#storm danger tw

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 6

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: Today is the day! You are riding with Tyler and Boone directly into a tornado. Get ready for an experience you'll never forget. Word Count: 3303 TW: Flirting, Kissing, Developing Feelings, Storm Danger, Scott Sucks, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Series Masterlist

After breakfast, you helped Dexter and Lily clean up and prepare to leave for the first chase of the day. You gathered up the trash bags, jogged the short distance to the dumpsters, and tossed them in. When you turned around, you jumped as you found Tyler standing in front of you.

Clutching your chest, you swore, “Damn it! Why does everyone have to keep popping up and scaring me!”

He grinned, swaggering forward as he said, “I saw that little show you put on with Boone. It seems like you might not be over that revengeful streak of yours after all.” He stopped a few feet from you.

You lifted one shoulder as you tilted your head down so you could look up at him from under your lashes. ��What can I say, some habits are hard to break.” Stepping closer until your chest almost grazed his, you lifted your head and stared unwaveringly into his eyes. “And sometimes people need to be reminded they aren’t the only ones who can tease or play games. Or that maybe they aren’t as smooth as they think they are and others can see through their bullshit deflections.”

Tilting his head, almost in a sign of deference, he murmured, “Good to know. Maybe you should take your own advice.” 

He leaned his head closer to yours…then pivoted and walked back towards his truck, once again leaving you flustered and your cheeks burning. As you silently cursed him, he yelled over his shoulder, “Oh, you might wanna have a talk with Boone about that little act before he shows up at your room with flowers and a box of chocolates.” 

You rolled your eyes and trudged after him.

It turned out, Tyler may not have been exaggerating. When you made it back to the camper van, Boone was there waiting for you, asking if you needed any help or if he could carry something for you or if you wanted something to drink or—

You couldn’t see Tyler, but you swore you heard him snickering somewhere nearby. 

As politely as possible, you explained to Boone that while you appreciated his offers, you were fine and that you hoped he didn’t get the wrong impression from your hug earlier. Boone’s face flushed as he stammered out a few “‘course not”s and “we’re cool”s before excusing himself and slinking away. You felt really bad at essentially using him, especially after he had been nothing but kind to you. Once again, you kicked yourself for allowing the old you to come to the surface and not having the self-control to stop playing games. 

Luckily, everything seemed to be forgotten by the time you joined Tyler and Boone at the red pickup a few minutes later. Boone was back to his usual excitable self as he prepared his camera and showed you how everything worked. Between his handheld with the live stream and the several other cameras mounted in the truck capturing video to be edited later, it was actually more complex than you had imagined. It seemed as if you really had underestimated Boone, and that made you feel even worse for involving him in your scheme earlier.

Then suddenly, it was time to roll out. You had been so focused on your behavior that morning that you hadn’t thought about what was about to happen next. As the last of the bags were stowed away in one of the vans and Dexter did one last run down of the current weather patterns, a knot began to form in the pit of your stomach. Telling yourself you would be driving into the middle of a tornado today had been one thing. Now facing the very real fact it was about to happen, you wondered if you should have skipped breakfast. 

On trembling legs, you walked over to Tyler’s truck and reached to open the back door. But just as your fingers closed around the handle, an arm draped itself across your shoulders. “Nuh uh, sweetheart. You’ve got shotgun.” 

You turned to face Tyler, the knot that had been forming in your stomach tightening. “But I thought Boone—”

“Boone can get plenty of footage from the back. But this being your first time wrangling a storm, we want to make sure you have a front-row seat to the action.” Tyler opened the passenger door for you. When you hesitated, he raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re having second thoughts about riding with us? There’s always room for you in one of the other vans.”

Swallowing hard, you said, “No. I-I can do this.” 

You started to climb in, but Tyler grabbed your arm. Positioning himself so no one else could see you between his body and his truck, he softly murmured, “Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do this to try and prove something to anyone, even to yourself. Just coming with us after the storm like you did yesterday already puts you on the list of the bravest people I’ve ever met. And no one—not me, not your brother—no one can ever take that away from you. But—” he leaned over so the brim of his hat brushed against the top of your head and his thumb caressed your arm “—if you do want to go, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s your choice.”

The sincerity in his tone left no doubt that he meant what he said. If you decided to ride with Lily or Dani and Dexter instead, there would be no judgment. Tyler wouldn’t look down on you or think less of you for it, and that was all you needed to make up your mind.

Shooting him a grateful smile, you said, “Thanks, but I really do want to do this. And I always feel safe with you, Tyler, so I know this time won’t be any different.”

He grinned. “Alright then. Let’s go wrangle us a tornado.” 

He squeezed your arm one last time before helping you climb into the truck. Then he shut your door and hurried over to the driver’s side. Boone hopped in the back seat with an excited whoop just as Tyler’s door slammed shut.

You quickly buckled your seatbelt—trying to not think about the thick harness you hadn’t noticed the last time you rode up here—and settled back into your seat. But you froze as you looked out the windshield and saw Javi and Scott standing the Storm PAR vehicles still parked next to the main office. They were both staring right at you: Javi’s expression somewhat concerned yet accepting while Scott’s was nothing but pure apathy. 

You wondered if Javi told Scott the two of you had talked last night, though you hoped he kept it to himself. Not for your sake (you doubted it would have changed Scott’s opinion of you) but you didn’t want Javi to put himself into an uncomfortable position playing mediator for his business partner and said business partner’s sister. 

Tyler noticed who you were staring at and asked, “We good to go?”

You sighed. “Let’s do this.”

He nodded and started the engine. Easing the truck forward slowly, he rolled down his window and when he pulled alongside the group from Storm PAR, Tyler shouted, “Hey, Scotty! Make sure you watch the stream today so you don’t miss out on your sister’s first time driving headfirst into a tornado!”

You maintained eye contact with Scott, waiting for him to demand you get out of the truck or refuse to let you do something this dangerous. But instead, he just scoffed as he folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. She was scared of thunder until she was a teenager. Trust me, she’ll be begging you to turn the truck around before you get a hundred feet from a storm.”

Lowering your eyes, you sunk further into your seat. Not only had he shaken the little confidence Tyler had helped build up in you, but Scott had just revealed something utterly embarrassing to your new friends. It was true that you had cowered under your covers or hidden from all windows in the middle of bad thunderstorms well into your teenage years, but you had gotten past it. However, you didn’t want the people who faced some of nature’s most dangerous weather on a daily basis to know that!

For a long moment, Tyler just stared at your brother. Then, shaking his head, he asked, “What is wrong with you?” before pulling out onto the road. 

Once the motel had disappeared in the rearview mirror, Tyler reached over and rested his hand on your knee. “Hey, don’t listen to him, okay? He’s just trying to get under your skin. You got this.”

You nodded and tried to smile at him, but you could tell it didn’t look as confident as you hoped. 

From behind you, Boone let out a low whistle. “That dude’s really your brother?” You nodded. “Dang, no wonder you decided to hang out with us instead. He sucks.”

The unexpectedness of that assessment caused a burst of laughter to escape your lips. Tyler glanced over, grinning and squeezing your knee. Your smile widened, feeling less forced and more genuine. Looking at the other storm chaser in the visor mirror, you chuckled. “Yeah, Boone. He really does suck.”

Tyler had mentioned he was looking for a smaller EF1 or EF2 for your first time out. However, the storm the Wranglers ame across looked much bigger than that. It was at least twice as wide as the tornado you saw yesterday, yet Tyler and Boone didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, they seemed more excited than you had ever seen them before.

As the sky grew darker and the truck began to sway slightly in the increasing winds, you dug your fingers into the interior of the truck so tightly that your knuckles cracked. Scott was right. You weren’t brave enough for this. What the hell were you thinking wanting to go on a chase? It wasn’t a game. Thousands of people were injured or killed in tornados every year and now you were going to just drive up next to one? Possibly even into one? This was insane!

Seemingly sensing your mounting fear, Boone leaned forward, his head poking between you and Tyler, as he looked at his friend. “You sure she’s ready for this, T? I mean, no offense, but this one might be a little much for someone who's never done this before.”

But Tyler just grinned. “Nah, she’ll be fine. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, your eyes wide in terror as you stared at the approaching storm. “Y-yeah. I’ll be fine.” 

Your voice betrayed the anxiety that was flooding every cell of your body, but Tyler reached over and took your hand, prying it carefully off the center console and giving it a tight squeeze. The small gesture instantly caused the panic rising within you to mellow slightly. The idea of what you were about to do still terrified you, but knowing Tyler was behind the wheel made it somewhat bearable. 

He nodded to the harness hanging limply on the sides of the seat. “We won’t need those for a bit, but you might feel a little more comfortable if you strap in now. You know, just in case.”

Immediately, you slipped your hand from his and began fumbling with the harness. It seemed pretty straightforward but seeing how your hands were shaking, it’s more difficult than you initially thought. Without taking his eyes off the road, Tyler reached over and straightened the strap that was twisted across your chest. Then he helped you click it into place before taking your hand once more. However, this time, he raised it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back. It was more demure than the kiss he had placed there last night, but it still sent the same thrill through you all the way down to your toes. You quickly glanced in the visor mirror, but luckily it seemed Boone was too preoccupied with getting his camera set up to see what had just occurred. 

Tyler continued holding your hand until rain began pelting the windshield, the storm now looming so large in front of the truck that it seemed to block out everything else. You heard Boone starting his video introduction in the backseat but you didn’t register anything he said as you sat frozen in your seat staring at the approaching storm. It wasn’t until Boone nudged your shoulder rather forcefully that you realized he had been speaking to you. 

Shaking your head, you asked, “What?”

Boone chuckled nervously, glancing from the camera to you. “I said introduce yourself to the chat.”

“Oh, sorry.” You quickly said your name then continued to stare into the lens like a deer caught in the headlights as Boone left it focused on you, unsure of what else he wanted.

Luckily, Tyler came to your rescue. Grabbing Boone’s hand and swinging the camera to focus on him, he said, “Y’all probably remember me mentioning our newest Wrangler in yesterday’s stream. Well, she handled that storm like the pro she is so we thought we’d give her a shot at the main attraction today. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” 

Tyler winked at you before turning the lens back in your direction. You smiled and nodded. “Yep! We’re gonna…wrangle us a tornado!”

It felt a bit stilted, but the pride and warmth radiating from Tyler as he looked at you made you feel like you had just given an Oscar Award-winning performance. You bit your lip and looked away as you felt the heat rushing to your cheeks. But then you remember what Tyler had said about you hiding your face when someone compliments you so you turn back and look him dead in the eye. The warm look on his face only intensified before he turned his attention back to the road ahead.

A few minutes later as he pulled the truck into the path of the storm, Tyler slowed to a stop. He flipped a few switches on the center console and pressed the red button on top of the joystick positioned there. You heard a whirring sound and the truck seemed to sink into the ground slightly. Tyler must have deployed the augers to lock the truck in place. Dani mentioned yesterday that they had never failed since they were installed and you prayed today wasn’t the day that changed.

But as the edge of the storm grew closer and closer, you felt a fresh wave of terror grip you. Placing both of your feet on your seat, you wrapped your arms around your knees, curling into yourself as much as the safety harness would allow. You focused all of your energy on your breathing, trying your hardest not to start hyperventilating. But as the tornado finally hit the front of the truck, you let out a small squeal and buried your head in your knees.

However…nothing happened. The truck didn’t flip wildly out of control. The windows didn’t shatter into a million pieces. The augers didn’t give out. 

Slowly, you raised your head. The entire truck shook and vibrated around you, the sensation sending tremors throughout your body. Outside, random bits of debris struck the truck but nothing seemed to be able to break through its upgraded structure. As the initial wall of wind passed by the truck and you found yourself deeper into the storm, you actually found yourself relaxing slightly, unfurling yourself where you had tucked into a tight ball. If something bad was going to happen, it would have been when the tornado first hit the truck. Right?

Tyler leaned over until his lips brushed the curve of your ear and he whispered. “Look up.”

You could just make out the words over the howl of the storm but you did what he said. Tilting forward, trembling as your face neared the windshield, you squinted up into the wind. For a moment, all you saw was dirt and debris swirling around. But then you noticed a smaller, tighter vortex dancing through the center almost as if there was a tornado within the tornado. And as you followed this swirl up, you gasped as you caught just a glimpse of the sky peaking through the opening of the funnel. It was one of the brightest blues you had ever seen and it was utterly magical. 

You looked over at Tyler. His face was beaming as he watched you and, in that moment, he was even more breathtaking than the storm. Time seemed to stop and nothing else existed besides the two of you. Not the storm, not Boone, not the camera, nothing.

Your eyes met…then so did your lips. You weren't even really sure who initiated it and you didn’t care. His lips molded against yours perfectly, his tongue dancing across the entrance of your mouth as he tested his boundaries. But when you parted your lips further, he slipped inside as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and drew you closer. He tasted like coffee with just the hint of peppermint. And as his stubble scraped across your skin, you hummed at the shiver it sent racing down your spine. 

The kiss was everything you had been imagining and so much more. 

Needing more, you tried crawling across the center console to straddle his lap but something hugging you tightly across your chest stopped you. It was only then that you remembered the harness holding you into your seat. Your fingers scrambled against the buckle, finally unhooking it—

“And they say there ain’t no love in Oklahoma! Well, if that ain’t love, I don’t know what is!”

You and Tyler both jumped apart, startled by Boone’s joyful exclamation from the backseat. Horrified, you realized he had just filmed your kiss and broadcasted it live on the Wranglers’ YouTube channel. You buried your face in your hands, only peeking through the smallest crack to see Tyler’s reaction. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the fallen strands off his face as he muttered, “Boone–”

But his fellow storm chaser paid him no mind. “You saw it here first! The tornado wrangler himself has been wrangled by a new beau.”

“Boone.”

“And if any of you out there has ever wondered if two people could kiss in the middle of a tornado, I guess we have our answer!”

“Boone!” Tyler shot you an exasperated look and you lowered your hands, chuckling softly at the silliness of the whole situation. It was only then that you also noticed the storm had passed and everything outside the truck was now calm. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for inside the truck.

Tyler reached into the backseat and wrestled the camera out of Boone’s hands. Then, he took a breath and aimed the camera at himself as he plastered on a smile. “Well, I guess that’s it for today, folks. Things took a bit of an unexpected turn but in the middle of a storm, you never know what might happen! Thanks for watching and as always, if you feel it—” he leaned across the center console until his face was next to yours in the shot “—chase it.” And he pressed his lips against yours once again.

You could feel Tyler grinning against your mouth as you returned his kiss. Without pulling away, you reached out and covered the lens of the camera with your hand. The world had seen enough of you and Tyler for one day. However, if you had your way, the two of you were just getting started. 

Part 7 coming 9/23!

[bitch-spectrum]

Tornado

folks with special interests/hyperfixations NOT related to media (book series, tv shows, movies, etc), what are they and what do you like about it?

[byakuyasdarling]

I find it so funny (sad) overhearing my dad talk about me on the phone to a friend. He’s like “she’s 18 and 3/4 now” (I assume that’s in relation to my lack of motivation), “what she feels is different to what I think.”, “I snap sometimes but it’s only because x, y, z” (didn’t hear it), “can’t get her up in the morning” (not true, I just prefer to get-up late as opposed to my old 6am start, “she relied on school to validate herself” (genius /s), “she really hates herself” (not really. I guess in comparison to who I was, yes. But I still think I’m that same person mostly).

[call-sign-shark]

Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Fae - Temptation

he just wants to know your name, that’s all. he promises.

tw: yandere themes, possessive behaviour, reader is lowkey okay with it, implied murder, unhealthy relationships, stockholm syndrome (?)

“Come now, darling,” he croons, so very sweetly, “it’s just a name. I promise I won’t tell.”

He leans his cheek against your arm, gazing up pleadingly. You sigh as you feel your resolve waver. He— the fae— Lucian, he says his name is but you don’t know if he’s telling the truth.

Fae can’t lie, you’d been told as a child. The people of your town nary spoke of the faekind, save in warning tales. They’d told of weaknesses, of iron and salt. Lies. Falsehoods born from ignorance. Fae could lie, could weave truths of honeyed poison sweeter than any ambrosia. One thing you did know was not to tell one your name. Your grandmother had told you. She was the same woman who warned you of the dangers, who thwarted the ignorant claims of the fellow villagers

“Please.” Lucian all but whines. You can’t help but giggle in amusement. For such a powerful creature, he’s acting as though he were a puppy. “It’s just a name.”

But it’s not just a name. Name’s are powerful. They hold history, stories, one’s very being. So, you’ll refuse him once more. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Lucian tilts his head. The slightest hint of venom tinges his tone. His slit pupils are dilated double their size, like a predator catching sight of its prey. “Tell me your name.”

Lucian’s been persistent in his efforts. Ever since you moved into a cottage deep within the forest. Unable to bear the repetitive, noisy life of your village, you left. He’s been following you ever since you moved in. He’s bound, tethered to the place. To the land. Through magical means you don’t understand. Lucian adores pestering you with questions, and inane conversation, that you’ve grown to enjoy. But above all else, he seems determined to get your name. Not that you plan to give it to him.

He makes a frustrated noise, a pout forming on his lips. “You’re so stubborn.” Lucian complains. “Just tell me. I won’t tell anyone else, I swear.”

Liar, you think fondly, It’s cute, really, the effort he puts in.

Biting your lip, you briefly contemplate your sanity. Should others find themselves in this situation they wouldn’t be as calm. They’d panic. You should panic. You should probably run for the hills. For it’s not his status as a fae that forebodes danger. He’s— Lucian is complex.

The good-natured mask he wears is just that. A mask. One he wears for you. Your relationship with Lucian is multilayered. Surface level, it is a give and take. What he gives and what you take remains unclear. Surface level, you’re companions. But that implies trust. You don’t trust him. You’re smart enough not too.

“I’m heading out to town.” You tell him. “To the market.”

Lucian huffs. He storms off like a petulant child, intelligibly whining and a pout on his face. You roll your eyes. Gathering a basket and pulling on a cloak, you step out of the cottage. The way to town isn’t marked by a path. You memorize trees and large stones. Landmarks. You trek through the woodlands, thoughts of Lucian occupying your mind.

You hold a certain fondness for him. For the little game you two indulge in. It’s an odd affection, a tired, old one. He makes you cook for him, bemoaning your atrocious mortal cuisine as he eats all of it. He follows you around the cottage with seemingly no concept of personal space. He lingers around you, as if he were a ghost and you his haunt. He entertains you. With tall-tales spun from silk. He offers you gifts in the form of odd trinkets, flowers, nuts, sometimes gems.

Lucian perplexes you. Because despite the casualness of your relationship, you’d be a fool to not be aware of the power imbalance in between the two of you. There’s something dark, dangerous. An ancient, primal magic tethering him to the cottage. To you.

You shake off your wonderings as you reach a clearing. Down, to the left is a quaint little town. It’s sparsely populated, everyone knows everyone, at least everyone who inhabits the area. Locals are wary of travellers, yet they are not so foolish to deny potential patrons business. Their market, tavern, and inn are what’s to be expected of a place such as this. It’s sufficient for your needs, though. Far be it for you to complain.

You stop by the market, examining items being sold by the vendors. As you take an apple in hand, trying to determine whether the produce is worth it’s price, a hand reaches by you. Curiously, you sneak a glance to the person it belongs to.

You’re met with the appearance of a rugged, rogue. Weary from his travels, if you’d have to guess. He gives you half-grin half-smirk that makes your insides flutter. Normally, you’d offer him a flirtatious smile. Perhaps he’d ask to take you out for the night, to the tavern. You’d drink sweet mead and suggest stopping at an inn for the night. Spend it together. Alas, the sanctity of your normal ended upon your meeting with Lucian.

“‘Scuse me, love,” he says, voice a rough timbre. It’s so different than Lucian’s smooth, honeyed lilt. You like it. “You ain’t from ‘round here, eh?”

You nimbly step aside, appreciating the view. You should leave, you know the consequences if you stay. “No.” You tell him. “I live a little ways away.”

He smiles at that. A small little grin that’s almost a smirk. What a dangerous thing, he is. He starts chatting you up. You know what he wants from you and you’re quite certain he knows what he wants from you. You should be beyond such inhibitions— but it’s been so very long since you’d indulged in a bit of fun. So you let him take you back to his inn, slip something in his beer so when he’s done and your sated, he’ll slip right off. The moment he does, you slink away, trekking through the woods back home. Most people wouldn’t, scared of the dangers lurking. But the forest knows that the true danger resides within your home, guaranteeing your safety.

The moment you make it back, Lucian appears, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Entertaining night?”

His tone is frigid and cold, almost the same as his usual indifference. But you know him better than that. “Very.” You hum. “And yet, I’m here with you.”

“Yet you’re here with me.” He parrots. The shift in his demeanour is almost imperceptible, a change so subtle it appears meaningless. You watch as he slinks away, the satisfaction of his tone lingering throughout your mind. The affirmation, to both him and you, that you were here. That you came crawling back to him. That the pull, the tether he held on your being remained tight as ever.

That you were—

Not his. You were still your own being. You let out a shaky sigh and head up to bed. You’ve had too much to drink, you tell yourself. The next morn, when you awaken, groggily blinking, something immediately feels off. After living like this— after living with him— for so long, you’ve come to understand to trust your intuition while ignoring the warning bells ringing in your head.

You head down the stairs. Your body is heavy from your hang over. It dulls your senses. You know you need to be on guard, lest Lucian have his way. Speak of the devil, you muse, as he leans on the kitchen island smugly. “Rough night?”

“Don’t.” You warn, grabbing a pot and filling it with water to boil. Lician laughs. His laughter sharp and smooth. “Forgive me, lovely.” He croons. “I do not intend to rouse that temper of yours.”

You eye him suspiciously. Of course, you’re always suspicious in regards to him, but this behaviour is odd. Odder than usual. He usually demands you cook for him, asks for your name, then huffs when you rebuff him. It’s routine and Lucian isn’t one for breaking routine. You rake over his handsome, pointed features. He sports an usual grin. Self-satisfied and almost victorious. Then, you spot a crimson splatter along the underside of his throat.

“Is there something wrong, lovely?” He inquires, tilting his head almost as if to show you the blood stained on his neck.

Don’t give in. Don’t pay attention to it. You learned early on giving in only worsens his behaviour. “No.” You answer firmly. You avoid his question, evasive and ignorant. Your ignorance serves as a shield. “I ought to make something, barely ate yesterday.”

Lucian’s eyes flicker with both annoyance and pleasure. “Make me some too.” He orders, before sauntering off.

It sends a shiver down your spine, your compliance. Barely able to deny him, yet unable to give into him. It irks him. It also pleases him. It’s a game between the two of you. One neither of you can quit. You tow the line each time, out of selfishness. The desire to be free. To be as it was. It ends in his possessive fits, with blood shed, staining your hands crimson. Yet you continue. His attention is intoxicating. As addicting as mead. It drives you mad, tantalizes you, taunts you. But you don’t give in fully. Can’t. At least, not yet.

“Come now, lovely. I know you wish to fall into temptation with me.”

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWO

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, kidnapping, 141 are mean pirates, brief mentions of gore/death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The time you spent in the brig was frigid and isolating. Despite it being summer, the cold gusts of the sea had crept in through the thin cracks of the wooden ship, rising goosebumps on your skin and sending shivers wracking through your body. You were in no attire to accommodate the chill, only dressed in your barest of summer garments, thin and dirtied from the poverty your village lived in.

Silence became your new friend, while also your enemy. As much as you were one to appreciate the quiet of the world, the waves crashing along the sides of the ship were far too loud, taunting you with a grim reminder that you were lost at sea with no home to return to.

Your home was burned down to ash, surely with no survivors, given the state of havoc you’d returned to when Ghost told you to fetch your things. Your home didn’t treat you kindly, but it was still the place you’d grown up in and planned on dying peacefully. Now, you were a prisoner to pirates, ones only told about in silly fairy tales.

The stories of pirates had scared you when you were a young child. The elders had grouped together all children on summer nights such as this one, feeding them useless fables of the dangerous men and women that ruled the seas. They were ruthless, showing no remorse for the ones they tormented, uncaring of the bloodshed they splattered along native lands of the innocent.

That’s all they were when you were a child. Stories. Only meant to keep the youth away from the seas as not to witness them fall in and succumb to a painful death of drowning.

Now, though, it was your cruel reality. A nightmare. The pirates from those tales had been plucked straight out of the book and planted right into your life, erupting it into living hell.

Nobody had come to check on you after Ghost left you locked up in the cell. It had been hours since, the only telltale sign being the peek of sunlight poking through the small brig window and illuminating the room enough to shower you in a faint glow. There was nothing but a cot in the cell, the lower deck bare of anything useful.

Your escape would be fruitless. You’d thought about squeezing through the tiny window, but even if you managed, where would that leave you? Captured in the waves of the sea until you’d sink to the bottom in exhaustion.

You had to play it smart. Staying awake for hours alone had left you with plenty of rapid thoughts, some irrational. The best thing you’d decided in the end was to play along, gain their trust, and fulfill your role. As much as a part of you wished you were dead, it would be betraying your village, betraying Mary.

They needed to be caught. These pirates needed to pay for their crimes.

Gain their trust. Get off of the ship. Inform the nearest guard station.

When daylight fully broke, the sound of a creaky door caught your attention. More sunlight poured through the open doorway from the top of the stairs, showcasing one of the pirates. This time, it wasn’t Ghost, but instead, the one who had tossed you over their shoulder like a weak sack of potatoes.

Gaz said nothing as he descended down the stairs. In his hand was a steaming bowl, swirling around him like an ominous mist. His eyes locked on to yours, hardened from years of thievery and slaughter. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in them, nor indication that he was anything besides a sailing machine designed to follow Captain’s orders.

You watched keenly as he approached your cell. He stood over you like a brewing storm cloud, shadowing you from the stretch of light behind him.

For a moment, the two of you sat there frozen. You, terrified and cautious. Him, off putting and brooding.

Breaking the tension, his free hand scrambled for the keys latched on to the loops on his trousers, inserting one of the keys into the lock. He paused, eyeing you as a warning not to pull a brainless move. When he was satisfied you wouldn’t dare, he tugged the cell door open before stepping inside.

“Here,” he muttered, crouching down to place the bowl of food in front of you. Upon further inspection, you realized it was porridge. Bland and colorless.

You had no appetite after the horrors you’d seen. The sight of food had your stomach twisting, filling with rotten bile that begged to escape you and paint the floor beneath you.

Brimming with rage and seethe, you did the first thing that came to mind. Your hands picked up the bowl, carefully guiding it up to your mouth in attempts to seem starved. Gaz watched carefully, face set in firm lines that bristled a resentful itch inside of you.

With a turn of your hands, you tossed the porridge directly at Gaz, coating him in the piping liquid, chunks of vegetable that had been carelessly tossed in for flavor slipping down his front. His shirt and trousers were drenched, staining with the lifeless meal.

His face morphed into one of surprise before quickly shifting course. Instead, he was angry, eyebrows pulling taut, scowl curling on his lips. His eyes darkened impossibly more, filling the warm pupils with a menacing black.

“You fuckin’ wench,” he hissed, standing from his crouch to angrily swipe at the food that littered his clothing. It fell to the floor in a mushy mess right in front of you. Due to his aggression, a few stray chunks splattered back on to you in retaliation.

Realizing what you’d done, you tensed up, shuffling back from your place on the floor until your back hit the splintering walls of the ship. Gaz let out a roaring groan in irritation, sending a daggering glare your way.

“You are not hungry?” he asked tauntingly. He stepped out of the cell, slamming the door shut and locking it up tight. “Starve then. You will learn soon enough.”

Watching with widened eyes, he left the brig, grumbling angry curses to himself. When he shut the doors of your escape, you were met with sickening silence once again. The sound of waves taunted you, whispering insults in your ears for being such a stupid girl.

The pact you’d made with yourself was already in ruin. Befriending the pirates would be a difficult task if you couldn’t swallow down your enmity, and now you’d gone and made a foe.

Nobody returned to your cell for the rest of the day. It was punishment, that much you could figure out. Your stomach grumbled with desperate pleas, yet you could do nothing but wallow in your own acrimony for the remainder of the night.

When morning rose, you were awakened by the sound of the door once again. The light was blinding as it invaded the room, temporarily blocking your view of the person who’d stepped inside. When your eyes adjusted, you were faced with another pirate, the one who had held Mary down while you pleaded with him to release her.

Gaz stood beside him, arms crossed to appear larger. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the tease of resentment fluttering in his eyes.

“Not goin’ to toss yer breakfast on me, are ye?” the other snickered, eliciting a glare from Gaz. The pirate stepped forward, unlocking your cell and slipping inside. This time, he held the stale porridge while Gaz remained a pace behind him. “I know yer starvin’, so don’t be a prude. Eat up, aye?”

He set the bowl in front of you, just as Gaz had done. Remaining crouched in front of you, he made a gesture of his head towards the steaming meal, a toothy grin on his face.

You knew better than to feel relieved at the kindness. He was a pirate, just as the others, and he was cruel and unruly. Though, thinking back on your plan, his youthfulness may be a much easier one to befriend.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly with a respectful bow of your head. You reached for the bowl, gathering it in both hands. Gaz and the other studied you, seemingly waiting for a repeat of dirty laundry. It never came, though, and you lifted the wood spoon to your lips, swallowing down the first bite.

Just as you thought, it was bitter. How one could even make porridge bitter, you were unsure, but your stomach made no protest to the grainy oats. In fact, it was rather appealing, having been starved for two days.

“Take it ye like it, then?” the one pirate hummed, cocking his head at the display. “Get used to it, birdie. It’ll be yer meal for majority of yer time here.” He shot you another grin, resembling a mangy cat.

The reminder of your permanent stay was a difficult one, but your plan played over in your head. You wanted to go home, though it was no more, and you wanted your freedom back. Neither would be possible if you didn’t show kindness in return.

“What’s your name?” you questioned, making a poor attempt at conversation.

“Soap,” he introduced proudly. You didn’t mean to, but the name made you snort, triggering a light cough from the porridge you’d been in the middle of swallowing down.

“Soap is an… interesting name,” you grimaced. Soap didn’t seem to mind the back-handedness, only keeping that signature grin that was beginning to grow a bit hard on the eyes.

“Aye, got the name from bein’ a bit too rowdy. Price wanted to wash my mouth out.” His own words had him cackling, loud and boisterous in the cramped brig. Gaz had no reaction, opting for the hardened look that was practically piercing into you like thousands of knives. “What’s yer name, birdie? Got to learn who our new medic is.”

You wanted to remind him that you weren’t a medic. Not a professional one, anyway. You knew the bare minimum of proper medical etiquette and your medicines Ghost had told you to bring with were simply experimental mixtures. But you also knew that he wouldn’t listen nor care.

“The village called me dove,” you explained, swallowing down more porridge. It was warm in your mouth, coating your throat with gooey goodness. “Though, I don’t think it was much out of kindness.”

Soap hummed in acknowledgement, shooting a lopsided smile and a nod of his head. “Not quite a pirate name, dove, but it’ll do.”

“I’m not a pirate,” you defended with a frown.

“Ye are now,” he reckoned mindlessly, shrugging a lazy shoulder. Soap stood from his position, straightening up next to Gaz. “I’ll give ye some advice to be a part of this crew, dove. It’s not nice to throw porridge at a poor lad like Gaz.” Soap clapped Gaz on his shoulder, earning a scowl, which he ignored.

Your eyes shifted from Soap to Gaz, taking in the pure annoyance radiating off of him in waves. It was undeniable, practically filling the room’s atmosphere with black mist.

“I apologize,” you forced out, though that bitter part of you denied it. You wouldn’t feel sorry for these pirates. After all, they didn’t feel bad for the innocent lives they ruined.

Gaz’s nose twitched at your faux remorse, staring at you for a beat too long before turning away. He made no move to talk to you, but it wasn’t a blatant refusal of your apology. Perhaps he was just a tough nut to crack with a soft sweetness on the inside, even for a pirate.

The two men left you alone in the brig once again, only returning to give you meals as needed. It was terribly lonely the more the weeks went on with no move to release you from your cell. It was as if none of them trusted you, despite them being the ones to kidnap you. They burned down your home, slaughtered your people, and yet, wouldn’t allow you a chance to taste a sliver of freedom.

It was agonizing to wait, but you kept up your facade as much as you could, dripping with poisoned honey every time Gaz or Soap entered the brig with means to feed you.

Price or Ghost hadn’t made an entrance to see you. For the most part, you were grateful for it. In just the couple of weeks Soap and Gaz had been feeding you, they were warming up to you, slow and steady — Soap more than the other.

Gaz still had his reservations about you. He was reclusive, always standing on guard as if the shadows in the wall were prepared to attack at any given moment. It was better than before, where he had treated you like a burdening dog who he couldn’t rid himself of, but the progress was dwindling.

Soap was much more gracious. While he was obnoxious, he was much more welcoming company. You had no desire to truly befriend these pirates, but if any were to be the most tolerable, it was Soap.

Price and Ghost, though, were a mystery. Their absence made crucial falters in your meticulous plotting. You wanted out of the cell so you may roam the creaky decks of the ship, but the dream simply wouldn’t be possible without their trust.

It wasn’t until the fourth week of your imprisonment that the storyline had shifted. Rather than Soap bringing you your meal for the night, it was the Captain himself, standing tall and brute in front of your barred enclosure.

Unease rattled through your bones at his sudden appearance. You weren’t expecting him, nor were you prepared to face the very man who had slain your village with the help of his men.

He observed you like a lab rat, studying every movement like a variable in his experiment. It was prodding and exposing, leaving you sitting in your cell with a heavy lump in your throat.

“Soap tells me you’re warmin’ up to him,” he claimed, breaking the thick silence that smothered the air. He paced back and forth in front of your cell, eyes focused in on you. “Figured I’d properly introduce myself, seein’ as we’ll be spendin’ a lot of time together.”

You swallowed the rock in your throat, unmoving from your position on the floor. It was far from comfortable, but the cot was worn and dirty, so the floor became your only friend in the midst of all your dispair.

“I see,” you managed, clearing your throat. Price continued his relentless pacing, hands crossed behind his back in a formal manner. Ironic, really, considering his ruthless occupation.

“Dove, was it?” he asked. You nodded wearily. “A shame, really. Doves are lovely things, beautiful creatures made up of the purest white. Yet your village had called you it in ridicule. Or so I heard.”

Price was a man that spoke in riddles. He spouted conversation in the form of poetry, only tainting its beauty when angered. It was both unnerving and intriguing for a pirate. He wasn’t dirtied like you’d heard in childhood tales.

“I suppose they did,” you agreed with a small frown. The anxious pit in your stomach only grew, triggering alarm bells telling you that this man was an enigma. He wasn’t to be trusted.

“And why is that?” Price questioned. He ceased his pacing to face you properly, and you wished he’d return to it. His stature was that of a behemoth, overpowering and menacing, much like Ghost had been.

“Why did they call me dove?” you responded in confusion.

“Why did they ridicule you,” he corrected.

The statement made you pause. You hadn’t really thought about your townspeople dumbing you down to a mere crazy girl with too much ambition. You were the talk of the village within your age group as well as the occasional elder who tsked at you for never marrying.

The relationship between you and your people was one of complexity. While you loved them as your own, they battered you every chance they had. Hell, even Lucius himself had outed you to a group of pirates without care in the world. The very man who had spent countless months in attempts to make you a pretty village wife had sent you to your early grave to save his own ass.

“They thought I was different,” you explained woefully. “It is not normal for a woman to partake in medicine, let alone education. Doves are beautiful, yes, but they’re also adventurous. It is a dangerous conviction to be compared to as a woman.”

Price cocked his head to the side, filling the air with silence. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to explain yourself to a dingy villain such as him, but you feared that if you weren’t honest in your conversation, he’d be able to sniff out your deception from miles away.

“Who has told you it is not normal?” Price asked, and once again, he had stumped you.

“It is not a difficult thing to digest, Captain. Women do not involve themselves in ambition.”

“They quite do,” he retorted. You stared up at him through the bars, your own head cocking. You didn’t trust his word, but a shriveled piece of you was curious. “Sure, it is not acceptable in certain places, but it is quite popular.”

You blinked at him, before staring at the wooden floor, pondering.

You had been expecting the Captain to treat you with hostility, to throw nasty words your way with the excuse of being a pirate. That was what you had been told in adolescence, how dirty they could be, but he was calm.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Price said. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the bars of your cell, standing over you with only that barrier separating you. “I am not a cruel man. You may think differently, and for that, I do not care. But I will say that I believe you will have a much better life upon my ship.”

His words were a mix of sweet venom being spat at you. While they could be perceived as kind, there was an underlying message, one you couldn’t decipher.

“You burned down my village and killed my people. You kidnapped me to be your medic on your ship,” you defended, unable to hold back the taste of lingering resentment.

You had nearly forgotten why you were there with Soap and Gaz visiting to shift your mind elsewhere. You almost dismissed your own plan of escape. Price had reminded you without realizing, and now, your heart felt heavy once again.

“Ah, yes. The people that willingly sacrificed their own in effort to save themselves,” Price mused mockingly. The words stung. “Yes, we took you against your will. I will admit that. But your people treated you far worse.”

“You do not know a thing, Captain,” you spat.

Price cocked his head once more, resting his forehead on the forearms that lay upon your cell. “Aye, I do not,” he admitted. “But I know a bird with clipped wings when I see one. Perhaps you’ll be grateful when you learn to accept things as they are.”

You wanted to retort, wanted to get the last word in, but he was right. You barely knew the Captain and yet, he had read you like a novel, flipping through your pages and memorizing them from one single look through.

It felt dehumanizing. He was cruel and vicious, as were his men. They were nowhere near saviors, yet he spoke to you as if he was. It sickened you to the core, but there was no denying his brutal honesty.

Price offered you a lazy smile before standing straight, arms falling to his sides. “I suggest gettin’ used to your new life. You’ve got no home to return to anyway.”

He retreated from your cell as if he hadn’t slapped you in the face with a dose of reality. His boots were heavy and aggravating as they trudged up the stairs towards the upper deck, where he promptly shut the door on you, leaving you alone once again.

Your escape plan was falling into shambles before it had even began to fester. 

[tteotlma]

craving control

— neither of you could resist what was always meant to happen.

alpha!bucky x omega!reader (9.2kw)

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, dubcon a/b/o dynamics, possessive behavior, biting/marking, power dynamics, including praise kink, size kink, rough intimacy, physical restraint, sexual tension, emotional dependency, desperation, and themes "feral, uncontrollable need.", elements of mating/claiming, explores intense feelings of vulnerability and submission.

a/n: honestly,, i have no words -- weeks in the making and im not satisfied w how this turned out. like when you stare at something for too long. and it starts to look weird

———

On the day of Bucky’s arrival, it was safe to say the only one truly excited was Steve. The air in the compound felt charged, heavy with anticipation and unspoken tension.  

Tony walked up beside you and Nat by the massive window, the sharp scent of machine oil mingling with his expensive cologne as he wiped stubborn grease from his hands. Years of working together had made their commanding presence familiar and comfortable, like the steady hum of lab equipment around you.  

The window shook as debris kicked up from the descending helicopter, which was landing in the middle of the field. Tony inhaled deeply, his dark eyes meeting yours and Nat’s with a characteristic assessing look that instinctively made others straighten their spines. Nat smirked and raised an eyebrow, prompting a small smile from you, though you couldn't fully shake the flutter of nerves in your stomach.  

The helicopter door slid open in slow motion as Steve emerged, his broad shoulders and confident stride capturing every gaze in the vicinity. He turned and, stepping out behind him, a dark figure followed—a stark contrast, night to Steve's day. The moment Bucky appeared, the air seemed to shift—a raw, untamed energy that made your breath catch and your pulse quicken. Even from a distance, there was something different, something dangerous about him, that made your skin prickle with awareness, and your fingers curl tightly around the tablet in your hands.  

"Disperse, disperse," Tony muttered, his natural authority causing everyone to instinctively move as he turned away. The others followed suit, including an omega technician who stumbled in their haste to appear busy at their station.  

You turned back to your workstation, pressing your palms to the cool steel table to ground yourself. You could feel Steve and his companion approaching—Steve’s familiar warmth contrasting sharply with the newcomer’s intensity.  

The familiar scents of solder and circuitry should have been calming, but they couldn't quite mask the oncoming storm of Steve’s sunlit warmth mixed with something darker and wilder—like pine needles and leather and crisp winter air.  

When the main doors opened, the room was flooded with alpha energy, subtle yet impossible to ignore, like fog rolling in at dawn. "Guys, this is Buck," Steve said, the sound of his hand landing on leather echoing in the sudden quiet.  

"Bucky," came the correction—a voice like gravel over silk, sending a shiver down your spine as you gripped your soldering iron tighter, the metal warm against your suddenly trembling fingers. It wasn’t their presence that unsettled you; it was the way your instincts responded before you could think.  

Nat’s silent approach gave her the air of a predator as she circled closer. "Barnes," she acknowledged, her voice cold and steely. The space between them crackled with unspoken assessment, neither yielding nor challenging.  

"Good to see you again, Robocop," Tony called out, his voice cutting through the tension. His hologram's blue glow cast shadows over his face as he peered over his glasses. "Make yourself comfortable, but not too comfortable." His words, casual yet sharp as ozone before a storm, hung in the air.  

“The rest of you, back to work—we have a deadline,” Tony added with a wave of his pen, and like magic, the lab resumed its rhythm, though the atmosphere had fundamentally shifted.  

You bent over your work, hyper-focused on the tiny components scattered across your station, but every nerve seemed attuned to Bucky’s presence. The familiar lab scents—hot metal, coffee, and sharp electronics—were muted beneath this new awareness.  

"Y/n~" Steve’s warm, knowing voice rolled through the space, and your fingers stilled on the circuit board, your heart stuttering. The approaching footsteps seemed to echo with your pulse, each step tightening the coil in your shoulders. That scent—leather and pine now mixed with something metallic and sharp—grew stronger, drying your mouth.  

You managed a confident smile and turned, only for Steve to pull you into an embrace, lifting you slightly off your feet. His familiar scent—soap and sunshine—wrapped around you like a blanket, momentarily drowning everything else.  

"Missed ya, kiddo," he murmured, affection coloring his tone. Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you relaxed into his comforting presence.  

"Missed you too, Cap," you managed with a breathless laugh as he set you down. Movement caught your eye—Bucky shifting behind Steve—and that new awareness crashed back like a wave. You met his gaze for a split second before he looked away, but that brief connection felt electric. His storm-gray eyes held something untamed that made your knees weak.  

“Buck, this is Y/n,” Steve introduced. “Y/n, Buck.” The contrast between them was dizzying—Steve's golden warmth beside Bucky's winter-sharp presence. Suddenly, your workspace felt too small, the air heavy with unspoken things.  

"Bucky," he repeated, his voice rougher up close, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. He stepped closer, hands at his sides, yet his presence seemed to fill the entire space around you. The fluorescent lights reflected off the plates of his metal arm, casting shifting shadows. Your throat felt dry, and you resisted the urge to fidget with your tools.  

Steve’s voice cut through the thick tension, either unaware of it or ignoring it. "Listen, I tried the magnets again," he said, the sound of leather hitting steel making you jump slightly as he tossed his gloves onto your workstation. His worn leather scent mingled with Bucky’s, making focus difficult.  

You raised an eyebrow, grateful for the distraction. "And...?"  

"And I hate it." He rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the tension. "It's just not the same."  

You glanced between the gloves and Steve's sheepish expression, ignoring how Bucky’s gaze seemed to track your every movement. Even without looking directly at him, you felt his attention like static electricity, raising goosebumps along your arms.  

"Think you could just yank 'em out for me?" Steve asked with that irresistible smile, though your attention kept drifting to Bucky, who stood silent and watchful.  

You scoffed and shook your head, stepping around the counter to switch on the table light. Sitting on the stool across from Steve, you shot him a look.  

“Fine, fine,” you said, picking up the gloves. “Guess you still have a chance to dread the day I say no.”  

Steve grinned. “I don’t even wanna think about it.” He gestured subtly towards Bucky. “Figured you could handle this too. Bucky’s got some gear that might need adjustments.” It wasn’t a command, just Steve’s assumption that Bucky would be sticking close.  

“Sounds good. I’ll find some time this week to schedule you in, so we can see what I’m working with,” you said, motioning to his arm.  

“Okay,” Bucky replied, his voice low with a hint of warmth.  

---

That was two weeks ago. Since then, you’d been buried in projects with Tony and Banner, testing prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark’s tech.  

Missions came and went, but you mostly stayed at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and keeping Stark's experiments from exploding (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet lately, your normally steady hands trembled at unexpected moments, your concentration slipping at the sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor.  

There wasn’t much time for that one-on-one work with Bucky you’d promised, though you occasionally glimpsed him around the compound. Still finding his footing here, he was a shadow at Steve’s side, quiet and watchful. Tony would drag him into the lab occasionally to discuss modifications—if he wanted any.  

You tried not to notice how his eyes found you whenever he was in the lab, lingering until you accidentally met his gaze. At first, he’d look away, jaw tightening as he focused on whatever Tony was explaining. But minutes later, you’d feel it again—his attention like a compass pointing north.  

In brief hallway encounters, your greetings came out softer than intended, his response a quiet rumble that stayed with you long after he walked away. One time, both of you reached for the lab door handle simultaneously. His fingers brushed yours, sending electricity up your arm. He pulled back, muttering an apology before disappearing around the corner, abandoning whatever awaited him in the lab.  

It was ridiculous how such small moments left you distracted for hours.  

Then one morning, Tony burst into the lab, with Steve following closely behind, practically dragging a reluctant Bucky.  

“Hey, kid,” Tony called out, startling you. You lifted the magnifying goggles off your face, welcoming the cool air. Banner, hunched across the table with identical goggles, glanced up briefly.  

“Please tell me we have Barnes’ baseline readings from when he got here,” Tony said, his tone implying a slight scolding. You looked at Banner, embarrassed. When you shook your head, Tony groaned dramatically.  

“Seriously? Three weeks and—“ He took a deep breath, hands on his hips as he surveyed the cluttered lab, evidence of recent activity. “Okay, that’s on me. Fixed. Now.” He practically pushed Bucky onto the stool beside your workstation.  

“Do your thing. Science, data, all that—" Tony trailed off, looking at Banner, who took the cue and clumsily exited, engaging Tony in a transparently forced conversation about a new gadget. Steve left shortly after, flashing an encouraging smile that made your cheeks burn.

The moment they left, the lab felt impossibly smaller. Bucky shifted slightly behind you, and though he was quieter than quiet, his presence seemed to fill every inch of space around you. He kept a respectful distance, but it didn’t matter—you could feel him, each breath and subtle movement stirring the air, making your skin prickle with awareness.

Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled up the diagnostic programs. "I'll need to..." you began, voice softer than you intended, "run some basic tests first. It might take a while." Turning toward him, you found his storm-grey eyes already fixed on you, dark and intent.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze heavy and unrelenting, as though he was trying to read the thoughts you couldn’t quite form. Your throat tightened under the weight of his stare, and your hands instinctively curled into fists to ground yourself.

“I’ll need you to…” You gestured vaguely, your voice catching. “You’re gonna have to take off your sh-shirt. Just... so I can get a better look.” Your voice faltered, and heat bloomed across your cheeks.

For a beat, Bucky didn’t move. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached behind his neck, tugging the navy henley over his head. The fabric slid away, revealing his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, veiled by the thin fabric of his white tank. The subtle shift of his muscles as he moved sent a quiet jolt through your system, making your breath catch.

He tossed the henley carelessly over his shoulder, and you tried—desperately—to stay focused.

“Extend your arm for me,” you murmured, the words coming out softer than intended. He complied with that same quiet grace, his frame stiffening as you gently adjusted his arm.

Without thinking, you stepped between his legs, close enough that your hips grazed his thighs. The heat of his body radiated toward you, and the scent of pine, winter air, and leather curled around you, heavy and dizzying.

Bucky shifted again—a slow, unconscious movement as he spread his legs a little wider, as if making room for you without realizing it. The gesture was likely nothing, but to you, it felt far too intimate, and it took all your willpower not to react to the heat pooling in your belly.

You focused on the smooth metal of his arm, running your fingers along the seams and joints, marveling at the precision of its construction. His hand found your waist. The touch was light at first, perhaps just to steady himself, but his palm lingered, broad and warm over your lab coat.

The weight of his hand sent a shiver up your spine, your pulse fluttering beneath your skin. His thumb brushed the hem of your coat where the white fabric met your wine-colored shirt, as if testing its texture. Your breath caught involuntarily.

Slowly, your gaze traveled from his fingertips up the seams of his arm to his face. When you looked up, his eyes were already on you—dark, intense, unreadable, but consuming. His gaze dropped briefly to the curve of your collarbones peeking through your shirt before flicking back to meet your eyes, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

The room shrank around you, the tension pulling taut—an invisible thread tugging you closer. Neither of you spoke; neither of you moved.

The air between you stretched, heavy and charged, the weight of his hand on your waist making it impossible to focus on anything but him. His thumb grazed the edge of your shirt again—soft, deliberate—and you swore the world slowed down, teetering on the edge of something inevitable.

The comm system beeped, loud and sudden, shattering the moment. Both of you jerked slightly, like surfacing from deep water.

"Y/N?" Tony’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Banner needs you in the main lab—now."

Bucky’s hand slipped from your waist, his jaw clenching as though grounding himself. You took a step back, heart pounding, the absence of his touch making the space between you feel colder and emptier than it should.

Clearing your throat, you looked anywhere but at him. “I–uh, I should go.”

He nodded once, slow and unreadable, as you turned quickly, your hand dragging hesitantly down his arm, slipping out of the room before the tension could pull you back in.

You slipped out of the room, heart still racing, Bucky’s presence clinging to you like static electricity. Even as you tossed and turned in bed later that night, the moment lingered—his hand on your waist, his scent in your lungs, and the weight of his gaze heavy on your mind.

That evening clung to you like a live wire beneath your skin, but the next few days brought subtle shifts in the compound's atmosphere. Where Bucky once moved like a shadow, now he inhabited spaces differently. During morning briefings, you noticed him leaning against workbenches instead of standing guard by the wall, his gaze still watchful but carrying something new—curiosity, maybe.

Since that evening in the lab, you buried yourself in projects with Tony and Banner, testing new prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark's tech. Small out-of-town missions came and went, but you remained rooted at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and preventing Stark's experiments from turning into full-blown disasters (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, focus had become a luxury you couldn't afford. Your usually steady hands betrayed you, trembling at the worst moments, especially whenever familiar footsteps echoed down the corridor.

If Bucky did come into the lab, there weren’t many opportunities for one-on-one work, though you’d catch fleeting glimpses of him. He still seemed to be finding his footing, a shadow at Steve’s side—quiet and observant, as if measuring every person and place before stepping too close. Occasionally, Tony would bring him into the lab to discuss possible modifications, though Bucky seemed reluctant, deflecting with grunts and unreadable glances.

But it was impossible to ignore how his eyes always sought you out. Whenever he entered the room, your senses sharpened, drawn to him without permission. His gaze lingered a second too long—enough to make your stomach flip, your pulse flutter beneath your skin. But whenever you met his eyes, he’d glance away, his jaw tightening as if wrestling with something unspoken. Yet, moments later, you’d feel the pull again—his attention returning like a compass that couldn’t help but point north.

This awareness began to happen outside the lab too, in brief, inconsequential encounters that left you unraveled. Once, passing each other in the hallway, your soft greeting was met by his low, rumbling reply, curling around your senses long after he’d disappeared. Another time, reaching for the same door handle, his fingers brushed yours, the shock of contact sending electricity racing up your arm. He pulled back as though burned, muttering an apology before vanishing without explanation. You stood there, stunned, wondering how such a fleeting touch could leave you restless for hours.

Each day made it harder to maintain composure. It was as if your body had developed a traitorous awareness of him—heart stuttering beneath your ribs, skin flushing at the slightest thought of him, senses sharpening to track his movements before your mind even registered he was near. No matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in work, even Tony’s endless stream of projects couldn’t silence the way your pulse leapt whenever Bucky’s footsteps echoed down the corridor.

These changes appeared in fragments—a barely-there smile when Tony's prototype backfired, sparks shooting across the lab; the way his shoulders lost their rigid set when Steve drew out his dry humor during mission prep. Each small victory revealed another layer beneath the soldier’s facade.

Your paths began crossing more often. Sometimes, he’d appear in the kitchen during your late-night tea runs, nursing coffee while reading news on a tablet. His silent nods evolved into a new half-smile that never failed to make your heart race. His scent—pine and leather—began to carry warmer notes, softening from sharp winter to something more approachable.

Then, when Sam suggested movie night, every instinct screamed at you to decline. The thought of being in an enclosed space with Bucky—away from the clinical safety of the lab, surrounded by comfortable, dim intimacy—made your stomach flutter with anxious energy. But before you could find an excuse, Nat flashed you a knowing smile, firmly pulling you from your workstation. You barely had time to protest.

Now, nestled between Nat and Sam on the couch, you tried to focus on the movie, but your attention kept drifting across the room to him. Bucky sat in an armchair like he owned the space, his relaxed body only making him look more dangerous. His legs were spread wide, one arm draped over the back, the other resting on his thigh—a casual pose that somehow felt deliberate.

You told yourself to stay present, to engage with Nat and Sam’s easy banter, but Bucky’s presence made it impossible. His scent—faint but unmistakable—hovered at the edge of your awareness, a mix of pine, leather, and something deeper that spoke to a part of you beyond reason.

Then it happened. During a lull in the movie, when everything fell quiet, you felt it—his gaze.

A pulse of heat spread through your chest, as if an invisible thread had tugged you toward him. You risked a glance, only to find him already watching you. Even in the dim light, his storm-gray eyes were locked on yours, intense and unwavering. His expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his stare that made your pulse stutter and breath catch in your throat.

The flickering blue light of the TV softened the sharp lines of his face, but it did nothing to dull the tension humming between you. For a moment, it felt like the room had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in the dark—silent, secret, caught in a moment neither dared to acknowledge.

You tried convincing yourself he wasn’t really looking at you, that maybe he was watching Sam or had drifted off into thought. But the flip in your stomach, the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin, told a different story.

Bucky didn’t look away. His stare held steady, as if something deep and instinctual was keeping him tethered to you—as though he was drawn to you in the same way you were to him. The connection between you wasn’t just a passing glance. It felt ancient, inevitable, as if some unseen force had been guiding you to this moment long before either of you realized it.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define, and you were certain that even if you could name it, neither of you was ready. Your scent, warm and sweet, had changed in subtle ways—just enough for Bucky to notice, to make his chest tighten with a growing certainty. This wasn’t just attraction; it was recognition. Instinct. Raw instinct clawed through him, responding to the quiet, subtle shift in yours. You were close—too close—and every part of him, from the deepest part of his mind to the tension winding through his muscles, felt it.

The spell broke when Steve shifted on the couch beside him, dragging you both back to reality. You blinked, heart hammering as you tore your gaze away, heat blooming beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire, a faint sheen of sweat on your brow.

You swallowed hard, trying to refocus on the movie, but the moment lingered like a phantom touch. Even as you stared straight ahead, you could feel the weight of his gaze, its memory humming along your nerves, leaving you restless and aching in ways you didn’t understand.

When the movie ended, you escaped as quickly as you could, muttering a rushed “good night” and fleeing to your room, hoping the familiar comfort of your own space would ground you. But even surrounded by your belongings, wrapped in your own scent, you couldn't quiet the hum of awareness thrumming beneath your skin.

Bucky's scent clung to you, lodged in your senses like a memory you couldn’t shake. Pine, leather, and something darker—something wild that kept teetering you on the brink of losing control. There was something building inside you, a slow-burning awareness you weren’t ready to acknowledge, hoping no one else could sense the change taking hold of you.

Each encounter with him pulled at something deep within you, like a tide responding to the moon. His scent overshadowed everything, lingering in your senses long after he was gone.

And Bucky—you noticed everything now, every detail sharp and vivid, though you tried to convince yourself you were reading too much into it. The way his eyes lingered a second too long—but of course, people always stared at him. The slight flex of his fingers when you passed by—a habit, surely. The barely audible catch in his breath when you were near—probably just your imagination, heightened by whatever was happening to your body.

Maybe you were imagining the way his carefully controlled demeanor seemed to slip around you—those tiny cracks in his composure you couldn't stop noticing. After all, a man like him, always so disciplined, wouldn’t be affected by someone like you… would he? Yet, something raw beneath his surface called to you, making your heart race whenever he was close. The air felt electric between you, crackling with possibility—even as you tried to tell yourself it was just his effect on everyone, that you weren’t special, that it was just your body playing tricks.

After tonight, you couldn’t deny it any longer. During movie night, his stare had lingered like phantom touches, and your skin had felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents, you couldn’t escape the memory of pine and leather.

And as days passed, it only seemed to worsen. When Fury assigned you to oversee the team’s training equipment and Tony ensured you continued working with Steve, observing Bucky was already inevitable. Watching him felt different than those first weeks. You’d glimpsed the man beneath the careful control—caught fragments of dry humor in mission briefings, witnessed quiet camaraderie with Steve. The dangerous edge remained, but now it felt more… intentional. Like he was choosing to let people see beyond the soldier’s facade, revealing glimpses of the man underneath.

These glimpses made training observation even more daunting. Because now you knew what lay beneath his cool exterior—had witnessed the subtle humor in his eyes, the careful way he was learning to exist in spaces without defending them.

Your fingers trembled against the tablet's smooth surface at the thought of watching him work. Being that close to him during combat training, with his presence at its most intense… The thought alone made your mouth go dry.

Training sessions became their own kind of exquisite torture. Your role was simple—monitor the team’s gear, run diagnostics, and ensure everything functioned. But watching Bucky spar was anything but simple.

Between rounds, you brought him water—a straightforward task that became anything but as his eyes tracked your movement across the training room. Your fitted jacket clung to your curves, and you felt the weight of his stare as you approached. It was refreshing, seeing him like this. The quiet, brooding soldier was still there, but lately, there had been glimpses of something else—a playful charm that felt both dangerous and irresistible.

"Tryna’ keep me hydrated, doc?" His voice was rough from exertion, teasing in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach. This was the Bucky emerging more and more lately—the one who’d somehow found his footing again, letting his guard down just enough to allow a trace of Brooklyn charm to slip through.

"Can’t have our best asset passing out from dehydration," you managed to reply, proud of how steady your voice remained. When you handed him the bottle, his fingers brushed yours, sending electricity skittering across your skin.

"Our best asset, huh?" He tipped his head back to drink, and you couldn’t help but watch his throat work, beads of sweat trailing down his neck. His eyes met yours over the bottle, darkening as they drifted to where your jacket dipped low. "Like what you see?"

This was dangerous territory—this newfound confidence of his, the way he was testing the waters between playful and flirtatious. "Just making sure you’re drinking enough water," you murmured, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. You wondered if he could hear how your heart stumbled in your chest, if he sensed the hitch in your breath when he licked a stray drop from his lower lip.

He moved with a predator’s grace—smooth, controlled, and lethal. Each punch, each fluid shift of his body, sent a pulse of heat through you. Your throat felt dry as you watched the muscles in his back ripple beneath his fitted shirt, the metal of his arm gleaming under the lights. You told yourself this was normal, that anyone would be affected watching him move like this—but deep down, you knew this was different.

At one point, he had Steve pinned to the mat, his arm flexed, holding Steve in place with ease, chest heaving with exertion. His gaze flicked to you, locking eyes for a split second that sent butterflies surging in your stomach—and a darker, more primal flutter somewhere lower. That slow-burning awareness inside you flared hot and urgent.

Your fingers slipped, and your tablet clattered to the floor with a loud thunk. Everyone turned to look, including Steve, but all you could focus on was the faint grin curling at the edge of Bucky’s mouth. Your face burned with embarrassment, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes—a look that made you wonder if he could sense the changes in you, if he could feel how your body was betraying every attempt at control.

You couldn’t bear to face the team after that display—after dropping your tablet like some starry-eyed recruit. Your skin felt too tight, too warm, your body thrumming with an energy you couldn’t contain. You retreated to your room, but even buried in your own blankets, you couldn’t escape the memory of his knowing smirk, the way his eyes held yours like he knew exactly what was happening to you.

The next few days passed in a haze of mounting tension. Your skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents and belongings, you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was shifting inside you. Sleep became elusive, your body alternating between feverish and chilled, leaving you restless and aching for... something.

By the time you wandered to the kitchen at 3 AM, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, but sleep remained just out of reach. The compound was eerily quiet at this hour, the hum of electronics the only sound as your slippers whispered across the cool tile.

You sat at the kitchen island, elbows resting on the countertop as you flipped through your options—tea or coffee. Settling on tea, you rose to grab your favorite mug from the cabinet. The dim lighting softened everything, making the space feel smaller, more intimate, as if the night itself carried a promise of something unspoken.

You were so focused on your task that you didn’t hear him approach.

"Can't sleep?"

His voice, low and rough with sleep, startled you enough to make you gasp softly. You whirled around to find him emerging from the shadows, stepping into a sanctuary—one where, in this moment, it felt like only you and he existed. The dim light traced the sharp lines of his face, deepening the shadows beneath his cheekbones and along his jaw.

He wore soft sleep pants that rested low on his hips, and the black shirt clung to his frame, leaving little to the imagination. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with something you couldn't name—something that thrummed between you, waiting to be acknowledged.

"I…" Your voice faltered, throat dry under his gaze. You cleared your throat and tried again. "Just wanted some tea."

Bucky stepped further into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like a wolf closing in. For someone so large, he moved with unsettling grace—silent and fluid. "Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, though his question held a depth, as if he were offering more than conversation.

You turned back to the cabinet, reaching for your mug, but your fingers trembled. Before it could slip from your grasp, his hand wrapped around your wrist, steadying you.

"You okay?" His voice was closer now, concern threading through the rough edges.

"Yeah, I’m—" you began, but stopped as you felt his thumb pressing unconsciously against your pulse. The gentle pressure sent electricity dancing up your arm, and you couldn’t help but track how his throat worked as he swallowed.

"Hey," he murmured, voice low. His eyes darkened as they searched your face, and you watched something shift in his expression—recognition, maybe, or realization. His nostrils flared slightly. "You’ve seemed… off lately."

"I'm fine," you managed, but your voice came out breathy, unconvincing. "Just haven’t been sleeping well."

He held your gaze a moment longer, then stepped back slowly, as if it took effort to put distance between you. The absence of his touch left your skin tingling, aching for contact you couldn’t afford to want.

"Maybe some chamomile, then," he suggested, his voice rougher than before. You noticed his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched as he worked to maintain the distance.

You managed a small nod, turning back to the cabinet with unsteady hands. Though he’d released your wrist, he hadn’t moved back far—still standing between you and the island, leaving you caught between his body and the counter. His presence lingered, heavy and warm, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

The small space between you crackled with electricity, making it impossible to focus on the simple task of making tea. The kettle felt too loud in the silence, steam rising like a physical manifestation of the tension thickening the air.

When you finally turned back around, gripping your mug like an anchor, you found his eyes stormy, his jaw set as if he was fighting something within himself. He took a deliberate step back, creating distance that somehow made the air feel even heavier.

"I should…" he started, voice rough. "Let you get some rest." But he didn’t move immediately, as if reluctant to leave.

Something in you wanted to tell him to stay, but the words stuck in your throat. The space between you felt charged, like the air before a storm. His scent—pine and leather—wrapped around you, stronger now, making your head spin.

He moved first, turning toward the entryway with careful control, his movements almost rigid. But he paused at the threshold, his metal hand gripping the wall frame with enough force to make the material creak softly.

"Get some sleep, doll," he said without looking back, his voice carrying something dark and hungry that made your skin prickle with heat. Then he was gone, leaving you alone with the cooling tea and the phantom sensation of his touch still burning around your wrist.

After standing frozen in the kitchen for what felt like hours, you finally forced yourself back to your room. Your skin felt too tight, every nerve hypersensitive as you stumbled through the doorway. The trek down the hallway was torture—his lingering scent clung to your clothes, your skin, leaving you dizzy with desire.

You barely made it to your bed before your legs gave out. The sheets felt rough against your fevered skin, and you kicked them off with a frustrated whimper. Your wrist still burned where he touched you, the memory of his thumb against your pulse making your breath hitch.

Rolling onto your back, you pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to ground yourself. But behind closed lids, all you could see was the way his eyes had darkened in the kitchen, the tension in his jaw barely contained. Your body thrummed with awareness, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as waves of heat washed over you.

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, counting each inhale like Banner had taught you during training. One breath, then another, even as your skin prickled with need. The steady hum of the air conditioning became your focus, not the memory of Bucky's voice, rough and low in the darkness.

Slowly, exhaustion won over the fever burning through your veins. Your muscles ached from fighting against the tension, and eventually, your body surrendered to the pull of sleep. The last thing you registered was the ghost of pine and leather clinging to your shirt before darkness claimed you.

Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing you registered was warmth on your face—sunlight streaming through your windows, casting everything in hues of honey and gold. Your room looked almost dreamlike, dust motes dancing in the amber rays.

As your vision focused, you noticed signs of Banner’s care—a bowl of soup on your nightstand, now cold; several water bottles arranged within reach; and a damp cloth on your forehead, long since losing its coolness. The quiet thoughtfulness of it made your chest tighten with gratitude.

You sat up gingerly, testing your body’s response. The fever hadn’t broken—if anything, it burned hotter now—but the rest had given you enough strength to make you restless, to make the walls of your room feel like they were closing in.

The water bottles mocked you, lukewarm and useless against the heat coursing through your veins. Ice. You needed ice. The thought became an obsession, driving you to your feet despite shaky legs. You pulled on a thin robe over your sleep clothes, ignoring how even the silky material felt too rough against your sensitized skin.

The hallway stretched before you, bathed in that same golden light that made everything feel surreal. Your slipper-clad feet made no sound on the cool floor as you made your way toward the kitchen. The compound felt different—eerily still, as if everyone had vanished. No voices from the labs, no footsteps down corridors. Just silence, with the strange amber glow making everything look softened, dreamlike.

You moved as if in a trance, your body feeling both heavy and weightless. The fever made everything hazy, like you were watching yourself from a distance. Each breath drew in air that felt too thick, too warm, despite the steady climate control.

Your feet carried you forward without conscious thought, your path wavering slightly as you trailed a hand along the wall for balance. The golden light streaming through the windows turned the hallway into something otherworldly, making the simple journey feel infinite.

Then it hit you—pine and leather, winter air and something darker. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, drawn to his scent like a moth to flame.

As you reach the living room, your destination becomes hazy, forgotten. The room opens before you, bathed in honeyed light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows. The hardwood floor gleams like liquid amber, stretching toward where Bucky sits, his broad frame sunk deep into the plush sofa, seeming to melt into the cushions.

His eyes lock onto yours over the book he’d been reading, and even through your fevered haze, you see the way they darken, storm-gray deepening into something darker. Neither of you moves. The air between you feels charged, heavy with unspoken words.

"Y/N," he breathes, your name a warning. His whole body tenses as if to rise, but something keeps him frozen, fingers white-knuckled around the forgotten book. You watch his throat work as he swallows hard. "You shouldn’t—you need to go back to your room."

To him, you must look like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on his self-control. Your silk robe catches the light as you move, revealing glimpses of your tank top and shorts underneath. One sock has slipped down your ankle, and your hair falls messily around your face. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted in shallow breaths.

You take an unsteady step into the room, looking as if you’re floating across the hardwood, each faltering step a deliberate tease. When you reach the armchair, your robe slips further off one shoulder as you grip the chair for support. "I needed…" The words trail off. Did you need ice? Water? Everything feels secondary to the pull you feel toward him.

The room sways slightly beneath your feet. Bucky shifts, fighting the instinct to reach for you. You watch his chest rise with a sharp breath as your scent reaches him, sweet and heavy in the golden air. A bead of sweat trails down your neck, disappearing beneath your tank top.

"You're burning up," he says roughly, his voice holding a darker edge that makes a heat pool in your stomach. His pupils are blown wide as he tracks every small movement of your body.

You attempt to lower yourself into the armchair, but the world tilts. Your knee catches the edge of the coffee table as you stumble, a breathless giggle escaping your lips at your own clumsiness, and your robe slips down to reveal more of your shoulders.

"Shit," Bucky mutters, finally breaking his careful stillness. "You're gonna hurt yourself." He rises in one fluid motion, crossing the space between you in two strides. His hands hover near your arms, not quite touching. "Let’s get you situated."

"M’okay," you insist, though your legs feel like jelly, and you sway into him unconsciously as your robe slips off completely. His hands finally make contact with your bare arms, and the touch sends electricity racing across your fevered skin. "Just needed to sit..."

"Yeah, I can see that." His voice is strained, almost amused, but you hear the concern underneath. He tries to steady you, guiding you toward the chair, but your knees buckle in that moment.

"Alright—" He catches you against his chest, the sudden contact drawing a small huff from you. You feel more than hear his sharp intake of breath. “You alright?” he asks, peeling you off him, holding you at arm's length.

“Mm—” Your body aches at the loss of heat, eyebrows scrunching in annoyance. You sigh, dragging your gaze up Bucky’s large frame until you meet his darkened eyes. “Yeah, m’fine.” Huffing, you look away.

“Don’t lie.” He steps closer, pulling you in. Your breath hitches.

“I’m not…” Sweat beads on the back of your neck, and a lump forms in your throat. You try to take a deep breath, but with Bucky so close, it’s unbearable. Unknowingly, you grab at Bucky’s shirt, fisting the fabric in your hand.

“Tell the truth.” His gaze drops to where your hand grips his shirt, and something unreadable flickers across his face. He gently pries your fingers from the fabric, his own hands lingering on yours a moment too long. His voice is low, almost a growl. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, doll.”

The nickname makes your throat tighten, pulse jumping, skin prickling with awareness. You should step back, say something to break the magnetic pull between you, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you lean in closer, closing the small distance between you. God, you wanted him so badly, and it was excruciating.

He inhales sharply, his hands settling on your shoulders, as if to steady you—or maybe himself. “Doll…” The word escapes him again, rough and raw, like he’s barely holding back. “Say something—tell me to leave.” The command is more a plea, his voice thick with barely contained desperation, brows drawn tight in concern.

He watches you, his words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You feel their weight pressing down, his warning wrapped within the plea. Your mind races, considering every reason to step back, every way this could complicate things.

“I—” You rake your hands up his torso, fingers dragging lightly against the fabric of his shirt. Snaking your arms around his neck, you pull him impossibly close, sharing the air between you. Neither of you speaks, neither of you moves. You feel his chest heaving against yours.

“Y/N…” he whispers, almost painfully. His hand, still warm on your arm, travels up to cradle your neck, thumb on your jaw as he tilts your head. His hooded eyes linger on your lips, and you unconsciously lick them. He sucks in a sharp breath.

The golden light streaming through the windows catches in his dark hair, turning the loose strands framing his face into threads of amber. Your hands slide up, fingertips brushing the back of his neck, where his shoulder-length hair falls free, some pieces tucked carelessly behind his ear. You let your fingers tangle in the soft strands, feeling them slip like silk between your fingers. You hesitate for only a second before you whisper, “I need to know I’m not the only one.”

For a heartbeat, he’s utterly still, his eyes searching yours, and then his hand tightens just slightly on your waist, with a tenderness that steals your breath. “You’re not,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against yours, his voice rough and honest. “Not even close.”

The moment his words register, your last thread of control snaps. You finally, finally meet his lips with all the desperation that’s been building for weeks. A rough sound escapes him, vibrating through your chest as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss is devastating in its intensity—wild, demanding, and absolutely consuming, like you’re both trying to devour each other whole.

His lips press firmly against yours, the scrape of his stubble rough on your heated skin, and a pained whine escapes your mouth—whether from pain or need, neither of you can tell, but it spurs Bucky on. He deepens the kiss, his hands pressing you closer, tighter.

Your fingers, tangled in his hair, tug at the strands as you push yourself up on your toes, arching into him, your body ignited by his touch. A wave of need crashes through you, driven by every instinct you’ve been holding back, and you’re already pushing him back toward the sofa, your movements frenzied as his hands trace the curve of your waist, his fingers firm and possessive.

As you push him toward the sofa, a flicker of guilt pierces through the fog clouding your mind. It’s quick but sharp, cutting through the pull that’s been building for weeks. Everything’s moving too fast, crossing boundaries you haven’t even had time to define, and the uncertainty knots inside you. But your body refuses to listen, as though it recognizes him in a way your mind can’t fully grasp, holding you close.

You stumble back with him until his legs hit the edge of the sofa, and he sinks down, pulling you with him until you’re straddling his lap. His hands slide up to grip your hips, steadying you as you settle over him. The moment you feel his body beneath you, hard and solid, a fresh wave of heat surges through you, causing you to grind your hips against his slowly, testing the waters.

The guilt slips through the haze once more, cutting into your thoughts like a knife. You press your hands to his chest, fingers splaying over his muscles, and pull back enough to see concern flicker in his eyes.

“Buck,” you whisper, caught between confession and apology. “I wanted us to take our time…” Your hands drift lower, grazing just beneath his shirt’s hem, brushing over the coarse hair trailing downward. The warmth of his skin under your fingertips makes your breath hitch, and a shiver runs through you as you continue, voice softer, more vulnerable. “To let this mean something.”

Your fingers trace over the waistband of his pajama pants, then dip lightly between the open buttons, your touch featherlight, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. His body jolts beneath you, jaw clenching in response. His hands flex on your hips, holding you steady, his gaze dark and hungry, struggling for restraint.

“I can’t… I can’t stop myself,” you murmur, voice thick with need. Yet, your hands betray any hesitation, moving slowly, steadily, opening each button, exposing his skin inch by inch, the heat radiating from him only spurring you on. The admission escapes your lips, almost a whimper. “I feel like I’m losing control.”

Bucky’s breath comes out ragged, his fingers pressing into your skin as he fights to stay steady beneath your touch. “Then lose it,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hipbone, sending warmth through you. “Take control, baby.” His tone is a low, commanding murmur, yet open, a willing offering beneath you. “I’m here to give you exactly what you need… use me, all of me.”

“God, you’re unbelievable…” You laugh breathlessly, but with his words, all your anxieties dissolve, the tight knot inside loosening as he smirks and pulls you down for another heated kiss.

With his permission, something inside you snaps, all restraint dissolving as his hands guide your hips down onto his, pulling you in close. You both let out a guttural moan as you sink into his lap, the thin layers of fabric between you doing nothing to dull the intense pressure of his thick length pressing up against you. Heat radiates from him, his arousal straining beneath his pants, sending a dizzying surge of need through you, leaving you breathless.

With each roll of your hips, you’re consumed by him, the ache pulsing through your core, tethering you to the warmth of his body and the intoxicating pull of his scent. He presses against you, hard and unyielding, a promise of everything you crave, every inch of him driving you closer to surrender. A shiver runs down your spine, every nerve alive with anticipation; it’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

A low chuckle escapes him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as he watches you grind on him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His hands wrap firmly around your hips, guiding your movements in a possessive grip that leaves no doubt he’s claiming you in every way. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich, gaze sweeping over every inch of you. “Such a needy little omega, strung out and desperate, aren’t you?” The words ripple through you, sparking heat that surges through your body, making your heart pound, filling you with a warmth that blurs your vision.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, each grind amplifying the tension clawing through your chest, and it’s overwhelming—almost too much. You’re losing yourself, each moan growing louder, desperate, until Bucky’s thumb presses over your lips, quieting you.

Bucky’s hand covers your mouth gently, a warning smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep it down, sweetheart,” he whispers, his tone edged with danger, but you can’t help the needy sound that slips past his hand, your body bucking in response. You pull back slightly, eyes wide, voice a breathless murmur as you ask, “Where is everyone?”

The gleam in his eyes darkens, and he grabs your jaw, pulling you close until his breath brushes your lips. “Forget them,” he growls, voice low and possessive, “Focus on me. Eyes on me, omega.” His grip tightens, his words sending a rush of warmth through you, making your hips grind harder, a needy whimper spilling out as he pulls you into a hungry, messy kiss. Teeth graze, tongues tangle, his control evident in the way his hand holds you in place, claiming every shiver, every gasp.

“Alpha… please…” you gasp, voice cracking as you press yourself harder against him, slick soaking through the fabric, feeling the thick, throbbing bulge of his knot beneath you. “Need you… need it so bad.” Your words spill out, desperation lacing every syllable, your body responding to his presence in a way that both thrills and terrifies you. The pressure, the heat, his intensity—it’s everything, almost too much, yet somehow not nearly enough.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he growls, voice dark with possession as his hands slide up to grip your waist, fingers pressing with a force that makes your skin burn. “You’re mine, all mine… dripping for me just from grinding on me.” His words spark something wild and primal, your body moving without thought, surrendering to the rhythm, feeling yourself unravel beneath his gaze.

But as the tension mounts, something inside you starts to break. It’s overwhelming, an aching need so intense that your chest tightens, a gasp escaping as tears begin to blur your vision. It’s too much—the pressure, the pleasure, the helplessness of being so completely in his hands, needing him but unable to take it all just yet. A single tear slips down your cheek, and then another, and soon you’re trembling in his hold, soft, helpless sounds falling from you as you press closer, uncertain if it’s pain or pleasure overtaking you.

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he notices, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his gaze softening for a moment. “Look at you, all worked up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, yet laced with something almost tender. “Can’t handle it, can you? My little omega, so sensitive.” His words make the ache worse, the tears coming faster as he leans in, pressing a possessive kiss against your lips, swallowing the soft, broken sounds you make.

“Shh… you’re okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich in your ear, a shiver coursing through you as his hand steadies you, grounding you in his hold. “Not yet, but soon. I’m going to give you everything,” he promises, his tone thick with possession as he presses you firmly to him. “Fill you, claim you, mark every inch of you until there’s nothing left but us, nothing left but me inside you.” His grip tightens, his words a dark promise, and your pulse quickens.

Slowly, Bucky shifts, guiding you back as he leans forward, tilting you until your neck is exposed. Your breath hitches, anticipation winding tight within you, thinking for a split second he’s going to mark you. But instead, he presses a hot, lingering kiss to your collarbone, his lips grazing down your skin as his hand holds you steady. Each soft kiss along your collar sends a thrill through you, his mouth tracing up to the nape of your neck, where he lets his teeth graze lightly, nipping just enough to make you shiver.

Then, with a low growl, he pulls you closer, thrusting hard against you as his teeth sink into your skin, just shy of a mark. The sharp bite sends you over the edge, your body trembling, every nerve igniting as you come undone in his arms, shaking as he holds you steady, his possessive touch grounding you through each wave of pleasure.

Your body quakes in his hold, tremors rolling through you as you cling to him, breathless, every pulse of pleasure leaving you weightless, completely taken. Bucky’s arms stay wrapped around you, grounding you, his lips brushing tenderly over the spot he just bit, his tongue soothing the faint sting as you gasp softly against him.

“There we go… that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick and velvety as he strokes your back, one hand pressing into the small of your spine, holding you close as your breaths slow. His eyes are dark, filled with satisfaction as he watches you, savoring the sight of you so vulnerable, so utterly his.

Your body settles against him, the intense high fading into a soft, hazy warmth. Almost instinctively, you continue to move your hips in slow, gentle circles, soft whimpers escaping as you melt into his shoulder, eyelids growing heavy, drifting somewhere between bliss and sleep.

His hand strokes up your spine, grounding you with each possessive touch. “You feel that?” he whispers, his mouth brushing your ear, his words sending another shiver through you. “This is just the beginning, sweetheart. You’re mine, and I’m far from done with you.”

A small, needy sound slips from your lips as your hips press against him, despite the exhaustion pulling at you. He smirks, fingers tracing slow, possessive patterns along your waist. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied growl. His hand grazes your hip, drawing gentle circles. “But I want more. Think you can handle that?”

You manage a nod, a sleepy, eager response, melting further into him as your eyelids flutter shut. Just as you’re drifting toward sleep, he chuckles softly, pressing a warm kiss to the top of your head. “First, let’s get some rest, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice a gentle command as he lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

The golden hour light that once bathed the room has deepened into the cool, quiet blue of night, shadows settling around you as he carries you to the bed. The ache in your body has softened, replaced by a warmth, a certainty that relaxes you in his hold, knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

As he lowers you onto the sheets, your fingers instinctively curl into his shirt, needing to keep him close even in your drowsy haze. His hand brushes tenderly over your cheek, the glint in his gaze a promise that makes your heart race yet leaves you calm, knowing he’s yours, that you’re meant to be right here in his arms. The last thing you feel is the weight of his touch grounding you, a promise of what’s to come as sleep finally pulls you under.

---

a/n: all i feel is frustration

[bandsofmarv]

Mine to keep

After a tense mission, Bucky’s jealousy boils over.

TW- very smutty, jealousy and possessiveness

The mission had gone sideways, but that wasn’t what had Bucky Barnes fuming. It was the way you’d laughed, soft and sweet, at Sam’s jokes over comms. The way Sam had gotten a little too close when patching up a scrape on your arm.

He knew he was being ridiculous. He knew better than to let the spiraling thoughts take hold. But when he saw you smile at Sam like that—like he was the center of your world—something in him cracked wide open.

You didn’t notice his storm-cloud mood until you all made it back to the safehouse. While Sam prepped dinner in the kitchen, you cornered Bucky in the small, dimly lit living room.

“Okay, what’s your problem?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “You’ve been glaring daggers at me and Sam all day. Did I do something wrong?”

He stared at you, blue eyes dark and wild. “Wrong?” he repeated, voice low and dangerous. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Except maybe drive me insane.”

Your brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

He took a step closer, the air between you crackling with tension. “Do you have any idea what it does to me, watching you laugh with him? Watching him touch you?” His jaw clenched, his metal hand flexing at his side. “It makes me want to tear the whole damn world apart.”

You blinked, stunned into silence. “Bucky, Sam’s just—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted, voice rough with emotion. “I don’t care if it’s Sam or anyone else. You’re mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone should have made you angry. Instead, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yours?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper.

His hand shot out, cradling your jaw with surprising gentleness given the storm raging in his eyes. “Yeah,” he growled. “Mine. Say it.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “I’m yours,” you murmured, the admission setting a fire in his gaze.

Something in him snapped. His lips crashed against yours, devouring you with a hunger that left you gasping. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, pulling you flush against him.

“Say it again,” he demanded against your lips, his voice rough and ragged.

“I’m yours,” you moaned, the words turning into a gasp as his mouth moved to your neck, his teeth scraping against your pulse point.

Before you knew it, he had you pinned against the wall, his metal arm braced beside your head while his flesh hand slid beneath your shirt, palming the soft skin of your waist. He tore the fabric over your head in one swift motion, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your bare skin.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and need.

He leaned in, his lips brushing over the swell of your breast before wrapping around your nipple, sucking gently. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, and your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him closer.

“Bucky,” you whimpered, your hips pressing against his.

The sound of his name on your lips seemed to unravel him. With a low growl, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the couch. His hands roamed your body as he laid you down, his lips trailing fire along your skin.

Clothes disappeared in a blur—his shirt ripped over his head, his pants kicked to the floor, leaving you both bare and exposed. His body was solid, his metal arm cool against your heated skin as he hovered over you, his gaze searching yours.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

You reached up, cupping his face as you pulled him down for a kiss. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed. He slid a hand between your thighs, his fingers finding you warm and ready for him. His touch was gentle at first, teasing, until you arched into him, desperate for more.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, your voice trembling with need.

He groaned, his control snapping as he positioned himself at your entrance. He pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, stretching you in a way that left you breathless.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as he filled you completely.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, before pulling back and thrusting into you again, harder this time. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he set a relentless pace, each movement driving you closer to the edge.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his metal hand gripping your hip to keep you steady as he pounded into you. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, the words breaking as pleasure built to a fever pitch.

“That’s right,” he rasped, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. “Only mine.”

His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves that sent you spiraling. The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body tightening around him as you came undone, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

The sensation of you trembling beneath him pushed him over the edge. With a low, guttural moan, he buried himself deep inside you, his body shaking as he followed you into bliss.

For a long moment, the only sound was your mingled breaths as he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hand brushed over your hair, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses to your temple.

“You’re mine,” he murmured one last time, his voice a mix of possessiveness and tenderness.

And in that moment, you knew you always would be.

[cjayius]

INTO IT — LEE HEESEUNG

SYNOPSIS. you have always hated heeseung. unfortunately, he's a world famous racer, and you're his team manager. but when he crashes during a race, you're met with feelings for him that you don't quite recognize.

pairing. racer!heeseung x f!reader wc. 0.52k tw. mentions of hee crashing , hugging genre. fluff , e2l (?) ( CATALOGUE )

as you both step out into the bustling racing area, you can feel the tension in the air. the pitwall is abuzz with activity as you and heeseung stand among the important figures of the racing team.

arguments aren't uncommon between the two of you, and today is no exception.

heeseung's frustration is palpable, his jaw set firmly as he glares at you, hands clenched into fists at his sides. " you can't be serious about this, " you retort, your voice edged with exasperation, arms defiantly crossed over your chest.

" you're taking unnecessary risks out there, heeseung. " his response is sharp, a scoff escaping his lips as he steps closer, his face mere inches from yours.

" i know what i'm doing, okay ? stop treating me like i'm some rookie driver who needs babysitting. "

your eyes narrow at him, anger flashing through them. " you're being reckless, heeseung. i won't stand by and watch you put yourself in danger. you're not doing it. "

with a dismissive wave of his hand, heeseung turns away, stomping toward his car, jaw clenched. you watch him go, a knot of anger only tightening in your chest as he climbs into the vehicle, movements tense and aggressive.

as heeseung's car speeds around the track, you can't help but feel a sense of anxiety. despite your frustration with him, you can't shake the worry that gnaws at you as you watch him twist around the course.

suddenly, a collective gasp ripples through the crowd as his car swerves abruptly, crashing into the barriers with a sickening thud.

your heart leaps into your throat as panic courses through you, hands gripping the edge of the pitwall with a force so strong you could have broken it. frantically, you reach for the radio, voice trembling as you call out, " heeseung, are you okay ? answer me, please ! "

no response.

" heeseung, please ! " but there's no response, and dread settles heavily in the pit of your stomach and you watch, helpless, as the race officials rush to the scene. time seems to stand still as you wait for any sign of movement from his car.

your mind was already racing with the worst-case scenarios.

finally, relief floods through you as you see him emerge from the wreckage, seemingly unscathed. but any relief is quickly replaced by anger as you realize he's smirking, reveling in the worry he's caused you.

storming towards him, your frustration boils over as you slap his chest. " what the hell were you thinking ? do you have any idea how worried i was ? you could've gotten seriously hurt ! "

his smirk falters, but before he can respond, your anger melts away, and without thinking, you wrap your arms tightly around him, pulling him into a hug.

for a moment, there's a stunned silence between you, the weight of the moment hanging in the air. heeseung's surprise quickly gives way to a soft chuckle as he returns the embrace, his arms enveloping you.

" i'm okay, stop worrying so much. " he hums into the crook of your neck as he wraps his arms tighter around your figure.

for a moment, the world falls away, but then reality comes crashing back, and you hastily pull away, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you remember that you're supposed to hate each other.

clearing your throat awkwardly, you take a step back, avoiding heeseung's gaze as you try to compose yourself. " well, um, i'm glad you're okay, " you mutter, voice betraying you as you let out a shaky breath.

he watches with amusement, as you rush away from him, cheeks flushed. he was going to get you to say it.

taglist : @so-lychee @mellowdyverse @bambisnc

[pookalicious-hq]

blue velvet... jinx x reader

| 0.1. wrecking ball | next | masterlist

synopsis: two girls trapped within a world full of hate would do anything for eachother. too bad they're both crazy. tags/tws: mentions of mental health illnesses, mention of suicide, blood and gore, mc has split personalities word count: 1.7k

To the people of Piltover, you were a storm devil, a dark figure wielding unnatural power and chaos. In Zaun, though, they sang a different tune. There, you were their angel of death, a symbol of protection—or a promise of impending ruin. Your name meant salvation to some, doom to others. And depending on who you asked, it marked either a savior or a death sentence.

The billowing smog swirled around you, outlining your feathered wings like a ghostly shadow against the vibrant glow of Zaun’s undercity. This was no gentle welcome—the air was thick, saturated with oil, smoke, and the sharp bite of chemicals that burned your nostrils. It clung to your skin, coating everything in a fine, greasy layer. Eyes were on you already, peering from fractured pipes and shadowed alleyways, watching your every move.

The streets stretched before you, cracked cobblestones that seemed to pulse with a life both unsettling and invigorating. It felt as if the city itself was breathing—exhaling dust, shimmer, and a constant undercurrent of danger. Each step you took sent faint crackles of electricity tingling across your fingertips, the remnants of tonight’s mission still simmering through your veins.

Your wings, usually sharp and sure, were now folded tightly against your back, their feathers singed and dulled from the exertion. As you passed, people cast wary glances your way—some with awe, others with suspicion. Silco’s orders lingered in your mind like a bitter taste, a reminder of the duty that had brought you here.

You took a steadying breath, feeling the sharp current of electricity crackling through your body. Each pulse felt like an unbearable mixture of pain and power, the dark remnants of Silco’s relentless trials etched into your bones. Even now, the energy surged restlessly beneath your skin, reminding you of everything you’d endured to become his weapon.

You clenched your fists, grounding yourself against the power that begged to be released. This wasn’t the time to draw attention, though every instinct inside you screamed to let the storm loose. For now, restraint was your duty, and unruliness would be your downfall.

The smog of Zaun barely settled in your lungs when a sudden pop split the air, followed by a burst of glitter that exploded in front of you. It coated your face, your wings, and the grime-caked cobblestones beneath your feet. The sparkling mist shimmered mockingly under the dim neon lights of the undercity.

You froze, coughing as the glitter bomb went off, its sharp, chemical taste lingering in the back of your throat. You flapped your wings to dispel the cloud, the gritty particles sticking to your feathers. “Holy shit—”

“Birdie!” Jinx’s gleeful voice rang out, her silhouette dropping down from a pipe above. A wide, mischievous grin stretched across her face, pink smoke trailing from her latest concoction, the scent of sulfur heavy in the air behind her. “Gotcha good, huh? You were so focused on being grumpy, didn’t even see me coming.”

Your heart was still racing, the burst of noise and color stirring every survival instinct within you. A spark of electricity jumped from your fingertips, lashing out reflexively. It wasn’t deliberate, just the aftershock of the moment. The faint crackle of power hit Jinx square in the shoulder, and she yelped, staggering back, though the sound quickly dissolved into giggles.

“Woah!” she gasped, blinking in surprise, then patting the singed edge of her sleeve. The gleam in her eyes sharpened, her smirk widening. “Do that again!”

“What?” you sputtered, still coughing out glitter, the sharp metallic taste lingering on your tongue. “No, I’m not—Jay! Are you insane?”

She tilted her head, her grin crooked and knowing, the flickering neon lights casting shadows on her face. “You know, people say that a lot about us,” she teased, her voice light but laced with something sharper beneath it. A shared understanding hummed in the air, like the crackling static that clung to your skin.

You couldn’t help but laugh—a dry, unsteady sound, still choked with the taste of glitter and the pulse of raw power in your veins. She mirrored you, that familiar, wild energy swirling between the two of you, filling the space with a chaotic kind of warmth.

Her fingers reached out, brushing through the faint static still buzzing in the air around you. The tingling sensation ran along your nerves, a constant reminder of the force contained within you.

“C’mon,” she pressed, her voice low and coaxing, the coolness of the alley around you suddenly feeling a little too close. “Just a little zap? You know it’s cool.”

You shot her an exasperated look, swiping at the glitter stuck to your cheeks, the gritty particles scraping against your skin. With a resigned sigh, you muttered, “Absolutely not. And stop throwing glitter bombs at me—it’s stuck everywhere now.” The metallic scent still clung to the air, mixing with the heavy smog that seemed to saturate every corner of the undercity.

“Everywhere?” she echoed, a mischievous smirk pulling at her lips, her eyes gleaming with that familiar spark. The playful challenge in her voice was undeniable, but you knew it was just another one of her stupid jokes. You stared back at her, unimpressed, brushing your hands against your jacket as though to rid yourself of the last traces of glitter.

She crossed her arms, tapping a foot against the cracked pavement, the rhythmic tapping contrasting sharply with her casual tone. “Whatever. Glitter’s classy. You look like... like a hot and deadly, sparkly peacock.” The words danced in the air, teasing the edges of your irritation but lightening the mood just enough to keep it from escalating.

You shot her a glare. “Shut up, if anyone’s a peacock, it’s you.”

Jinx just laughed, skipping up beside you as you resumed walking. Her pace slowed when she saw where you were heading—back to Silco’s headquarters.

Her usual chatter quieted, and her grin faltered for just a moment before she slapped it back on. “So... uh, you sure we gotta go back right now? I mean, we could hang somewhere, grab a drink, blow something up—”

The slight tremor in her voice gave her away, betraying the calm she was trying to maintain. You paused mid-step, the gritty pavement shifting under your boots as you glanced down at her. “Jinx.”

“What?” she snapped, too quickly, her voice tight, like she was trying to cover something up. “I didn’t say anything. Why are your eyes all scrunched up? That’s gonna give you wrinkles, y’know?”

You frowned, sensing the lie beneath her deflection. The faint bruise near her temple caught the low, flickering light, deep purple against her pale skin, and it twisted something inside you. The way she scratched at her wrist, tugging her sleeve down almost defensively, made your stomach churn.

Without another word, you crouched, bending slightly to open your arms. You felt the faint crackle of static tingling along your skin as your wings shifted behind you. “Come here.”

Her brows furrowed, confused, but the hesitation in her eyes said everything. “What are you—”

“Jay,” you said again, softer this time, the tenderness in your voice breaking through the exhaustion you carried. “Come on.”

It took a moment, but the stubbornness faded, and she stepped into your embrace. The warmth of her body against yours made the cold grip of the city seem distant. Her head dropped against your shoulder, and though she didn’t cry—Jinx rarely did without the comfort of four walls surrounding her—you could feel her body relax, tension leaking away in small, silent waves.

The silence settled between you, the low hum of Zaun’s distant noise—smoke-streaked lights, the hum of machinery—filling the quiet. You didn’t need to say anything more. She had already said it all with her quiet surrender.

“Hold on,” you whispered, and your wings unfolded behind you, the air rushing against your skin as you stretched them wide.

“What are you—holy shit!” she yelped, her fingers gripping your jacket as you lifted off the ground. The sudden rush of wind swirled around you, the city stretching beneath you like a vast, dark labyrinth of neon lights and smoke. You could feel the electricity crackling at the tips of your wings, the air charged with your unstable power as you shot upward.

Jinx clung to you instinctively, her bravado fading away with the city’s dizzying height. Her breath was warm against your neck, rapid and sharp, as the familiar streets blurred beneath you. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if willing the world to slow down.

You didn’t go far, just high enough to leave the alleys behind, heading for a quieter rooftop on the outskirts. The cool air hit you once you landed, the scent of rust from the old water tank mingling with the smoky haze that clung to everything. The roof was sparse—just an old, rusted water tank and a few scattered crates—but it was quiet. Safe.

You set her down carefully, your wings folding back behind you with a soft flutter. The ground beneath your feet was solid, a welcome contrast to the dizzying heights you’d just left behind.

Jinx stared out across the city, her eyes narrowed in that sharp, calculating way she often had, but there was something different in her gaze now—a vulnerability, quiet but clear. Something unspoken hung between you, but for once, you didn’t need to voice it. You both knew the weight of the world you carried, even if you didn’t always acknowledge it.

The night stretched out before you, dark and endless, as you stood together—two figures on the edge of Zaun, floating in the same currents, bound by something far deeper than the chaos of the world.

a/n: so this is the start of my jinx x reader series!! i hope you like it, we're starting at around 17 years old for both jinx and mc,,, then after w few chaps we're gonna go into season 1 arc and eventually season 2. mwahhh

taglist: @stupendousbananasharkcop

lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist loves <3

[onehoplessromantic]

Masterlist | Glen Powell

Jake “Hangman” Seresin - Tyler Owens

Updated: 11/3/2024 (link check)

!!authors!! if you want ur work removed please pm me

I’m back again with another one!!! It’s definitely not as lengthy as my other lists (yet) but I’m hoping to find some more for all three. I also figured I’d get a stake in this territory as the Glen Powell fanclub grows post-twisters. I hope y’all find what you’re looking for!

peace 💕

join the taglist here

fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

𐚁 BROTHERS BEST FRIEND | @tongue-like-a-razor

13 parts | ongoing | 🤍🌧️🍋

Jake Seresin x Bradshaw!Reader

The trials and tribulations of falling for your brothers best friend.

𐚁 BRUISES | @ohtobeleah

8 parts | complete | 🌧️‼️

Jake Seresin x WSO!Reader

After a mission goes south, Jake finds himself captured by insurgents that show no remorse. But whats worse than knowing he failed his mission? Knowing that the Weapons Systems Officer who trusted him to bring her home safe was in the same cell as him. Collecting bruises that match his own.

themes of heavy violence, sexual assault, torture, 18+ content, minors dni, mature themes, being held in captivity, hostage style situations, main character death! whump, angst, conversations that discuss antisocial and antisemetic views

𐚁 ROCKS ARE ALLOWED TO CRACK, STARS ARE ALLOWED TO DIM | @sarahsmi13s

oneshot | wc: ~8.0k | 🌧️

jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!pilot!reader

everyone deserves someone to comfort them in their time of need, even the ones that always lend their shoulder.

angst, language, ptsd, description of accident, panic attack, injuries, descriptions of scars, flashbacks, fear of death, familial death (mentioned), crying, bottling up feelings

𐚁 THE WALLS ARE CAVING IN | @desert-fern

oneshot | wc: 5.5k | 🌧️🤍

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader (known as honey bee/honey)

You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.

jake has a shit dad, angst, still fluffy tho

𐚁 THE BEANERY | @callsign-peach

oneshot | wc: ?? | 🤍

established hangman x female!reader

Jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the dagger squad is determined to find out why.

tooth-rotting fluff

Tyler Owens

𐚁 LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 3.7k | 🌧️🤍

tyler owens x harding!reader

you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of the famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knack for knowing just what the storms thinking, a little infuriating and incredibly impressive

fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info and medical info, angst, fluff, some hurt/comfort

𐚁 CHASE YOUR FEARS | @briefinquiries

oneshot | wc: 11k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x f!reader

you and your younger brother are road-tripping across the US when you encounter a tornado. Luckily, the tornado wrangler himself shows up to help.

tornados, fear, flufffff

𐚁 WORTH YOUR WHILE | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 2.9k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x fem!reader

As the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. While you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, Tyler barreled into it head-first. But things change in the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than the safety of a newsroom.

dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornadoes, language, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info

Glen Powell

𐚁 HEY THERE DARLIN’ | @shellbilee

6 parts | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋

Glen Powell x OFC (Billie James)

fluff, swearing, angst, eventual smut

ⓒ onehopelessromantic, November 2024

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Happy Together

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 16. Hostile Environment Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader Summary: From the moment Tyler met you in your karaoke bar, he was smitten. However, he's terrified to tell you how he feels even as you start a friends-with-benefits situation. Will he find the courage before it's too late? Word Count: 4906 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Storm Damage, Storm Injuries, Undefined Relationship, Friends with Benefits, Implied Smut, Communication Issues, Love Confession, Character Death, Language, Tyler's POV Notes: Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event.

“Come on, Ty!” Lily whined, pulling at his arm. “We’ve been coming here for months and you’re the only one who hasn’t sung yet.”

“Yeah, T!” Boone nodded his agreement. “If they made me sing that song from Frozen, you can at least sing some George Strait.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “First of all, Boone, no one made you sing that song. You picked it yourself. And if I remember correctly, you barely needed to look at the lyrics.” Turning to Tyler, she added, “But they’re right! Tonight, you are getting on that stage!” 

Tyler shook his head as he rested the mouth of his beer against his bottom lip. “Not gonna happen. When I first agreed to come here, I told y'all that it was only on the condition that I don’t have to sing. Ever.” 

His friends looked like they were going to continue arguing, but then Boone perked up in his seat. Calling out to someone behind Tyler, Boone said, “Hey, MC!”

Tyler froze, nearly choking on his beer, as he heard someone approaching the table. The person stopped just behind his chair and he caught a faint whiff of cinnamon and vanilla. It was a smell he had come to both crave and loathe these past few months.

He’d been flirting with you since the first night the Wranglers stumbled into your karaoke bar, but so far he’d only ever struck out. You always seemed super receptive to it, often returning his advances and even upping the game. Yet, every time he was just about to move in for a kiss, you would turn and sashay away. 

You stopped just behind Tyler’s chair and your melodic voice—always containing a smile—rang out, “Howdy, Wranglers. How can I help you guys tonight? Anyone wanna sign up for a song?”

“Tyler!” Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Boone all said at the same time. 

You chuckled and nudged the back of his head. “Well, Mr. Owens, it sounds like your crew has spoken. What do you say?”

Leaning back in his seat so he caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye, Tyler answered, “I say the same thing I say every time: I don’t sing.”

Your eyes narrowed and he instantly knew he was in trouble. Quickly scribbling something on the notepad resting on the tray in your hands, you ripped it off and slammed it down on the table. “Well, sorry to have to tell you, but we have a new rule around here.” 

Everyone leaned in to read the paper. It had Everyone sings by their 5th visit. Refuse and you’re banned for life scrawled across it. Tyler’s stomach sank as everyone else snickered at the dread on his face. 

Giving him a dazzling smile, you said, “If I counted correctly, you’re well overdue for a song. So you either get up on that stage tonight, or you don’t come back. What’ll it be?”

The thrill-seeking part of him wanted to call your bluff and refuse to sing just to see what would happen. However, he had gotten to know you well enough these last few months to know that there was a very good chance it wasn’t a bluff and you would indeed ban him. And this had become one of his crew’s favorite places to stop while on the road so he couldn’t jeopardize their fun just because he was being stubborn.

So, reluctantly, he sighed. “Fine. One song.”

The Wranglers all cheered, and you patted his shoulder. “Atta boy. And, hey, since I’m feeling generous, why don’t we make it a duet? Me and you, and you and me. I’ll make sure to take care of you up there.” You winked at him, and most of the annoyance that had been building in Tyler’s chest towards you melted away. He just couldn’t stay mad at you however hard he tried. 

Giving his shoulder a quick squeeze, you looked over at another table. “I gotta go, but I’ll meet you backstage a few minutes before the start of the show.”

You turned to leave, but Tyler grabbed your wrist. “Wait. What do you mean ‘the start of the show’?”

Your smile took on a slightly more mischievous edge. “Don’t you know, cowboy? I always sing first.”

And just like that, his annoyance returned.

Half an hour later, Tyler found himself behind the curtain that was currently closed across the stage. He kept wiping his hands on his jeans as he peeked through the crack in the middle where the two sides of the curtain met. It was a full house tonight which meant he was about to make an absolute fool out of himself in front of more than a hundred people. He couldn’t do this.

But as he turned to flee, he crashed into you as you skipped up onto the stage. He grabbed your arms to steady you but you just laughed. “Where you running off to, partner? It’s showtime!”

Tyler shook his head. “I can’t do this, MC. I’m sorry. I really did try but singing…it’s just not my thing. Not even in the shower when I’m alone, let alone in front of all these people.”

“Didn’t you used to be in the rodeo or something for a long time?” you asked, your brow furrowed causing your nose to scrunch up adorably. “And you have a world-famous YouTube channel where you drive into deadly natural disasters! Now you’re telling me you can’t stand in front of these people for three minutes and sing a little song? Come on, Ty. You’ve heard some of the people that get up on this stage after three or four too many drinks. However bad you think you are, they’re worse.”

Tyler looked back at the curtain, his jaw clenched. Placing a soothing hand on his arm, you cooed, “Hey, it’s okay. I picked us out the perfect song for beginners. Everyone knows it. And you don’t even really have to sing. Just say the words, use the monitor if you need it, and, when it gets to the chorus, yell it at the top of your lungs. Trust me, they’ll eat it up.” The spotlights turned on, illuminating the center of the curtain. You gently shooed Tyler off the stage and whispered with a smile, “You’re gonna do great!”

The curtains opened and you strutted out to the middle of the stage. “Hello everybody! Thank you for being here! And welcome to another night of music and drinks at The Crooning Cowboy! I’m your lovely Mistress of Ceremonies, but y'all can call me MC.” You gave an exaggerated wink to the crowd who went wild. It was the same intro you gave every night to a room of mostly the same regulars, and yet, it brought the house down every time. There was just something about your confidence, your spark, your attitude, that made it impossible for people to not fall under your spell.

And Tyler had fallen. Hard.

He watched you play it up for the crowd, telling a few naughty jokes and poking fun at a few familiar faces. And soon, he was so engaged in your act, that he forgot to be nervous. 

That was until you held out your hand and gestured for him to join you. Suddenly, all the nerves and fear came surging back. But Tyler stepped out from behind the curtain and grasped onto your hand. He knew his was sweaty and warm but you didn’t seem to mind. You just handed him a microphone and pointed at the monitor. 

Then, the two of you began your duet.

As promised, it only lasted three minutes, but the moment the music ended, Tyler wanted more. Not of him singing—that he would never feel comfortable with—but singing with you. It was electric! The way you stared deep into his eyes, never once needing to look at the words. How your energy transferred to him and he found himself jumping up and down alongside you as you both belted out the song. He had never wanted you more.

And you must have felt the same because you grabbed his hand and dragged him off stage as the next performers set up. Leading him into your office, you shut the door and lunged at him, your lips slamming into his. Immediately—hungrily—he kissed you back just as he had dreamed of doing for the past several months. His hands grabbed your hips and he pulled you flush against his body. You groaned into his mouth as you felt him hardening against you and you broke away only long enough to swipe everything off your desk (something Tyler thought people only did in the movies). Then you hopped on top of it and crooked your finger at him, beckoning him over. And he happily obliged.

From that day forward, every time the Wranglers stopped by your bar, the same series of events would occur: You would welcome them in and serve them drinks. Tyler and you would sing a duet (the same song every time). You would take him back into your office and the two of you would fuck each other’s brains out. 

Afterward, you would sometimes come sit at his table and talk with the other Wranglers (often sitting on Tyler’s lap). No one knew exactly what your relationship was—hell, even Tyler wasn’t sure—but it was obvious to everyone that something had happened after Tyler’s first performance, and, thankfully, no one questioned it. 

For almost a year, this continued. Even when the storm season was over and the Wranglers had returned to Arkansas, they would all make a road trip to The Crooning Cowboy a few times a month to have some fun and to see you. It seemed like a perfect arrangement….until it wasn’t.

“Well, well, well. It looks like the Wranglers are back in town,” you smirked as your latest patrons filed into the bar. 

Tyler grinned and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“Fine. But you’d know that if you ever answered any of my calls,” you said, placing one hand on your hip while the other balanced a tray full of beers. 

Tyler’s face grew hot, knowing what you were referring to. “I’m sorry but you know this is our busiest time of year.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure that’s it.” You turned your back on him to address the rest of his crew. “Your usual table should be open and I’ll be right over with some drinks.”

“Thanks, MC,” Boone said as he gave you a side hug, narrowly avoiding knocking the tray from your hands. Dropping his voice, he muttered, “Sorry T hasn’t been keeping up with you. We really have been having a busy season these last few months.”

Smiling, you patted his cheek. “Oh, honey, I know exactly what Tyler’s problem is. And until he decides to do something about it, I don’t give a fuck what he does or doesn’t do.” Tyler dropped his eyes to the beer-soaked floor but you didn’t give him a second glance as you said, “Now, if ya’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta drop off these drinks before I get a table of thirsty bikers on my hands.”

As soon as you walked away, all eyes turned towards Tyler with annoyed glares. Dani crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you do?”

Tyler held up his hands, pleading innocence. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, obviously you did something based on that response,” Lily said. “So, what was it?”

“Can we at least sit down before we get into this? Please?” Tyler asked, looking around the room to find where you were. He couldn’t see you on the floor but you could return at any minute and he didn’t want this conversation to turn into a huge thing in front of the whole bar.

Still giving him the stink eye, the rest of the Wranglers agreed and they went to settle into their favorite table on the side of the room. It still provided a great view of the stage and the performances but offered more privacy than the tables in the middle of the room.

Once they were all seated, Tyler placed his cowboy hat on the table, then sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “So…MC found out about me and that girl in Enid a few weeks ago.”

Boone, Dani, and Lily all exchanged a look. Then Dani asked, “That’s it? I mean, I didn’t think you guys were exclusive so why does it matter.”

“It matters because I had a video call planned with her that night and I forgot to cancel before I took that other girl back to the motel. I turned my phone off so I never saw her calls. After an hour or so of getting sent straight to voicemail, MC got really scared that I had gotten hurt on a chase or something. So…she called someone who would know what had happened.”

Three pairs of eyes scanned the table…only to land on Dexter who had sunk low in his seat. 

Dani slapped the older man’s arm. “How did you not tell me!”

“It’s Tyler’s business. I figured if he wanted you to know he would tell you.” Dexter lifted his eyes to look at Tyler. “I’m still sorry I got involved in the first place. I didn’t mean to—”

Tyler held up his hand. “It’s not your fault. I messed up. I still don’t know what this is between me and MC, but I should have let her know something came up instead of just ghosting her.”

Boone nudged Dani in the side and muttered, “Something came up alright.” The two of them snickered as Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Haha, very funny.”

“What did MC say when you explained everything?” Lily asked.

Staring down at the table, Tyler fidgeted with his hat. “I haven’t talked to her since.”

“What!” Boone, Dani, and Lily exclaimed at once.

“I was embarrassed! I didn’t know what to say. So…I had Dex call her back the next day.”

“Tyler…” Lily covered her eyes with her hand, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I’m surprised she let us back in here.”

“When I talked to her, she seemed okay with the whole thing, all things considered,” Dexter said. “I think she was so afraid something had happened to him that it was just an extra shock to find out the truth.”

“So, what does this mean?” Boone asked, looking from Tyler to Dexter to Tyler again. “Are we not gonna be able to come here anymore? Because this is the only place we go to that doesn't kick me out when I get drunk and start singing.”

Tyler sighed, picking up his hat and placing it back on his head. “It means we just see what happens and act accordingly. 

A few minutes later, you came over with a tray full of everyone’s usual orders. The air was tense, no one was sure where to look or how to act now that they knew what they knew. But if you noticed, you didn’t react.

Instead, you smiled at Tyler and asked, “We singing tonight?”

Tyler leaned back in his seat and peered up at you from under the brim of his hat. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

All the other Wranglers stared at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. This kind of banter and teasing was common between the two of you, but after what happened, he should be groveling at your feet instead of playing coy. Tyler realized his mistake immediately but it was too late to take it back.

You pursed your lips as your fingers drummed on the back of Boone’s seat. “Ty, I have fifty guys in here right now who would trip over themselves to get on that stage with me. So if you don’t want to—” 

You turned to leave but Tyler grabbed your arm. You raised your eyebrow at him and he held up his hands with a sheepish smile. “Okay, okay, point taken. You know I wouldn’t miss our duet.”

“That’s more like it.” You walked away, calling over your shoulder, “Be ready at 9 or I’ll have Boone take your spot.”

The younger man’s eyes grew wide as he choked on his beer, sputtering and coughing at the proposition. By this point, everyone knew that your duet was always followed by an encore performance in your office. And if you wanted Boone to replace Tyler there as well as on the stage….

Luckily for all involved, Boone was not needed. Tyler took his usual place next to you on the stage, and then on top of you back in your office. Everything felt exactly like it always did and he should have just let things be.

However, Tyler once again decided to put his boot in his mouth and decided to poke at the wound instead. As you slid off the desk to get dressed, he sat up and asked, “So…we gonna talk about what happened?”

With your back still towards him as you put your bra on, you said curtly, “Don’t see why we need to. Apparently, it wasn’t important enough for you to call and explain yourself. Instead, you had Dexter try and smooth things over.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘Hi. I’m not dead. I was just banging some chick I picked up and forgot I was supposed to call you.’” Your head emerged from inside your blouse and you looked over your shoulder at him. “I don’t see what’s so hard about that.”

Thinking about it for a moment, he asked, “And you would’ve been okay with that?”

You sighed, putting your hand on your hip. “Ty, I see you two, maybe three times a month. What do you think I’m doing the rest of that time?” Tyler shifted uncomfortably on the desk. He had never given much thought to who you might be spending your time with or what you might be doing while he wasn’t around. “I didn’t have an issue with the girl. I had an issue with the fact you didn’t respect me or my feelings enough to even send a text saying you were busy. That’s all I needed but I guess I don’t even warrant that in your eyes.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve handled the entire situation differently. And I promise to work on my communication.” He handed you your skirt where it had fallen behind the desk. Then, tapping his finger on the wooden desktop, he asked, “So is what you said earlier true? You’ve got fifty other guys hanging around who you sing with then bring back here? I thought what we had was special.” 

You rolled your eyes as you tucked your blouse back into your skirt. “How special can it be when I only hear from you when you’re walking in the door to my bar? What did you expect? That I would be pinning away for you, just hanging on to the hope you might grace me with your presence again?”

“No…That’s not…” Tyler slid off the desk and took your hands in his. “Sweetheart—

“No! Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me!” You ripped your hands away as your voice began to rise. “Tyler, I have never once asked you to define what this is between us or pressured you into giving me more attention than you do. But you better believe I’m not just sitting here on my ass, twiddling my thumbs waiting for you to show back up. If you’re allowed to have a life outside of us, then so am I.”

“What if I don’t want a life outside of us?” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours. “What if I just want you?”

All of the fiery attitude you had seconds before faded until you stood before him more vulnerable than you had ever seemed. Swallowing, you murmured, “Then you just need to tell me that and I’m yours.” 

There was a long pause as you gave him a chance to speak. But he couldn’t. He had stared down 1000-pound bulls and driven head first into some of the deadliest storms imaginable, however, none of that ever scared him as much as the depth of his feelings for you. Even now, the words sat on the tip of his tongue begging to be set free, yet try as he might, he couldn’t open his mouth to release them. You deserved more than someone who could only give themselves to you a few days a month, and he would rather disappoint you as a fling than as a boyfriend.

When he remained silent, you set your jaw, straightened your shoulders, and nodded. “Right. Well, until then…I guess I’ll see you the next time one of your storms blows you into town.”

You walked out of your office, slamming the door behind you. 

“Tyler! T, be careful! You can’t just charge in there until we know it's safe!” Boone yelled, scrambling out of the truck after his best friend.

But Tyler barely heard him as he tore down the road, jumping over debris and dodging the wreckage of the once vibrant town. All he knew at that moment was that he needed to get to you—now. Nothing else mattered until he was holding you safely in his arms. 

Everything that could have gone wrong today did. First, he had woken up with a hangover and a world of regret from how he handled the situation with you the night before. He wanted to tell you how he felt—he needed you to know—but he just couldn’t. Then you were gone and refused to speak to him the rest of the night. So he drank…a lot.

At first, the hangover didn’t seem like a big deal considering the storm he was chasing was only supposed to be an EF1, EF2 at the worst. Yet the moment he spotted it on the horizon, it was clear to Tyler that the storm was much bigger than that. Then, the storm changed paths, putting it on a direct course for town. Tyler had tried calling your phone and then the bar, knowing you’d be in by now getting everything ready for that night’s customers. But the call never went through. He was on the other side of the storm and couldn’t make it in time to try to warn you in person. Instead, he and the other Wranglers were forced to watch as the town that had become a safe haven for them on their chases was decimated.  

The moment the storm had finished its destruction, he floored the gas and weaved in and out of debris as he tried to reach your bar. But eventually, he reached a point where even his modified, reinforced truck couldn’t make it through. So, he threw it into park and took off running even as Boone called after him.

He was just a block or two away but the utter devastation around him made it hard to maneuver. He felt horrible running past these places where he knew people may be trapped or in need of help, but nothing and no one mattered until he knew you were safe.

As he rounded the corner, he stumbled to an abrupt stop. 

In the place where The Crooning Cowboy had stood the night before, there was nothing but a pile of rubble. 

As Tyler’s legs almost gave out beneath him, the only thing that kept him standing was the near-impossible hope that you might still be alive under there somewhere. Waiting for someone to come to your rescue. 

He surged forward, screaming your name as loudly as he could. When he reached what was left of the bar, he dropped to his knees and began digging through the debris. Broken glass from windows and bottles sliced his fingers and wrists, twisted nails stabbed into his palms, and splinters embedded themselves deep under his skin—yet none of that stopped Tyler from searching. 

He dug and dug and dug and dug but there was no trace of you, alive or dead. The area he would have to cover in addition to how deep the layers of wreckage were made this a nearly impossible task. Without some sort of clue of where to look, there was no way he could find you in time. 

Collapsing to the ground, Tyler buried his head in his hands as tears began to stream down his face. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be gone. Not like this. Not after he shattered something that meant the world to him and he hadn’t had the chance to try to put it back together again.

How could that have been the last conversation he ever had with you? How was it possible he would never get to tell you how he really felt? What you really meant to him?

“...matter how they toss the dice, it had to be.”

Tyler’s head bolted up, tears still clinging to his eyelashes, making his vision blur. Was that…? Holding his breath, he closed his eyes and listened.

“The only one for me is you, and you for me. So happy together…”

“MC!” 

Tyler was certain now. That was your voice singing your song—the only song you ever managed to get him on stage for. Your duet. You were calling out to him.

At the top of his lungs, Tyler shouted, “Sweetheart, keep singing! Please! Help me find you!”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then…

“I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you for all my life…”

It was faint—not just from the distance or debris, the voice itself was weak—but Tyler heard it coming from off to his left. Nearly sobbing, he scrambled towards the sound.

“When you’re with me, baby, the skies will be blue for all my life…”

When he thought he was right above the sound of your voice, Tyler began to dig with everything in him. Glass, wood, and concrete were thrown to the side as he prayed to anyone who might hear him that he would reach you in time.

And then, he saw three fingers poking up through the rubble. Grabbing them, he squeezed them tightly and was flooded with relief when they squeezed back. After another few minutes of digging, his knuckles hit something wooden, and, with a start, he realized he had found your desk. When the storm hit, you must have hid under it for protection. His brilliant girl.

Finally, he moved a large slab of concrete and he saw your face, eyes blinking in the bright sunlight. There was a large gash on your forehead that was leaking blood, and you were covered in dust, but amazingly, you seemed relatively okay from what he could see. 

When your eyes adjusted and you saw him, you let out a shaky chuckle. “Ty…you actually answered my call this time.”

Tears streaming down his face, Tyler grinned. “You know me. I wouldn’t miss our duet for the world.”

You smiled but then gasped in pain. Tyler’s face fell and he moved some more debris to try to get you out. As he worked, you muttered, “I don’t know what happened. One second everything was fine, the next, the building was falling down around me.” 

“It’s okay now. You’re gonna be okay,” Tyler murmured as he continued to uncover your body.

A piece of debris laid across your chest and Tyler grabbed it to lift it off you—only to immediately recoil as his fingers touched something sticky and wet. Trembling, he looked down at his fingers to see dark, crimson blood coating them and dripping steadily from the tips. 

Smiling sadly, you whispered, “I’m sorry. Piece of the stage broke off and went all the way through from my back. I knew it was over before I made it to the desk. But I had to try. I…I knew you’d look for me and I—I didn’t wanna be alone when it happens.”

Tyler’s tears of relief turned to tears of sorrow. Staring at your blood still coating his hand, he choked out, “MC…I…”

“It’s okay, Ty. You found me. You came through when I needed it most.” There was an odd peacefulness to your face as you stared at him, as if you truly had accepted what was about to happen.

But he hadn’t. There was so much he still wanted to say to you. So much he wanted to do. He had wasted so much time you could have spent together all because he was too scared to tell you how he felt. 

“Ty?” His eyes darted to your face and he saw blood slowly dribbling from your lips. “I need you to know…after the night we had our first duet, I never wanted to sing with anyone else ever again.”

Tears streaming down his face, Tyler cupped your cheek in his hand. “I felt the same, sweetheart. I would have sung with you for the rest of my life. And only you. I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. ” 

You smiled as you leaned your head heavily into his palm. “I’m just glad you finally did.” 

As your eyes fluttered closed, you whispered, “So happy together…how is the weather…… so happy together……. we’re happy toget……………”

In case anyone was wondering, their song is Happy Together by The Turtles

[lvlyghost]

The Things I Never Said: Part 2

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: upon learning about your pregnancy simon thinks there are things he needs to take care of.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tw: Angst, fluff, hurt with a lot of comfort, banter. The task force is there for you💞 i think that's it✨

A/N: here it is, i never planned a second part so forgive me if it's not as good! Still hope you like it. Already working on a request that's similar to this one🐸✨ thank you so much for all the support. Reblogs and comments are appreciated! Remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome🩵

Masterlist✨ | Part 1 | Part 3

Simon pulls you closer to his body, one arm draped over your form and hand resting on your stomach. The storm is raging outside, the thunder startles you every five minutes. You stay there in complete silence as the realization of this whole thing settles in your minds. He wants you to be safe now more than ever that's why when he's reliving the events of the day it hits him. He had thought the worst, that you were abandoning him, that you got tired of him. Simon would never say this to you but losing you would be the end of him. Enraged and with his heart racing he had hopped on his motorcycle. The soft caressing of his fingers stops abruptly, body going rigid behind you. You turn your face in worry.

"Simon?" You call him. You were beginning to fall asleep. "What is it?"

"That fuckin' muppet." He snarls. "I was so caught up in you leaving that I'd forgotten he hit you. That cunt... fucking Christ." He sits. "Let me see." He lifts your shirt just above your belly with gentle hands.

"Love, I'm... it's fine." Simon sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes land on the bruised area of your skin.

"What did the doctor say?" He demands, eyes somber.

"She said i should stay in bed for a few days and to not lift heavy things or you know just... overwork myself."

Simon rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands, disgruntled.

"This is on me... my bloody fault"

"Hey, stop now." You stand up, coming to a sitting position to mirror his stance. "You didn't know." Soft hands fall on both sides of his face. "I should've told you before this happened, if anything this is on me."

"If something happened to you i would never forgive myself, kid. Lie down. You need to rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

-

Simon's been waiting for this day since the incident. You're still at home, recovering from what could've ended with you in a hospital bed and a broken heart.

"You sure about this, Sir?" Gaz asks, worried about what might happen. "It's just training right?"

"Just training." Simon's eyes are set on that bastard. Craning his neck he steps on the sparring mat. As much as he wanted to go find him and kill him he couldn't do such thing. But after the images that flooded his mind made him realize how dangerous it had been. What could potentially have happened the rage within him is boiling his blood. And now he needs somebody to pay the price. Choices have consequences and he nearly had a painful one. If he had insisted just more...

Breathing harshly he looks him in the eye. Poor muppet doesn't know what's coming for him. He stands there confidently, thinking he has a chance against Ghost. Not Simon, the man only she gets the chance to see.

This is Ghost about to fight.

-

For some reason you decided to stop by the local pastry shop and bring something for the task force. You're feeling much better so that's why you're walking down the corridor of the military compound. With a shirt that's nearly too oversized a pair of combat boots and a cap. You figured you could have these outside of the base and enjoy a nice day with your teammates. You missed them already. Since Simon had been reluctant to leave your side, and you loved it that's for sure, but he wouldn't let you do much as simple tasks like washing the dishes or doing the laundry.

Walking past the doors you're greeted with loud cheering and yelling at the two men in the middle of the mat. Your smile quivers until you process the scene in front of you. Not surprised, not worried. He's gonna be just fine. The other poor boy... Price is the first to notice you, approaching you in three long strides. He had decided to stop by and watch, that's how they sort things out.

"Here, let me help you with that." He takes most of the desserts from your hands, scrutinizing your features with slight concern. Your eyes glued to Simon's hulking body. "I'm gonna assume he doesn't know you're here. Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I'm not on duty, Captain."

"I'm not asking as your Captain but as a friend."

You turn to face him with the ghost of a smile on your lips.

"I'm feeling better so I wanted to see you all, maybe we could have these together as soon as Simon is done with his personal grudge."

Price chuckles. Reluctant to see the rest of the fight, you keep talking to John until it comes to an end. More cheers and clapping echoing around the place. You take a quick glance and get a glimpse of the younger soldier limping while he plops down on a near bench, his teammates gathered around him holding a towel out for him to clean up his face. Footsteps approach you and Price, Simon's frowning behind the mask you can tell by the way the corner of his eyes wrinkle.

"Hey little lady!" Soap greets you with a big smile, hugging you tightly. "Heard you got all knocked up!"

"For fucks sake, Johnny!" Gaz scolds him. "Have some more respect for the girl."

Johnny rolls his eyes feigning annoyance letting Kyle hug you too.

"Don't bet mad at him. We all know why he had to do it." He whispers before pulling away.

When Simon joins you, you're aware of what's coming.

"You're out of bed." He points out, blankly.

"It's been almost a week. As long as I don't lift heavy things I'll be alright. Remember?" You speak back. You reach out for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. The rest of the team silently walks away to the outside giving you some privacy. Simon studies you, all of you. There's a spark of worry in his blue eyes that you don't like. "Don't worry about me anymore."

He pulls you closer, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he inhales deeply.

"Is that my shirt, doll?" He asks in a hushed tone. You chuckle, burying your face in his chest.

"I missed you, and it smells like you." Simon prompts you softly to start walking outside and join the rest. "You're not hurt, are you?" You stare up at him.

"Don't you worry about me, he wasn't able to land one single hit, love."

You pull him down kissing over the black balaclava where his lips would be.

"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not telling you Simon." You sigh.

"I understand now why you didn't, kid. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself for not making you feel safe enough to tell me. If anything I'm to blame."

"Is there any chance I may touch your belly?" Soap asks as soon as you sit down next to him.

"Yes." You reply with a wide smile.

"No." Simon growls at the same time.

"Jesus! I suppose that naming the child after me is also off the table?"

"Absolutely."

A round of laughs echoing around and along the backyard. Your eyes scanning every person gathered in this very moment. Loyalty, admiration, respect and love.

A family of your own that would soon get a new addition.

"What if it's a beautiful girl?" Gaz interrogates.

Everyone goes silent.

"Fucking hell." Simon whispers.

He's fucked.

[cry4mina]

Spite

(Vampire!Mina x fem!reader)

Word Count: 4K

Smut

Disclaimer/Summary: this was literally the first thing I ever wrote and sent to a former mutual who will not be named before I started this blog. It was sent to provide points of interest for a specific type of smut they didn’t know how to write.

Since credit wasn’t given when stated it would be- I’ve decided to unearth it from the messages, tweak it, add to it and post it. So if it seems familiar, know that this was what was originally sent to help spark SOME of the ideas for that fic, specifically.

The context of this is reader is trying to save Mina from her alter ego vampire “Sharon” who can hypnotize people and bend them to her will. Reader has feelings for Mina but was unaware of the powers Sharon holds. Mina was chained up before to avoid Sharon hurting anyone. But uhm…she didn’t stay that way.

TW: aggressive smut, vampires, blood, straps, choking, mind control, hypnosis, cursing, feral fucking lmao lemme know if i missed anything!

A/N: Shout out to those who encouraged me to finish this and also @nr1chaedickrider @miinatozakiii @namojoon for also contributing to the subject matter of the fic this went into! 🖤

And a shout out to @ghostykapi for helping me find some pictures for this! 🖤

Your eyes flicker open to a slurry of lightning flashing. The sounds of rain and thunder jolted you of a glorious dream of you and Mina. A wet dream, soft and sweet, passionately tangled together in a heated scene. It felts so real, it’s shame it wasn’t.

Hands reaching up to wipe the slumber off your face. You kicking your feet out of the warm sheets and sit up, yawning and stretching to pull the rest out of your bones and forget the dream you wished you stayed in a little longer.

Unable to remember falling asleep, the last thing you recall is Mina in chains and then everything going black. Chaining her down to the floor to keep her safe was the only option to protect not just you, but everyone around you too.

The difference between Mina and Sharon was night and day.

Mina was caring, kind, and full of love. A warm wave of safety that never ceased to amaze you in how pure she was.

Sharon was malevolent, disturbing, and evil. An iced entity of stoicism that was bloodthirsty and power hungry. Willing to do anything and everything to get what she wants. Chaining her down was the only way to keep her from feeding. Unnecessary death was always to be avoidable as long as she was chained up and away from everyone.

Sharon was powerful already, being able to use hypnosis on those around her with her eyes and touch, manipulating to gain whatever she could. Dangerous, seductive, and violent.

A hint of copper in your mouth makes your face contort, confused on how the metallic flavor was present against your taste buds. Rolling your tongue around mindlessly, trying to figure out if you had a cut in your mouth, you stand up the concern on your face palpable when you realize you don’t know where you are.

An unfamiliar room with large floor to ceiling windows, giving you a view of the storm raging outside. The bed was large with a black wood and a filigree pattern up the canopy supports. Sheets of satin, night stands that matched the frame, the room was dark in design and eerie in feeling.

The feeling of being watched makes you shiver, grabbing your own arms to hold yourself in the discomfort.

“Good Morning, Y/n.” heard creeping out of the shadows, startling you out of your own head, forcing you to fully wake faster than you normally would.

Another shiver down your spine, you recognize the voice, and pan the room to see a glow of red eyes and the faint pale face of Mina.

Sharon had already taken over her, the infected half of her DNA with a mind of it’s own. Using Mina’s body for her own gain, seducing people to lure them in and goring them before they even had a second to realize what was happening.

You take a step back but she matches your movements. You look for an exit in a panic, not knowing the danger that you could be in when it hits you. The eye contact that causes a surge of desire, running hot in your veins, rendering you tense. Your thoughts are haunted by lewd ideas of her…just like the dreams you were having only moments ago but with more of a sadistic twist.

“You really thought it wouldn’t come to this?” She grinned, voice contorting to a slightly deeper tone, giving an unfamiliar tang to the face you see in your dreams.

“I always thought you’d fight back a little harder…maybe actually try to do something about me…” Pacing as she speaks, admiring how you wince at her words. She knows she can’t be stopped especially because of how you felt about Mina. She did have her face after all.

“How do you feel?” the rhetorical question she asks almost passes you by.

You’re too busy blankly staring at her to see how she’s is sizing you up like a snake about to consume a meal after a long while. Her gaze burns a hole into your chest, the heat rising through the beaming chasm that once was where your heart sat, now all consumed by manipulative lust and yearning for her.

“What do you mean “how do I feel?”” trying to play it like you weren’t scared shitless and insatiable, completely soaked in your own arousal as the flashes of her on top of you pass through your mind.

She giggles and steps closer.

The realization hits that there is no escaping this while she is in front of her, her eyes hypnotic in the way they stay on you. You’re losing your sense of self by the second.

There’s no escaping her.

“Don’t you taste it?” She’s just toying with you now, playing with her food before it’s consumed.

Your eyes widen when you grasp what she’s hinting at.

“W-Who am I tasting?” A sudden clash of thunder reverberates in the room, lightening flashes through the windows, erasing the shadows and allowing you to see her blood stained lips.

She continues watching you without blinking to see if you flinch at the sounds. The hunger in her crimson laced eyes was intimidating and indecipherable. Lust fueled or blood driven, you were unsure. Was this just apart of her plan? Bring you here while you were asleep to seduce you and then…death?

“That would be me, actually.”

Sharon maneuvers her hair, shifting it from one shoulder to the other to show the imprint of your teeth in her neck. A normal human teeth bite mark into her neck…you don’t remember doing that. More importantly, what happens to a human when they drink vampire blood?

“You chained me up…I didn’t like that very much. I’m sure you understand.” She leans against the wall, watching you in a predatory way. Taking every slight movement in, making sure to look up at your eyes to keep you under her spell.

Pulling at your shirt to detach it from your body, her eyes on you makes you feel like you’re being hunted, creating a flash of heat within you.

A small chuckle leaves her mouth menacingly as she watches you remove the article of clothing.

“While you were under my spell, I saw everything. Your thoughts…your feelings…your fantasies…” Pausing for a moment to watch the embarrassment fall over your face, knowing that she had seen the dreams of Mina, from the soft sweet ones to the vile filthy ones.

“They intrigued me.” sauntering over to you, placing a finger under your chin exposing a wound on your neck that she had left before you woke up.

Cocking your head at the statement, pulling your face out of her hands as you furrowed your brows in confusion and try to exact your free will and get out before it’s too late.

Even with the ache between your legs urging you to make a move, this wasn’t Mina…this was someone who just looked like Mina…even though you were fighting your desire of her, it was still very much present and you did not want to give in so easily.

“My mark looks good on you…maybe if you’re a good for me, I’ll give you another” her voice drenched in a possessive tone, the inflection of ownership on you rattled you all the way down to your core.

“Excuse me?” You spat, trying to put up a fight against this supernatural trance she’s put you in.

Sharon cupped your face and looked deep within you, violating the privacy of your thoughts. Intrusion into your brain, into your soul.

“I’ve seen it all, you know….Your fantasies about me, the way you dream of me. It’s so pathetic, really.”

Removing her hand from you and turning her back to walk to the door and lock it by the knob and the deadbolt fixated to the frame.

“I’m going to turn you into my play thing.” Hissed with bated breath, spinning around so rapidly that it created a gust of hellish wind.

“When I'm done with you, you’ll only be able to say my name…I’ll remove all those thoughts out of your head until you’re just my worthless toy… Since you’re so desperate for her to touch you…I figured why not show you how she can really be!”

In one swift movement, “Mina” is in front of you with her hand tightly squeezing your throat, digging her nails into the sides of your neck and baring her fangs in an attempt to get you to submit.

It surprises you how much you’re enjoying this, even hating to admit it to yourself. The idea of Mina being rough with you had consumed your thoughts a few times, you just never thought it would be Sharon to enact them.

Pulling at her hands to get her off of you, her other hand swings and smacks you across the face. She knows your thoughts, she knows you want this and the slap was another attempt to get you to see that she was in control and you had no choice but to let her have her way with you.

Bringing your own hand up to cup your cheek, feeling the heat emanating off the slowly developing red mark, you can’t help but wince at the sting.

Swinging your hand out to slap her back, she leans out of the way causing you to completely miss. She had the dominance that you craved but the urge to fight back was louder than the pulsing between your thighs.

“Mina” tightens her grip on your neck, causing your breath to hitch and almost stop completely as she glares into your eyes, the red storms of putrid rage clashing around matching the weather outside.

“Don’t. Do that. Again.” Gritted through her sharp fangs.

She squeezes one last time and then lets go, dropping you to the floor. You collapse and on your knees, gasping for air and trying to remove the vile thoughts you are having about her.

“I can see those…” Looking up to see her alluringly evil smirk painted across her face, a seductive horror anthology was about to take place. This grin was your warning.

Mina licks her lips and pounces, fully knocking you to the floor, straddling you right above your waist to keep you locked into place.

You’re at her mercy, wrapped around her finger, and completely hypnotized by her spell.

Fangs out and hissing as you attempt to struggle underneath her. She forcefully stretches your hands above your head and pins you down with only one of hers. When did she get this strong?

She kisses you roughly, a striking contrast to the Mina you were used to. Moaning into her mouth, you feel the heat that has been building between your thighs. Avoiding clenching them together, you try to use your strength to push her up to get a better angle.

Her hands slowly trailing up your torso, making sure to drag her nails over your fabric covered nipple just to hear you mewl at her touch.

Hand now wrapped around your throat again, she stands up and drags you with her, and tosses you onto the bed.

The frame rattles against the wall and the softness of the blankets welcome you back sooner than expected.

Quickly mounting your waist once more, hands returning to your throat causing you to nervously swallow at what’s to come.

Sharon leans in to your ear and growls “I’m going to ruin you.”

A third shiver travels through your body and you use every ounce of strength to lift Mina off of you and flip her around on her back.

In this moment, your brain is clouded with desire for the person underneath you, thoughts so intense that your efforts to shake the thoughts out were failing and you needed to try to leave before you succumbed to Sharon’s lust driven needs.

You jump up and head toward the exit but halt immediately when you feel a hand on the back of your neck.

Head spun around for you vigorously, you’re met with eyes glowing red. Mindlessly hypnotized by how deep the pools of crimson.

Slick leaking down your thighs as you rip your bra off and toss it, not caring where it landed.

Why is your body laying down without you telling it too?

She’s so stunning, you need her…Lost in the swirling red that sliced through your hopes of escape.

Within seconds, Sharon’s mouth was on your neck again. Dragging her teeth and hissing possessively. Groaning softly at the sensation of her warm fangs over the bite mark that was already present.

Your hand wraps around the back of her head, fingers weaving through her hair. Your chests are pressed against each other in the heated whirlwind of the moment. Wanting nothing more than for her to touch you. Anywhere and everywhere.

You let go, allowing her to take you, how ever she wanted.

She felt your submission and smiled fangs fully out and grazing the skin of your neck, leaving small cuts at how razor sharp they were, blood dribbles out slowly. She licks the cuts clean, humming at the taste of your life force.

“You belong to me now” growled at you, causing you to clench around nothing.

SMACK

The sound of her slapping your breast echoes in every corner of the room. Red welts appeared on your chest as she bent down to take your nipple into your mouth. Roughly abusing you as you squirmed underneath her.

You can feel how absolutely ruined your underwear is and shift uncomfortably, trying to unstick yourself from the cloth. Sharon notices and stands up, removing contact from you. Eyebrow furrowing at the lack of touch, you let out a needy whine as she watches and towers over you.

“Take your pants off” crossing her arms and waiting. You hesitate. She grabs you by the face hostilely, pinching your cheeks between her index finger and thumb.

“If you don’t take them off, I’ll rip them off of you. I need to know what you taste like.”

You cocked your eyebrow, challenging her. Pursing your lips as if to dare her. She scoffed and ripped your pants right off your body. The sound of the rip only makes the wet spot on your underwear grow even larger, the craving you had for her was unbearable.

Aggressively pushing you back down on the bed, throwing you around effortlessly like a rag doll. She crossed her arms again, glaring at you.

“Don’t move or you’ll fucking regret it” Sternly, the malice present in her tone, before gracefully strutting towards the dresser in the corner, removing all remaining clothes as she made her way over to it.

You hear a soft demonic whine from the other side of the room.

Sharon returned hastily with a device already fixed at her hips, other end of the double ended strap on already inside her. Her thighs glistening in the sleek essence dripping from her core.

Coasting your tongue on your bottom lip as an invitation, you hunger for her.

Suddenly, your legs are pressed against your chest, her knees on either side of your hips, hands pinning your arms above your head, and she’s biting your collarbones and chest leaving trails of fang marks behind in a scattered pattern.

You wince at the pain, feeling yourself falling into the subspace as she navigated around your chest. Slowly descending down to tug on your nipples with her teeth which transitions to licking and sucking the cuts her fangs leave on your tits and listening to you whine for more.

“Please I need y-“ you started to beg for her when she grabs your waistband and rips your underwear clean off your body revealing your soaked state of yearning for her.

“Oh, fuck” breathily escapes your lips.

Sharon takes the tip of her strap and glides it against your slit, eliciting more primal sounds out of you.

“Awh, look at you. Desperate and pathetic for me….or for her…this is your fantasy, no? Don’t you just want her to tease you…to take what’s hers? Too bad I’ll get there before she does.”

It’s hard to hear her talk about Mina like this, knowing it was her body touching you, but she wasn’t present, only this succubus fronting in the warmth of her.

Sharon takes her strap and smacks your clit with it a few times, splattering your slick and returns to sliding it up and down against you. You lift your hips in the same rhythm as her thrusts, unable to look away from the intense eye contact had between the two of you.

“Don’t worry about what she thinks.” reading your mind yet again, at this point you don’t even care she’s being so intrusive.

All you want is her.

All you need is her.

“Mina is enjoying the show.”

She guides the tip to your entrance, pushing her hips into you. Hands on the back of your thighs to keep them against your chest as she enters you, bottoming out in one smooth stroke.

She wastes not a single second more, giving you barely any time to adjust to something being inside you, she pulled back out and snapped back in. Your cunt screams at the mix of pain and pleasure, coating her strap in slick effortlessly.

“Look at how fucking wet you are and I’m just getting started. Someone is eager to be my whore, isn’t that right?”

Unable to focus on anything else other than the desire for her to keep going, you nod your head between gasps, moving your hands to the back of your thighs where hers were so she could use hers how she wanted.

Sharon slows down her pace until halting her motion, watching and waiting for you to answer.

“Say it.” spite-fueled harsh whispers emulating the tone of her seriousness.

“Yes, yes, please…fucking please!” the longing for her was too much, you fear for what you’d become if it wasn’t satiated.

Sharon maniacal laughs turn into grunts when she begins to slam her hips into you again. All you care about is her touch, mesmerized by every single moment of contact and the glare she gives you.

Sharon moaned at the sensation of her clit rubbing on the leather of the harness and the rocking of the silicone inside her.

The coil in your stomach tightens with each sound you both make, threatening to break as she kept jackhammering into you, tip kissing your cervix with each groan had between the two of you.

“M-more…fu-uh-uh-uh-ck, please” slurring your words as you tried to wrap your legs around her to push her deeper into you.

Lowly growling at you and prying your legs from her hips, she pushed them down to your chest again. Fighting the urge to drain you for defiance.

You were her toy and she was going to do this her way.

The pace quickened as she plowed into you. Blurred vision, stars in your eyes, coming close to your high when she let out a snarl and pulled out. Using her strength she flipped you over, pushing your face into the sheets.

“Arch your fucking back” Sharon placed a cold hand on your spine pushing down while lifting your ass in the air.

A finger found its way to your folds. Teasing you and watching the slick drip out of you.

Removing her finger, she bent down and started sucking on your clit. Gasping and writhing as she rhythmically licked your sensitive bud, building up brick by brick the sensations she wanted you to feel.

Dragging her nails up and down your thighs and her tongue continued to dance on your folds, being sure to taste every drop of you.

Two fingers suddenly plunged in and curled towards your G-spot. Pressing down repeatedly causing you to lose touch with any left over moments of reality you still had.

“I’m gonna cum” you scream into the sheets as you start to contract around her fingers.

Essence belonging to you drips down her hand. She’s continuing to pump into you and bring you to your moment of ecstasy. Blissfully being devoured by a demon who looked like an angel.

A devious smirk wipes across her face as she continues to let you ride out the orgasm she gifted you.

You’re completely in shambles, unable to speak full sentences, legs shaking and not willing to hold the weight of your body anymore.

Frozen hands wrap around your waist, you can feel your body being held up.

“Don’t think I’m finished with you yet!” a smack to your pussy startles you.

Feeling her slide the strap back in with ease, both moaning as she pulls out to the tip and continues the deadly pace she had before.

Screaming underneath her with no sense of control, you were overstimulated in the best way, the sensitivity of having just cum was a mere thought when the need for her took over again.

Sharon continued to fuck you senseless, snarling behind you as she pumped, craving her own climax. You felt her hips stutter and falter as she growled, trying to keep her pace.

“Use me, Make me yours -fuck fuck fuck-, Sh-Sharon” you whined, knowing it would push her right over the edge and into the raptured to heaven moment you just had yourself.

She snarled and sank her teeth into your shoulder, moans muffled by your flesh and the tension of her jaw while her hips haphazardly jerk, not letting you out of her venomous bite.

The sound of her cumming, the feeling of her digging her teeth into you, and the movements of her strap set off into another pulsating moment of pure unadulterated bliss, cumming around her, gripping her and making it difficult for her to keep her already unsteady rhythm as she tried to ride out her own orgasm.

She slowly came to a stop and gently draped her body on your back, softly wrapping her arms around you while she caught her breath, licking up the blood gushing from her deep bite.

Her warm torso resting against you was heaven, in and of itself.

You both laid there, chests heaving when she pulled out of you. The sudden emptiness and the stroke of it makes you gasp and whimper again. She undid the device from around her hips, putting it on the night stand to be cleaned tomorrow.

She looked over at you, making eye contact. You notice that her eyes are brown like before, you blink a few times at her. She puts her hands up in defense, eyes widened at how quickly you realized she was back to Mina.

“I can explain!”

[amandabbbbb]

summary: stalker!rafe who saves pogue surfer!reader from the obx storm!

tw: stalker!rafe, dark!rafe but that’s just him tho, a storm, idk anything about boats or surfing

word count: 564

you were used to big waves. surfing is your life. you are no professional but you thought you could handle the obxs storms waves but turns out the roughness of the salt water was too much for you.

“hey hey it’s not safe out there come here i can help you get home,” a tall man yelled from his yacht, reaching out a hand for you. you felt stupid being out in a storm. when you lost the pogues and got pushed out to sea you knew your idea had become deadly so the strangers help might save you.

“here lemme help you. you are way too delicate to be out here in these tough waves, pretty girl,” rafe smirked, pulling you out of the water.

“i’m fine but i guess i’m used to smaller waves,” you said with an insecure giggle. “i’m y/n. um i live on the cut. you said you could get me home?” you said with a nervous smile, never meeting this handsome man before.

“why don’t you stay a while y/n? i got fresh clothes that you can wear and beer and snacks if you’re hungry. seriously whatever you want. i’m rafe.”

rafe was so excited to be around you. he’d been watching you surf from his yacht for months. staring at your body from a far wasn’t doing it for him anymore so when you took off your wetsuit rafe audibly moaned, standing up fast and coughing staring at your body in the pink bikini he only saw from a far distance.

“thanks, rafe but i need to get home. you’re really sweet but my friends will be worried since i got pulled into sea by the waves.” rafe made a fast excuse looking out on the horizon.

“i don’t think my boat will make it to shore. it’s just pouring now and it uh l-looks real bad. we um should probably just stay out here for the night.”

“are you sure because i think a yacht this huge can handle a storm like this.” you laughed staring at him confused.

“you think you know yachts y/n? you’re a pogue, stick to your surfboard,” rafe said laughing. you didn’t like his obnoxious joke but brushed it off.

“ya whatever, i’m a pogue. so what? can i get some clothes? i’m about to turn into a ice cube.” you rolled your eyes while walking down to the cabin exploring the living space of the boat. it was a scene straight out of a frat house nightmare, old beer cans and porn magazines.

amongst the clutter, a picture caught your eye: a girl in a pink bikini, surfing on a vibrant wave, laid provocatively on his bed. you reached out to inspect it, but he snatched it away before you could get a closer look “umm so you live here, rafe?”

“does it matter?” rafe frowned as you put on his old shirt and sarah’s sweatpants over your bikini, you asked “no but um where am i gonna sleep stranger? you know this is a major stranger danger situation right now.” you laughed, pointing at the both of you.

he smirked at your bubbly personality that he’d seen from afar as he would watch you at kook and pogue bonfire parties.

“next to me,” rafe said, watching your every movement. “no, that’d be weird. i don’t even know you. i’ll sleep on the couch, it’s no big deal,” you said so casually. mad at your rejection, rafe stood up, hovering over you.

“just seriously y/n. you can trust me ok? just stay in the bed with me, it’s cold out,” rafe said with intensity. as you noticed his blue eyes getting darker and his body getting closer, he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “you know,” he whispered, his voice sending ripples of unease through you, “you always fidget with your necklace when you’re nervous, your fingers trace its outline when you’re anxious.”

your heart skipped a beat. how did he know about that? it was like he could read your mind. feeling exposed, you backed away. his gaze locked into yours, making you feel vulnerable and like he had uncovered parts of you that were meant to stay hidden. you noticed the storm seemed to be calming down since rafe pulled you up on the cameron’s yacht. a perfect getaway.

“you know what uh i- i can handle these waves. don’t worry about me. thanks for helping me though,” you said as you bent over to pick up your wetsuit and surfboard. he grabbed your bicep forcefully pulling you up. he thought of every excuse but couldn’t manage to create one.

“no, no you can’t leave ok.” rafe stated, grabbing you by the wrist firmly. “yo dude, don’t fucking touch me. i don’t even know you.” as you scoff at him, you look deep into his blue eyes and recognize him, letting his rough hands grip onto your waist. you couldn’t put your finger on where from.

“dont fucking dude me. god you are such a pogue. y’know you do know me. i’m rafe. i’m someone you can trust y/n. imma proactive person. if i wasn’t there to help you get out of those waves who knows what could’ve happened to you. i protect you. i’ve been protecting you for months for fucks sake and you don’t appreciate me.”

a/n: idk maybe a part 2 is needed??? send me ur thots!

[a-hazbin-reader]

K so I loved your egg and dog, why not next a real kid. The cannibal kids, like the kids adore y/n when ever she comes to town to visit. They do multiple fun activities like makeing flower crowns or just somthing as simple as hopscotch!

(Proves y/n would be a good mom.)

Y/N would be a good mom!! I believe in her!!

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Children in mild danger, Cartoonish antics, Reader wants children, Alastor being possessive, Sad implications

Description: 👆⬆️

Alastor likes taking you to Cannibal Town, he likes that everyone there loves you nearly as much as he does

He likes showing you off and letting Rosie brag about you for him

Because she totally brags about you, not letting Alastor get a word out to say it himself

And the children all listen to Rosie so they quickly turn their attention on you with sparkling eyes and grabby hands

And you are immediately enamored with them too, giving them tight squeezes and gentle pecks on their chubby cheeks

It's adorable that the children have taken such a shine to you, really it is

"Y/N! Y/N! Come play with us!"

"Alright~ Alright~"

Not the littlest one leading you by holding onto your finger

And the way you indulge them just makes his heart melt, watching you play along with their antics

You mend their clothes for them, bandage their boo-boos, bring them snacks so they aren't tempted to gnaw on each other

Or you

Plus it gives him time to chat with Rosie or shop for surprise gifts for you so he doesn't necessarily mind it

Except those kids never seem to run out of energy or get sick of your attention

Sometimes he finds you surrounded by them, all of you snuggled up together and relaxed

Are those flowers in your hair?

Yes, yes they are.

Or you'll seek him out, one child on your shoulders and another in your arms, both asleep

But your husband wants to take you home and get some snuggles with you for himself

And cannibal children are fucking ruthless when it comes to something they want so he has to get creative to get his wife back

"Here~! Have some scissors! Run as fast as you can with them~!"

"ALASTOR!"

"Oh fuck-"

They 100% fight back though, those children are smart and ruthless, quick to realize Alastor is competition

That's part of why he likes the cannibal children so much tbh

They will literally throw him in a well if it means spending five more minutes with you

It becomes a cartoonish war between Alastor and the children, one with little malice but many dangerous antics on both ends

With you in the middle

You even start to play along, picking different sides at random and turning things into a game

It's totally not an excuse to watch your husband play with children and it definitely doesn't make your heart ache

Once Alastor stops to realize how you're looking at him and sees how much warmth your gaze holds then he starts to understand something

Something that makes his heart throb a little but he tucks it away for when you two are alone

Alastor starts to join you in hanging out with the children after that, enjoying the maternal side of you more than he would care to admit

And seeing him act even remotely fatherly is obviously doing things for you so that's a bonus for him too

You two are constantly followed by a gaggle of children now, the two of you looking like duck parents

If you run into any of the overlords then Alastor will pit the kids against them, telling them to get their Aunty/Uncle

Bonus points if its Vox and they take off a piece of him and bring it back to Alastor

They love biting their Uncle Vox~

They even visit you two at the hotel sometimes, all of them storming the building and wreaking havoc until they find your room

Not all of them trying to sneak into bed with you two as silently as possible

Okay no-

He's going to start locking doors now

Go ahead, old man they'll just break them down

Alastor totally doesn't make them Charlie and Vaggie's problem afterwards just so that he can have some peace

More cuddles with his wife please

"Alastor...we should get the children home..."

"Five more minutes, my dear~"

How can you say no to him when he's kissing your neck like that?

Five more minutes

He's amused when you try to explain away the love marks on your neck and shoulders in a PG way

Kids ask the silliest questions, don't they?

You always sigh happily at the end of the day once the kids have gone home, leaning on your husband

You look tired but happy, Alastor committing the look to memory

He catches you staring at the kids fondly and looking at baby clothes a little more often

Maybe you hold a baby for a little too long, voice a little too thick with emotion

It's obvious to him that being around the children makes you happy but also makes you wish for something more

And all he wants is his wife to be happy

So maybe he should have that conversation with you that he's been putting off for awhile

Alastor isn't really a coward, but when it comes to difficult conversations with you, he's definitely reluctant

He doesn't like to see you get worked up and if the conversation goes where he thinks it's going to go then...you're gonna get upset

Waits until the two of you are snuggled up together in bed, his arm wrapped snuggly around you

You're nearly asleep, happily breathing in your husband's scent and lazily stroking his chest

"Y/N...do you want a family with me?"

Now you're wide awake

🥹🥺🥹 literally me after this