breaking under your mistake of yanking it up so carelessly. Ma had laughed right in your face, the traitor.

You stand there for a moment, straining, electing on what to do next. You could check on the rest of the patch after you get this big boy inside. You don’t want it to spoil too quickly off the vine. After a moment, you reckon that storing it in the drier part of your pantry, perfectly mild and unheated, should do the trick. Yeah, that’ll work just fine until you can take the time to carve your one obligatory jack-o-lantern out of this behemoth.

Alright, it’s settled. You pivot on your heel, ready to make the arduous trek back the house--

And that’s when you hear it.

Your reaction is delayed as you process what you’re hearing. It sounds like distant cursing or something close to it - a coarse voice shouting in rage. It reminds you of those aggravated drunkards that populate the only shitty bar in town, always riled up over some game of football or some argument with the Missus.

Did a trespasser decide to test your patience today, coming onto your property and bombarding you with the same remarks you’ve always been leveled with? Why are you such a hermit? Why don’t you have any friends? When are you going to settle down and get married like the rest of us? When are you going to get over their deaths and move on?

Not today, nuh uh, no chance. Anger floods your core as you swivel around, searching for the source of your oncoming headache. They’re still yelling, so they can’t be that far.

When your eyes land on the figure in the distance, your first reaction is confusion. The new scarecrow you’d put up a month or two ago in anticipation of harvest season seems to be writhing. Your first reasonable explanation is that a few vermin have burrowed inside of it, making themselves at home and jostling it around as they tunnel and scramble.

That doesn’t explain the utterly human wails and the jerky, purposeful movements seizing its straw arms. You squint, heart rate picking up accordingly. It’s too far away to jump to any batshit crazy conclusions, you know that, but the intuition you were born with, the same instinct that’s saved your skin a hundred times before - is telling you that today might not be so lucky after all.

“The fuck,” you mutter, still cradling the humungous pumpkin in your arms.

You take a few steps closer, straightening up tall on your tiptoes. The scarecrow in question is stood right in the middle of the massive, adjoining field, a statue among the swaying of golden wheat. When it was time to replace the old scarecrow (it was torn to shreds by the talons of crows and other rodents), you’d invested in something cheap but durable, almost forgetting about its existence promptly after.

You’ve been faced by its back this entire time, but what happens next almost completely knocks you off your feet.

Its head snaps at a harsh angle, the left - almost a little too much to be human, but you dismiss that thought readily, sobered by the sound of the voice once more. Since you’ve gotten closer and have been taking small steps towards it subconsciously, you’re able to make out what it (he?) is saying.

“Dagnabbit! Hey, ya hear me? I know someone’s back there!” an exhausted huff followed by more futile struggling, “Y’know how fudgin’ rude it is to ignore yer fellow neighbor?”

Oh shit. Oh shit!

Without thinking, you drop everything - everything just so happening to encompass the pumpkin. It falls to the ground in slow motion, pretty much, and you barely hear the resulting Thonk! of it crashing to the ground and splattering all over your work duds, the bottom caving in despite how robust the thing was.

Your thoughts are a mess. Someone must have stolen your property, tied an unsuspecting man to the barren scarecrow post after, and then left him there as a cruel prank! Yeah, that makes way more sense. Did he just call you ‘neighbor’? People around these parts are familiar, but not that familiar; is it possible that this guy also lives down the road, but you’ve never bothered to introduce yourself? Is this his first impression of you?!

Swallowing, you dig your nails into your fists and pull yourself together. There’s never been a contingency plan put into place for a situation like this, but you’ll handle it somehow. You take one tentative step forward before launching into a sprint, almost slipping on the gooey innards of the pumpkin coating the ground, but you narrowly avoid it. You hop the fence with ease, landing in the wheat field with a thud.

“I’m comin’!” you yell, cupping one hand over the curve of your mouth, frantically surveying the area for a certain object. The man is about the same size as your (likely stolen) scarecrow, and with the force of his thrashing, whatever’s holding him there must be tough as nails. Thankfully, you find what you’re looking for - a hatchet.

Old Blade, Kafka’s friend, left it here a week ago. You asked her if she knew anybody that’d chop wood for cheap; you’ve been busy with other chores - and to be honest, lazy - so you were hoping to get someone else to do it. There were a few dead trees skirting the edge of your property, and firewood is always good to have, but you didn’t expect her to volunteer her pal’s services so readily.

Blade showed up with nothing more than a hatchet and a haunted expression that hinted at some clusterfuck of a story. Still, he was polite enough, drank your freshly squeezed lemonade, and cut down those trees faster than some kid with a chainsaw could. After he wrapped up, he left the miniature axe here. You’ve been putting off returning it for days.

Thank the stars you’re a procrastinator, you think, yanking it off the ground and testing its weight, already moving towards the flailing man again. You’ve got your own collection of tools in the shed, but making him wait any longer isn’t gonna help your case - he has half a mind to report you to the cops as an accomplice!

Finally, you reach him. The mysterious fella is donning the same thrown-together attire of the scarecrow, namely one of Pa’s old flannels and some spare trousers you found laying around weeks prior. Had the perpetrator of this crime really dressed him in these clothes?! He’s even wearing the same rustic cowboy hat, complete with a browning, frayed feather sticking out of its cap.

You round the post with a frenzied pulse, raising the blade in the air with a shaky grip on its handle, ready to cut him down from there--

“Whoa, whoa there!” he stammers frightfully as you tilt your chin up to get a better look at his face, “T-That’s a little unnecessary, don’tcha think?”

You freeze.

The man peers at you through a mane of black and white hair, facial features somewhat… faded? They look to be almost stitched on, lips and bulbous jaw littered with threadbare fuzz, his skin the same shade as a potato sack. Where his eyes are supposed to be, there are instead two X’s, accompanied by a scrawled-on fang hanging just below his mouth in toothy decoration.

In other words: he looks exactly like the scarecrow you put up all that time ago.

Before he speaks again, you spare a measured glance at his stretched out arms - the ones still bound to the post. They’re the same arms you remember attaching to the wooden stake, finding it weird that they were so human-like - the appendages even gave way to makeshift hands and fingers. You were surprised that the scarecrow was so detailed for its price, but you didn’t give it much thought beyond that. A steal is a steal.

But now? It’s come to life, and it’s talking to you!

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you pale.

He, no, it - tilts its head at you, hat sliding down just a smidge. “I’m not kiddin’. I’m Boothill.”

You don’t think twice before twirling the hatchet around and driving the blunt end of the handle straight into its too-large noggin.

It takes a moment to realize that you’re screaming, and that the… the fucking scarecrow has gone still. Can you even knock sentient dummies stuffed with straw unconscious? Are you hallucinating? Have you lost all of your marbles, slipped on them, and then fallen into a feverish coma? Is this a night terror? You have been drinking too much of that damn coffee--

Your chest heaves as you take a gigantic, gulping breath.

…then you drop your weapon, curse the heavens for ruining your perfect autumn morning, and then you scream some more.

So, things have not been going well.

Your autumn morning has turned into autumn afternoon, and your kitchen floor practically has a hole seared into it from your nonstop, neurotic pacing. It’s soothing - the only thing keeping your shot nerves at bay. Your feet ache, heeled boots grazing the raised surface of the brick over and over.

Think, think, think.

Well, that’s kinda hard to do when you had to bring him inside.

You stop in your tracks to stare at this ‘Boothill’. After he’d gone limp (and you assume comatose), you’d panicked for a little, thinking that you’d committed murder - before remembering that he is a scarecrow and that you have no qualms with ending a life anyway. Oops. You’d cut him down like you’d planned to, dragged him inside, and… sat him at your dining table.

When you freed him of his bindings, you were reminded of how light he was; despite seemingly gaining consciousness out of nowhere, he is still a scarecrow - traditionally composed of hay, leaves, rags, hell, whatever you can find. His breadth didn’t exactly make it effortless, but you hauled him to the house, up onto the porch, and right past the beaten up welcome mat. The manners ingrained in your mind from an early age stuck with you, so you welcomed the ‘guest’ to sit at the table.

But he - this thing - is not welcome!

Boothill hasn’t, um… woken up yet. It’s been about three hours of playing the waiting game, and you don’t even know what you’re going to do when he does start to stir.

You’re not gonna call the authorities, that’s for sure; everyone in town except for a scant few already believe you to be off your rocker. Even if you did call them and they showed, what kind of media attention would follow? Paranormal investigators? Scientists? People with cameras and news trucks that’ll camp just outside your acre of land, trying to pester you with their questions? Absolutely not.

Deflating, you know what you have to do.

Would burying an inanimate object alive even work? Can you even use the symptom ‘alive’ to describe what’s going on with him? I mean, you could try putting him in the ground anyway. Your good shovel’s in the shed, and--

…and he really does look like a man from a distance. Boothill, a fitting name, if that’s what truly he calls himself, is keeled over the wood. He’s limp, but you suppose having no internal structural support will do that to you. Such an intricate, intentional design. It’s been a while since anyone’s visited, really, and a part of you maybe feels bad for whacking him earlier.

God, is this what you’ve become? Soft?

Apparently so, because you don’t retrieve your trusty shovel just yet. Instead, you trudge over to your wall-mounted landline that you pray will pull through one more call. It was pristine white years ago, but now it’s yellowed and considered too ‘old school’ by the kids of today. Not like that hurts or anything. Definitely not.

You punch in the familiar number, gaze drifting back to Boothill. If he gets up, will he try to murder you? That remains to be seen, you suppose. He seemed pretty animated (if not a bit smart-mouthed) before you decided to temporarily ice him. Listening to the crackling static of the line ringing, you hold your breath and pray.

Pick up, pick up, pick up--

A juvenile, annoyed voice finally answers. “Hello? Geez, why are you calling us on this thing again?”

“Silver Wolf,” you sigh, relieved. “Is Kafka home? Can you put her on? And I told you, it’s ‘cause I don’t have her cell number. You can give it to me again later.”

You’re honestly surprised that anybody is home at all. That family of sorts (which sometimes includes that Old Blade) is on the road traveling most of the year. The house you’re calling right now is just one of their many vacation homes around the world, left vacant for several months out of the year. But then again, maybe it’s not all that surprising… they’re usually home for Halloween. Usually.

You can almost hear her wrinkled nose and sour face. “You sound sweaty. But yeah, she just got back from shopping. I’ll get her, one sec.”

Kids these days never mince their words, huh.

The familiar muffled shouting and shuffling of her passing the phone to someone reaches your ears. You tap your foot, attempting to gather your thoughts. How are you going to explain this without sounding crazy? You come up blank, twirling the wire cord idly with your index finger.

“Hey,” Kafka greets, dulcet as usual, “something the matter over there? You never call this early.”

Ugh, if she only knew the half of it. You swallow, uncharacteristically anxious.

“Hypothetically, if one of your scarecrows came to life, what would you do?”

Silence. Actual tumble-weed blowing, deserted ghost town silence. Does she know? She has to know, right? You’ve never been particularly good at hiding things, and you swear that woman can read anybody like an open book, even if their pages are clumped together with superglue. The longer no one speaks, the worse you feel.

Finally, Kafka gives her verdict. “Hm. If it were me, I’d try to have a conversation with it.”

“You’d do what with it?” you ask, incredulous.

She chuckles, the noise broken up by the poor connection. Despite how she always catches you off guard, you certainly didn’t expect an answer like that. If anything, you expected her to encourage you to torch the thing and not look back - by the same token, she isn’t outright dismissing your ridiculous notion either.

“It’s not everyday you get to talk with a living scarecrow,” she hums. “I wonder what stories they’d have to share. Maybe we’d even become good friends, you never know. Does that answer your little riddle?”

Well, you tried.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry for springing that on you,” your grip tightens on the receiver. “Tell sweet Mx. Firefly I said hello, ‘kay?”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Before you can start the ‘I’ll let you go’ formalities, you hear rustling. Your head snaps back up from the floor that you took an acute interest in staring at, panicked. Boothill is moving - well, trying to, by the looks of it. He sluggishly picks his head up, and you’re met with that stitched expression once more. How can he see? Should you even question it at this point?

You hang up hastily, nearly cracking the artifact of a landline in the process.

“Uh,” you stand there, dumb. “Does your head hurt?”

Right after the words leave your mouth, the regret and embarrassment settle in nicely. Of course it doesn’t hurt! He probably can’t even feel pain--

Boothill then suddenly springs out of his seat, making your hackles raise on instinct. You don’t know what he’s trying to pull, so you stiffen.

“Nope, I’m right as rain,” he says, stretching his arms above his head, like he’s emulating an aerobics instructor. There are no sounds of joints popping from prolonged slumber, reminding you that he’s still entirely inhuman.

He continues, oblivious to your plight. “You scared the fudge outta me with that hatchet, though. I reckon you thought I meant you harm?” A pause. “S’nice in here. You got AC?”

He surveys your kitchen, curious and looming. Something about it rubs you the wrong way - he’s acting so familiar despite you 1) knocking him out (debatable), and 2) not knowing you at all. Well, he certainly fits in around these parts. Clearing your throat and watching him with narrowed eyes, you formulate a response and motion with your hand for him to sit again.

“Just…” you pinch the bridge of your nose and walk over to the opposite side of the table, never turning your back to him completely. “Sit down. Don’t try anything.”

Boothill complies with a halfhearted shrug. You follow suit, now staring him down at the opposite end. How do you start, and with what? You’ve never been great at talking to people, not that it bothers you.

Well, he’s not really a person, so maybe it’ll work out in your favor.

“What are you? Do you remember how you got here?”

Good enough; the former’s answer will determine how self-aware (and by extension, dangerous) he is, while the latter’s might give you the slightest context on his supernatural circumstances. Baby steps, you remind yourself. Baby steps. You and him seem to be tackling this in stride. Good - the sooner you have this conversation, the sooner you can put this all behind you.

“Ah, well…” he scratches his head with a moth-eaten fingertip, “I can’t say I remember much. Also, I’m gonna choose to overlook that first question! I’m Boothill, and those birds were peckin’ the crap outta me. I woke up at sunrise, very confused, might I add - can’t say I’ve ever been on this farm before.”

You sigh. He isn’t gonna give you any clues whatsoever, huh. “Okay, well--” Boothill cuts you off, “Well is right. Not so fast, now. I haven’t even got your name yet! Someone who’ll run an axe through ya without hesitation must be of a different caliber for sure.”

Is that… admiration coloring his tone? Even though his disposition practically screams it in your face, he’s definitely a weird one. You spit out your name, hurrying through the introduction in favor of processing this information.

He’s articulate, and you don’t mean just verbally; he idles like a 1930s toon, bouncing and animated, brimming with life. He’s more of a mannequin than a scarecrow, as if made for the sole purpose of waking up all antsy and making it your problem. With all this in mind, you blurt out your first immediate thought:

“You need to leave.”

You don’t need this burden sitting across from you, so you tell him as much; some people would see that as cruel, but it’s more fair if anything. You have your small, tight-knit group of friends that you talk to sporadically, and you have your farm. That’s it.

Boothill deflates, bravado waning when you turn the tides. “Leave? Bud, where else would I go?”

…that’s true. He has nowhere to go, no memories, no social or life skills (probably), and you doubt anyone else will have a kinder reaction than you unless they’re plain stupid. You want to tell him to get lost in that same tone you use when someone encroaches too far on your lifestyle - it works wonders. If you get loud and unpleasant enough, it’ll send him packing, you’re sure of it.

So why aren’t you getting started? Why can’t you tell this too-human-non-human to just scat already?

“I got nobody,” he hums, all too casual for the implications of those words. “Unless you count those crows that seemed more interested in havin’ me for lunch.”

He has nobody.

This guy you barely know whatsoever doesn’t have a Kafka or a Silver Wolf. He doesn’t have any memories of makeshift tire swings and underage driving; he doesn’t have any souvenirs of late parents and old flames. He doesn’t have anything. The world is bound to chew him up and spit him out (if he even gets that chance).

Boothill reclines against the dark wood of his seat rest, as if permanently cementing his spot there. His features are a bit hard to read, but the material of his face crinkles, at odds with the strain of his smile.

Damn this stupid, traitorous heart of yours.

“Boothill,” you hate how your house voice softens, “Can you work? If you’re going to… remain here, only for the time being, you’re gonna have to pull your weight.”

He laughs again, this time much more human. If you cared more, you’d call him out on his palpable relief.

“Guess I’ll learn, huh?” he flicks the brim of his hat. Then, surprising you once more, he hunches over, stomach pressed flush against the table.

“What--”

Boothill uses this new position as leverage to outstretch his arm to you, and by extension, his hand. His open palm, also inlaid with crude stitching, barely reaches your wary form.

Swallowing your hesitance, you don’t leave him hanging too long. You wrap your hand around his own, fiber of his beaten up flannel (or maybe that’s just him) tickling your skin. He’s warm.

Boothill shakes your hand firmly.

“Thank ya kindly.”

You pull away first as he returns to taking up his own space. God, what have you gotten yourself into?

“Just… whatever.”

As late afternoon arrives, you go about stress-cooking up a big meal to get your mind off of your neglected chores and this entire nightmare at hand. It’s extremely hard to ignore Boothill, though, especially when he can be compared to a lost puppy in terms of his curiosity.

(He also tries to sample some of your cooking. It does not work, on account of him not having a tongue. Or real teeth. Or a stomach. Or a digestive tract.)

It’s going to be a bumpy road ahead. You sigh.

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