#the straps are ROUGH and you can see thread I know but it’s fine. I might redo them

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

Anyway.

[atlantablack]

humming with the birds

on ao3 as well

Saturday 8:54 AM: Have a safe flight, Cap. Try to not worry too much about things on this end. 

Saturday 9:00 AM: Thanks, Sam. Stay safe. Call if you need me.

——

Sam can’t help but wonder in the days that follow Steve going back to New York, if he hasn’t made a mistake. Signed his life away to an impossible cause. It’s already been six months of chasing dead ends and coming up with nothing but dust and dirt and blood. If the two of them combined couldn’t find the ghost wearing Bucky’s face, then how is Sam supposed to find him all alone? 

But in the end, a week into his solo ghost hunting mission, it turns out he needn’t have worried — the ghost finds him. 

——

He’s packing his bag, getting ready to follow another lead Natasha’s passed him, when a gun presses itself to the back of his head. He goes very, very still. His knife is strapped to his thigh. His gun on the side table five feet away. Neither doing him a lick of good when the shape of his death has already been pressed into a bullet. 

“Turn around. Slowly.” The voice that speaks is low and rough, and despite never hearing Bucky talk he knows without a shadow of a doubt who he’s going to see when he turns around. 

Sure enough, when he turns, palms carefully turned to the ceiling he finds Bucky staring at him from underneath the brim of a nondescript tourist hat proclaiming “I love Glasgow”. The lighting is too dim to make out Bucky’s face, eyes lost to the shadows, mouth a thin line that does nothing but leave a chill spinning its way down Sam’s spine. 

“I take it you’re not here to apologize for the steering wheel then?” He drawls, meeting Bucky’s eyes over the barrel of the gun. 

Bucky shifts, mouth twisting, face tipping into the light for a second just long enough for Sam to catch sight of storm cloud blue eyes. “Stop following me. Rogers went home. You should do the same.” 

And Sam can’t help but bark out a laugh at that, disbelieving and furious all at once. “You’ve been tracking us all this time haven’t you?” 

The gun doesn’t waver but Bucky smirks, chin dipping like he doesn’t want Sam to see. “Go home, Wilson.” 

“You can’t be that oblivious. If I go home Steve will be back out here tomorrow. You gonna break into his room and threaten him too?” He snorts at the very thought. Can’t see any way that scenario ends except with blood. With Steve back in a hospital room. 

The thinnest line of tension threads through Bucky’s shoulders, and the gun shoves its way under Sam’s chin, finding purchase in the hollow of his neck. “Don’t worry about it,” Bucky snaps, stepping in closer and grabbing Sam’s wrist in a bruising grip where he’d been inching towards his knife. “Just do as you're told, and go home.” 

Now see, if Sam was smart, if he had someone to go home to, if he didn’t swallow danger and come up breathing adrenaline — well maybe he’d listen. Maybe he’d take the easy out Bucky is giving him and go back to DC and tell Steve that he wasn’t going to risk his life chasing a ghost that doesn’t want to be chased. But there’s a gun to his throat, fingers so tight around his wrist that he can feel all the little bones creaking beneath metal fingers, and his pulse is a bullet, is a dying star. An explosion that bursts out of his mouth and spills all over the floor between them when he says—

“Make me.”

Bucky laughs. A dry, rough sound that spreads the room and catches on all the fine hairs standing at attention on the back of Sam’s neck. His brain is screaming, danger. But his heart is screaming, I have teeth too, let’s see whose are sharper. 

“I could kill you right here, sweetheart,” Bucky says, still laughing. “Could take you apart until you tell me every secret Rogers has ever whispered to you. What are you going to do about it?”

There’s nothing but sincerity ringing through Bucky’s words. Sam’s death being dangled in front of his face as nothing but an irrelevant move in this chess game he’s unwittingly begun playing. And he should be scared. He knows this. Is scared if his racing heart, his pulse pounding out a war chant in his ears, is anything at all to go by. But the gun is warm against his skin, a threat that presses closer with every thick swallow. The fingers around his wrist are tight enough he’ll have bruises so stark everyone will be able to see the exact shape of Bucky fingers pressed to his skin. And yet. . . he’s not scared. Not in a way that holds weight. 

“Go ahead then,” he says softly, pressing closer until he can see every storm cloud gathering in Bucky's eyes. Wets his lips and grabs his knife with his other hand, presses it to the wrist of the hand holding the gun. “If you want me to stop chasing you, then kill me.” 

Bucky is silent for a long while, gun never wavering as he searches Sam’s face for something. And if Sam were to examine this too closely, to examine his own motives for being so foolhardy as to call the bluff of an assassin that has been stalking him for months with no one the wiser — well he’d find nothing he cares to think about too closely. Knows that his heart has never stopped carrying death wishes in the shape of Riley’s name, which is to say, that he has never stopped craving flying or falling, one and the same. 

“You’re not doing this for him,” Bucky says eventually, stepping back, gun falling to his side. “Who are you doing it for?” 

It’s stupid the way he immediately misses Bucky's grip on his wrist. Stupid how he already misses the fading adrenaline. “You seem awful sure of that,” he says evenly. 

Bucky shrugs, holsters his gun and tips back and forth on his feet while he considers Sam. “Stop following me, Sam. This is going to be the only warning I give you.” 

The jolt of hearing his own name from Bucky's mouth leaves him silent for long enough that Bucky turns to leave, doesn’t even think twice about turning his back to Sam, and he’s flinging the knife in his hand before he can think it through. 

Bucky dodges it, of course, stares at the door it’s embedded itself in, and then stalks back across the room to slam Sam into a wall. If Sam were the type of man to pray in his last moment he thinks maybe he’d start praying right now. Bucky’s face is a graveyard, the ghosts of every person to die at his hands thick in the air between them, and Sam has already called his bluff once, shouldn’t have pushed his luck a second time. 

He can’t move at all, Bucky’s body a long, hard line against his, keeping him effortlessly held against the wall. The metal fingers around his throat flex once and he swallows convulsively, holds Bucky’s gaze and waits. Can’t do anything but wait. Fancies he can hear a funeral march playing in the distance and wonders how long it’ll take Steve and Natasha to figure out what’s happened to him. 

“You’re not going to stop following me,” Bucky says quietly. It’s not a question, but Bucky licks his lips and pauses like he’s waiting for an answer regardless. 

“No,” Sam replies softly, tracks Bucky’s throat as he swallows, and then glances back up. “No. I’m not going to stop.” 

“I could kill you,” Bucky repeats, a shadow of lost confusion flashing its way across his face. “Go home Sam Wilson. Go back to Delacroix. Or DC. Go home.” 

And that. . . that scares him. The clear implication that Bucky knows about Sarah. That leaves frost growing on his tongue. But he still isn’t going to stop. And Bucky still hasn’t killed him. So there’s really only one thing left to say once more—

“If you’re going to kill me, then I’d really rather you get on with it.” He smirks, presses his weight forward best he can, and hisses as Bucky’s grip tightens on his throat. “Otherwise, get the hell out of my room.” 

Bucky’s silent for a very long time. The minutes stretching between them and Sam is too warm pressed up against the wall, Bucky’s body one long line of heat. There’s a razor sharp tightrope under his feet and he wants to jump off of it, wants to take the knife out of the door and cut the rope to pieces. Wants to keep pressing forward until Bucky’s body turns into something he can understand, until they’re both just bodies giving and taking. 

Sam has always had a thing for walking the edge of too much, for flying too close to the goddamn sun. Has always had a thing for smart men with steady hands and pretty mouths, and fuck if Bucky Barnes doesn’t tick every box Sam’s ever had. He should be praying for his life and instead all he can think about is the way Bucky’s mouth, his goddamn mouth, won’t stop parting all slick with confusion. 

“Go on,” Sam hears himself say, voice low, heat snaking through the words. “If you’re gonna kill me, baby, let’s get started. La petite mort.” He’s so warm he thinks he’s going to burn up, and Bucky hasn’t moved an inch, every line of his body pressed against Sam’s is a taunt, a temptation. 

Bucky shivers, pupils blown wide, nothing but a thin ring of winter sky left. His hand falls from Sam’s throat and he grins, viciously pleased and presses forward with his full weight until their nose to nose. “I’m not going to stop following you,” he says once more for good measure, laser focused on the way Bucky’s mouth parts trembling. 

And in the space of a breath, Bucky’s across the room, wide-eyed with red spots high on his cheeks. He swallows hard, opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Is out the door in a flash,  once again nothing but a ghost. Nothing left behind but the bruises blossoming across Sam’s skin. 

He stands trembling against the wall for a long time, rolling the entire thing over and over in his mind until it’s sharpened into a point. Thinks once, I wanted to kiss him, and then, I wanted to send him to his fucking knees. Doesn’t know what to do with that. Only knows that it was a bad idea he would have followed through on given one more minute with Bucky pressed against him. 

He goes to bed without packing, and when he wakes it’s to a text from Natasha saying to stay right where he is, because — and get this — Bucky has been spotted in Glasgow. What a fucking surprise.

[themarydragon]

How um

How illegal is it for me to ask about multiple fics for that ask game. Just out of curiosity.

Because I would love to know about some of the fics I haven’t heard about, like Bloomic Toasty (WHAT is that), and I would love to hear your thoughts about The Chakwas Fic (supreme group trauma edition).

But I am also 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 about any mention of the totk fics. Respectfully.

You can answer this privately if you want, I’m genuinely not wanting to be a pest here

Completely legal. Any fine I might charge you, you have prepaid in kindness.

"Blooming Panic" is a great little visual novel somebody on here turned me onto, with "Bloomic" being the self-referential shorthand they use in-game. It was great for a mental break last winter when I was sorta in the shit and I think it's free on itch.io That and Andromeda Six (not yet finished) and Our Life were a nice break from darker/harder games and were exactly the diversion I needed. A+ do recommend. That said, there's four routes for Bloomic, and each route has "good" and "bad" endings (as per usual) and the 'bad' ending for Toaster (not their real name) Would Not Stop rolling around in my head. It haunted me. So "Bloomic Toasty" is my taking The Bad Ending and fixing it. Because I can't stand sad endings. Life is sad enough, I want my escapism to be different. I don't have the power to give myself or my loved ones happy endings (all jokes aside) but By God I can do it in fic.

THE CHAKWAS FIC is 65% complete. I have the bare bones ready, I know the ending, I have a (very) rough outline and right now I'm writing When Everything Gets Bad. So it's slow. Part I is complete, and is ME1 time. Part 2 is finished and ALMOST all posted - I'm posting a chapter a week, on Wednesdays - and is ME2 time. Part 2 ends in a place that got me yelled at by everyone I've disclosed the ending to so I'm looking forward to getting hate mail in a couple weeks. Part 3 is my WIP, it's ME3 time and is what I am writing right now. I will NOT be posting it right when I finish part 2 because I need to get it DONE and be sure I'm hitting the right points/plots and I'm not leaving threads dangling. Part 4 is outtakes, more or less, and I have no idea how much will eventually end up there. It is Chakwas' POV. I adore Karin Chakwas, and writing from her perspective allows me to completely gloss over most of the missions and deal instead with the implications of them, and dig into some secondary/background characters that otherwise don't get much time to shine. Writing from Chakwas' POV also - and most importantly - gave me an opportunity to fix the gaping plot hole that is Jeffrey "Joker" Moreau, as well as the utter character assassination that is committed upon him in ME3. TL:DR we already know, NOW, the genes responsible for Vrolik's and there is gene therapy in the ME universe (canonically, as early as ME1) so what the hell, Bioware. Anyways. The WIP I'm currently on - Through Hell - focuses on how more or less everyone (outside the ship) betrays Shepard, in one way or the other. Every major government - canonically - knows the Reapers are real, and yet literally no one will help Shepard deal with it, for a variety of infuriating reasons, and she's smart enough to see how fucked up it all is. By focusing the fic on the Normandy crew (via Chakwas) I can get into the meat of that and have a good reason to skip most of the gameplay.

TOTK I just did a blurb on the Zelda POV for another ask, so I'll expound a little on the Link POV. The title is Restless Waters, from a quote by Sanober Khan: "Do not turn me into restless waters if you cannot promise to be my stream.”

The runner-up for title quote is from Bertolt Brecht, "The headlong stream is termed violent but the riverbed hemming it in is termed violent by no one.”

Thinking about canon Link... he's terrifying. The totk Link commits korok atrocities, intentional or not, as strapping them to ROCKETS is EXPECTED. The murder machines you are encouraged to make are horror shows. But what struck me is (serious spoilers here) the doppleganger fight once you have the four sages. Sidon and Riju know that's not Zelda, but the younger two - Tulin and Yunobo - definitely think that's their Princess. So them showing up to help at that fight is just tooooooo good for me to pass up. The song I'm using to stay in the mindset to write that passage is Halsey's "Control"

And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy Goddamn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

[yutahoes]

Her Fault

The second part of His Fault and from this ask and this ask of the same anon. This is bad. I really can’t write smut right now. 😅 (Please be warned)

characters: boyfriend! Yuta, girlfriend! Y/N, Shotaro, 00 liners, Johnny and his girlfriend

genre: smut

word count: 2.3k words

warnings: thigh touching, oral (female receiving), mention of punishment, mention of sex videos, kissing, breast fondling, virgin sex (?), cumming too early, handjob, cock riding, rough sex, creampie, dom! Yuta, slut calling, spitting (?), slight exhibitionism (Wow, that’s a lot.) 

summary : You think it’s Yuta’s fault but really, it’s all you. 

“You want him that bad, huh?” Yuta asked that made you look at him in surprise. He nodded towards the younger Japanese guy who was helping Jeno and Jaemin unload the things from the back of the van. “I don’t think he moved on from that as well. He always avoids me.”

You sighed before holding on to Yuta’s arm tight. “I think I scared him.” But Yuta shook his head, kissing the side of your head. “Aren’t you angry? When Johnny’s girlfriend slept with Jeno, he almost had a fit. How are you alright with this?” 

Yuta chuckled. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” He then slipped his arm from you before helping the younger guys with the luggage. Once again, a sigh escaped your lips. You hope he didn’t actually mean that.  

It’s been weeks since you had your taste of Shotaro. He just left while you’re sleeping so you didn’t get the chance to ask him if he wanted this to be a regular thing. You never saw him once even if you hang out with Yuta’s friends and you were convinced that he is avoiding you. So when Yuta told you that they’re going on a vacation and asked if you want to come with him, you agreed right away. 

“That’s so unfair,” Renjun said huffing. “Why can Yuta hyung and Johnny hyung bring girlfriends?” 

You giggled at him. “Are you dating someone, Injun?” He only pouted while shaking his head. “Do you want me to introduce you to someone?” 

“Noona, me. Introduce me to someone.” Yangyang interjected that made you laugh, revolting that he’s still a baby while lightly slapping his arm. An action you often do to him. Your giggling stopped when you caught sight of the younger Japanese boy looking at the hand you placed on Yangyang’s arm, jaw clenched. Is he mad? 

From behind him, you can see your boyfriend, smirking. Maybe it isn’t entirely Yuta’s fault.  

-----

Yuta was assigned to cooking that night and although you have trust in him, you decided to help him in the kitchen. You halted on your steps when you heard him talking to Japanese with someone. He was talking to Shotaro. A mention of your name made you return to where you came from, hiding from them. Maybe you can get some context clues from what they were talking about but you really can’t understand them. Are they talking about you? Why? What is it? 

Even during dinner, you were just quietly seated beside Yuta and in front of Shotaro. It feels awkward all of a sudden since they’re acting like the way they were before things happened between you and Shotaro. Are you the only one awkward about this? You felt Yuta’s hand on your thigh as he asked if you were alright, you only nodded then returned to Johnny who was telling stories about his trip to Chicago. 

The hand on your thigh moved up but Yuta’s still casually reacting to his friend. His fingers reached the hem of your underwear under your skirt and you parted your legs for him, giving him access. He started rubbing your clothed core, chuckling when you released a quiet moan and masking it with a drink of water. He hooked a finger on your underwear, pulling it down that you’re left with your nakedness. 

You held Yuta’s hand to let him touch you but his fingers just dig on your thigh, pushing your legs apart. A gasp escaped your lips when you felt something hot enter your core. Your boyfriend lightly raised the table cloth as you saw Shotaro under the table, eating you out. What? You held on Yuta’s arms as the younger licked your insides. Fuck, he’s so good that you wanted to shout at the pleasure. 

“Sho, you haven’t found your chopstick?” Johnny’s girlfriend asked and you almost cursed at her when the younger stopped what he was doing. You’re almost there. 

Yuta was laughing that made Johnny look at him curiously. You saw Shotaro appear from under the table as you tried to catch your breath. “Yuta hyung was stepping on my chopstick.” Haechan just gave him another chopstick while Johnny kept on hissing at Yuta’s playfulness. 

When you met eyes with Shotaro, he licked his bottom lip that made your heartbeat loud in your chest. Your core throbbing in excitement. 

-------

You were so horny yet Yuta isn't in the room at the moment. You desperately wanted to touch yourself but he warned you not to. Not like you care about the punishment but he specifically told you to act properly. He may fuck you during the trip but he cannot punish you considering the teenage boys you were with. And now, you're back to being horny. 

It was the second video of your sexy time yet you only grew annoyed that Yuta's not here to satisfy you. When you swiped left, Shotaro's masturbating video startled you to the point that you almost dropped the phone to yourself. If Yuta isn't here to play with you, maybe Shotaro can. So you typed a quick message to him, asking him to come to your room. 

It's embarrassing, you thought after hitting send. Why are you desperate for a cock? You were about to type in an apology when you heard a knock on the door. Must be Yuta. 

Giddily, you opened the door only to gasp when Shotaro held your shoulder while pushing you inside. "Sho…"His lips went to you almost immediately, sucking the soul out of you. His tongue entered your mouth and you moaned. He's such a great kisser. No, his tongue is amazing. "Aaah Shotaro..." you moaned as his hand went to your breast, squeezing it. He's so fast. 

His tongue started licking your neck then up to your earlobe, fondling your breasts like it's a normal thing to do. "Tell me what you want me to do, noona." he whispered in that low voice that made you tremble on your knees. Why does he sound so hot? His fingers started teasing your protruding nipples from the nightgown. "I'll do anything you ask me to do." You stopped to look at him, is he serious? Anything? 

But who are you to refuse anyways? An erotic moan escaped your lips when he started licking your shoulder with that long tongue that you adored. "That..." you groaned and he smirked. His hand pulled the strap of your nightgown, letting it fall to the ground. His mouth went to your breast, delicious tongue playing with your nipple. "Sho…" you called, threading your fingers on his hair. "I want your cock inside me." 

You lie to the bed, pulling down your underwear that made him scramble out of his clothes. Shotaro was hovering above you in bed as you pulled him closer for a kiss. His tongue lingered in your mouth, proving that he's learned so much from kissing you. His groan echoed through the room when he slipped his erection in you. Your hand held on his shoulder, the other grasping the bedsheet as he kept grinding on you. "Noona." He called, grinding his hips on yours. "It feels so good. So so good." Then you felt something warm inside you. He already came? Just like that? 

Shotaro tried to catch his breath, laying above you and crushing your body with his weight. "Sho…" You called. "You're heavy." He apologized, rolling on his side to lay beside you. He cursed under his breath and that's when your senses hit you. "Oh my God, that is your first time." You raised your body using your elbow to fully gaze at him. "I'm sorry. It slipped my mind." 

"I'm fine, noona. You don't have to…" A grunt replaced his words when your cold hand touched his semi-hard cock. Your palm rubbing the base upward then groped the tip. Your finger traced the side of his cock while you stare at his angelic face filled with pleasure. "Noona. Fuck!" A melody in your ears. 

His repeated moaning, calling out for you, only made you eager to get him hard. You jerked his cock, alternating in a slow to a fast pace. You placed your other hand on the tip, rubbing it using your palm that earned pleas coming from Shotaro. "Noona, I'm close…" 

A smirk escaped your lips when he stared at your hand longingly, jerking his hip. You held his chest, kneeling on top of him. His eyes were wide while staring at you as you lowered yourself to kiss him. Your fingers laced on his fingers, raising his hands above his head. A whimper was heard through the room when his erect cock slipped inside you.

"You're so wet, noona."

"All because of you, baby." You grind your hips, holding his shoulder while reminding yourself not to come to his neck. He might not be ready for that. His moans kept on resonating through the whole room as you kept bouncing on his cock. His face was filled with unadulterated pleasure, turning you on. 

You kept your pace, grinding against his hips then bouncing at his cock when you felt someone grab both your breasts from behind. "Hold her waist, Sho." Yuta guided while pinching both your erect nipples. "Jerk your hip up, she likes that." Your body arched forward when the younger raised his hips, hitting you deeply. Both yours and Shotaro's moans echoed in the room while Yuta whispered instructions to the younger guy. 

"Noona…" Shotaro's fingers were digging in your skin and you didn't know if it was the throbbing of his cock or you clenching in on him that made all of this hotter. The younger Japanese kept on jerking his cock, eager to get in his orgasm while the older kept whispering dirty words in your ear. Shotaro’s nails dig in you as he slowed down his actions, warmness filling you up. 

Breathless, you lay on his chest in tiredness. His cock slipped out of you before your hips were raised by your boyfriend, thrusting his cock inside you. You were still sensitive from your orgasm, feeling really full with the cum yet he’s pushing all of it inside. "Fuck, Yuta!" He was taking you roughly that you grasp Shotaro’s shoulder. 

Your hair was pulled back and you moaned. "Show Shotaro how much of a slut you are." Your eyes gaze on the younger guy, looking at you in worry. Yuta held your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. "Do you want me to stop, baby?" 

A breath hitched through your throat and in a soft voice answered, 'No daddy'. He slipped his thumb between your lips. His dark orbs staring at you and making you weak. "Open." You obeyed him, putting your tongue out as he spit in your mouth. "Swallow, my dirty girl. Look at Shotaro while you're doing that." The younger's eyes were only focused on you as you gulped hard. A groan escaped your lips when Yuta sunk deeper into you, roughly taking you from behind that you're in tears. 

"Yuta. Oh my God!" You shouted, voice getting hoarse at the repeated shouting. Your voice echoed through the room and at this rate, the occupants in the next room will surely hear you. But you didn't care. Not when sex is this good. Is it Johnny and his girlfriend? Why do you hope that it's the teenage boys’ room? 

"Fuck, baby, you are so loud." Yuta teased, thrusting in her deep. "Want to put a cock in your mouth to make you quiet." The imagery of him taking you from behind and Shotaro's cock in your mouth was too much. Your nails dig on the younger's skin as you shiver in orgasm. "So fucking wet, baby." You could even feel Yuta's cock slipping inside you with ease as you let him use you like his personal sex toy, Shotaro watching the two of you. 

He rolled on his side after dumping all his load inside you.  Shotaro had to help you lay in the bed between him and Yuta. You’re already tired, you can’t have another round. Your eyes closed in sleepiness while feeling Yuta’s hand slipped on your waist before asking Shotaro if he was alright before he answered  “Hyung, can I join you again next time?” which made you smile.  

------

Yuta removed his shirt while approaching you beside the pool. The other guys were already swimming while you put lotion on yourself. “Where’s your baby boy?” He sat behind you, taking the bottle of lotion and pouring some on your back. 

“He went to get ice cream.” You claimed then moaned at his hands, touching your back. His hand slipped inside your bikini top, smearing some lotion on the underside of your breast. “Yuta, you can’t do this. My bikini is white.” 

The guy had to chuckle before kissing your shoulder. “You’ll get wet anyway.” 

Shotaro sat in front of you, holding a cone of vanilla ice cream. “This is the only flavor available.” You held his hand, licking the cream seductively while staring at him. He lightly coughed and squirmed in his seat. Some cream was on your lips as you darted your tongue out to lick it. His eyes followed the wet muscle. “God, noona, you’re hot.” 

“Want me to show you something cold, Sho?” He quickly nodded. You held his hand, asking him to follow you. “Do you want to come Yuta?”   

He smirked. “Make Sho come first.” 

The guy leaned on his chair before Haechan sat on the chair beside his. “Where are noona and Taro going?” 

“Probably getting ice cream.” Haechan even claimed that he saw Shotaro buying one. “She doesn’t like vanilla.” Yuta said with a smirk. 

Jaemin lightly coughed. “That’s sexy.” 

“She is, isn’t she?” Both teenagers nodded even conversing about how they talk who among the hyung’s girlfriends are hot and you leading the 00 liners’ poll. 

Yuta smiled. See? It’s definitely your fault. 

[awkwardauthorwrites]

Know Who You Are

Previously on awkward-author

Word Count: Just under 1k

Warnings: Probable swear words. Angst. Sad reader.

Authors Note: The song that inspired this is from the film Moana and can be found here. 

If the slamming of a door didn’t startle Steve Rogers from of his sleep, then Nat and her incessant prodding definitely managed to rouse the blond super soldier.

“What happened?”

“Its Y/N.”

I have crossed the horizon to find you.

She was in the fireproof training room Tony had designed specifically for her. Balls of flame flew out of her hands, scorching the targets beyond recognition faster than Steve could register. She was a force to be reckoned with in the state she was currently in. He watched from behind the heatproof, one-way mirrored glass as she blasted through every obstacle that popped up. He knew something was wrong, but until she whipped around to take down the final two planks, he didn’t realise just how bad it was.

Tears streamed down her face, or as far as they could go before they evaporated from her skin. It pained him to see such raw, unconcealed anguish on her features. The despair in her usually bright eyes was suffocating to him, and when she finally dropped to her knees, her energy spent, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to help her. 

“I know you’re there,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the noise of the sprinklers. He remained quiet, not wanting to attract attention to himself, but when she glanced up at the reflective surface he knew he couldn’t pretend any longer. Not while her eyes were rimmed red like they were. With a step forward and the flick of a switch, the glass in front of him cleared, allowing her to lock eyes with him.

I know your name.

“Y/N.”

“Rogers.” Her voice was rough, almost as if she had been screaming. Steve wouldn’t put it past her, considering the scorch marks in the ceiling. “Did Nat send you?”

“She was worried,” Steve spoke slowly, quietly, so as not to startle her. “So was I.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly.”

Nothing more was said for a few minutes, until the sprinklers finally shut themselves off.

“Am I going to boil if I come in?” he asked, hoping she would smile at his pitiful excuse at a joke. She did, barely, and without humour before gesturing to the door with her head as if to say be my guest. He didn’t waste a second, and stepped into the now-drenched room with a towel as she tried to wring out her soaked hair.

He waited patiently as she attempted to dry her body with the towel and used her affinity for heat to deal with her hair. Silently, he lingered, awkwardly waiting for her to decide whether she wanted to talk to him. Finally, after what felt like hours, she looked up at him once more, the agony in her eyes now covered up with a poorly constructed wall.

“I saw my family today.”

They have stolen the heart from inside you.

Steve didn’t know much about Y/N’s life before he met her. In fact, the only person in this tower who seemed to know anything about her at all was Clint. Despite his retirement from the team, he seemed to constantly hang around the compound, sometimes with his infant child, Nathaniel, strapped to him. Unfortunately, the archer wasn’t currently in the building, and was back at his farm with his family. What little Steve did know, however, was more than enough.

But this does not define you.

“They’re in the city, and asked if they could see me.” She was picking at the loose threads on the towel, seemingly unfazed by the puddle she was still sat in. “I figured it had been so long that it would be okay.” She seemed to roll her eyes at herself before dropping the material in her hands. It quickly soaked up the water at her feet, turning the fabric into a darker, blood red colour. “Turns out they only wanted to see me so that they could brag that I was an Avenger and ask for money. When I said no, they called me selfish, amongst other things.”

“Darlin’...”

“They said I was a monster – a freak of nature – and wondered why you guys had picked me, out of everyone else, when I’m nothing but a mistake.” Steve scoffed and tugged her into his arms for a hug before he could process the action.

“The so-called fireproof room you managed to somehow set on fire would beg to differ.”

This is not who you are.

“You’re not a monster,” he continued, pressing his lips to the top of her head gently as he spoke. She shook in his arms, but he didn’t know if that was because she was cold, or still wet, or a mixture of both. He held onto her tighter in response, hoping that some of his body heat would be transferred on to her. Not that she needed it. “No more than Bruce is, or Wanda, or even Bucky. You’re unique, and special, but your differences aren’t what make you who you are.” Steve could feel his shirt grow damp with her tears as she soundlessly started to cry again. He was at a loss of words, seeing one of the strongest people he knew break down like this. So he did the only thing he could think of, and pulled her just a little bit closer as he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to her temple while whispering something against her skin.

You know who you are.

[ezm-imagines]

I know we don’t like j*hn w*lker... but I need bucky x reader with a side of bucky and walmart cap drama — like fake cap just constantly hitting on reader and bucky (or reader honesty) putting him in his place?

feel free to ignore this if it doesn’t spark inspiration!!

jealousy, jealousy (bb imagine)

Summary: John Walker being gross to you and Bucky being pisses about it.

Word Count: 1.6k

“He makes me sick,” Bucky gritted through his teeth, watching as Walker took your wrist and led you across the bar.

The team had needed more information from Madripoor, but since Bucky and Sam had already blown their covers quite recently, they had sent in you and Walker.

You two were pretending to be a well-known mafia couple: you had on a tight, revealing red dress and John had his gross hands all over you. He was clearly loving it. You were clearly not.

Bucky and Sam sat undercover in the corner of the bar as back-up if anything happened, meaning Bucky had a front row seat of watching Walker be more disgusting than usual.

You said something to the bartender with a laugh and Walker joined in with a short comment and more laughter, slinking his hand around your waist.

Even from across the room, Bucky knew you well enough to tell how you tensed the second his hand contacted your skin. Ever the actor, he was sure no one else could recognize it. But he did.

He balled his hands into fists, trying to use the pain and the pressure of its tightness to calm himself down.

“You need to chill,” Sam muttered beside him, “I know you like Y/N but if you blow up, you’re going to get her killed. Walker’s just doing his job.”

“Hah,” Bucky barked out a bitter laugh, “Yeah, and he’s loving it just a little too much.”

“Look, you think I like this anymore than you? I hate watching this shit, man. Y/N’s like a sister to me. But suffering Walker’s touch is better than a bullet wound from each gun in the building. Here,” he pushed his drink over to Bucky, “You need this more than me.”

Bucky slid it back. He was not in the mood to drink. Even if alcohol had little effect on him anyway, he wanted to be stone cold sober as he watched Walker.

Walker took a casual look around the bar as he continued to make conversation with the bartender. His eyes fell on Bucky’s glare and he smirked.

As he continued speaking, his hand traveled down your backside to rest on your butt. The bartender couldn’t see it, and even if they could, it would just be in line with your covers. But Walker knew what he was doing. When the bartender began responding, Walker gave a little wink back to Bucky as he squeezed your butt.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky grit out, his Winter Soldier side coming fully alive.

Sam clamped a hand on Bucky’s arm, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“But you see what he’s fucking doing! He’s taking advantage of her!”
“And he’s trying to piss off you! Anyone who comes within a mile of you and Y/N can tell you’re head over heels for her. It’s a power move. He’s trying to assert a position over us. And her.”

“Oh, I’m going to assert something…”

“Like hell you are. You’re going to sit here and wait for them to give the signal and then we leave.”

“And we leave Walker behind, bleeding to death in some alleyway.”

“Barnes—“

But Sam’s words were interrupted, as you leaned down to readjust the straps of your heels: the signal that you had gotten the information you needed.

Walker grinned broadly with your ass on full display as you bent over. He gave it a little slap and made some joking remark to the bartender, who heartily agreed with him.

Bucky was seething. Thank fuck you guys were about to leave, because he was about to make another Winter Soldier scene in Madripor and kill everyone in eyesight.

You stood back up, gave Walker an intense look, and began strutting towards the door of the bar.

Walker took the last swig of his drink and set down cash on the bar before running off after you.

“We should wait a while before we leave,” Sam instructed.

“And give Walker alone time with her? No fucking way.” Bucky stood up immediately and stalked out of the bar.

Sam sighed and finished his drink before following to make sure Bucky wasn’t about to do something stupid.

By the time the boys had come outside and found you in the alleyway around the corner, Walker already had blood streaming down his cheek.

“— if you EVER pull ANYTHING like that again I will leave you in a dumpster to rot, you fucking hear me?”

“Come on, baby, I know you have a crush on me. You’re just scared of admitting it in front of Barnes, but I can tell with the looks you give me.”
“The looks of pure hatred? God, you’re fucking delusional.”

“Says the bitch who’s pretending she doesn’t like me.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but found Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around Walker’s throat within a blink of an eye, “Do I need to shut you up or can I cut off your fucking hands first so you never touch a lady like that again?”

He landed a sharp punch to Walker’s nose, “If you even breathe in her direction again—“

“What?” Walker laughed through his bleeding nose, “You’ll kill me? Fuck, you’re angrier than she is. Gee, I wonder why that could be…?”

Bucky grabbed Walker by his button up and threw him across the alleyway, slamming him against the brick wall.

“You’re gonna make a scene,” Sam warned.

“It’s fucking worth it if I never see him again,” Bucky replied, stalking over to where Walker’s body had fallen.

Walker groaned, but quickly picked himself up. Stupid super soldier serum.

He swung punches at Bucky but missed each one until Bucky grabbed one arm from the air and twisted it around him, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Bucky hissed in his ear.

“Oh, I don’t?” Walker smirked, “It’s pretty obvious, Buck. I mean, it’s one thing to find out that the Winter Soldier has feelings, it’s another to find out he’s a little puppy bitch for the girls he likes.”

This distraction allowed Walker to get a hit on Bucky, square in his jaw.

The shouting and the fighting was beginning to draw a crowd. Shit. Shit shit shit.

You ran in between the two men, prying them from each other.

“Knock it off!” You shouted, before muttering out of earshot of the spectators, “You’re gonna fucking get us all killed. Let’s get back to the quinjet and you guys can kill each other there.”

The boys separated, but not without a few last hits each.

***

Bucky was wrapping his hand on his bed in the Tower when he heard a knock at the door.

“Enter,” he called, not looking up from his wounds.

When you said they could fight later, they hadn’t taken that lightly. They had fought even harder than when he and Sam had taken the shield away from Walker the other week.

“Hey,” you stepped inside.

Bucky immediately forgot about what he was doing, all attention on you, “Hey.”

“How ya holdin’ up?” You motioned to his first aid kit.

“I’ll be fine in a day. It’s really nothing.”
You quirked an eyebrow, “Your forehead is split open.”

He let his fingers slide across the large gash that slid down his forehead and toward his temple. The bleeding had stopped at least.

“Like I said,” he continued with a calm smile, “I’ll be fine.”

You shook your head and made your way over to sit beside him. You took the alcohol and a few cotton pads from the first aid kit, wetting them, “You know, you didn’t need to beat him up for me. I could do that on my own.”

You dabbed the cotton on his forehead cut, but he barely flinched at the pain. Guess he was used to pain, huh?
“I know,” he replied truthfully. He clearly had no doubt of that, “It wasn’t about defending you.”
Your eyes slid from his cut down to meet his, “Then what was it about?”

Suddenly, you couldn’t remember how to breathe normally anymore. You were so close to him, and he was looking up at you from under his lashes with those bright blue eyes…

Until he wasn’t. He looked down. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You questioned, “Because it sounded like Walker did.”

Bucky’s voice was hoarse as he spoke up, “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth would be nice,” you teased lightly. But when he looked at you again, his gaze was anything but light.

You swallowed thickly.

“I mean, obviously I care about you, Y/N. You’ve been here for me for years. I don’t like seeing someone take advantage of you. Especially like that.”

“Is that it?”

He hung his head, “I know what you’re trying to do here, doll, but don’t make me say it. You deserve better than me. Someone like Sam or Steve. It’s better like this.”

“For who? Because it isn’t for me.” You took his rough, flesh hand in yours, “Buck. Come on. Please.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, before just saying what he’d wanted to say for years now, “I love you, doll. Always have. I don’t like seein’—“

But you interrupted him with a kiss. He melted into it desperately, afraid this was the only one he’d ever get. The moment you started pulling away, he stopped, accepting the inevitable.

“I love you, too, dummy. You don’t get to get away from me that easy.”

He blushed slightly, before speaking up, “Then can we do that again?”

You grinned and nodded, leaning back in to kiss him again. This time, he threaded a hand through your hair and pulled your jaw into him.

Okay. So maybe Walker was good for one thing…

[no-droids]

A Show of Good Faith

Part Six of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.1k what i fuckin tell yall

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, canon-typical violence, slight description of blood/injury

***

Isn’t it weird that nobody really ever talks about what happens immediately after you have a dead body in front of you?

It’s the part leading up to it that’s usually the most crucial, obviously.  The adrenaline of the actual moment is overwhelming—you react without thinking, danger pumping through your veins alongside your blood and sharpening your survival instincts until they’re deadly.  You do what you have to do to stay alive, nothing more.  So it’s not really until you have a still moment with the evidence of your actions right there in front of you, glassy-eyed and staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, that you suddenly don’t know what to do.

Shocking is a word.

Debilitating is another.

Things… things come in flashes.  You have blood on your hands; it’s thick and cold and electric blue in color, not dark or warm or crimson.  One of them is vibrating violently, clutched around something heavy and clunky and unfamiliar, something with a handle made to fit a six-fingered grip.  The kid is passed out in your other arm after expelling all his energy helping you take down the brutal assailant, choking him with… with some unknown baby shaman toad powers and holding him in place so you could grab this knife and you could… and you could…

The body of the man you just stabbed lays in a bloody pile on the floor in front of you.  It was self-defense, but the reasoning behind it doesn’t take anything away from the gore, the blank state of shock rendering you motionless for Maker knows how long.

Corellia is a fucking shithole, you knew that coming in.  If it was a sewer even with the Empire’s shipbuilding industry boosting the economy, it’s even worse after its collapse.  To circumvent any unnecessary danger or attention, you chose to land the ship in one of the dense forest areas on the outskirts of the tracking fob’s radius.  But unluckily for you, rats like forests just as much as they like sewers, and one of them apparently crawled his way onto the vessel a few minutes ago.

You drop the vibroblade to the floor with a clatter and slide down the hull wall, clutching the baby to your chest and trying to calm your breathing.  There could be more of his friends close by.  What you should do is climb into the cockpit and find somewhere else to lay low, send Mando a coded message with word of your new location.

But there’s a dead body in front of you.

And it’s… it’s dead.

Strangely, you default to something you’ve never actually done before.  Something you probably shouldn’t ever do, in case your companion is in stealth mode or trying to hide from something, because it’ll immediately give away his position.  You could theoretically get him killed, but you’re not thinking straight.

Your wrist trembles as you hold it in front of your lips.  “Uh… M-Man-Mando?”

The sound of blaster fire and grunting crackles through your emergency comm link, before you hear a quick, breathless, “What’s wrong?” come through the speaker.

“It, uh—” you stare down at the oddly-colored blood on your fingers, wondering how you voice is able to come out so calmly, “it s-sounds like you’re busy, I’ll—I’ll just—”

More grunting.  A thud.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You’re at a loss for words.  You take a second to look down at the dead body, before lifting your wrist back up to your mouth.  “I’m o-okay now, but I… but someone followed me into the Crest and he tried to… I-I mean he’s—he’s dead now, but—”

“Are you hurt?”  He suddenly sounds urgent.  It’s ridiculous that he didn’t actually sound urgent until now.  “Is the kid hurt?”

“We’re—we’re both fine, but…”  You look down at the child in your arms.  “But the baby did something I—I c-can’t explain—and now he’s… I-I think he's asleep…”

“Good,” he replies shortly.  You can hear him running now, pounding footsteps and heavy, quick breaths.  Another blaster shot.  “We need to get out of here.  Rendezvous Sector-15, soon as you can.  You’ll see me.”

“Do I…”  Maker, you sound like an absolute idiot.  “Do I just… just leave the body here, or…?”

“I’ll take care of it when you get here.”  He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, but for some reason you feel incredibly frustrated with yourself.  You should be able to pull yourself together, but your hands are all tingly and you can’t actually feel your fingers unless you really work for it.  Stars, when’s the last time you actually blinked?  “Can you fly?”  

You don’t respond.  You don’t even feel like you can stand up right now.  The blaster shots scream through the crackling comm link for a second, and then you jump when he barks your name even louder than the gunfire.

“—Listen to me,” he urges, and you blink rapidly, the seriousness of his low growl hitting you right in the chest.  “You can fly.  Understand?  Get the kid, get in the cockpit, put your seatbelt on.  Fly out to me, right now.  We’re leaving.”

His voice doesn’t call for argument.  It’s abrasive and rough and unquestionable enough to get through to you.  Of course you can fly, you can fly with your fucking eyes closed.  Coming that firmly and doubtlessly from him, it’s a universal truth.

“Copy.  Sec-Sector-15.”  You say, adrenaline beginning to pump blood through your veins again.  Just.  Just don’t look at the body, okay?  Don’t look at the body, you can do this if you don’t look at the body.  “I’ll see you?”

“You’ll see me,” he repeats.  And then the noise cuts off with a click.

You struggle up to your feet, heart pounding.  You can do this.  You can totally do this.  You can walk, because you can fly.  Duh.  Mando said so.

You admittedly almost fall a couple steps down the latter while trying to climb up it one-handed, the baby held tightly to your chest, but you’re eventually able to get the both of you into the cockpit.  The kid is carefully buckled into his little booster seat before you’re collapsing shakily into the pilot’s chair and swiveling forward.

Okay.  Flight check.  Now.  To your left, flip down these few switches here—one two three four five—okay, good.  To your right, press those two buttons sitting just above the nav console.  Yep, got it.  Up top now, those two red ones overhead.  Good.  Good, you can do this.  Type coordinates into the nav comp.  Sector-15, locked.  Easy.  This is easy.  That big, knobless lever to your right—yes, the one with the exposed threading at the end, push that long metal stick forward and set thrusters to full.  Okay.  Left thruster, looks good.  Right looks good, too.  Okay.  Seatbelt… seatbelt is… Seatbelt: on.  Hatch: sealed.  Shields: engaged.  Flight check complete.  Now all you have to do is take off.

Now all you have to do is take off.

All you have to do… is…

You stare down at the joystick in front of you blankly.

And then you shake your head back and forth frantically, hoping the rapid movement will jar some sense into you.  Maker, get it the fuck together.  What did Mando hire you for?  You told him you were useful, didn’t you?  This is what you do.  You fly.  So fucking fly, yeah?

You lift the ship off the ground and immediately take her around southeast, taking deep breaths and feeling the powerful rumble beneath your chair.  Yeah, you can do this.  Don’t think about the blood on your hands, the dark streaks of sickly purple now smudged all over the controls.  Don’t think about the dead body in the hull.  Don’t think about how you’re the reason it’s dead.  Just fly the ship.  This is something you can do.

You coast over the thick treetops and into the industrial sector, carefully scanning the gritty streets below.  You don’t know what he meant when he said you’ll see him—until you suddenly see him.  Smack in the middle of the airspace, rising phoenix strapped to his back and hovering a few hundred feet above absolute chaos wreaking havoc in the slums below.  Blaster flares light up the night sky, though the sparks and flash grenades illuminating the dirty Corellian streets have nothing on the beauty of seeing those small twin jets in the darkness, the ones beginning to fly towards the ship.

“Got eyes,” his voice says through the comm link.  Relief pounds through you.  Stars, relief shouldn’t feel like this much of a struggle for your cardiovascular system, should it?

“Beginning deceleration,” you confirm breathlessly, slowing down and pressing a few buttons to open the hatch with your free hand.  You bring both of them back down to swing her around until he’s got a clear path, feeling the ship dip just slightly with the sudden weight of him dropping in.

“Landed,” he grunts.  “Set course for Nevarro.”

You floor it and elevate the Crest up through Corellia’s smoggy atmosphere, punching in coordinates in the meantime.  The ship dips just a touch once more while the computer takes a few seconds to calculate a hyperspace path, and your eyebrows narrow before it quickly pulls back up again.  It’s not until you see the manual hatch override indicator light blink next to the nav console that you realize he must’ve dumped the body before closing the door himself.

Well, that’s one way to handle that, you suppose.

The computer beeps quietly when it’s finished.  “Standby for jump,” you tell your wrist.

“Copy.”

You triple-check the positive seal integrity readings before your hand is reaching for the double-reinforced hyperjump control, still trembling slightly.  You lean all your weight forward into it, trying to keep your arm from buckling as the stars slowly shift across the observation shield for a split second, before you’re being hurled into the interdimensional wormhole.

Quiet.  Hyperspace is fucking quiet.  You forget, sometimes.  Not how quiet it is—but how loud everything else is, not until you’re hurtling through the closest thing to purgatory you’ll ever experience in life.  It looks… indescribable, even after the thousandth time.  Empty space collapsing in front of you and expanding behind you simultaneously.  Starlight streaking across the windows, space-time curving around the ship faster than the ship itself is moving through it.  You take a moment to consider it as you unbuckle yourself shakily, before standing up and checking the seat behind you.

The kid is still knocked out cold, but you press the button to close the shield to his crib just in case, setting an alarm protocol to Mando’s remote arm brace should it open.  

And then you slowly make your way around bulky cockpit chairs and down into the hull, shakily climbing down the ladder one step at a time.  As soon as you turn around, there’s a caped wall of beskar rummaging through something with his back to you.

“Did you…”  You announce yourself while looking around, trying not to sound as small as you feel.  This is a such stupid question, you already know what he did with the body.  But you… you should make sure, right?  “You already took care of… of the…”

“Yeah.”  Mando spins around and pulls out the cot from the wall at the same time, and you jump when the bed rattles loudly on its track and ricochets a few inches backwards after reaching its full extension.  He quickly makes his way around it and over to you.  “It’s gone.  Come here, you’re hurt.”

“I’m f-fine,” you insist, feeling your hands shake when he abruptly grabs the left one and turns it over, pulling your wrist out towards him and up to the light so you both can see.  “What about the qua—oh.”

There’s a long, ragged slice decorating the inside of your forearm, dried blood staining the ripped fabric along your sleeve.  You blink down at it, not able to recognize its pain even with the evidence of the injury in front of you.  It doesn’t look deep, but its edges are a little nasty and it’s still bleeding.  Why can’t you feel it?  Shouldn’t you be able to feel that?

He makes a noise through his helmet—something you can’t quite figure it out.  Something between a short growl and a low huff of breath, before he’s grabbing your hips and steering you over towards the bed, lifting you up and setting you on its suspended platform when you’re close enough.

“Didn’t find the quarry,” the Mandalorian says quietly, turning around and looking through the first aid kit once more.

“You didn’t find the…”  You blink down at your injury.  He didn’t even find the quarry?  But then what was all that ruckus about?  And why are you going back to Nevarro to collect payment?  Shouldn’t you be turning around and… and…?

He’s suddenly in front of you again, and this time he’s got a… a syringe in his hands?  An E-bacta shot, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt.  He pulls the cap off and sets it down on the bed next to you before holding out his gloved hand for you, waiting patiently but expectantly.

“No,” you immediately tell him, heart beginning to pump faster as you bring your arm up and hug it to your chest.  You didn’t even know those things were street legal—they heal incredibly quickly but people have been known to abuse them because… well, because they’re supposed to give you a wicked fucking high.  Bacta isn’t addictive and there’s no possibility of overdose, but this shit is concentrated.  You can’t imagine how expensive it was.  “Don’t b-be ridiculous, Mando—you—you almost bled out from a knife wound and we didn’t use one of those.”

“What do you think that is?”  He looks down at your arm.

“It’s a scratch!”  You exclaim, starting to feel a bit hysterical now from the adrenaline comedown.  Maker, that needle is big.  You knew bacta injections were thick but holy fucking stars.  “It doesn’t even h-hurt!  I could’ve… I could’ve done this to myself on accident for all I—”

“This has boosted antibiotics, too,” he cuts you off, quickly losing his patience and grabbing your wrist when you still don’t hand it over to him.  He levers your forearm down, holding it parallel to the floor on your lap.  “We don’t have any bacta kits left, I looked.  This’ll work fast and it won’t scar.  Hold still.”

“No—” you try to pull your hand away, hating the way your voice jumps when you’re aiming for calm and reasonable.  “—I’ll be fine, w-we shouldn’t waste th—”

He tightens his grip.  “Listen.  This isn’t a scratch.  It’s a torn laceration from a dirty Corellian vibroblade.  Now I’m giving you at least a quarter dose, so hold,” he tugs your wrist forward, “still.”

You see the large needle heading towards your arm with determination and you’re instantly going rigid with panic, whipping your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a terrified breath.

You wait like a statue for the pain, frozen in anticipation and fright, but it never comes.  Slowly peeking one eye open, you look back to find a chrome visor staring intently at you, unmoving.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you eventually gasp when he doesn’t say anything, and Maker, are your eyes actually starting to water?  “I-I’m sorry, I’m just—that’s a b-big needle and—and I actually just k-k-killed someone and it’s just—” oh stars, here come the sniffles, “—I’m s-so sorry, I’m trying t-to keep it—keep it togeth—”

He carefully places the syringe down on the bed next to you as you turn your head away from him and try to stifle your short, panicked breaths with the back of your hand.  But then you’re being caught and pulled forward, hauled into an iron chest without a single word.

It should be uncomfortable, you think.  You should want to take the armor off and feel the muscles of his arms wrap themselves tight around you instead of cold metal, but for some reason, you don’t.  He feels… right like this.  Like the beskar is a natural extension of his body, like it holds just as much comfort as his bare chest does.

The Mandalorian stands there between your knees and silently embraces you, holding stoic and steady for you, tilting his head so you can calm your breathing into the crook of his neck.  It’s covered in fabric but it smells like him, warm and soft and damp with sweat.  You breathe him in, clutching him tight with your uninjured arm and feeling your heartbeat gradually begin to slow as it’s pressed against cool metal.

“E-bacta has calming properties,” he says quietly after a moment.  “It’ll help more than this.”

“Shut up.”  You mutter against his throat, doing everything you can to drown yourself in him.  Maker, he smells good.  He just got finished bringing down an entire Corellian sector, why the fuck does he smell so good?  “I'm not—not letting you stick that thing in me.”

“Yeah?”  He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back.  “Bet I can make you want it.”

“Not happening,” you grunt, tightening your hold on him.  “You’ll put regular bandages on my arm until we can resupply on Nevarro and save that torture device for another poor soul who needs it.”

“This isn’t over,” he eventually warns you, gently pulling away.  He turns around and starts picking out gauze and tape from the first aid kit regardless.  “I was just blindsided.  Tears don’t work on me, but.  Don’t ever do that to me again.”

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed and happily sticking your arm out for him for whenever he comes back, so fucking glad he gave in.  You’ll get bacta on Nevarro, that sounds perfect.  “So… so all that fuss and you didn’t actually find the quarry?”

“Someone tried to take off my helmet,” Mando replies shortly, starting to rip open a few packets of sterile gauze strips without looking at you.  And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that should be explanation enough.

“Ah.”  You remark after a second, thinking about how many blaster fires you saw.  Maker.  “I see.”

What a pair you two make.  Someone who went into shock from hurting another person in defense of your life, and someone who brought an entire block down because another person tried to take his helmet off.  

Something he’s done with you twice now.  Without ever being prompted.

Stars, you’re both so different, aren’t you?  Such massively different problems, different ways of life.  You’re suddenly struck with how much you could learn from him, if he was ever willing to share.  How much the both of you could probably learn from each other.  His assertiveness; your humanity.  His decisiveness; your consideration.  His secrets; your honesty.  None of them are true opposites, not in the way people normally think.  They’re not polarizing, they’re… complimentary.  Filling in the gaps neither one of you can fill in yourself.

“Does that scare you?”  He finally asks, when you’ve been quiet for too long.

“No,” you tell him blankly, watching his hands work.  “Just… no.  Not really.  I mean.  It makes sense.  Was just thinking about how different life must be for you.”  You tilt your head thoughtfully.  “Showing my face, telling people my name.  Things I take for granted, I think.”

Maker, maybe you’re getting a little too honest here.

“Is that why you never ask about those things?”  He’s quiet.  You both stare purposefully down at your arm as he begins laying down the strips of white cotton over your cut.  “Because you recognize what it means to give them up?”

“What—like your name?”

“Anything,” he says, and though he keeps working, his hands start to slow down.  “You never ask me about anything.  My name, my past… why I don’t take the helmet off.  Everyone always asks, but.  You never have.”

You shrug a shoulder.  “Figured you get tired of telling people no, don’t you?”

His fingers still, hovering over your injury.  He doesn’t move, so you elaborate.

“I mean… yeah, I’ve thought about those things, but…” you speak slowly, choosing your words very carefully.  Your eyes narrow with the effort, trying to pinpoint and voice your exact opinion without making assumptions.  “But I respect you.  And your creed.  I call you Mando because that’s what you told me to call you.  And if you don’t take the helmet off, then you don’t take it off.”  You shrug once more.  “Some things don’t need explanations.  They just are, and I’m okay with that.”

It’s a while before he goes back to dressing your wound, and even longer before he speaks again.  When he does, he’s almost completely finished securing the bandages and it’s barely above a murmur.  “Nobody usually thinks that simply about it.”

“Well.  Fuck ‘em.”  You blurt.  “I think it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy.  You should be the one who gets to decide who you are and what’s important to you, right?  No one else.”

He stops again, this time tilting his visor up to look you in your eyes.  You blink up at your own warped reflection.

“I think that shit is yours.  Fundamentally.  Doesn’t matter if you want to share it, change it, hide it, or burn it away forever.  It’s your decision, and you’ll tell people what you want them to know.  So fuck ‘em if they don’t respect that,” you tell him bluntly.  “They obviously don’t know anything about you at all.  Else they wouldn’t be asking.”

He doesn’t move.  He just stares silently at you for a few seconds, and Maker, for some reason you wish now more than ever you could see his face.  Even though it contradicts everything you just said, you wish you could see his face.  What color are his eyes?  You bet they’re brown.  You bet they’re a warm, deep brown—expressive and soft and lovely behind such hard, unforgiving steel.  His features are probably just as warm as the rest of him.  Dark hair, wavy hair.  Plush, gentle lips.

His hand comes up slowly.  Gives you ample time to pull away before he’s softly cupping your cheek, tilting his helmet to the side as he studies you.

“Would you.”  He’s quiet for a moment.  And then he clears his throat through the modulator, before he tries again.  “Would you like to know my name?”

You go shock-still, blinking at him and barely breathing.  Why?  Why is he asking this?  He wants to give you his name?  Immediately after you just told him why you don’t need it?

Your throat is a desert.  “Only… only if you want to give it to me.”

He tilts his head the other way and takes a moment to consider you, gently trailing the leather of his thumb along your bottom lip.  Your eyes dip down the length of his body, heat suddenly filling you when you realize how close and well he’s positioned right now, how his hips are at the perfect height standing right between your legs like this.

Mando slowly lowers his helmet to look down at your parted thighs, too.  And then he’s shifting the visor to the side just a bit, eyes catching on something on the bed next to you.  “Want to give you a few things,” he says lowly.

You probably would’ve melted into a puddle if he didn’t immediately hold up the E-bacta shot in front of you in both hands.

Your heart starts pounding though, all the same.  “No—”

“Listen to me,” he tells you calmly, as if you could do much of anything else right now with how much space he’s taking up in front of you.  His size and proximity gave you a thrill just a second ago, but now he’s nothing more than a giant fucking metal wall armed with a needle and blocking your escape.  “I want to give you a few things, but only if you say yes to all of them.  Are you going to listen?”

Maker, your heart is racing, rapid calculations going off in your head as your eyes flick between the syringe and his visor.  Where the fuck is he going with this?  “Y-yes.  I’ll—I’ll listen.”

He holds the shot up between the two of you, as if you didn’t see it the first fifty fucking times.  “First.  I’ll give you a quarter dose of this.  I’ll be gentle and I’ll give it to you somewhere where it won’t hurt, where you won’t even be able to see it, and it’ll make you feel better.  Even good.  Okay?”

You narrow your eyebrows at him.  “You’re not doing a great job at selling me h—”

“Second.  I’ll give you my name.”

Your breath catches.  He continues on casually with the terms of the deal, as if he didn’t just set your whole world on fire with five words.

“You can’t ever use it around other people,” he tells you.  “Only here.  With me, on this ship.  In front of the kid is fine.  But if anyone else ever asks, you don’t know it.  Okay?”

“Okay…” you whisper after a second, your chest filling with flames.

“Third.”  He slowly catches your uninjured wrist in a gentle grip and begins to guide it forward.  “If you… if you want, I’ll… I’ll give you this,” he murmurs, bringing it down to cup his cock.  “I… won’t be gentle.  But I will make you feel good.”

Maker, he’s already rock hard under your palm, throbbing and swollen for you.  Almost as quickly as the urge first came on, you suddenly don’t want to escape anymore.  Instead, maybe you can just… appeal.

“What if we…”  You carefully reach down into his pants, holding his hips still between your knees and beginning to caress his cock.  His skin is like silk under your hand, as hard as the beskar he straps to his body but so warm, and pulsing with life.  “What if we reverse the order, maybe?”

“No,” he grunts immediately.  “You’ll take the shot first, it’ll be a—” his breath catches when you give him a good, rough squeeze.  “—a-a show of—of good faith.”

“That’s literally the only thing I don’t want from this all-or-nothing deal,” you reason, wrapping your legs around him to bring him closer.  He acquiesces cautiously, slowly moving forward.  “I’d be an idiot to give it up first.  Ideally it should go second if there are three terms.”

“I know what you’re d-doing,” he tells you flat out, though he makes no attempt to stop it at all.  He just growls low in his throat when he’s close enough for you to lean up and bite down onto his neck, one of his hands landing on your thigh and locking down onto it tight.  “It won’t… won’t work.  You’re—you’re t-taking the shot first, that’s the deal.”

“I could try crying again,” you proposition breathlessly, squeezing his cock once more and feeling him shudder.

“Ngh—meant it when I—” he gasps when you brush your thumb over his head, dampening the fabric covering his neck with your hot breaths.  “When I-I said that you—you need to w-work on your… your negoti—tiating—”

“What if I just ask you really, really nicely?”  You whisper, slowly starting to jerk him off.  Your grip is tight and strong, and he practically sags and grabs the metal bedframe on either side of you.  “Will it work if I ask you to please fuck me?  Please?  And then I’ll take your shot?”  But then you’re struck by a sudden thought, and maneuver your head away just enough to look up at where his eyes should be.  “But we don’t… we don’t actually have to… y’know, do the other thing, though, if you don’t want to.  It’s okay.”

Mando abruptly pulls back, pinning you with a blank chrome stare.  “W-what?”

“If you…”  You want to find some way to word this to get the correct sentiment across, but it’s difficult with him looking at you so hard.  The last thing you want to do is sound ungrateful.  Your hands stop moving, carefully letting him go and resting on his hips instead, so he knows this isn’t you just trying to find some way out of this.  “You don’t have to tell me your name, y’know.  It’s okay, I’ll—I’ll take the shot, it’s fine.  We don’t need to… to turn something like that into a.  A deal, or anything.  You can still tell me if you want, of course, I just… I don’t want it to be part of like, some sort of… agreement between us, or something.”  You tap a thumb over his hipbone, tilting your head.  “So I’m taking it off the table.  Even if you were the one who put it on there.  No pressure.  I’ll take the shot.  And then you can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me after that.  Apart from that.  A… a show of good faith.”

Mando holds still as a fucking statue in front of you.  If you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin under your hands, you’d say he looks like a droid in sleep mode almost.  He stays like that for so long, you actually start to worry a little bit.  Was that a thankless, bitchy thing to say to him after he offered to reveal such a big secret about himself?  Should you have just kept your mouth shut?

You suppose he was right, your negotiation skills could use a bit more work.  You did technically just… willingly give up something incredibly valuable in exchange for absolutely nothing in return, didn’t you?  Actually not absolutely nothing, you just agreed to have an actual fucking needle shoved into your body just so he wouldn’t feel any sort of obligation to reveal himself to you whatsoever.  That’s like… rule number one of what not to do when negotiating, isn’t it?  Fuck, what have you done?  Is it too late to take half of that shit back?  Can you start this whole thing over real quick?  How much pressure do you think that glass syringe can handle?  You know you can’t outrun or overpower him, but do you think you’d be able to smash it with your foot before he can stop you?  No.  No fucking way, you would.  Don’t be stupid, don’t be fucking stupid.

And Maker, he’s… he’s still not moving.  You actually start to squirm a little bit under his unreadable gaze, before he eventually brings both hands up to your face and gently cradles your jaw in his gloved palms, bringing you to a still.

“Unbelievable,” the Mandalorian says softly, tilting his helmet at you and carefully brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones.  He doesn’t sound upset.  He sounds truly mystified by you.  Stumped.  Reverent.

You blink at him.  “What?”

“Nobody w-would… but you’re…”  He seems like he’s trying to find the words to describe what he’s thinking, but he can’t.  “You can’t—you… t—?  Not just.  But be—because of.  On—on… pr-prin…”

“I… I do still want you to fuck me, though,” you eventually whisper when he never finishes his sentence.  He’s not the best with words, but that’s okay.  You’re perfectly willing to entertain other mediums.  “First.  Even if it is part of a deal, I don’t give a shit.”

You bring your hand back to wrap tight around him, beginning to pull up and down in strong, steady strokes once more.  The tips of his fingers tighten just slightly on your jaw.

“Please,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss one of his palms.  “Just show me, it’s okay.”

He stays like that for just a split second more.

And then he’s suddenly whipping one of his hands down to grab your wrist.  The other wraps itself more fully around your jaw in its absence and firmly holds your head in place in front of him.

“I won’t be gentle,” he tells you once more, voice coming out hoarse and shaky.  “I—I c-can’t—”

You nod in affirmation as much as you can with his iron grip wrapped tight over your chin like this.  “Th—”

You can’t even get a single word out before Mando shoots both hands down to grab your hips, abruptly yanking your ass off the bed.  Your legs have just enough time to buckle once they hit the ground, but then he’s spinning you around and practically shoving you right back on top of the metal platform, facedown with half your upper-body and both arms hanging over the edge.

Your pants are being snatched over your ass and down your legs as you still work to adjust yourself to the chaotic shift in position.  Holy fuck, he wasn’t ki—

Something blunt presses up against the apex of your thighs, pushes forward, and oh, holy fu—

—oh—holy fuck—

You’re surprised you have enough breath to shout as loud as you do when he slams full-force into you, rattling the bed as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth to the hilt, fully armored behind you and pressing cold beskar tight up against your ass and thighs.  You claw your fingers over the smooth metal surface under the cot and try to brace yourself on something, but there’s nothing to hold onto.  Fuck, he’s so fucking thick.  Forcing you to yield to his hardness, tightening his grip on your hips and keeping you locked in position.

And then he pulls out and then slams back in—starts pounding into you, using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into and Maker, you would probably be screaming if you could even breathe right.  The inability to inhale just means you can hear him groan through the modulator, shuffle up closer to you and start to drill into you harder.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and fuck, you would think he was suffocating you if it weren’t for both of his hands being anchored to your hips.  It blazes through you like wildfire, burning your lungs and setting your body alight with flames.  He leans over you and clamps a hand down over your shoulder, and your eyes roll back when he moves up and adjusts his angle just the slightest bit, pounding down into you instead of just into you, and—

“Maker, h-how did I deserve this?”  He whispers quietly to himself, delirious and tight as stars explode behind your vision.  His helmet rests on your shoulder blade, the beskar as heavy and unyielding as his thrusts are as he pummels into that one blinding, heavenly spot, over and over and over again.  “What did I d—where were you when I was—when I was—?”

You finally gasp a ragged, desperate breath in like you’ve been underwater for the last minute instead of under him, taking his cock the way he needs to give it to you.  And then you’re writhing, grinding your body back against his as much as you can, choking on the burning air and trying to put your needs together into a coherent sentence.

“T-take your helmet off,” you finally manage to lift your head up and beg, “please—please, I-I won’t—I won’t look, I sw-swea—” and then your cunt clamps down hard when he shoots up from you and practically rips the thing off his shoulders without another word, the sound of steel clanging loudly on the floor by your feet.

His hand comes around your throat and yanks you to the side before his teeth are sinking into your neck, not a single break in his hard, pounding rhythm.

He probably gets about ten good thrusts in like that before you’re going rigid under him and cumming—hard.

Everything below your waist locks down tighter around him than a fucking vice, and then you explode wet and hot around his cock with a hoarse shout, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust as it launches you higher, and higher—

“Fuck—” he snarls into your neck, and then he suddenly kicks up from the rapid slapslapslapslap that got you over the edge to a surging, brutal bam—bam—bam that wrings a sharp, ragged cries from your throat.  Your face screws up and you try not to scream at the sensation, wondering how it was possible that he could make the bliss even more debilitating.  “Fuck, th—your cunt gets… s-so fucking tight when you cum—”

You just whimper for him helplessly, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you, the loud squelching as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You hear that?”  He murmurs next to your ear, and the slick sound of it echoes obscenely through the silent hull.  His voice is soft, contrasting blindingly with the way he’s holding you down and fucking you so strong and steady through the aftershocks.  “Fuck—you get fucking wet after you cum, too, don’t you?”

You try to move, try to adjust yourself just slightly, but he locks down around you and holds fast to his rhythm.  Fuck, it feels like he’s fucking the air out of you faster than you can breathe it in, grip like iron and tightening the more you struggle.

“‘M never leaving this,” he slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades.  “Never.  Fuck, I’m—you’re—you’re never getting rid of me, sweet girl, I’m—I’m never—never f-fucking leaving—”

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to focus on the spark of a feeling deep inside you.  “Stars, I think I-I might—”

And then Mando licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your spine and a second orgasm is suddenly burning a fucking hole through you, tearing another broken wail from your throat.  You spasm and arch under him, bearing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob.

“Fuck, there we g-go—” he grits against your skin, picking up his speed and fucking hammering into you, completely deaf to your hoarse squeal at the change in tempo.  “Good.  Ngh, fuck—you—y-you want me to cum now?”

“Please,” you beg.  “Please cum, p-please—”

“Where?”  His voice is tight, breathless and shaky.  “Tell me where—quick—”

“Fuck—inside,” you moan, eyes rolling back at the thought of taking his load deep inside you.

Mando’s hips stutter.  For the first time in what feels like an eternity, they jerk back in before they could fully extend all the way out, and your abused lower muscles start to squeeze him in anticipation.

“I can’t—” he rasps, “—I’ve—I-I’ve never—and y-you’ll—”

“Safe,” you wheeze, because you don’t have enough air in your lungs or composure in your thoughts to tell him you have an implant contraceptive.  All you can manage is a shameless, breathless, “Cum deep,” half-tossed over your shoulder.

Your hair is gathered and locked in a tight fist behind your head and if you thought he was fucking you full force, you soon realize he was only at about an eight.  He flattens you against the bed and yanks your head up, arm coming around to brace across your chest and starting to just fucking wreck you from behind.

The change in angle forces his cock to spear up against something that blinds you, something so raw and impairing that you can’t speak anymore, even if you could find the air to.

“Fuck—m’gonna cum,” the Mandalorian grits, the bed rattling on its tracks as his head drops to your shoulder, “f-fuck, s’too fucking good, sweet girl—m’gonna f-fucking cum, I—”

He plows his hips into you just like that once, twice, three—

You lock down and everything goes blurs and goes out of focus, white hot pleasure ripping you apart from the inside as you do scream this time, clamping down and straightening your spine and convulsing in ecstasy.

He snarls and bites down on your neck, grrriiinndding his cock as deep inside you as it’ll go and shuddering above you.  You can feel him pulsing, throbbing as he growls his way through it, breathing heavy and giving you his load just how you asked.

Mando pulls out of you much quicker than you want him to and stumbles backwards, suddenly dropping to his knees on the floor behind you with a metallic clang.  He doesn’t do anything more than that, though; he just stares at your fluttering hole as you slowly start to leak his cum, one of his hands coming up to brace itself on the back of your thigh as he catches his breath and watches.

Fuck, you’re spent.  Panting and exhausted in the same position he left you.  You try to move, but you can’t.  You just sprawl there on your tummy and slowly wait for the feeling to return to your body.

But then he says something.  It’s too quiet—a soft, one syllable word you can’t quite make out.

“Wh—?”  Your muscles feel like lead.  “I couldn’t hear y—”

Gloved hands trail gently over your ass.  And then you feel a small, sharp little prick on the swell of one of your cheeks, but it’s gone after a split second.

And then… fucking bliss.

You sag into the metal bed, feeling the room begin to spin.  Fuck.  He gave you the shot.  The fucker just gave you the shot.  How dare he?  Before you could even work yourself up to the point of tears again?  While you’re still… still fucking dripping with cum right in front of his face?

Until—

“Din,” he says softly.  “It’s Din.”

Din.

How perfectly appropriate, you think.

Short, simple, and to the point.  No flourishes.  A quick, one-syllable punch of air.  One singular, closed I vowel sitting quietly between two consonants, guarded on all sides.  Hard at first, but then tapering off to a soft sound if you let it.  Din.

“Din,” you whisper, fighting the overwhelming high with every last fiber of your gradually depleting consciousness, wanting so desperately to hear the word out loud with your own voice before you’re pulled under, trying to make sure it’s real.  It comes out sounding that way, too; weak and quiet and straining for these last few precious moments with him.

Both of his hands wrap around the back of your knees and you feel his plush lips press gently against your upper-thigh, just below the curve of your ass.  He opens his mouth and licks hot and warm along your damp skin, pulls both your knees apart just slightly and then starts to drag his tongue to the side a bit, and then—

And then everything goes dark.

[secondhand-trash]

All Hands On Deck

Kinktober 2020 — public sex

A/N: Heart of the Ocean was the favourite fic I’ve ever written and I’m so glad that I get an excuse to revisit him for kinktober uwu

Pairing: pirate!Dabi x reader

Description: You seek reassurance from your love when you woke up from a dream where he wasn’t here anymore.

Warning: public sex, fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, slight degradation, Dabi is Touya

Word count: 3030

this is a continuation to Heart of the Ocean, but you can read this on its own too;)even though I recommend reading that one for maximum enjoyment;)

-

It was always the sound of waves that calm you down when you wake up in cold sweat.

You blinked, trying to force out the feeling that was looming in your head and making it hard to breathe. Your chest heaved as you slowly steady your breaths, letting out a heavy sigh when you looked around to see that you were in the cabin you had fallen asleep in instead of the dreadful place you saw in your dreams.

You were back there again, at that pier during those god awful years when the love of your life was gone missing. You kept telling people that he was alive, that you needed to go find him but they just kept shutting you down. The panic when they dismissed you by saying that you were not thinking clearly after your fever was far too real that you could feel the suffocation in your chest. The ache at the back of your throat making your words came out as nothing but sobs as you tried to open your mouth to prove yourself but failed.

There was a moment when you thought that it was all real. and your reunion with him was just your subconscious protecting your shattered heart from the reality with a beautiful fragment of your dreams.

The ceiling you stared mindlessly at swayed softly, the gentle creaking of the wooden floor coaxing you down as silent tears ran down your face. 

Thank god, you were still here.

The light was filtering in through the small window at the far corner of the cabin and you rubbed your eyes to accumulate to the illumination. You had no idea what time it was, you didn’t really need to know when you were not asked to follow any routines anyway. 

You protested the way he coddled you at first, claiming that you wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that everyone else would start working at the crack of dawn, but was unable to win over the absolute authority he had on this ship. You got along with his crew just fine, but none of them would dare to defy the captain’s order no matter how hard you try to convince them.

The pirate Dabi held treasures more valuable than most people could ever begin to measure, but the only possession he had that truly mattered was you, and god have mercy on the fool who makes a scratch on you.

“The only work you need to do,” he kissed the center of your palm when you brought it up to him on one of the nights when you first boarded the ship while he was sliding his hand up your chemise, "is to be here, in my bed, by the time the sun sinks. Don’t worry your pretty little head over all the other unimportant things.”

“But Touya...” you whined, pushing yourself off the bed so that you could press up against him. He groaned he felt the softness of your breasts and the way his old name rolled off your tongue so naturally. The fearsome pirate had set his mind to leave his old self behind years ago, but had allowed you to reminiscence on the simpler times when you were under the intimacy of being alone.

You always managed to crack the front he put up for years with just a flutter of your lashes, but he was determined that he wouldn’t let you have your way this time no matter how sweet your voice was as you panted by his ear.

He had always been somewhat protective of you, but it had only gotten worse after he experienced those years that probably tormented him as much as or even more than it did to you. It pained you every time when you imagined what he had gone through away on the high seas as the lone survivor on the ship he sailed out on and you poured all the tenderness in your heart into each of your lingering touches against his torched skin. The consequence of that was he now knew how easy it would be for him to lose you again and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

He promised that he would treat you like a princess and he had all the intentions to keep the promise.

“No ‘but’s,” he cut you off short by pulling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the side of your hips as he rode up your chemise. You tried to protest but the speech you had prepared in your head was replaced by a lewd whine when he thrust up to grind his clothed erection against your bare cunt. 

If there was anything you could say about Dabi, was that the years of surviving in a world where the strong devour the weak made him a much more domineering man than Touya ever was.

You never brought it up again, knowing that he could be very stubborn when he made a decision. It was nice to be taken care of sometimes and you slowly settled into your role on the ship as the captain’s girl. You had managed to find ways you could help around the ship too, and getting your hands dirty helped made everything feel a bit real.

But occasionally, when you woke up shaking like you had this morning, there was still only one thing you could think of that could shake the fright in your mind away.

You picked up the woolen shawl that was draped over the nearest chair mindlessly last night and wrapped it around your body, covering up the low-cut collar of your linen shift. The floor was cold as you crawled down the mattress with your toe touching the wooden boards first, sending shivers down your spine as you searched for your felt slippers that were shoved to the side. You could hear the sound of people shouting above your head and you slipped out of the cabin door, knowing exactly where your love would be.

It was probably early in the morning, you had noticed that there was still a hint of the pink and orange burn left by the sun at the edge of the skyline. You greeted the men of the crew with a murmured good morning as you walked along the side of the ship, the smell of salt in the breeze evoking your senses as you paced towards the helm area at the very front.

You slowed on your feet as you got closer and closer to the figure standing in front of the wheel, letting out a soft breath as you stared.

The helm was supposed to be handle by a man specific for that position, but it didn’t stop Dabi from getting down to the deck in the early morning to take control. His back looked broader when decked in his long coat and the silver accents of his sleeves glimmered under the morning sun. A long, curved blade was strapped onto the side of his waist, tapping lightly against his thigh as his hands held onto the handle of the helm.

What a man, and he was yours.

“Love,” he muttered when he felt your hand on his arm, glancing at you as you leaned your face on his shoulder, “why are you up?”

You sighed at the warmth that was lingering on his coat, rubbing your face against the leather. “Got waken up by a bad dream.”

He stiffened under you. He knew what it was about. Of course he did, whenever you two woke up with a shudder, it was always over the same thing. 

The worst nightmare for you both was to wake up to find the other person gone again.

“Come here,” he held your hand gently, tugging your arm so that you were standing in front of him with you between the helm and his chest, “didn’t you say you want to learn how to work the wheel? Since you’re here already, might as well teach you a trick or two.”

He swelled at the light chuckle you let out when he threaded his fingers through yours, holding the wooden wheel over your smaller hands. He crouched down so that he could lean his jaw on the nape of your neck, His arms caging you in as he stared at the sea the ship was sailing ahead.

“It feels more like you’re just finding an excuse to feel me up.”

“Such big claims, you know I don’t need an excuse for that,” his breath fanned at the little patch of skin that was exposed with your shawl sliding down your arm and you felt goosebumps when the rough texture of his scarred lips brushed past your neck. His hand gave you a warning squeeze when he felt you tilting your head back, “now eyes on the sea, princess.”

You whimpered when he untangled his fingers from your hand and slid up your arms, the graze of his hand had shivers tingling down your skin. He darted his tongue out to lick at the delicate skin where your neck connected to your shoulder. A soft hiss slipped past your lips when he bit down, just hard enough to leave a mark, before sucking and licking at the sore spot alternatingly. Your shawl had fallen to the ground, pooling at your feet as your hand gripped tightly at the helm and trying hard to make sure it was stable instead of giving in to the weakening of your knees.

His arms now snaked around the side of your ribcage, taking advantage of how little obstacles there were with your open arms. He licked a long strip up along the pulse on your neck, stopping just below your ear as his hand pulled down the collar of your shift. Your breath hitched at the cold wind that brushed past your bare chest, your nipples standing up for attention under the sudden chill.

“Better focus on the helm, so no one will know what we are up to,” he nibbled at your earlobe. He pushed your tits up with his palms, giving them a squeeze before rolling the two perky buds between his fingers.

You could still hear the talking down on the deck. If any of them bother to look up and took in the way he held you there, there was no way they wouldn’t notice that your knees were bucking together while he continued to bite down on your neck. Each pinch and pull at your chest had you all the more aware of the wetness that was starting to seep out of you. You tried to rub your thighs together to ease the burn but he was one step ahead of you, shoving his knee between your legs to force them apart.

A silent whine fell short on his ears when he smoothed his palm down from your chest, bunching up the pale linen of your frock in hand and yanked it up to your waist. You lost balance when the calloused pad of his finger brushed past your clit, frantically latching back onto the helm when the ship had a sudden shift from its track.

You grimaced when you heard the confused murmurs of the crew, people looking around from the shake of the ship. Dabi let out a wolfish chuckle, parting your folds to collect the juices leaking out of you before bringing it to rub against your sensitive bud.

“Is everything alright, captain?”

“No worries, everything is dandy,” he replied with a yell, not turning around to face the men as he peered down to watch your cunt sucking his fingers in, “everyone resume your positions.”

Your lips hurt from how hard you were biting down, desperate to keep your voice down as he slowly pumped his digits within your velvet walls.

“That was close,” he grumbled in your ear, licking his lips as the bob of your throat when he scissored his fingers, “you’re getting careless..."

He let out a mocked gasp and you squeaked when he glided his fingers in and out of you at an increasingly fast pace, “Or did you do it on purpose? Do you want my entire crew to know you’re getting fucked on deck?” he cackled when you whimpered, unable to say anything in fear of other sounds slipping out too, “Do you want people to watch you cum on my fingers?”

Your cunt clamped down on his long digits at the sneer and nothing could stop you from whining out loud at the sudden emptiness when he pulled out. He pushed your upper body forward with a forceful shove until you were laying on the helm. He gripped onto the side of your hips, leaning back slightly to take a good look at your clenching hole that was now on display. 

“Suck,” you took his fingers that were dripping with the clear essence of your arousal into your mouth obediently, the saltiness expanding in your mouth as you tasted yourself on him. The sound of his belt buckle rattling had you arching your back and he snickered at your eager form as he pulled his cock out of his pants.

“Ass up.”

You complied, a soft moan rolling off your tongue as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. He kneaded your cheeks roughly as he lined himself up at your entrance, rubbing the leaking tip along your pussy to spread the wetness around.

You latched onto the helm for dear life when he hilted in you with one push, your lips parted but no sounds came out as he slowly dragged his cock along your walls until his tip was barely inside of you.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Your slick gushed out from his earlier teasing, but your face still burned at the thought of humping him right on the open deck with everyone just a platform below.

A soft tuck at your scalp had you clenching around nothing but his tip dipped in. “Or would you prefer to let the entire ship behind me see my hips thrusting up against your slutty cunt?” he asked, surging his hips forward just a little and smirking at the sigh you let out, “because I’m not letting you get down here without cum dripping down your legs.”

He let out a shaky breath when you slowly pushed your hips back, the plush flesh of your mounds pressed up against his pelvis as your hands clawed at the wooden wheel you were holding onto. Your walls pulsed to accommodate the stretch, and you started rolling your hips when the itch in your core was too much to bear even with the concern of ears all around you in mind.

You were cautious of the squelching when you slammed yourself down on his length at first, but bit by bit you lose your restraints to the tides that were starting to rise up in the pit of your stomach. Dabi gave you an approving squeeze on the side of your waist as you started throwing it back faster and faster, pants falling off your lips as his cock rubbing against your walls set your body on fire.

“I always know you are no princess behind closed doors but it seems like you have no issue acting like a whore in public too,” you mewled when he unexpectant thrust up, shocks of numbing pleasure jolted down to the tip of your toes when his cock slammed right against the spongey spot deep inside of you. 

His fingers dug into your sides as he took over, viciously slamming you down on his length as your body trembled on top of the helm. He pushed your shift further up to get a clearer sight of his cock disappearing inside of you with each thrust, your essence coating his shaft and running down your thighs. You buried your face onto the helm when you cum, muffling the moans you could no longer hold in as your cunt clenched around him. The burn spread all across your body and you were practically holding yourself up with the support of the steering wheel he was fucking you on and his arms propping you up.

“Not that I mind,” he let out a choked laugh, the staples on his face feeling like they were about to pop off with how wide his grin was at the sight of your shaking figure. He threw his head back slightly when the muscle in his stomach tightened up, “not when you are my whore...”

Dabi held you still, burying his cock deep inside you as he came with a shudder. His lips parted, a low moan coming out as a purr as ropes of his release filled you up. You whined at the warmth, scratching down on the helm as he pulled out. The sudden emptiness had you clenching around nothing and he leaned back to watch his cum seep out of your abused cunt.

You instinctively pressed your thighs together to put a stop to the sticky substance from trailing down the root of your legs and he chuckled, throwing his arm around you before pressing your back against his chest and pulling your collar back up.

“Feels real enough for you?” he whispered, his thumb rubbing at your collarbone.

You nodded, turning your head back when he tilted your chin to place a soft peck on your lips.

“Good,” Dabi let you go from his grip, giving your ass a light smack and earning a glare from you, “now I want you back on the bed and get some rest. I’ll come down once I have time.”

“Aye, aye captain...” he huffed at your playful tone, watching as you saunter away after picking your shawl up and wrapping it very tightly around your chest.

He spotted the faint marks that peaked out from it on your neck and hummed to himself in satisfaction. He turned his eyes back to the sea for once, sighing as the blue waters expanded out to the sky with no end.

Today seemed like it would be a good day.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 12

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

He’s surprised how nervous he feels knocking on her door. This is far from their first date and, while not exactly planned, he’s already stayed the night at her place. But this date feels significant to him, and perhaps what he’s nervous about is how she’ll react to what he has planned. He takes a moment to pull in a deep breath, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt, but when she opens the door all his nerves subside.

She’s wearing jeans and a pink tank top that has thin straps and is relatively low cut, a small bow pinned to the center right above her breasts. Over it, she has on a black cardigan worn open, her hair down and a little mussed. She smiles warmly and his heart lurches.

“Hi,” she says, and steps forward, pushing on to her tip toes and placing a hand on his shoulder so she can kiss him. Is this the first time she’s been the one to initiate the kiss? He thinks it might be, and it makes his knees wobble.

“You look beautiful,” he says, openly dragging his eyes over her, feeling grateful that he doesn’t have to hide it.

“Well, after the other day I’m sure anything is an improvement,” she comments self-deprecatingly.

He cups her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to look at his. “You are always beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

She scoffs and looks away.

“You don’t have to try that hard, Mulder. You were already gonna get lucky,” she says playfully, pushing past him into the hallway.

He stands there for a moment, stunned by her candor and wondering what that means. Does that mean she wants to have sex? Or is she just referring to what they’ve already been doing?

“You coming?” she asks, and he snaps himself out of it, stepping into the hall so she can lock the door behind them. “Where are we going?” she asks, slipping her hand into his.

He has half a mind to ask if they should just spend the evening on her couch, but he resists.

“You’ll see,” he says with a smile, and gives her hand a squeeze.

When they park outside the Queen Vic she gives him a curious little glance, but doesn’t say anything. In the lobby, he leans in to ask the host for a particular table, speaking softly so she can't hear him. When the host leads them to the same table they’d sat at the last time they were here nearly a year ago, she smiles broadly, but again makes no comment. She orders the same IPA, and they both get fish and chips. So much is the same, and yet it’s so different; her foot hooked around his ankle under the table, the times she reaches out to touch his hand, the unabashed way she beams at him, laughing at his jokes and peeking at him from underneath her eyelashes. They drink, and eat, and talk. They talk about their childhoods and their teenage rebellions, she tells him how she gets through particularly rough autopsies and he tells her about the Gunmen and how they keep asking to meet her. It’s so easy between them, and so right, as it always has been. But now, his heart fills to bursting knowing that they can see this thing through, that he will later get to kiss that little mole above her lip that she tries to cover with makeup, feel her perfectly manicured fingernails scrape against his scalp. There’s so much more to learn about her, but he knows he will. They have another chance, and it makes him feel like he could cry just thinking about it.

After dinner, he drives them down to the wharf and they get ice cream cones from a little stand by the water; she picks cookies and cream and he opts for rocky road. They walk along the boardwalk hand in hand as the sun eases its way towards the horizon.

“Are you going to maintain control of your ice cream cone this time?” she asks with a smirk, the first mention she’s made of the fact that he’s replicating their first date.

“Well, a lot has changed since last time, however the fact that I can’t take my eyes off of you isn’t one of them, so the ice cream cone is still at risk,” he retorts, rotating his cone dramatically for effect.

She laughs, the sweetest sound he has ever or will ever hear, and he pulls her over to the rail that separates the walk from the water. She leans her back against it and he bends down to kiss her, holding his ice cream off to the side. She tastes sweet, her lips slightly chilled, and the kiss devolves into lapping tongues and soft moans unexpectedly quickly.

She puts her free hand on his chest and pushes gently until he pulls back, then smiles dreamily up at him, licking her lips.

“Should I expect an after-hours baseball session?” she asks coyly, and he frowns.

“No, sorry. Byers, that’s my buddy who got the keys last time, said there’s a private event going on there tonight,” he says regretfully.

“Oh, thank god,” she says with a relieved sigh, and he quirks his head at her quizzically. “The only thing I enjoyed about that, Mulder, was you pressing your body against mine, and now we can do that whenever we want, no batting practice facades necessary,” she says with a smile.

“That does sound a lot more fun than baseball,” he replies huskily, “and I really like baseball, Scully.”

“I know you do,” she says in a syrupy voice before she captures his bottom lip between her teeth.

“Are you done with your ice cream?” he asks, and she looks at her half-eaten cone before giving him a determined stare and nodding her head.

He squirms in his seat on the way back to her apartment, stealing glances at her across the console intermittently. She seems perfectly calm and not at all affected, and he wonders if he’s misreading the situation. His cock jumps a little, threatening to spread into a full fledged erection every time he lets his mind wander to what might happen next. He suddenly wonders if he should have brought a condom, but then assumes she probably has them. But what if she doesn’t? It’ll be fine, they don’t have to have sex tonight. But he’d really, really like to. It’s not until they are parked outside her building that it occurs to him that she hasn’t actually invited him up and, not wanting to be presumptuous, he doesn’t ask.

———

Mulder seems jumpy, nervous even, and she finds it mildly entertaining. She’s been toying with the idea of sleeping with him, but ultimately decided to just let things unfold how they would; he’s already clearly demonstrated his skill in the area of foreplay so she can be sure to have a good time whether or not sex is part of it. They pull up in front of her building and he sits there with the engine running, looking at her apprehensively. She smiles, and decides not to mess with him.

“You wanna come up?” she asks plainly, and he lets out a huge exhale.

“Absofuckinglutely,” he says, unbuckling his seat belt and killing the engine.

They make their way into her apartment, Mulder still acting awkward and uncomfortable, and she thinks that maybe should mess with him just a little.

“Make yourself at home,” she says, draping her purse over the back of a chair and kicking off her shoes, “I’ll be right back.”

He nods and sits on the couch, and she ducks into the bathroom. She’d worn a decently cute bra and panty set, but not the kind that can be classified as lingerie. After emptying her bladder and freshening up a bit, she sneaks into her bedroom and changes into a red lace thong and matching bra. She considers herself in the mirror, debating whether she should put the clothes she was wearing back on, or something else.

“Hey Scully?” She hears Mulder call through the crack in the open door.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

Her mouth quirks, an idea taking shape.

“What?” she says in response, brushing her palms over her bare hips.

“Do you want me to put a movie on?” he repeats.

“I can’t hear you, Mulder, can you come in here?”

Her heart starts up a steady thrum of excitement, but she keeps her demeanor calm, watching her reflection and smiling at herself.

She hears the door open behind her.

“I was wondering if you wa-” he begins, then stops abruptly.

She can’t see him from this angle and she waits a beat before looking back over her shoulder. He still has his hand on the doorknob, his mouth hanging open mid sentence and his eyes hooded with desire. She glances down and sees him growing stiff under his jeans, the knowledge setting off a throb between her legs. She turns to face him, slowly crossing the room and threading her arms around his waist. As soon as they make contact, he puts his hands firmly on her hips and slides them down to cup her bare ass cheeks with a little groan.

“Do you want to watch a movie, Mulder?” she asks rhetorically, flexing her pelvis against him.

He shakes his head, stooping to lift her off the floor before he walks them over to her bed. Setting her down gently in the middle, he moves to hover over her and she bends her leg, planting a foot in the middle of his chest.

“You’re wearing way too much clothing,” she observes, then watches him as he strips off his shirt and jeans, standing before her in black boxer briefs. She hasn’t had a chance to really see his body yet and she sighs as she takes in his firm yet slim torso, muscular but not bulky. Her eyes wander down further to where his erection tents the fabric of his boxers, and she smiles. “You look good without clothes on,” she says softly, and he smirks self-consciously. She almost asks him to take the boxers off too, but decides not to deprive herself of the opportunity to do so, so she motions for him to join her on the bed instead.

He carefully crawls up beside her, lying on his side while she remains on her back. He reaches out tentatively to brush his palm over her belly, his eyes poring over every bit of skin he can see until they rest on her face. They hold eye contact for a beat and she reaches up to touch his neck, inviting him to kiss her. They start slowly, softly, and he trails from her lips to her cheek, down her neck until he’s dipping his tongue into the space between her breasts. His hands trace along the hem of her panties, brushing up over her knees and back down the inside of her thigh. His touch is soft and exploratory, igniting nerve endings and building anticipation for a firmer touch in a more exciting place. It’s a slow burn and she is happy to let him take his time.

He slips the tips of his fingers just beneath the hem of her panties and slides them back and forth from hip to hip.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, his teeth grazing her hardened nipple through her bra.

“Mmm, yes,” she answers.

He sits up and peels her panties slowly down her legs; the damp gusset is easily visible against the red fabric and she’s only had them on for about five minutes. When he reaches her feet, he plucks them off her ankles and bunches the fabric up in his palm, pressing it to his nose briefly before tossing it on the floor. She gives him a surprised smile but recognizes that even if she finds it a bit odd intellectually, it does turn her on.

He returns to his spot beside her and she rolls onto her side so that they are facing each other.

“Can I get some help here?” she asks in mock incompetence, tugging at the strap of her bra.

“Of course,” he answers in mock seriousness, reaching behind her to deftly unhook the band and watching as the cups slide away from her breasts.

He helps her pull the straps free of her arms, then sighs as he looks over her naked form.

“You look fucking amazing without clothes on,” he says, full of awe.

“Thank you,” she replies, tilting towards him until he has rolled onto his back, then hitching a leg over his hip, straddles him. Sitting fully nude on his lap, his erection pressing into her ass as he stares up at her with lustful eyes makes her feel like a goddess, like Aphrodite at the altar. She brings her hands up to gently cup her breasts and he groans, his fingers flexing against her thighs.

“Scoot up,” he commands, and she gives him a questioning look but does it, now planted on his chest with his sparse hairs tickling her damp lips.

“More,” he says, in an equally authoritative tone. Normally she wouldn't appreciate being ordered around like this, but the look on his face makes her want to comply.

She shifts her weight to her knees, preparing to scoot just a touch higher, when he threads his arms under her thighs and slides down, pressing his face into her vulva.

“Oh god!” she startles, totally caught off guard, and reaches one hand out to steady herself on the headboard.

For a moment she just perches there, out of her element as Mulder begins to flick his tongue across her clit before dragging it up and down over her lips. This isn’t something she’s ever done before and while it doesn’t feel bad, it doesn’t necessarily feel good, either; it’s hard to relax while holding herself up over him.

As if reading her mind, Mulder wraps his palms around the tops of her thighs and pulls her down hard until she is fully sitting on him, her weight no longer her own to support. She’s afraid she’s suffocating or hurting him, but then he starts humming and moaning against her like he’s enjoying the most delicious meal of his life and she realizes that this is exactly what he wanted; to be suffocated by her pussy. She leans forward and rests her head against her forearm, further relaxing and acclimating to the position.

Unlike the flicking and licking sensations of the typical position for cunnilingus, this affords more pressure and area of contact. Something, must be his tongue, is probing at her opening, flexing against her walls deliciously, while something else, perhaps teeth, scrapes gently against her clit. The more she relaxes into it, the better it feels, and the heavier she sits on him, the more he groans and sucks at her. She feels a slight rhythmic jostling and glances back to see that he’s freed his turgid hard-on from his boxers and is pumping up and down vigorously, and the image pushes her close to the edge. She drops her head back onto her arm and starts flexing her hips against his face, putting the pressure right where she wants it to be, and feels the tingle of an impending orgasm building in her toes. The more she moves and flexes against him, the more he moans and the harder he pumps, and the more she can tell that he is clearly getting off on this, the more turned on she becomes. The cycle builds and builds until it crests, the gathering pleasure bursting all at once as she comes hard against his mouth, his tongue tucked snugly inside her as she pulses around it, coming undone. Soon enough he cries out and she feels his cum spurt hot on her back, running down over her ass and pooling on his sternum.

As her own orgasm subsides, she suddenly feels like she’s made of jelly and slumps to the side, cringing in realization that the cum on her back is now on her comforter. She looks over at Mulder, his chin glistening as he breathes heavily, his eyes on the ceiling. She looks down at his spent cock, shrinking away from the pool of liquid it left behind.

“Well,” she says, “that was...different.”

He turns his head to the side and gives her a lopsided smile. “Was it?”

She shrugs. “That was a first for me,” she says shyly, feeling silly.

“Oh,” he says, clearly a little surprised but not unpleasantly so. “Well, what’d ya think?” he asks with an expectant look.

“Uh, it was...it was terrible, honestly,” she says, feigning a very business-like tone. “I hated it.”

He gives her a cheeky smile. “Oh, you did?”

She nods with a matter-of-fact look on her face.

“Do you normally come that hard when you hate things?” he asks curiously.

She grins at him then, done with the joke, and he grins back.

“Let me get you a towel,” he says, rolling off the bed carefully to contain the mess.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” she retorts, earning a chuckle.

After they have cleaned and re-dressed, they do end up watching a movie. She falls asleep halfway through, the comfort of his large frame wrapped around her making her feel so safe she can’t help but drift off. This time, she invites him to stay the night, and is delighted to find him wrapped around her again when she wakes in the morning.

[bvccy]

Tenderness and Ferocity | 3. The Dream and the Third Day

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Smut, Noncon Word count: 2334 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"Life in essence can only be sustained because of the discontinuity. Why else does one sleep? Not to rest, but above all to forget. [...] If one could prevent mankind from sleeping, I am convinced that a massacre without end would ensue; it would mean the end of history." — Emil Cioran

All the useless gadgets clattered, without clattering, to the floor. The exposed skin of her back shone against the pressing dark, under a light that wasn't there. Her arms stretched out in front of her to grab the table, to clench in little fists, to crawl away from him... He clasped both her wrists in one heavy hand while he held her by the hip with the other. The stranger looked unfamiliar and out of place, yet boyishly handsome, a lissome thoroughbred cut from pale stone.

He'd already yanked her shirt halfway down her back, leaving a delicate pair of peachy straps to cut into her shoulders as she tried to pull herself up and away. With his other hand, he raised the black flag of her skirt inch by hurried inch. Two flesh hands, pawing at her squirming silhouette.

Those legs that had teased him so were now buckled in a tangle of red lace, at once parted and constricted and leaving her fully victim to him. Above her he loomed, then leaned, slowly down to feel her warmth, his dark green shirt sticking against her back.

In a voice dry with disuse he taunted her to say that she wanted it, to beg for it, though he sounded utterly disinterested and his eyes — he couldn't actually see his eyes, but he could hear that same disuse and disinterest ringing in their glare. She whimpered underneath him but said nothing, insulted from both directions by his grimy touch and transparent insults.

"Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?" said the stranger — but not to him, nor to her — as he buried his face in her fragrant hair and his hips into hers and himself into her... But no relief came, nor satisfaction, and it felt like no matter how close he got to her, couldn't be further away.

He battered and battered and broke through, with great delight at just the effort, and he made tremors rise then relent in her tense legs. Her high heels tapped against the floor in a trembling rhythm that undercut her plaintive moans until he stopped, and settled inside her, and laughed against her shoulder in a harsh exhale. He taunted her over how she sounded, how she felt, how he felt in her.

The more she withdrew, the more aggressively he followed, always fighting her and pulling the fight out of her in honeydew dollops that had nowhere left to go but to seep and stain his nice trousers. Her shoulders went up in a useless attempt to hide, but he squeezed her wrists in warning and bit her shoulder, the nape of her neck, anywhere he could reach that would punish her until she learned to stay still.

"Oooh yesss, that's it... I hate you so much." he laughed in manic joy, eyes falling closed against her throat.

The hand that held her hip squeezed her closer, pressing her so desperately against him like he was trying to crawl up inside and never leave. She whined in pain, muffled by her arms and the table. The stranger cooed against her ear and teased against her hips, turned her inside out and back together, discordant with her mewls and wails as he clung to her and she unconsciously to him the more his galloping pace opened her up and brought her out to meet him.

He wasn't so much pleasing himself as punishing her, and only interrupted his focus to laugh or hiss at some new-discovered throbbing, a frisson to rub against, a frothy surrender that he worked hard to push through until she took it again.

"I'm gonna kill you," he snarled down at her. "I swear I'm gonna kill you..."

No amount of resistance could carry her through his punishing thrusts, and no surrender was enough, and it all went on and on until the threads holding her up started to unravel, leaving her a blushing rough and bloody shade that the stranger could claim as an extension of himself. He rubbed away the parts that weren't base and grimed up what was left. Only thoughtless sounds came out of her now as she struggled to fit him, and fit into him.

The stranger heaved hotly with the effort of holding still, feeling over and through her deliberately and seeking still more, pressing his body down to suppress her new, aching, wet shivers.

With a pain melting through her surrender, down, down into pleasure, she tried to plead with him and she moaned his name, his real name, but after the first flush of recognition he stopped caring because he knew he wouldn't remember it anyway and —

Wait, why wouldn't he remember it?

Eyes shot open only to be greeted by the cement ceiling of his cell. The Soldier sighed and turned his head, looking at the corner where the bulbous little camera was. He looked to the door and saw the parting screen still closed shut — he was awake too early. With a groan, he turned over in his cot and pressed the cold metal hand where he ached.

On their third session, after the guardsmen left, he stepped into the room to find a collection of strange equipment and wires on the table, and a mix of subtle scents coming from two wooden containers. She sat in her chair, waiting for him with a smile, her sleek legs crossed together tightly. She wasn't wearing her lab coat anymore.

"Good morning." she said as they closed the door. "Come on in, sit down. None of this stuff is going to hurt you, I promise."

Reluctantly, he obeyed, his boots sounding slow and heavy through the room as he made his way toward her. He let himself fall in the seat and rested his hands on his tense thighs.

"It's just a GSR monitor. I'll only strap these around your fingers, you won't feel a thing." She demonstrated by wrapping one around her finger, wiggling, holding it up for his doubtful eyes. He had no choice anyway, so he rested his right arm on the table. She took his hand and opened the palm up, holding it gently while her other hand went to a little tube and scooped up a salty-smelling goo.

"For conductivity." she explained as she rubbed it just barely in his tough skin. "Be grateful it's not an EEG, otherwise I'd have to rub this stuff into your scalp. You'd look like a punk that got lost in the rain." she laughed, but it died quickly as the Soldier frowned and shifted in his seat.

Then she took two of the straps and wrapped one around his index, another around his middle finger, and turned his palm back down. She clicked the machine on and it beeped in confirmation, beginning a reading of his skin and what was going on underneath.

In plain terms it was a rudimentary lie detector, meant to scan for stress and some primitive emotions. Maybe he knew that or he didn't, but she could tell she had to work him into it, calm him down before she could get an accurate reading of what moved him.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"You have a watch." he grunted, looking at the worn leather strap around her wrist.

"Yes, but do you know?" she smiled.

"0803 hours."

"Yes. Do you know where we are?"

"Headquarters Alpha 3."

"Good. Do you know what day of the week it is?"

"No."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you have any dreams?"

"No." he said with a sardonic smile. The line on the monitor moved ever-so-slightly, but it could just be a reaction of their tiff about it the other day. Or, he was lying to her again.

They spent the rest of their session with him strapped up to it while she made use of a couple of boxes and the little things inside. With eyes closed, he had to guess what she placed between his fingers: a piece of velvet, silk, a pocket watch, a cufflink, a snow globe.

The edge that separated the Asset from whoever he was before was smudged only so slightly, by necessity, the way it was with all the other soldiers in the program — they could still talk, after all, and read and write, and still employ the complexities of hand-to-hand and armed combat, all things they learned in a past life and used now for Hydra's ends. What made her soldier the best was how sharp that edge was, how steady — until it wasn't.

He retained good coordination, if his finely drawn clock was anything to go by, a steadiness that an unbalanced brain would have found difficult. They had tried, with past soldiers, to split the two brain hemispheres physically, severing the membrane that bridged between them in an effort to isolate the old soldier from the new.

The right hemisphere housed contextual perception and feeling, while the left was honed and focused and precise. They even grew to slightly different sizes, in parts, even though the skull that covers them is evenly shaped. It remained in mainstream medicine a mystery, one that Hydra explored with relish.

But all that resulted from their experimental surgeries were monstrous malfunctions. As it turned out, the left hemisphere dominated most of the body even when separated, and Hydra's soldiers were left imprisoned in the right brain, at best controlling one arm and some eyesight.

Removing the whole left hemisphere also didn't yield any improvements, even after recalibrating what remained. There were even more extreme experiments suggested, but they were deemed too damaging to put the soldiers through, too harmful for staff morale, and too uncertain in their results.

It was clear that a successful subject had to keep all his faculties, all the useful memories in whatever form, while imposing the dominance of the right hemisphere over the left. In a way, the Soldier had been there all along, growing with the unwitting owner of that body, learning, judging for himself and reaching, inevitably, different conclusions.

There always was something slightly more sinister in the right hemisphere, which only emerged when it was freed from the left, or when the left was in a dream state and its control dropped. So it was clear which side Hydra drew its soldiers from, when it freed that part of them with their infernal brain-machines.

The wavering of that edge also explained why her Soldier had such excellent memory, remembering even obscure European countries well, but also their capitals, which Hydra never saw fit to teach him. And as she went through more little things that stood out against the strictures of their base and his missions, it emerged that, though steady, the line that separated her Soldier from someone else was kept at his convenience.

The man underneath was generously lending his memories of what fancy little cufflinks and snow globes felt like, just so the Soldier who had never seen them before could give the right answers. But what she needed to figure out was how much of the control was the Soldier's intention, and how much was unconscious reflex. If the man aimed to sabotage his missions, would the Soldier even know? Worse, if he wasn't aware of anyone else sharing his brain, could he really control him?

Would he want to?

For Hydra, her mission was simple: root out the part that dissents, make it submit. They were too focused on efficiency to know what they were truly asking for. They had no idea how bad it could get, or how good...

"That's enough for now. You can open your eyes while I get the next batch, we're almost done. This last bit is just some food tests."

"As long as it's not from the mess hall."

She was halfway to the sink, a small wooden crate in her hands, when she started laughing. "I promise it's not. So it's true what they say? Way to a man's heart..."

"Is through his rib cage."

Her laughter rang through again, but he kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the sound of her running her hands under the water, arranging things on a plate, and wiping her hands dry on the threadbare cloth that hung there.

"Close your eyes now." she spoke as she stepped closer from behind. The plate clinked as it met the metallic table, right by his hand, and he smelled and felt the heat of her as she stood right in front of him.

"I'll give you some things to taste, and you just tell me what they are. And they're all pretty soft. Alright? First one. Open..."

Something was nagging him from the back of his brain again, jeering at him for the childish position he was in, but he couldn't think of anything to feel ashamed over.

"Strawberry."

"Good. Now, swallow and... again..."

"Grapes."

"That's right. This next one is a bit, well... Just open and tell me."

He bit into a soft and shapeless thing that tasted like, if anything, a green paste. "I don't know what this is."

"Avocado. Maybe you've never had it before. Better make a wish, then."

"What?"

"Never mind. Open for me again..."

"Mint?"

"Yes, that's a mint leaf. It's perfectly safe, you can swallow. Now, this one will come in a spoon, so open wide." She let the cloying thing slip on his tongue and the taste spread in his mouth in a way that was familiar but unusual.

"Tastes like... roses."

"Yes, that's rose petal jam. If the Director only knew what I spent my funding on, spoiling you..." she giggled, but it died quickly as he kept frightfully still and his jaw tensed. From the corner of her eye she saw the GSR give an angry twitch.

"Right, one more and we're done. Open, and tell m—"

"Plums."

[blkgirlcafe]

Professor Nasty Pt. 2

Professor! Florian Munteanu x Black! Reader

Warning: Rough sex, unprotected sex, cheating, undefined age gap, dirty talking, slight degrading.

I keep my description of the reader pretty vague, make her how you want, but she black fosho. I am trying to get better at writing from a Y/N perspective, so any constructive criticism is welcomed.

Thank you @dersha89​ for the inspiration.  Thank you love!

The Chinese food they ended up ordering was just being pushed around her plate. 

“What's wrong, you've been so quiet since you got here. Did he fail your paper again, dude can be so hard.” Fynn shoved fried rice into his mouth, bits dropping everywhere. 

“Just tired.” 

Fynn rolled his eyes, “Then go to bed.” 

Y/N stood, taking her plate and shoving it in the fridge. 

“I’m going home, you can play your game without being worried about me.” 

Part of Y/N knew she was taking her bad attitude out of Fynn not that he deserved it, she had literally cheated on him hours ago and now she was being bitchy. 

“Fine, maybe we can link when you fix your attitude, I didn't do anything to you.” 

Y/N didn't even stay to hear the rest, just grabbed her stuff to head back to her apartment, where she should have gone in the first place. 

Thank god her two roommates were out, she closed and locked the door to her room, not wanting to be disturbed. Y/N turned on her soft music playlist and tried to get some studying done, but nothing was clicking. She kept thinking about Mr. Munteanu and what had happened. She opened the text thread a few times, reading the message, trying to decipher things that weren't there. His message was clear and concise, he wanted to see her again. And Y/N wanted to see him too. 

So she texted him back. 

Where am I headed?

“Hello trick, you off in LaLa Land?” Chris waved her hand in front of Y/N’s face. 

Y/N snapped out her daydream, today was Friday and she was absolutely frazzled by what could happen tonight. He had sent her an address, one not far from the school, and told her to dress sexy. 

“No, just tired.” 

“If I hear that shit one more time, I swear.” Chris grabbed a fry from Y/N’s uneaten plate. 

“Well I am, what you want me to say.” 

“The truth, first you fight with Fynn for no damm reason, you been MIA all fucking week, and I finally track you down and you barely can string a sentence together. I’m not stupid.”

“You sure, cause you went back to Jason 4 times.” Y/N snapped. 

“Ohh that was low, you def hiding something chick. Let me find out.” Chris was staring her down and it made Y/N squirm. 

“Look I am sorry, that was low, my bad. But I am stressed, school, being away from family, being one of the few black women at this school, not being able to find decent hair products. I could go on.” 

Y/N could tell that Chris was not buying it at all. They had been friends since freshman year and they could read each other. 

“Imma let you slide, but when you are ready to tell me the truth, just know I am here. And Fynn getting on my fucking nerves, he keeps asking me whats wrong with you and how he can make it better.”

That made Y/N feel even worst, Fynn was trying his hardest to be a good guy and here she was out here being scum. 

“I’ll make it up to him.” 

“Hopefully with this that you ask me to bring.” 

Chris put a bag on the table, and Y/N smiled on the inside. Chris was the queen of dressing fly and sexy. She made anything look good. Whenever Y/N need an outfit she shopped Chris closet. 

Y/N had asked Chris to bring her dress and she had delivered. Y/N pulled the dress out, giving it a look. A blue mini dress that sparkled, it left very little to the imagination. This was a no bra type of dress, the straps super thin. 

“Damm this is dope, thank you.”

“No problem and I dont need it back, what is it for?”

“Going to surprise Fynn.” Y/N lied. 

“Pair it with those clear pumps you have and girl you will be looking irresistible. Promise. Look I gotta go, hit me up and let me know how it goes.” 

Chris stole a few more fries before blowing Y/N a kiss and leaving her to sit and wonder if she was making a good choice. 

Y/N checked herself one more time before she went downstairs to wait for her cab. The blue mini dress looked perfect against her brown skin. The twist out that she did had came out perfect, light makeup, a gold necklace with her initial sat center on her chest. Another coat of lipgloss and finally a spray of Rogue by Ms. Fenty and she was ready to go. 

And of course Chris was right about the clear pumps, they went perfectly with the dress. She looked great, Y/N snapped a quick picture before grabbing her clutch and heading out. Trying to sneak past her roommates was not an option, they whistled as she walked past, paying her compliments and saying how lucky Fynn was. 

If only they knew that Fynn wasn't the lucky one. 

The whole ride to his condo was nerve wracking, Y/N alternated between bouncing her leg and checking her phone obsessively. Part of her hoped he would cancel, and she could go see Fynn and make it up to him. 

The cab dropped her off in front of a high rise, she didn't know the going rate for a professor but she didn't think it was this. The place was nicer than she expected with a doorman outside. 

Stepping into the elevator Y/N knew there was no turning back, she was here and her panties were already damp and the possibility of fucking Mr. Munteanu again. The quickie they had on the desk was just a taste, a teaser of what it was like to be with a man. 

“You look gorgeous Miss Y/F/N” 

Y/N shyly looked down as Mr. Munteanu looked her over, he sucked his bottom lip in as he traced the hem of the short dress. 

“Thank you Sir.”

“Here, you can call me Flo or Daddy sweetie, come in.” 

The door closed behind her and suddenly she was pushed against the wall. Florian grabbed Y/N neck, making her look up at him. He kissed her, soft at first before aggressively overpowering her. Y/N hands landed on his chest, the feeling of the hard muscle of her hands. Y/N gasped when he pulled away, her chest heaved as she gulped down air. 

“This is going to be fun Miss Y/F/N.” 

“If I can call you Daddy, I'm sure you can find something better to call me.” she smirked. 

“Is that right babygirl, don’t worry I have all night to come up with names to call you.” Florian dragged Y/N to the couch, pushing her over the arm. 

Y/N ass was in the air, the dress which was already short, pushed up. Florian parted her legs, standing between them as he ran a finger up and down the wet crotch of her panties. 

“Guess I should call you slut for being wet already, I’ve barely touched you.”

“I’ve been thinking of you all week.” her voice was weak. 

“Good.” was all he said as he pulled her panties down. Florian kneeled between her legs, the first bite surprising her. Y/N squirmed and Florian gave her ass a light smack. 

“Let Daddy take care of you.” 

Y/N moaned as Florian bit and sucked her thighs, slowly working his way up to her dripping wet pussy. 

“I like to take my time baby, what's the point if I can't slowly devour you.” 

“Please…” 

Y/N was not used to this, Fynn was only her 4th sexual partner. Foreplay usually lasted a few minutes if she was lucky.

The first kiss to her wet core sent shivers up her spine. The professor slowly made out with her pussy, the sloppy kissing turned into his tongue slowly licking her from top to bottom. His pace was so slow and torturous that Y/N’s hips tried to follow his movement. He repeated the same move and his teasing was too much for her to take. 

“Please Daddy, more.”

Y/N pleas feel on deaf ears, he was enjoying this too much. Y/N gasped when he sucked her clit into his mouth, the small bundle of nerves suddenly over simulated. Y/N never felt a pleasure like this, he was being a teacher in more than one way. 

His lips released her clit, his wide tongue driving into her wet slit. Quickly diving in and out, Y/N rocked on his face. Y/N fist balled as her legs shook, Florian was being merciless, eating her with a passion that she never felt. Y/N was just paralyzed with pleasure, the way he changed pace from slow to fast, back to slow. The way he sucked her clit then tongue fucked her. He was a man that knew what he was doing, a skilled man. 

“Oh my God!!” moaned Y/N, the way the orgasm took over her whole body, she felt it rushing through her veins. 

Florian stood, his jeans grinding against her wet and sensitive pussy. 

He leaned down, kissed her neck before whispering,“ Do you want to know what I'm going to do to you all night?” Right in her ear. 

Y/N was still breathless from the mind shattering orgasm, that she couldn't speak, she just shook her head. Florian grabbed her hair, so that she was facing him. 

“I’m going to fuck you like a man should, you will never want a boy again when I am finished with you.” 

With one hand still tangled in her hair, something she would never let Fynn do, Y/N heard the sound of his jeans being undone. Her body still recovering from the tongue lashing that he gave her didn't have time to prepare for him or his thick dick. 

“Fuck!” they both said. Y/N from the way he stretched her out, and Florian from the way her walls wrapped around him. 

Florian released her hair, putting his hands on either side of her, slowly feeding her inch by inch, wanting to savor the feeling of her walls hugging him. Y/N didn't want that, she wanted all of him and now. 

“Please go deeper Daddy, I need it.” she begged, her nails dug into his arm. Y/N pushed back, wanting all of his thick length to be inside of her. 

Florian moaned, he promised himself he would take his time, but he couldn't hold back. He snapped his hips into hers, burying every last inch into her. Gone was the slow tender strokes, he pounded into her. 

“Give me a kiss baby girl.” 

Y/N turned her face to kiss him, but couldn't focus because of how he was fucking her. Soft kisses barely made it to his lips until he stopped moving. Florian grabbed her jaw and kissed her, tongues battling it out, he grinded his hips into her, watching her melt. Florian finally pulled away, resting his forehead on her back. 

Y/N felt surrounded by him, his powerful arms on either side of her, digging into the material of the couch. His chest against her back, she couldn't move if she wanted to, she was trapped and happy about it. 

Pain mixed with pleasure as his strokes sped up, both chasing their own orgasm. Y/N clung to him as her legs trembled and she let out a loud moan. 

Florian kept fucking her through the orgasm, he never experienced this with any other woman, wanting to completely consume her in each way possible. 

“Fuck, Im cumming baby.” 

His body went riding on top of her, as he released a flood inside of her. Y/N wasn't sure she would move if she wanted to, she felt drained of energy and completely happy. 

When Florian finally moved off of her, pulling up his boxers before sitting on the couch, Y/N stood on unsteady legs. Y/N looked around for her panties and bag. She fixed her dress, she could feel his seed dripping out of her. She had turned around to pick up her panties when she felt his presence behind her. 

She stood, panties in hand. 

He moved her hair out the way, softly kissing her neck, “You don't need them, I am nowhere near done with you.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-What happens when you click on instinct without looking you ask? Well, you delete a perfectly edited chapter. At least that's what happened to me the first time I tried to post this.)

Masterlist  Protective Service Masterlist

Warnings- The tiniest NSFW mentions, infidelity (sort of)

Chapter 10 All of Nothing

Y/n sat at her vanity, sifting through an antique jewelry box in search of a pair of earrings that would suit the outfit she'd picked. For the most part, she was so consumed with her menial task that Y/n hadn't noticed the person coming to stand behind her until he placed one hand on her silk clad shoulder, using the other to sweep her hair away from her neck. "Hi," her mirth was audible and her lashes fluttered as she raised her head, meeting John's softened gaze through the rounded mirror. 

"Hey," he threaded rough fingers through her soft locks, moving on to trailing them along the column of her neck when he’d swept her hair away, “You look beautiful this morning, you always look beautiful,” he corrected, grinning at the blush painting her cheeks. No one had ever made her feel what John did, the giddiness, the glee, the little flutter in her heart when she recognized another thing in him that complemented her perfectly.

“Thank you,” Y/n leaned into his touch, admiring how relaxed and at ease John looked; no shirt, hair still damp from his shower and exuding this warm aura of safety that made her just want to lose herself beside him. “What are you doing?” She taunted lightly when he started edging the top of her robe open, never breaking their shared gaze. 

Smirking, John licked his lips when one side of the garment finally gave way, revealing the top of one lace clad breast, the scalloped edges of the fine material standing out against her skin exquisitely. “That depends on what you want me to be doing,” his low, husky words were intertwined with desire and when he slid his finger beneath the strap of her bra teasingly, a shiver ran up Y/n spine. She watched closely as John crouched down behind her, just so he could lean forward and press his lips to the back of her shoulder, his straying hand travelling lower to undo the knot holding her robe closed as the other felt around her curves. 

“Why don’t you put this away for now?” He probed quietly, weaning the carved box out of her smaller hands before letting a calloused palm venture to the valley between Y/n’s silken thighs, “Do you have anything important this morning?”

Reluctantly, Y/n recoiled, knowing that if they continued, she would certainly be late. “I do actually,” she cringed, her expression only falling further when John pulled away altogether, bracing himself with a grip on the cushioned armrest, offering her a look that suggested that anything but ‘no’ was the wrong answer, “I have a meeting with Balinski and his head of campaign finance. It really is important,” shifting slightly to face him, hooking one leg under herself, Y/n reached out, laying an affectionate touch on his arm, hoping he’d understand.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, “Fine,” John leaned forward to quickly peck her lips, “Rain check until this evening then,” already, he’d repositioned his hand to her lower back, his thumb rubbing absent circles into the fabric.

“Uhh,” hesitating, Y/n gnawed on her lower lip, only succumbing to telling the whole truth after John’s gentle nudging, “Maybe later in the night?” Scrunching her nose, she broached the matter with great caution, bracing herself for the worst, “I’m having dinner with Donavan tonight, we might be a while.”

Even if they’d lapsed into some semblance of a relationship, things had really just happened unconsciously; one night together turning into waking up in Y/n’s bed, intimate touches became unconscious caresses in quieter moments and steamy kisses turned to sweet endearments. They hadn’t discussed mutual exclusivity though, yet John had somehow assumed that the talk they’d had at the Continental had implied it. Or maybe he just hadn’t thought of Y/n’s relations with Donavan at all. 

Sensing the shift in his mood, Y/n searched his features,  “John, it’s….it’s just….we know we haven’t really figured this out yet.” In that moment, Y/n knew that whatever the right words were, she had not just used them. She did however, manage to make things worse, in record time too. 

"Oh," standing abruptly, he was about to stalk off when Y/n grabbed his wrist, her eyes pleading with him to stay and hear her out as she tried to fix things, "I should go finish getting dressed," he mumbled when she wouldn't let up. 

"Can we talk about this later?" Her plea was genuine, Y/n really wanted to make things right, even if she didn't quite know how to do that.

Shaking his head, John resisted, "You don't have to say that because you think it's what I want. I know what I mean to you," he huffed, finally breaking away from Y/n, "And clearly it's not the same as what you mean to me. You can do whatever you want later," he grumbled, snatching his shirt off the foot of her bed. 

The legs of the little bench scraped loudly against the tile as Y/n stood, following John as he neared the door, "That is not true  and you know it. But things are complicated with me and Donavan, I need to work them out and what I want later is to talk about this, about us, with you." He stopped, his hand closed in over the knob and his stance stiff, "Please John."

When he released the knob and turned back to her, Y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the tingle of relief spreading to her toes and fingers. "Fix this, by tonight, or we're done." 

She wasn't used to ultimatums, or at least, Y/n wasn't used to receiving them. But she knew that arguing with John wouldn't fare well and all she wanted to have things go back to the way the were mere minutes ago, "Okay, I'll fix it and not because I think it's what you want," stepping forward, Y/n took his hand again, bringing it up to her lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles as she drew closer, "But because of how much you mean to me and because I don't want anything or anyone to make you question that, okay?"

Swallowing thickly, John nodded slowly, bending his head so his forehead was pressed against hers, "Okay," he kissed her, his free arm engulfing Y/n as they continued, smiling at how she sighed against his lips and melted into his chest. It felt right when they were like that, as if every moment tangled up in Y/n’s arms had been meticulously orchestrated to ensure that there was nowhere else that he’d rather be. She was becoming his safe place, his haven, his peace. John didn’t know how she’d react if he told her, but he didn’t have any plans of letting her know soon anyway. Though, he did, for dear life, hang onto the hope that she felt the same, after all, what was the point of a second chance if it was going to slip right out of your grasp in the end?

She shouldn’t have felt guilty, just over a month ago, she wouldn’t have. But that evening, laying there in the mess of sheets with Donavan, right after they’d touched each other in the way they had for years, Y/n had never felt dirtier. Of course, she’d never guaranteed him exclusivity, and she had also firmly reminded herself that she had done the same with John, but still, the thought gnawed at Y/n. The wounded expression he’d flashed her that morning before playing it off and the way John had kissed her when she promised to fix things for them, like he trusted her. Not a lot of people trusted her, but knowing John did paled everything else. She did want from others what she’d found in him.

So she had to fix things. For him, for them.

Shoving the sheets down her bare body, Y/n worked on easing off the bed, ignoring Donavan until he roused her attention, “You’re leaving already?” They’d gone to his place in Manhattan and Y/n had found herself preferring it that way, at least she could leave when she wanted to, not have to pay the extra effort to drive him out. “I thought you’d stay a little longer,” he stated, a strange air about his tone as he followed her out of the bed, pulling on a pair of sweats.

“I can’t,” Y/n offered briskly, already pulling on her grey, tweed slacks, quickly looking for her blouse after closing up the front, “And I uh-”

“I have a proposal,” he cut her off, surprising Y/n just as she was shrugging on her black shirt, pausing before she could do the buttons.

Taken aback, Y/n eventually continued with the task at hand, though slowly, keeping her eyes on her old friend as he approached his dresser, rummaging through a drawer in search of a t shirt, “Okay,” she encouraged, “Well what is it?”

He was just turning, pulling on the cotton jersey before finally approaching Y/n. Donavan only stopped when he was less than a foot away, towering over her, leaving her face to face with his broad chest, “Will you marry me?”

To say the least, Y/n was definitely not expecting a literal proposal, worse yet one that casual. Though, she supposed that Donavan wasn’t the get on his knees type anyway. And she wasn’t the marry her fuck buddy type either. “Excuse me?” Was perhaps the most polite thing Y/n could muster up.

“I said-”

“I heard you,” heading to an accent chair near the bedroom door to collect her suit jacket, Y/n got into it as she spoke, chuckling and hoping her dismissiveness would speak for itself, “Donny, I think you’re mistaking this for something it's not. Why would I marry you?” Y/n chortled again quietly, her grin faltering when she met his more serious expression. 

“Because I-” He cut himself off, presumably before saying something they would both regret, “Because, this partnership with Balinski could expand your enterprise, I just thought that you might need help running things. And seeing as I’m the only one that knows the ropes almost as well as you do, I thought it would be the most logical way forward.”

Smirking, Y/n shifted her weight from one leg to the next, folding her arms, “So you’re suggesting some sort of political marriage?”

“In a nutshell,” he nodded.

Humming, Y/n straighten her back, ready to clear the air once and for all so she could get back to trying to make things work with John, “The sentiment is……sweet,” she hadn’t meant for her words to sound so taunting, but they had, and there was no taking them back, “But I’m not interested. I don't want you to help run things, I’ve got this.”

Sighing heavily, Donavan seemed desperate to get her on board, “Vila,” he pleaded, “Please, just consider it.”

But Y/n was already done with the conversation, and not knowing how to let him down easy, and not thinking that he needed it anyway, she did things the way she thought best, letting her icy disposition ring through, “I don’t need to. This conversation is over,” she started out the door, collecting her handbag as she entered his living room, “And we need to stop seeing each other like this.”

“What?” Confused, he probed incredulously, following her to the door.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow Donny,” Y/n pulled his front door open, not even sparing him one last glace, “And only at work.”

Merely two hours later, Y/n stood in front of John's door, swallowing down the events of the evening before knocking in three brisk taps. He didn't need to know the specifics, he just needed to know that she'd ended things with Donavan. Before she could even raise her fist again, he was pulling the door open, "Hi," she smiled softly, hoping he'd returned the gesture. 

John took a minute to drink Y/n in. She looked so young, more like her age actually, dressed simply in a black lace robe with a short matching nightgown beneath it, her fluffy slippers not affording her much height and the absence of makeup allowing the glow of youth to radiate unhampered. She looked lovely like that, softer somehow. "Hey," John breathed, longing to reach out, but wanting to know for sure where they stood first. 

She'd showered before coming to him, and that in itself said so much, too much. "How was dinner with Donavan?"

Quickly, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, barely glancing down at herself before meeting his stare again. Y/n knew what he was thinking, and they both knew he was right. In retrospect, she couldn't really put her finger on the reasoning for having Donavan one last time; maybe it was her way of trying to soften to blow. As if to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but he just wasn't the man for her. "It went well," she began stiffly, not knowing how to continue. Y/n wasn't used to that sort of thing, and knowing that John could tell she'd been with Donavan before coming to him was making things harder. "It's over now, but John-"

She was so, so close to telling him everything. Everything that he knew, and then probably much more that he didn't. And deep down, or perhaps right on the surface, John knew it would hurt him; he didn't want to see her differently or hear her reasoning for why she'd done things that way. Besides, as long as she didn't confirm it, it could all just be in his head, and he would much rather keep guessing until he could manage to bury it down instead of hearing the painful truth. "Doesn't matter," John cut her off before anything too damaging to depart from her lips, "You're here now," he bent, pressing a slow, sensual kiss to her soft lips.

"And I wouldn't rather be anywhere else," she mumbled against John's bourbon flavored lips, letting him lead her into his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind her. 

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[after-avenging-hours]

Virtue & Valor [2]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

You and your husband have the perfect life. Jobs that you love, a happy marriage, an amazing sex life… You couldn’t ask for anything more. But when something unexpected shows up on your front doorstep that completely turns your world upside down, can your relationship survive the fallout? Or will you have to let your feelings go in favor of the greater good? Letting go of the past can be difficult, especially when the future looks so bleak, but maybe you can figure out how to move forward together. You may just make it out to see the other side.

Word Count: 4144

Warnings: Canon typical violence, brief mention of blood, slight hanky panky (not quite at smut level), and shit getting real

A/N: I wasn’t going to post this until a little later, but I’m really eager to know what you all think about it, so here you go!

“Mayday! Mayday! Engine one has been lost and engine two has begun to fail! Does anybody copy?! Hostiles have engaged and we are going down. Last known coordinates are-”

The sound of crunching metal is deafening to your ears. The world tilts and spins. The cross straps of your seat belt are the only thing keeping you in place with each violent jolt and shudder. An explosion of pain in your chest alerts you to the potential threat of a broken rib… or many. When you cough, red splatters against the console in front of you. The last thing you feel is the lick of hot flames against your skin before everything goes black.

You wake with a start, shooting up in bed and clutch at your chest. Your heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. It pounds against your fingertips and echoes in your ears. Panic holds you in its vice-like grip, making your skin crawl and your lungs tight. Your hands desperately move over your collar and down your chest, searching for any evidence of injury.

“You okay?” the groggy voice makes you jump and whip around defensively. Steve tries to blink the sleepiness from his eyes as he looks you over with concern.

“Steve…” you breathe his name, the tension already lessening just by seeing him there. It’s okay. You’re safe. Your thoughts come in quietly, barely heard over the blood rushing in your ears. You try to slow your rapid breathing, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting up and pulling your body into his chest.

You seek the comfort of his embrace. Resting your head on his shoulder, you wrap your arms around his thick torso, allowing his warmth to seep into you. “Nightmare,” you whisper in explanation.

He wraps his arms around you and holds you until you’ve stopped shuddering. He whispers soothing words into your ear and gently rubs your back to help you calm down. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, wanting to help, but not wanting to force you to talk if you’re not ready.

“I dreamt that I was in a plane crash,” you admit, barely above a whisper. You release a shuddering breath. “Maybe it was just because of that movie we watched, but… it felt so real.” A shiver of dread travels up your spine.

Steve’s arms tighten around you as he pulls your body into his lap. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “It was just a dream. You’re back with me now. Just focus on me.”

You listen to the steady drum of his heart beneath your ear and focus on it until yours slows down to match. Finally, the last of the tension eases out of you, before your body collapses against his.

“Do you want to get up or do you want a glass of water or anything?” Steve asks.

You shake your head, keeping your forehead pressed to his shoulder. “I just want you to hold me.”

“I can do that,” he assures you. After several minutes pass, you begin to doze off. When Steve is pretty sure you’ve fallen back asleep, he carefully lays back against the pillows and pulls the blankets up and over the both of you. He continues to hold you close until you’ve both fallen back asleep.

He wakes up again a few hours later with the first rays of morning beginning to creep in through the curtains. You’re still tucked in close, so he leans his head down and presses his lips to your forehead. “Good morning, Mrs. Rogers,” he wakes you with his rough morning voice.

Your breathing changes with a deep inhale as you begin to shift against him. “Already?” you protest blearily.

His chuckle makes you bounce against his chest. “I’m afraid so.”

You release a pouty groan, but move to sit up nonetheless.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asks watching as you cover a yawn with your hand.

Your hand drops back to your lap as you give him a curious look over your shoulder. “Yeah, Why?” you counter, noting the concerned look in his eyes.

The concern turns to confusion. “You had a nightmare last night,” he states like he’s trying to jog your memory.

You frown a tilt your head. “I did?” You try to think back, but nothing comes up. “I don’t remember that…”

Steve raises a brow and observes you for a moment before removing the thought from his head. “Probably for the best, then.” He pushes himself up and places a swift peck to your cheek. “We should get up. Don’t want to be late for school.” He stands and performs a quick back stretch before stepping out of the bedroom to get the coffee going.

You spend another minute trying to recall any sort of dream from last night, but when nothing surfaces, you shake the thought away and move to get up and join Steve in the kitchen. “TGIF,” you comment with another yawn.

Steve sends a smile of amusement your way. “You love your job.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still look forward to Fridays.”

“Doesn’t hurt that Fridays are half days either, I guess,” Steve chuckles.

“No, it certainly does not,” you agree with a grin. Normally Friday afternoons were reserved for teacher and department meetings, but a faculty-wide email had gone out at the end of the day yesterday telling everyone that the meeting had been postponed this week.

You and Steve share another quick breakfast before changing out of your sleepwear and heading out to the school. “Do you ever feel like our life is a little too perfect?” you find yourself asking as you stare out the car window at all the cookie-cutter houses with white picket fences and lush green lawns.

“How do you mean?” Steve asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

You purse your lips as you try to find the best way to speak your thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… everything seems so easy, doesn’t it? Every day we wake up, go to work, go back home; wash, rinse, repeat. And yeah, that’s fine and all, but aren’t there supposed to be like little life issues sprinkled in between? We never have issues at work, never have issues with the house or the car. Hell, even our marriage is perfect! Aren’t normal couples supposed to argue over everything? We never have to compromise on what we’re having for dinner or whose turn it is to do laundry, we just do it. And don’t even get me started on the sex!”

That last one makes Steve laugh. “Are you seriously complaining about our sex life?”

“No!” you insist. “But Deborah did make a comment yesterday about how unusual it is that we still go at it like we’ve never left our honeymoon phase. It’s weird, right?”

Steve reaches over to grab your hand, threading his fingers between yours. He lifts your hand up and brings it closer to his face so he can place a kiss to your knuckles. “I think, in this case, it’s better to be the exception rather than the rule.”

You eye him curiously. “But you’ve never thought it was strange?”

He gives you a quick side glance before turning back to the road with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve had the thought before, yeah. But then I just think about how lucky we are to be so compatible. It’s a good thing that we don’t have any problems. Our life could be so much worse. Wouldn’t you rather be happy if you were given the option?”

“Yeah…” you agree, looking back out the window. “You’re right. I don’t know why I even brought it up.”

“I mean, if you want me to argue with you, I’m sure I can find ways to piss you off,” Steve sends you a goofy grin.

You laugh and shake your head. “That’s not necessary.”

 The school day itself is uneventful. Sometimes you worry that it will be more difficult to wrangle the kids into paying attention on short days, but your classes manage to go smoothly with most students still excited about the martial arts training.

Steve meets you at the locker room doors at the end of the day with a soft smile on his lips and a quick kiss of affection pressed to yours. The two of you stop for a quick lunch at a deli not far from the school before you head home. “How would you like to spend your afternoon, Mrs. Rogers?” Steve asks you as you both step back into the kitchen from the garage.

You release a hum while you think over your options. “I think the bathtub might be calling my name.”

“Oh yeah?” he questions, eyes lighting with interest.

“Care to join me?” you grin suggestively up at him.

His grin matches yours as he wraps an arm around your waist and yanks your body to his. If that’s not enough of an answer for you, then the hungry kiss that follows sure is. His tongue slips into your mouth, his taste mixing with yours and causes a delicious heat to pool between your legs. His hands grip your hips and he starts to walk you backward, through the kitchen and down the hall. You both know the way so instinctively, that you don’t even need to pull apart to see where you’re going. A trail of clothing begins to form in the hallway; your shoes, socks, and yoga pants mixed in with his boots, belt, and jeans.

You’re working the buttons loose on his shirt by the time your feet hit the tile in the bathroom. You let your hands make one quick swipe over his glorious abdominals before pulling your mouth from his with a gasping breath. His lips latch onto your neck before he’s gripping the backs of your thighs and is lifting you up onto the counter for the sink. The cold tile is a startling contrast against your heated core, making you moan.

“Oh god, we could probably take a bath in my underwear, I’m so wet,” you whimper, feeling the clench between your legs as Steve’s hips slot against your spread thighs.

Steve pulls away with a sharp laugh of amusement. “You’re always wet,” he remarks, a slightly prideful tilt to his mouth.

“Well maybe if you were a little less sexy,” you tease.

His eyes flash with want, “I’m a natural aphrodisiac.” Your laughter makes him feel like he’s flying above the clouds. Leaning forward, he places a quick peck to your nose before stepping away to open the faucet for the tub. “You want to light any candles?” he asks, holding his hand under the water to gauge the temperature. Once it’s warm, he flips the switch to close the drain and lets the tub fill up.

“Yeah, I’ll go find the lighter,” you jump down from the counter and make your way passed the trail of clothing back into the kitchen. You riffle around briefly inside the junk drawer, which really can’t be called much of a junk drawer because Steve keeps it impeccably organized, before grabbing the candle lighter.

You begin to head back to the bedroom when you hear a knock on the front door. Diverting course, you head down the opposite side of the hallway. Unlocking the door, you open it partway, making sure to stand mostly behind it to shield your bare legs. You find two people standing out on your front porch, a gorgeous redheaded woman, and an attractive man with dark hair and warm brown eyes.

Both of them look at you in shock. “Val?” they speak in unison.

Your brow furrows and you tilt your head in confusion, “Yes… Can I help you?”

They share a startled look. “We didn’t know you were here. Our intel only told us that Rogers was here,” the woman states.

Her words only confuse you further. “That’s correct. I’m Mrs. Rogers…”

The man begins to choke on his own saliva. “Wait, what?!” he sputters in between coughs.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Val?!” you hear Steve call from deep within the house. “Bath is almost ready. Where’d you go?”

You give the two strangers an odd look, before tilting your head back toward Steve’s direction, “Front door,” you call back.

“Oh… I didn’t realize we were having guests,” Steve states, stepping up behind you and looking over your shoulder at the two outside. “Hello. Is there something my wife and I can help you with?” he asks, not recognizing either of the people standing in front of him.

“Wife? When the hell did you two get married?!” the man asks, still in complete shock.

Steve frowns, hands moving to grasp your hips to pull your back against his chest, his protective instinct kicking in. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

“Sam,” the woman reaches a hand out to her companion’s shoulder, giving him a warning look. Her cool gaze then flickers back to the two of you. “I’m sorry for the strange introduction. My name is Natasha Romanoff, this is Sam Wilson. We’re currently looking into a missing persons case, and we were hoping to ask the two of you a few questions.”

You and Steve share a look of concern. “Missing person?” Steve questions. “Is it one of the kids?”

That question seems to catch the woman off guard. “Excuse me?”

“We’re both teachers at the high school,” you explain to her.

She quickly composes herself, “Oh… No, I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that. Is there a chance we could come in?”

You and Steve share a look, silently communicating with each other. He jerks his head to the side, indicating for you to go put on a pair of pants before he lets the two of them inside. You move down the hall, quickly grabbing your yoga pants and Steve’s jeans off the floor. You step into the kitchen first, slipping your pants back on and drop the lighter down on the counter. You then make your way to the living room.

“Forgive me for my state of undress. We weren’t exactly expecting company,” you hear Steve. He steps into the living room, hands buttoning up his shirt as the two strangers follow behind. He takes his pants from you with a grateful smile, bending down to place a swift kiss to your temple.

“Please, have a seat,” you gesture for the two to sit on your couch.

After Steve has his pants back on, he pulls you over to the lounge chair, taking a seat and pulling you onto his lap. The two of them give you a strange look, making you slightly uncomfortable. You wonder briefly if you should move to sit somewhere else, but the only other option is the floor.

“Have you both been married long?” Natasha finds herself asking.

You and Steve share a fond smile. “A few years,” he tells her.

She keeps her features fixed despite recognizing the vague response. “And you both teach at the high school?”

You nod, “Yes. Steve teaches art while I teach PE.”

“And how long have you been doing that?”

You purse your lips as you try to think about it. “Gosh, I’m not even sure. It feels like forever,” you laugh briefly.

Steve steps back in, “So, how can we help with your case?”

Natasha has to bite back a smirk recognizing his need to take control and get things moving in the right direction. “Tell me,” she starts, “What do you know about Captain America?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You mean the guy that left the Avengers? Not much besides what they’ve been saying on the news. That he walked away from the team and never looked back.” You nod in agreement.

“That’s not exactly what happened. You see, he left on a mission with one of our agents.” Natasha’s eyes flicker to you, looking at you expectantly. When she doesn’t see the reaction she was hoping for, she continues. “The two of them tried to infiltrate a research facility run by the terrorist organization called Hydra. Turns out the intel they had was fake and they’d been lured into a trap. Their plane was shot down before they could make it to the facility. They’ve been missing ever since.”

“That’s horrible,” you mutter quietly. You feel bad for them, but there’s a sort of emotional detachment like you’re not invested in the situation.

You feel Steve sit up a little straighter behind you. “What exactly does this have to do with the two of us?”

Sam releases a frustrated huff, “Steve, you are Captain America.”

You both stiffen in surprise, Steve’s hands tightening at your waist. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Sam.” Natasha sends a sharp glare of warning his way. She softens her features before turning back to the both of you. “Look, I understand this may be hard to believe and very confusing, but it seems that you both have completely forgotten who you really are.”

A long, uncomfortable silence stretches out between you all.

“Do you honestly expect us to believe that?” Steve finally asks incredulously. 

Sam makes another sound of annoyance. A sense of urgency lines his features as he turns to his partner. “Nat, we’re wasting time. We don’t even know where they are!”

She places a pacifying hand on his shoulder. “And we won’t be able to find them until we get their full cooperation,” she responds to him before turning back to you. “I’m afraid that we really must insist that you listen to what we have to say.”

“What do you mean ‘find us’?” you ask, the confusion plain on your face. “You’re in our home.”

The two of them share another apprehensive look. Natasha releases a long sigh before speaking. “There’s no easy way to say this,” she begins. “But you’re not actually here. We’re not actually here,” she gestures to herself and Sam. “None of this is real. This isn’t the real world. This is a virtual copy.”

“A virtual copy…” Steve repeats with a blank face.

“Did you guys get that from the Matrix?” you ask with a wry smile that’s bordering on amusement.

“We’re being serious,” Sam cuts in.

“No one has the kind of technology required to build a virtual world,” Steve argues. “Let alone the ability to download a human mind into it.”

“Hydra does,” Nat counters. “They’ve been able to digitize the human consciousness since the 70′s.”

You and Steve share a look of doubt.

“When your plane went down,” Sam catches the way Steve’s gaze sharpens and he corrects himself. “When the Quinjet crashed, it took the rest of the Avengers several hours to get to the wreckage. By the time we showed up, there was no sign of Captain America or Agent Valor. The crash was bad. There is no way anyone could have walked away from it. Even the Captain.”

Nat steps back in, “We could only assume that Hydra made it to the crash site first. They moved the bodies to a secure location and we’ve been searching ever since.”

“You’re spinning two very different tales here,” you speak up, barely understanding what they’ve been saying. “What does this plane crash have to do with a virtual copy of the world?”

“As Sam said, the plane crash was horrific. It would have been a miracle if anyone survived, and even if they did, it couldn’t have been without severe injury. When Hydra took the bodies, the only possible way of sustaining the life within would have been to download the consciousness into a virtual world until the body could be repaired.”

“We don’t know where they’re keeping your real bodies,” Sam tells you both.

“Do you realize how crazy you both sound?” you find yourself asking, staring back at them in disbelief.

Nat’s gaze hardens slightly. “Can you honestly tell us that you’ve never once questioned the reality of this world?”

That makes you pause when you remember the conversation that you had with Steve just this morning. Could your life really be so perfect because it was… what? A computer simulation?

“Do you have any proof that can validate the things you’re saying?” Steve asks.

“Our main goal was to establish contact,” Sam responds. “We didn’t know if we would even be able to reach you, let alone that your memory would be wiped.”

That makes you frown, “Our memory is just fine.”

“You’re the one that said you can’t remember how long you’ve been working at the school,” Natasha counters.

“That was just an expression!” you argue back.

“Okay. Then tell us exactly how long you’ve been married. When is your anniversary date?”

You open your mouth to respond immediately, but the words can’t seem to form on your lips. Your brows pinch together as frustration builds inside you. Why can’t you remember your anniversary? “I… I don’t understand,” you falter, glancing back at Steve. He looks just about as lost as you. “But… I can remember our wedding… And our honeymoon…” you protest weakly. You just can’t seem to remember the date.

“Hydra must have planted false memories. They have complete control of your minds. They can do whatever they want,” Natasha explains.

“The two of you aren’t married in the real world,” Sam breaks to you. “It’s fake, just like the rest of this,” he gestures vaguely around the room.

His confession feels like a punch in the gut. “That… that can’t be true,” you whisper brokenly. This seems to shatter everything around you more than anything else they’ve said.

You feel Steve shift beneath you. He lifts your hips enough so he can slide out from under you, leaving you to sit in the chair alone while he stands and moves to the other side of the room. Him physically distancing himself from you shakes you to the core. He can’t honestly believe in the things they’re saying, can he?

He crosses his arms over his chest pins your two guests with a long stare. “The things you’re saying sound impossible,” he starts. “But if, and this is a big if, it’s somehow true… why would Hydra keep us alive? Why not leave us for dead in the plane crash?”

“Hydra has a long history of turning our friends into our enemies,” Natasha replies ominously. “If they can find a use for you, they’ll use you until there’s nothing left.”

“Does this look like we’re getting turned into Hydra terrorists?” you ask, your frustration at this entire situation bleeding through your tone. “We’re high school teachers, for Christ's sake!” You shoot to your feet. “You know what? No,” you swipe your hands through the air. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this bullshit. Feel free to talk to Steve as much as you want, but I’m done. I’m sorry we can’t help you any further on your missing persons case.” Leaving it at that, you walk out of the living room and down the hall into your bedroom, letting the door slam shut behind you.

You feel a little bit like a sulking teenager, but your entire body is shaking and you just can’t seem to handle what’s going on. You step into the bathroom in your bedroom, frowning when you recall the tub full of water in the other bathroom that’s probably gone cold. “What a waste,” you huff before moving to the sink. You splash a few handfuls of cold water against your face, trying to calm your racing thoughts and bubbling emotions. Resting your hands against the sink, you let out a long sigh and stare at yourself in the mirror. “Why can’t you remember your anniversary?” you ask yourself as if the version looking back would be able to respond. She doesn’t.

“Great… now I’m the one going crazy.” You roll your eyes and then grab a towel to dry your face and hands.

You pace around your bedroom, too wired to sit still. You can hear the conversation continuing out in the living room, but you can’t hear what any of them are saying. You just want Steve to tell them to go away.

None of this makes any sense and the more you try to think about it, the more your head begins to ache. Releasing a groan of discomfort, you make your way to the bed to lie down. You curl up on your side, grabbing Steve’s pillow to clutch to your chest like a teddy bear. You draw a small amount of comfort from his scent, but it’s not the same as having him wrapped around you.

A part of you almost wishes that this whole place really was just a computer simulation. Because maybe then you could just hit a re-do button on this whole day.

Part 3

[starlight-starwrites]

I would die if you wrote a fic/ficlet expanding on giving Tovar loyalty and kindness. Oh God. And what he would do for you once you gained his trust. I love your HCs :)

Trust

note: thank you so much for this. i got so excited for this one...it is going to be a two parter. no smut in this one, that will be part 2! this clocked in at 2.3k. expanded from my hc here!

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Pero Tovar liked to think he was a hard man to read. And yet somehow, they still managed to figure out he hid the money. All he could think about as he ran was what an idiot he was, and if the money wasn’t where he left it, people were losing heads. He’d been traveling on his own for a while now, and he still couldn’t make up his mind whether this was better or worse.

The streets were still busy, but he weaved through the people with practiced ease. His sword was sheathed, but most still avoided getting in his path by the look on his face alone. He had left you there, asking you to guard his pay. It was another stupid idea.

He assumed he could trust you. But trusting had gotten him in trouble in the past. Maybe you had never betrayed him, but the cabrónes had to have found out somehow. Was it you? Had he really gone soft for a woman with pretty eyes and a teasing smile?

He cursed as he ran down the street behind the shops. He didn’t care who he pushed aside as he finally reached the alley. He turned aside the crates at the back door of the tavern, to where he told you he stashed the gold. The bag would be in the smallest one, and he would take it and disappear and—

It was gone.

They must have been right. Tovar was a fool. You had taken it.

“Mierda.” He slammed his fist on the wooden slats of the wall. “¡Mierda!”

He wasn’t even sure who to be mad at. A pit formed in his stomach at the thought of you. As if the universe decided to curse him, your head popped out from the back door the tavern, eyes wide.

“Pero!” you hissed. You looked afraid, and he tried to ignore the tightening in his chest. He turned to anger instead.

“What have you done?” He didn’t like how accusatory he sounded. Your hand reached to grasp his arm and pull him in, just as his hands came to wrap around your upper arms, pushing you into the backroom. He barely glanced around to make sure you were alone before asking you again. “What have you done?”

The subtle break in his voice pulled at your heart. But today was getting more and more confusing, and you were ready to get out of this mess a long time ago.

“What are you talking about, Pero?” You make sure the door has closed behind you before turning back to him, ignoring the way his hands pull at your jacket and waist like he’s searching for something. “You can’t be seen here, Pero. What are you doing back?”

“It’s gone!” he hissed. He’s still angry but quieter now. He knows you can’t be overheard. “It’s gone. What have you done with it?”

“Pero, please, listen to me. Men came here—”

“What?” He interrupts you. “Are you alright? What did they do to you?”

The change in his demeanor throws you. You could have sworn he was blaming you for the gold you knew was missing, and yet here he stands now with nothing but worry in his eyes and assurance in his hands. He pulls you slightly closer, hands running over your shoulders. Even though you’re tense from the events of the day, you find safety in the touch, willing to forgive him if he would just listen.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m fine. But they were poking around, asked Henry many questions. I got nervous, so I moved the money.”

The look in his eye changes, but you can see he isn’t angry with you anymore. “What did Henry tell them?”

“You know Henry.” You tug on his armor, pressing your chest to his. “He isn’t one to talk. Sent them away. He wouldn’t have anything to tell them anyway.”

Tovar pouts. “Henry hates me.”

“Henry hates everyone,” you say, smiling up at him. “There’s a reason he’s been in business this long.”

His breath has calmed, and he holds you with hands at your back. It’s a touch of two people who are familiar with each other, and your heart beats faster at the implications. He’s never held you like this before. It was born of panic you know, but you still hope it means he’s beginning to trust you.

“Then what did the men do?”

“They started hanging around. Watching and looking through stuff. You told me to make sure it was safe so…I did. I pulled it out and put it where they wouldn’t dare look. I didn’t see them out when I looked last, but they’re likely waiting for you. If they see you here, Pero…”

They would come back. They’d look through everything. And then they’d take him from you.

You’d only just gotten him back.

“Then where did you hide it? I will take it away from here.”

You knew you would have to tell him eventually. But now that you stared the moment in the face, you felt embarrassed. It was an incredibly clever hiding spot, that you knew. You only hoped he would see it the same.

Tovar stared at you, still standing in his arms. To be honest, it was only just registering to him now how he held you, how you held him back. He wasn’t inclined to let go any time soon. It was the way you now avoided looking at him that made him worried. You looked…flustered.

He pulled away to look at you better. “Is everything alright?”

You hated that you were blushing. “I—yes, well no. No, it’s fine just—” Oh this was stupid. You pulled out of his arms, fisted your skirts in your hands, and lifted.

Tovar didn’t think he could be easily surprised, but as soon as you did that, he almost choked. He had to take a moment to realize that he was looking at your legs before he actually saw what was strapped to them. Pouches of his gold stuffed in your stockings and tied with…oh gods. Was that a garter?

You stared at him as he stared at your legs. Frozen for a moment, you just watched his face, unsure how to interpret his shock. It was only when he blinked a few times that you realize you were still holding your skirts up, and you dropped them quickly. He’d seen what he needed to.

“It’s, uh, it’s all there.” You didn’t like how hoarse your voice had gotten.

Pero cleared his throat, nodding as he ducked his head to the floor. He hates that he can’t stop himself from smiling and is forced to hide it instead.

“I should…” He trailed off. What should he do? “I should get it out of here.”

Being so close to you would only put you at risk. Henry would really hate him then, and he wasn’t going to risk the chance of never seeing you again. Thinking about his money strapped to your legs distracted him from what you were doing. After he trailed of the first time, you had stopped listening and were already talking over him. He shook his head before he heard what you were saying.

“I don’t carry much, but I brought an extra bag with provisions. I figured you wouldn’t likely bother so I thought I’d take care of that for you. And yes, before you ask, I brought an extra canteen filled with ale for you, and the sweet rolls. I took whatever wouldn’t spoil, but really you ought to be eating more fresh—”

You stopped when he took hold of you by your arms, pulling you to look at him. He still held one of the parcels you had absent-mindedly handed him, and he had absent-mindedly taken.

“What are you on about?”

His brows were creased so deeply, you wanted to reach up and smooth it with your fingers. Despite noticing how much he had calmed down from earlier, his chest was heaving now.

“You said it yourself, they’ll be after us. We—”

“We…”

The grip on your arms was tight. You had no idea what he was thinking.

“Yes, we. You think I was going to let you run off on your own? You hardly think two steps ahead. Besides, you need someone to watch your back, and I’d be very disappointed when you run off with so much money, I never see you again.”

Pero stared at you in awe. “No, I…” He very much wanted to hoist you up over his shoulder and carry you away right now. But he knew that would attract unwanted attention, so instead he did the next best thing.

He surges forward, lips pressing to yours in a fiery kiss. He had wanted to do this admittedly much too soon after meeting you, but now that he had you here, in his arms, sharing your breath, tasting you—he thinks he should have done it much sooner. Your lips were soft, he liked the way your waist fit in his hands, liked how easily you opened for him.

The bags dropped to the ground, forgotten as Pero kissed you. Your hands creep up to his neck, caressing his face before curling in his hair. He had taken the lead, tongue licking into your mouth, his forehead pressing into yours to tilt your head back. It was the moment you had been waiting for, the kiss of your dreams. You had been afraid he may never come to you like this, but now here he was.

You weren’t going to waste a moment.

Your fingers wrapped in his hair and pulled, tilting his head back, and you took the moment of surprise to reach with your own tongue, pushing into his mouth to take what you wanted. It was a fierce kiss, and you moved your lips against his, opening his mouth before taking his bottom lip in between yours. His hands gripped the flesh of your waist almost painfully, and your eyes flicked open for a moment to look at him.

His gaze was dark and primal, and you nearly feared you had gone too far. The backroom was too dark to see the flush of his face, but you were so close the constant sound from the front did nothing to hide his growl. The sound vibrated against your lips and sent a pulse of want through your body. His mouth was on yours again, rough and hungry, and it took everything in you to keep up. Your hands were threading through his hair, pulling the short locks, fingernails scrapping at his scalp. His hands slid up from your waist, fingers splaying against your back, his thumbs rubbing underneath your breasts. He leans into you, pushing you back and you walk, lips not breaking from each other.

Your back hits the wall, and he swipes into your mouth again, unashamedly tasting you. You’re surrounded by him, melt into his arms, his mouth. Moan what might be his name past his lips. You know you’re on borrowed time, know that he does too by the way he forcibly keeps his hands above your hips. The passion of his kiss does not fade, even as he slows. His nose bumps yours, his kisses become shorter and harder, as though he’s trying to pull away and failing.

You are no innocent, leaning forward to find his lips again each time you separate. Your hands come to cup his cheeks, just as his leave your sides to take your face in his hands. He pulls you in for one last kiss, much softer than all the ones before. Your lips stay planted on his and he breathes you in. Your thumb skims on the edge of scar underneath his eye, still enjoying the feeling of having him so near.

You know what is coming next, so you break the moment first.

“I’m going to take that as you don’t have issue with me coming?”

His shoulders shake for a moment as he nuzzles your cheek, and you think he’s smiling.

“I most certainly have issue, amor. But it seems I cannot let you go.” He nips at your bottom lip, making you smile. You sincerely hope you find yourself between a wall and Tovar again, because you have plans.

You slide your hands down to his chest to put some distance between you, allowing you to remember the danger that is coming, and how you are to escape.

“We’ll take what we have here, and head to the bridge on the East side of town,” you say, trying to bring focus back to your plan. Pero still looks at you with worry.

“My horse, she is still kept on the other side—”

It’s your turn to interrupt him. “I’ve already sent Sigmond. He’s brought her to this side of the river. If we make it there without a problem, we should be safe.”

You don’t recognize the look in his eye as he looks at you now, but you think it is fond. His lips quirk to the side as he admires you. “You think of everything, do you not?”

You smile up at him, happy to be appreciated, happy that he did not protest your presence. “One of us must.”

He grins then, relief shinning in his face. His eyebrows pull together, and you think you have never seen him with such emotion. The bags are quickly snatched up from where they lay on the floor, and you stride to the door, fastening your satchel of personal items across your back.

Pero strides beside you, rushing to the door, before he stops you. A hand comes to the side of your neck, a thumb on your jaw, and pulls your face toward him to press a fierce kiss to your lips. It’s over much too soon, and you find yourself chasing his taste.

He stands more proudly than you’ve ever seen him. “Mi corazón,” he whispers. And then he’s pulling you by your hand onto the evening streets, eagerly running to your next adventure.

[thiswasinevitableid]

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect. 

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him. 

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him. 

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed. 

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching. 

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head. 

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes. 

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.” 

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket. 

------------------------------------------------

“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen. 

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands. 

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way. 

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground. 

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous. 

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back. 

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night. 

-------------------------------------------------

“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister. 

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river. 

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping. 

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend. 

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position. 

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink. 

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it. 

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore. 

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt. 

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

-----------------------------------------------

Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face. 

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.” 

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago. 

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters. 

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late. 

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them. 

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position. 

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur. 

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

[urlocalbunny]

.lingerie - aaron.

if you came here thinking eloise was wearing the lingerie, you’re wrong.

rated m.

2,400 words. enjoy, babes!

"C'mon, it's this way!" Beliath ushered, eyes gleaming with pride and joy as Aaron followed, feeling out of place and cold. He was already bored, but the shopping was alluring. There were some shoes, nice pants, and even a dress he actually "bought" for Eloise (the clerk already seemed kinda dazed when he came around. They were even looking at his chest as if in a trance. Weirdo.)

Beliath pushed him into a door. In this store, there were some beauty products probably aimed at women, some shoes. But these weren't comfortable at all. They looked painful. A lot of them were shiny and pointy like a sword. Beliath made a sound somewhere else. Aaron followed, with Eloise's baby pink bag and his new plushie of a cat with a cape he found randomly, to remember Ivan. His name was Navi.

If Navi could talk, he would probably curse. Beliath was standing in front of a mannequin wearing a black stripe mess.

"These would look incredible on me, don't you agree?" Aaron quirked a brow and put Navi on the bag. He didn't know what the hell that was, but it was horny and lewd like Beliath himself.

"Fuck is this?" He deadpanned, puzzled.

"... A lingerie set?" Beliath seemed to think he'd understand. He looked at the small stripes again. They were black and quite shiny, the lower piece was supposed to hold the junk in, but it was a small, flimsy-looking triangle held by exactly three black stripes. The top one was a bra without the bust. Therefore, there were two holes in it. He even poked it to see if it wasn't just transparent, but his finger met the cold and gray plastic.

"Make two holes on Eloise's old stuff she threw away. It's for free."

"But it is for free for all of us."

"This is a bunch of stripes. You can make one of these with straws and a blow-dryer." Beliath cackled, rolling his eyes affectionately.

"I think you should try to give Eloise a little show." He teased, making Aaron blush.

"I don't-!"

"You seriously don't understand the lingerie concept? Because-"

"-I do understand, but it's been a long time since I saw any, and they usually dressed people properly." Beliath gaped.

"What do you mean? Eloise never wore any for you? You bang like bunnies!"

"I told her she doesn't need to..."

"You turned Eloise down?!"

Beliath pulled him through aisles without another word on the Eloise subject, asking him what he liked and what he would wear.

"Why did you have to have a girlfriend right when I found that killer one?" He whined.

"You sound like Leandra."

"Ew. Forget that, you're disgusting." Aaron snickered.

"Oh!" His gasp made Beliath look at where he was looking. Then he gasped himself.

A cold, dark green delicate set was there in front of him. A lace thong with green tulle hanging on the sides matched a garter belt and transparent tulle thigh highs, with a delicate corset. It didn't seem as sturdy as the ones supposed to be useful. It was more for the visuals. It had some golden embroidered flowers and leaves, a very subtle and delicate shimmer adorning the threads, and it was smaller to fit between the bra and the belt. There was a bra, but this time covered with a transparent and shiny green tulle similar to the rest, golden bondage straps around the chest area. He didn't even see how he bought it.

Beliath was giddy when they came back, but Aaron could only think about showing it to Eloise and recommending the store so they could take a look. He took a nice bubble bath and put on a robe after getting everything right in place and giving himself a once over. His cheeks were tingling with embarrassment, but he knew Eloise would probably think it was pretty. His eyes wandered to his thighs covered by the socks. The doorknob turning made him squeal.

"Aaron? Are you in there?"

"Hi, Raph. Are you um- okay?"

"I should be asking you the same thing. Are you in need of help?"

"H-help? W-why?" He creaked the door open, clutching his robe into himself and walking backward as his friend tilted his head towards his general direction.

"Well, you are panting, and I heard you cursing under your breath..."

"Oh. I'm fine. Thanks, pal."

"You're welcome. And Aaron?" He stopped by the end of the hall.

"Yes?"

"I'm sure your lingerie looks amazing. Eloise is going to enjoy it. If she doesn't, well. There's always someone else. The embroidery must feel nice to the touch."

Aaron walked away too fast to hear Raphael giggling. When he arrived, Eloise was sitting down on his bed, Navi in her arms. She took a liking to him.

"Um... I have something to show you. Promise you won't laugh."

"I won't unless you bought a rubber chicken."

"No, it was something different." She gave him her attention, motioning for him to continue. He untied the knot on the robe, letting it slide off his shoulders as he turned his front to her. Her eyes widened, and she put a hand in front of her mouth. He was going to cover himself up, but Eloise held the robe and placed it on the bed without realizing he was going to grab it, eyes never leaving his form. She stood closer.

"Look, I think I should-"

"-You look so beautiful."

"... What?"

"God, this green and gold combo compliments your eyes so much. And this corset is so pretty..." Her hand ran along his waist, squeezing in the dip and caressing the curve when she examined the embroidery. Her digits traveled alongside the expanse of his back, sighing when she found the arch, and then she locked her eyes on his chest.

"Eloise? What are you doing?"

"You're a nasty little puppy, aren't you?" He whined, a huff of minty air coming out of his mouth. "Did you let Beliath help you with this?"

"N-no! I- I wanted to save it for you." His puppy eyes made her coo and kiss on his nose, giving an Eskimo kiss afterward and feeling her heart beat fast because of how much he seemed to enjoy such tender touches.

"I'm playing with you, you know. I'm not going to be jealous of our friend." She chuckled, popping one of the clips on the belt open. "You're getting harder and harder, aren't you, puppy?" He sighed, nodding his head.

"I'm going to reward you for this. Let's see if I don't have to use the whip on you for punishments today, huh?" He nodded again.

"Yes, Elo." She rubbed his head, unclasping the belt from the socks to get rid of his thong. After that, she clasped it again, paying no attention to Aaron's raging boner. "Please... I want you to look."

Her eyes locked into his, and he shut his mouth before a whine left his throat. She smiled, sitting on top of him and stuffing his thong on his mouth.

"You've been good the last time I dommed, so I'll give you a choice. How do you want this to go, puppy? Want me to suck you off?" He shook his head no violently. "How about I play with your tight little hole?" He groaned, sighing when she pulled the thong off his mouth and leaned down, kissing his forehead, then his nose. She stood up, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out the strap and the lube. He closed his eyes to relax, but then the rustling the fabric created made him pop them open to watch her strip until only her panties remained. Her boobs bounced off the dress lightly, making his mouth run dry. There were a few bite marks and red marks from the last time, which he appreciated.

She threw the items on the bed, crawling on top of him and bringing his hand to her right boob. Aaron immediately squeezed it, making her arch her back lightly. Her hips moved slowly but surely while she leaned down, unclasping his bra and throwing it aside, leaning down to bite his brown bud. He sucked in a breath and mewled at the slight, pleasurable pain.

Eloise's panties were wet, and the roughness of the fabric against his tip felt delicious, but he needed more, anything more. He pulled her arm down, meeting her lips and whining into the kiss, grabbing her ass and squeezing it. He relished on the moans she let out. His finger trailed, eyes asking for her permission. Eloise slid her panties off, barely registering before he pounced on her, throwing her on the bed and placing himself between her legs, making sure his ass was in the air, his back arched nicely for her.

He kissed her thighs lovingly, feeling her skin and the sweet perfume. His eyes locked into hers as he darted his tongue out, circling her clit slowly. She sighed in contempt, running a hand through his hair in approval. He was itching to taste her, but he knew how she reacted when he changed the pace she set, and this time, she wanted to take it slow.

Her mind was foggy, and pants left her parted lips as he circled his tongue, the wet heat spreading through her abdomen and creating pressure. His lips closed around her bud, sucking it in and letting it out with a pop. His hand trailed that path to her inner thighs slowly, and Eloise enjoyed the view. His nose bumped against her, making her body jolt while he kept her close with one strong arm. The fact that she could snap her fingers and such a big, strong man would bend over for her was more than arousing, but the prospect of how he'd get back at her for taking so long was equally sweet.

Aaron lapped up for a while, circling his tongue and curling his fingers inside her just the right way. Eloise sucked in a breath and curled her toes. The familiar shudder rose from her feet to her upper body. He smiled against her, eyes shining with mischief. Her hand pushed him away, seeing herself on his face and smiling. He'd earned his reward.

"How do you want me to fuck you, puppy?" He eagerly put himself in all fours, giggling at himself when the bed bounced. Eloise gave him vivid laughter, making him smile fondly even when her eyes couldn't see. The bed dipped behind him, and a cold hand came to caress his rear, squeezing and teasing. He moved his hips, coaxing her into giving in slowly, his hair falling to the side and showing his neck that she so eagerly leaned in to kiss.

Her hand slid up and pinched one of his nipples, making him moan lowly and push his hips back. Leaning against him, Eloise wrapped a hand around his shaft, pumping slowly and expertly. His hips wiggled, soft moans left his throat as he rocked like an obedient pet, sighing and squeezing the sheets when she picked up or slowed down. Soon, he felt the shiver that came with the warm lube coating his hole. She stopped jerking him. Her finger prodded, complimenting how pretty he looked over the wet sounds and small gasps.

"Eloise, f-fuck."

"Shhhh, baby. Patience." He whined in frustration, which made her chuckle and grant him her whole finger, making him sigh in relief. He rocked his hips on the pace she set, a pretty arch on his back. Eloise judged it was time to add another finger, so she did it slowly, lubing him to her liking and checking on him. Aaron was a mess. His dick was leaking on the sheets, now abandoned by her. He wanted her to jerk him off already, but he knew she was going to drag this out until he could finally fuck her.

The strap's tip was warm. Aaron's eyes fluttered shut, finally feeling the stretch.

"You're so relaxed, puppy. That's it." He moaned, hips jerking while she cooed at him.

From there on, the only sounds he could focus on were the ones she produced. Her labored breathing from the recent orgasm, her hands sliding against him, her praise, and the light slapping sounds that started to submerge on his mind.

"Anh- fuck! Yes, yes!" He keened, but the pillows muffled the sound, making Eloise pull his hair roughly upwards. He hissed, feeling his dick jump violently.

"Let people hear how good you feel, puppy. Who's making you feel so nice, huh?"

"You, you Eloise, please don't stop, nhg-"

Her hand slapped his ass hard, hips hitting just the right spot.

"Look at you. You're enjoying my dick this much?" He nodded fervently, making her chuckle and soothe the sting on his rear. She let his head go, and he put it to the side as not to muffle more sounds, or else she was going to punish him. The bed hit the wall repeatedly, making him rock back into the dildo. That was heaven to him, being with her like this, skin to skin and feeling so, so good.

His moans got ragged and urgent all of a sudden, making Eloise slow down for a while, then grab his dick and pump it. He punched the wall, making her chuckle.

"Are you ready, puppy? You've been such a good pet." He nodded, barely being able to form any words at all. She moved her hips quickly, pumping him until the knot on his stomach snapped. White-hot pleasure flashed through him as she let go as soon as he came, letting him spurt the load on his own while she focused on fucking into him.

After a while, he pulled away, whimpering. Eloise pulled out, laughing at his disheveled state and pushing him to the side, where he fell like a doll, eyes already heavy. Eloise forgot about herself and dressed one of Aaron's shirts, picking the sheets up and throwing the dildo in the bathroom sink, washing it, and putting it back in place. As soon as she came back, however, there was no sign of Aaron in the bed.

"Aaron? Uh- weird, where is- ah!"

He clasped a hand in her mouth. The growling sound she heard was a clear answer.

"About time you came back..."