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[theorist-fox]

Fair trade

John Price x Reader

Cross posted from AO3.

This one shot deals with heavy topics such as emotional manipulation, emotional abuse from family, and self-objectification.

I'm begging you to read the tags before pursuing the story. Thank you so much for taking care of yourself first. 🦊

If you're looking for some aftersex comfort, recommending this by @/karlachismylife. 🧡

Summary: John helps you out of the toxic pattern your family has woven around you, and finds how utterly gorgeous you are behind it. He cuts your strings, and loves you the way you deserve.

18+

Word count: 10k CW: smut (cunnilingus, blow jobs, sex seen as a form of self-harm, sex seen as a way to feel useful), heavy angst, hurt/comfort, dubcon if you squint.

Masterlist 🦊

“No, we can’t come over, darling.”

To have a life planned out must be a dream. No worries nor fears, because everything is already outlined—a step-by-step guide, given to you at birth. A path, a purpose.

To give is your purpose.

It’s been ever since before you hit the eighteen mark; the birthday being only a threshold that signed your legal independence.

But you’ve always been, haven’t you? Shadowed by bigger problems ever since you were a small thing because there wasn't trouble that mattered less than you did.

The difference being that before you were shielded by your naïveté, by the bleeding heart they’ve carefully built for you, so you’d bend and break pliantly, even willingly at times, without ever realizing.

Now you're an adult, they'd implied.

Now they can use you at your full potential, and you won’t even put up a fight. You won’t set boundaries, because this is all you’ve ever learned. This is all they’ve ever taught you. Their perfect mold, kneeling in perfect obedience.

But how much can one take in a lifetime?

“Thanks for the help, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

But staring at the phone won’t make it ring.

When you’ve never had a moment for yourself but plenty of time to dedicate to others—where do you draw the line of this so-called purpose, then?

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“It’s next week, mum.”

“Oh. I must have mixed it up.”

This goal—this agonized prize, towering at the finish line you’re desperately running to, the one defined by your family the moment your first cry pierced the air—what is it, exactly?

It’s a cascade of praises. It’s a shower of love that reawakens you from your torpor like a bucket of ice-cold water. It's abrupt but somewhat needed until it slowly becomes fresh instead of freezing, and it hydrates your skin and soothes the thirst. You feel rejuvenated, coming out of your lethargy, and alive and thriving and—

It stops.

Your fifteen minutes of unbridled, limitless love just snatched away in spare seconds.

And you’re parched again. Sometimes, they leave you wanting until you’re on your knees. Sometimes, they never give it back.

And so, the questions arise—what happens when you’re not needed anymore?

What happens when the calls plummet?

When the visits diminish until there are none?

When you're a ghost haunting your own life because your purpose is slowly vanishing. When that prize stands in the distance as a rushing fountain of praises and kindness, but you've already given a hand, an arm, your legs, your voice, your heart. What then?

How do you move, exactly, if there are no limbs to which attach the strings? How will you speak, if they’re not shaping your voice?

How does your puppeteer lift you from the floor? Your ventriloquist—how will it force you to agree to every demand?

“You... met without me?”

“Sweetheart, we thought you were busy.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“You would’ve said no.”

But you wouldn’t have. You’re not even sure you can say ‘no’ to them.

Is there someone who will hoist you up, when you’re nothing more than a torso, and take you to the finish line?

“Uh, darling, mind calling later?”

“I’m not feeling fine, I was hoping—“

“I’m busy, love.”

A therapist for your mum.

A crutch for your dad.

An advocate for your brother, but you’re no one to them.

A child, once. A person, now.

A notification on their phone. A Google reminder of a birthday.

A missed call. An excuse.

A vacant shape in a family photo. A memory, then nothing.

Raised to serve. But what happens when there’s no one to serve?

“What you’re doing to me is not fair.”

“I don’t like that attitude. Don’t forget how much we did for you.”

Your hands are tight around the steering wheel. White knuckled fists and creaking leather. The car smells of stale tobacco, cigarettes you’ve smoked with your offhand limp out of the car window, then stubbed in the portable ashtray.

"We love you, of course we do. How could you ask that?"

It's raining but your window's rolled down, a ciggie snug between two fingers. Elbow propped on the car door, arm hanging out. The sleeve of your sweater is soaked, and the cigarette is sodden. You don't even notice it when you bring it to your lips and take a drag. Nothing fills your lungs.

It’s fine.

It's a habit. It's autopilot. You go. You exist.

“It really doesn’t feel like it. You haven’t called in weeks.”

“It’s just—we’re people too. We’re busy.”

“You’re not busy for my brother.”

“He’s—you’re different, darling.” You’re used. We’ve consumed you.

It’s a feeling of emptiness that spills out of every hole like heavy smoke, clouding your senses. A husk that billows dark tendrils from its eyes, moves mechanically like an alien imitating a human being.

It's fake. You're a dummy. Unhuman. A thing.

“I just need your help. I—I’m not fine. I’m not asking for much. Just an evening toge—”

"So much is happening right now. You can deal with it on your own, love.”

You close the car door once you've parked it in the garage. Up the stairs you go, dragging your feet on every step.

“Like you’ve always done.”

Would this world exist even if you weren’t in it? Would these stairs lead to your apartment, if you didn’t inhabit it?

Is your flat even yours? Sure, you’ve paid for it. The party you threw after your signature was placed on the contract is still a cherished memory.

But what were you even celebrating? Four walls. A roof over your head. A bed to kip.

It’s a lot, you’re aware. Not everyone can say they own all that. But do you? 

They’re things. Can you own things?

Surely, you are owned. By them.

But you’re not even sure you need things. You can’t need, because things don’t need. And what are you, if not a thing? Because things are used, not humans. Humans fight back, eventually. Humans hold their pride dear, it's the only character that separates them from animals, from meat. You never bit back, not once. So what does that make you, if not theirthing?

Your purpose is not a choice you made, it’s theirs. You have to give—that is why they made you.

You own, so you can give them.

You earn, so you can give back.

Because who’s given you a roof when you couldn’t afford it yourself? And the food in your belly?

Darling, it wasn’t for free. You were expensive to raise. You were costly to craft, to mold, to perfect.

But they haven’t called. No one has. No one will. 

The master left the strings—and what of you, now? Do you just lie limply on the floor, waiting for the next hand that'll hoist you up?

And if they don’t call to ask from you, how do you know you’re doing fine? How do you know if the finish line is close when they took your eyes already? How do you ask for help, if you don’t have a voice?

But that was the point. Their goal. They own you, and without them, you’re nothing but a heap of wood, infested with termites. Wooden rods on the floor, nylon strings cut short. You’ll grovel and beg, they’ll croon at you in mockery, bleeding you dry, but it will be enough for you—anything would be enough for you.

You unlock the door. John hears and his head peeks from the kitchen.

“Hi love,” he rumbles, and you feel it shaking your heart.

Does he need you?

John Price is a captain of the special forces who has gone through hell and back. He's witnessed things you've only heard from the mouths of journalists or read in black-and-white papers, and he came out of each one of them unscathed. Strong. Resilient.

He doesn’t need you. 

“Sortin’ out dinner,” he adds, and returns behind the wall that separates the living room from the cooking area. “You’re gonna love this pasta, I’m telling you.”

Of course, he doesn't need you.

The house is pristine. He takes care of it while you’re at work since he’s off deployment. He’s going to be home for a while now, a handful of months. That’s a good thing, you miss him when he leaves.

It’s you who needs him. But you can’t need, so how does this work, exactly?

How do you explain that hole in your stomach that relentlessly craves to be filled? That makes you want to curl on the floor. Turn into dust and seep through the cracks of the hardwood.

Disappear. Invisible. Paper-thin.

Because maybe you're tired of being needed. Perhaps you want to break through that mindset and start needing something.

You chastise yourself for even concocting the thought.

You stand stock still at the door. You hear nothing but the blood rushing in your ears and John moving pans around the kitchen.

You see his head at the doorway again.

“Love?”

Your eye twitches, but you don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you. Then why is he here?

There are plenty of people out there who’d love to bend for him. Mouths he can kiss. Holes he can fill.

That’s what people are, no?

No. That's what you are.

You’ll make him need you. You’ll show him that you’re fundamental, not just another hole. That you cannot be replaced, because you can't afford to lose him. You can't.

It’s selfish, it is.

You cannot be selfish, it’s not what you were taught. But you will. Just today, just now. The first apparent tear into the careful pattern threaded by your family.

But it's not really a hole, is it? If you're carving it to escape a trap, only to fall back into another one of your own making.

You hurriedly toe off your wet shoes and walk with purpose to the kitchen, dropping your bag on the floor as you do. He quirks a brow at you and your silence, but his face soon morphs into sudden confusion when you come to stand in front of him and drop to your knees.

You know how to do it—how to make people smile.

Your empathy is unmatched. You read people's tics, their quirks. Gauge them from the way they move their lips, the words they use, the way they look at you.

And John—oh, he loves how you work with your mouth.

And if he needs your mouth, then by extension, he needs you.

Your hands palm his thighs as you flutter your lashes up to him. He's forced to lean back against the kitchen counter, but he's not looking at you the way he usually does—not with his lidded blue eyes, heavy and wanton.

John looks dubious instead. Even flinches when you press your cheek to the crotch of his jeans, stroking the fabric to your skin. Denim’s rough, and it especially hurts when the plump of your cheek catches the zipper’s teeth.

Good. 

Let him take. And let it hurt.

“What’s goin’ on." He states, doesn't ask.

Please, take.

You’re already working through the button and the zipper when you answer, fingers shaking as you do. “I wanna suck your cock.”

Now, John wouldn’t normally complain, but you sound much different from the other times in which you actually do want to suck his cock.

He hums, allowing you to palm him through his briefs, gently but firmly pressing your hand where he’s still soft. You nose him through the cotton, flattening your tongue against his dick—you can feel it twitch under the muscle. Good, means his body is responding how you want him to.

His hands curl painfully tight around the lip of the counter.

It’s so silent except for your heaving breaths warming up his length and the buzzing fire on the stove.

You place tender kisses as you feel him harden under your lips.

He's looking at you to try and gauge the reason behind all this. It's clear to him that you're not being your usual self, there is something in your eyes that tickles him in the wrong place. You know he knows—you know he's gathered something's wrong. He’s ever so attentive, capturing every minimal change in the wrinkles of your face.

You're so akin to him when it comes to that.

You don't give him time to ponder for long, though. You take his cock out of his briefs and force it into your mouth.

John knocks his head back against the cupboard and fixes his eyes to the ceiling, wide open. A heavy breath leaves him languidly. His cock chubs up as it sits heavy on your tongue, and you can feel it fill up your mouth.

“Christ.”

Yes. It’s what you want, to hear him lose himself in you.

You start slowly, pumping your hand at the base along with the movements of your lips, mindful of keeping your teeth out of the way. Tilting your head sideways, you let the tip of his cock push against your cheek while your tongue lavishes the malleable skin around its length.

Your eyes swivel upward, and you're met with the view of his corded neck, tight and straining as he refuses to look at you.

No. 

He needs to know it’s you.

He needs to understand that you can give this whenever he wants, that you're not just another mouth. That no one else is as versed as you are when you eat him up. Your tongue knows how to follow the vein along the velvet of his skin, all the way to the slit on the tip. Your hand knows how to cup his balls and brush the seam in the middle—how he shudders, each time you do.

He needs to know that.

He can’t let you go. Not him too.

He has to hoist the limbless torso that you are towards the finish line, where you’ll get your caresses and your praises and your prize: the crumbs of love you’ll lap until your famished heart stops rumbling.

So, you drift your free hand upward and thread your fingers through the curls on his pelvis, gently grazing the skin with your nails. Then, you drum the pads on his soft belly, feeling them dip into the flesh and hit the harder muscles underneath. You splay your palm in the middle of his stomach, where you can feel the blood rushing madly as his heart pumps all the same.

It’s enough for you, the bodily reaction to the softness of your mouth.

But why isn’t he looking at you?

Recognize that is me. That I can make you feel good. That you need me, that you still do.

In the desperation of the moment, you opt for the best you can do: you take him deeper. The hand at the base of his cock moves to flatten on his thigh, and you carelessly widen your jaw to take more, and more, and more.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft and then twirl it around, all the while hollowing your cheeks without ever daring to take your eyes off him. That way, if he decides to look down at you, he'll find you teary-eyed and wanting—perfectly on your knees, like a devotee, no matter how artificially placed.

Your lips slide so easily up and down his cock, coating it with saliva, teardrops and precum. They swell so beautifully around it like a plump peach being ravaged; he always flatters you for it. Calls you beautiful when you suck him off so fervently, eliciting choked moans from you as you drink up the praise. 

You dive in and the head tips at the back of your throat, causing you to gag around it. The muscles of your neck clench and he curses under his breath. Your eyes water in joy and overexertion when he looks down at you at the sudden change in pace. You don’t care if it hurts, let him bruise your throat.

You can give him more. You can give him everything. 

You push even further until you're nuzzling against the coarse hair on his pelvis. You choke around his cock, a weak and wet cough that causes drool to dribble at the corners of your mouth. You pull back then, to take a wet gasp around his length, and then push forward to flush your nose to his crotch once more.

The tips of your knees hurt; the tiled floor in the kitchen is hard and merciless against the bone. It'll leave your joints aching and rough. They'll pop when you stand up, they'll hurt tomorrow when you go to work.

Good.

The knot in your stomach is ever so tight, seeking to be released and let go. It contorts in wantonness and, you’ll realize later, mortification. Just because you’re used to giving yourself so freely in exchange for crumbs, it doesn't mean it gets easier every time—to watch yourself bend on a whim, to see your pride shatter into even tinier pieces.

You feel his hand thread through your hair and tears fall down your cheek because yes, now he’s going to fuck your face like you want him to.

Use me. Treat me for what I am. Become the fucking puppet master. Take my fucking strings now that they’ve dropped them and guide me through this fucking shit I was left in.

But instead, he pulls you back, his cock escaping your mouth with the same ease you got it in.

A ragged breath, thick and wet, leaves your lips as soon as they’re free. Your coughs turn into a hack, as you stare at the glisten of your spit coating his shaft. A string of thick saliva tethers your mouth to it. Tears roll down your cheeks as you recollect your breath, nostrils flaring in the attempt to take in the air you’ve deprived yourself of.

“What’s this.”

You swallow down the liquid pooling in your throat, salty precum and viscous saliva like tar, gluing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

“Let me.” You croak. The thought that you might sound pathetic doesn’t even cross your mind.

His brows twitch, but he keeps his voice even. “No. What’s going on? Spill it.”

Your pleading look morphs into a glare. Bloodshot eyes, tears, and snot. Spit and cum. Clumped lashes and runny mascara.

Whore. 

Your chest heaves, not from the strain, but from being caught red-handed, and you don't know how to behave.

No one ever asks why you do it, they’re simply glad you do.

You’re helping, aren’t you? It’s what you were crafted for, brick by brick, bone by bone. Made to change like a chameleon based on other’s necessities.

It’s what you are—so let me do it.

“I want to suck your cock.” You say as crudely as you can manage. “I want you to come down my throat and then I want you to bend me over the table and fuck me until you’re empty.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, still holding your head by a handful of hair. His fingers aren’t tight, but your scalp stings nonetheless.

“Can do.” He shrugs. “Need to know why, first.”

You’re a heap of wood once again, piled up at his feet. Your limbs are jointless, just lying there, waiting to be thrown in the fire to rekindle its flame, so everyone else can be warm at your expense.

A broken puppet can still be used for other purposes until it's ash.

There's nothing in you, if not how wonderfully soft your mouth would be if only he'd let you wrap it around him again.

“Because I want to.”

He curls his nose, mustache following the stretch. “Hardly.”

“I do.”

He tugs at your hair and says your name in such a commanding manner that you can’t help but deflate. The glare in his eyes snuffs the defiant flame in yours.

"Please let me," you plead, and the way you sound is nothing short of degrading.

You don't care. You don't care if you reduce yourself to a puddle of pleas. You know you're not supposed to need anything, but you need this.

Your hands are sticky with dried spit and precum when they grab his cock again. You start pumping it fiercely, trying to make his orgasm hit earlier than what you had planned. He holds your head out of reach, meaning you can't wrap your lips around it—you'll have to make do with your hands.

Slut. 

But it’s okay, you’ll be a slut, if it helps him realize that you can make him feel good with everything you have to offer. That he won’t find another as pliant and willing as you are. That if he wants to be served, you will be his thrall.

Everything you own, it’s so you can give him.

Everything you earn, it’s so you can give back.

He can mold you. He can break you and put you back together the way he likes. He can craft a new puppet out of you, you’ll hand him the strings. He’ll take you to the finish line and love you, then.

Only then.

You see his mouth curl, bile on his tongue, as he reins in his own lust. There’s something wrong about you tonight, and he’s starting to understand what it is.

And so, he leaves your hair, favoring the softness of your cheek. He thumbs the plump of your cheekbone and then rubs a line along your lower lip.

It's then that you take your chance and rush forward, planting a kiss on the tip of his cock. Tongue out to leave kitten licks at the drops of precum you are squeezing out of him with your hands, knowing he likes those tiny shocks it sends up his spine.

And just when you think he’s relented to your pleas, just when you have your lips plump and shiny, ready to wrap around the flushed head of his cock, he takes ahold of your chin and tips your head back.

“I love you,” he croaks.

Words he’s said already, but not as often as he should’ve. It’s his fault, he grievously considers, if you think you have to be on your knees to receive them.

He realizes it when you shock into a stop. When your eyes widen a tick too much.

Blind idiot he is.

"I love you," he says again, more firmly this time.

Your face screws up as if you're trying to wrap your head around this language you don't know. You haven't done much to reach that prize—if anything, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve edged him until the head of his cock has turned an angry red that must be aggravating to handle, impossible to quench without the welcoming warmth of your mouth or that of your cunt.

You blink up at him. Tears fall down your cheeks. “But you need to come.”

If you’d have shot him, he would’ve handled the ache much better than this.

"I need nothing." He supplies gently, tracing the corner of your lips with his thumb, getting rid of the mess he's inadvertently made of your mouth.

His statement hangs in the air, stale and musty and threatening, not as sweet as he thinks. It clogs your nose and tightens your chest, curdling your blood into frozen lumps. The noises around suddenly feel deafening: the bubbles popping on the surface of the boiling water, the wet sound of your skin unsticking from his cock as your hands leave it, their thud as they fall in your lap.

If you’re not needed, then what are you?

Carefully, he tucks himself back into his briefs as he kneels to your level.

He whispers your name and cups your cheek as he does. "I love you.”

You know he does, but stuck in the web woven by your family, you always thought it was a purely transactional sentiment. A fair trade.

He loves you because you kneel prettily in front of the sofa.

He loves you because you let him stuff you up and fill you to the brim with his come at the snap of his fingers.

He loves you because you're a lovely addition to his arm when you doll up for his work ceremonies or other functions.

He loves you because you cook a mean Sunday roast when he comes back from deployment.

And you love him because he's John, because what's there not to love.

With gentle blue eyes framed by bushy eyebrows, and droopy eyelids that give his often scowling look a gentler feel to it. The honey smatter of freckles on his nose, and the sharply trimmed beard on his jaw. Plump rosy lips, how soft they feel when he places them on yours, juxtaposing with the prickly ends of his mustache.

His encompassing heart and the way he's enlarged it for you to fit better, so you're all comfortable and warm in his life.

John gently presses his lips on your forehead as he speaks softly, "I love you."

Your eyes flutter closed. A heaving breath again, one that stutters as you try to inhale it. Fat tears fill the cracks in your lips and flow down your tongue.

John brushes the back of his knuckles across your cheeks. “Don’t need all this to love you.” And then he looks in your eyes, searching for any sign of skepticism, and regrettably finds a considerable amount of it. “You knowthat. Right, love?”

No, you don’t know.

But you don’t have the gall to tell him. Suddenly, it hits how pathetic you look. On your knees, begging for him to stuff your mouth with his cock so you can feel useful, so he can shower you with love once you give him a reason to keep you.

You kneel there helplessly, deflated.

Useless.

You gesture with your hands at him, feeling how limply they hang from your wrists as if you've never used them on your own in the first place.

There is very little you can do to humiliate yourself further, and yet you manage.

“But you need me.” You cry, as your face scrunches in a pain so deeply settled that John has no clue how to work around it. “I need you to need me.”

However, he tries. He tracks your tears with his thumb, stopping their fall right above your cheekbone.

"Don't need you, love." He says tenderly. "I want you.”

He shifts a little closer and cradles your face in both hands so that you cannot avoid his eyes even if you tried.

“Want you.” He breathes hoarsely, “Ain’t with you ’cause I need someone. I don’t need anyone, and I don’t want just anyone—I want you. ‘Specially when you’re not on your knees.”

Your nose is stuffy, and you can’t breathe right. Suddenly, you feel so unbelievably tired. Your face plops in his hands, and the humiliation feels ten times worse. It's hard, however, to interject with a word that would make him understand how deep this pattern runs.

He doesn’t let you, but only because he knows already.

"Like you when you get all chuffed ‘bout your plants sproutin’." He drawls. "Love it when you hop into bed and shove your cold feet against my thighs ‘cause I'm much warmer. Or when you make love to me. But not when you—when you pull this."

His voice is heavy. Your heart aches because you're so tightly wrapped in deadly silk, stuck in your family's cobweb, that you've never noticed how it must pain him as well, to see you reduce yourself to this.

"Bloody hell, love." He sighs, furrowing his brows. "I love you, yeah? I don't need—whatever this is. I don't want whatever this is.”

John's eyes close, his face screwing up in that way that tells you he's thinking. He shakes his head subtly, and you're afraid you've gone and done it now. He's going to go because he already has so much shit to deal with that your puzzled self would only be another broken case to add to his file.

But alas, dread doesn't even manage to settle on your heavy heart that he locks you in place with his blues.

One of his hands drifts to the back of your head. He leans in, enough for you to smell the tobacco on his breath.

You swallow dryly, lips parted in shaky pants. Eyes lidded and tired, nose scrunching in sniffles.

John presses a gentle kiss on your lips, no more than a peck. And then another one, and another, and another, until you can’t discern whether it’s the salt of your tears or that of his skin.

Your breathing becomes heavier and it mingles with his own when he comes to rest his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he murmurs tirelessly.

The hand on your nape guides you to him, and he kisses you again. Unlike the previous ones, this is bolder, yet tender all the same. He holds you in place while the rest of the world falls into impeccable silence.

The gentle smacking of lips is all you can hear, and even if only for a moment, it manages to silence the voice in your head—a mimicry of your family’s cries, their lying coos, their grating, consuming, plastic love. 

You feel yourself uncoil under John’s touch and the deft work of his tongue on yours. Hands in your lap, you abandon yourself to him, but it's a different type of surrender; your eyes close and all your feelings, all your energy, flow into that kiss.

“I-I love you,” you venture, breathy voice brushing his lips.

John inhales sharply, and he realizes this might be the first time you said it because you wanted to and not because you had to.

His hand drifts from your cheek to your shoulder, down to your stomach and he guides you to lie with your back against the kitchen floor. His palms flatten next to your head.

Normally, John would have you on a fort of pillows and blankets and would never compromise about it—constantly making sure you’re as comfortable as they come as he ravages you. Beforehand, you'd get ready in the bathroom, having prepped yourself to a T. Shaved and moisturized and seasoned like a prized pig for him to consume, wearing the prettiest, skimpiest lace to frame the petals of your perfectly waxed pussy.

Because it’s a fair trade; he treats you like a princess, so you can be his pretty whore.

Yet tonight you think he won’t do any of that. There is a gentleness in his kisses that, while not uncommon, certainly feels unique. Your hands hover between your chest and his, unsure of where to place them. You hope he’ll guide you through this too, manhandle you into position like he always does.

But again, he doesn’t.

He barely feels like John at all. His behavior is so different that if you closed your eyes, anyone could be in his place right now. But that is only your perception, isn't it? Because John has always been tender with you, you were just too busy thinking about how to repay his kindness instead of living in the moment.

His lips leave yours only to busy themselves with the skin on your cheek, then down your chin and to your neck. You gasp at the goosebumps, and he stops.

His face comes into view and it is so flushed you think he must be collecting all his blood right in the apples of his cheeks.

“Okay, love?”

You blink. Your mouth tastes more like his cigars than tears and precum. It makes you feel less dirty, even if what you did (and have been doing your whole life) hasn’t changed.

You swallow thickly as he gazes into your eyes.

“Y-yeah, just—” A crease forms between your brows, “I should—I left you like that, and—”

He hushes you.

"No need to bother 'bout me." He reassures you.

He presses a kiss between your brows, smoothing the lines your concern has formed. You close your eyes, focusing on how warm he is in contrast to the tiles pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes. As if you have an answer for that.

His kisses trail down your face and your neck, turning more open and wet. The rising gooseflesh, however, does nothing to stop your mind from running miles ahead.

What do you want? 

You must've been posed that question before because it's such a basic one. You try to think of contests in which one might ask that, such as your birthdays, or celebrations, or a teacher wondering what is it that you desire in the future: a career, a husband or a wife, a family.

But to desire is to choose, and you don’t think you’ve ever been given that possibility.

Hence why you're rattled, aghast. On your back on the floor, with John sucking love bites on your neck.

You give the answer you know will make him content.

“Fuck me.”

You’ll moan like a porn star. You’ll dig your pretty nails into his back so he can show off the marks you left on him with pride. You'll pretend an orgasm if yours is taking too long, so that his ego will be kept fed and full, and he’ll still find you appealing. So that he can go tell his friends and comrades how good you are, in and out of bed. What a gem. Wife material.

He’ll doll you up and tie the strings around your wrists. Make you dance and you will—coy smile, pretty eyes and all. A new puppet out of you, just for his sake.

John stills, and he shifts uncomfortably above you. His mouth is suddenly next to your ear, and he leaves a kiss at your jaw hinge.

“You don’t want me to fuck you.” He murmurs, and you swear there is a hint of guilt in the way he says it.

You feel dizzy at the thought of being caught. It’s scary to have your thoughts so out in the open after having spent an entire lifetime locking them up.

John nips at the shell of your ear. You venture with your hands and place them on his chest, still unsure of whether you want him closer or far, far away.

"Can I make you feel good?" He asks hoarsely. Your body responds naturally and it makes heat pool in your lower stomach.

You suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed at the idea his words have instilled in you.

You reply the only way you know. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes.” He says forcefully, almost as if he wanted the answer to stick to your brain for the days to come. The switch is so abrupt your heart skips a beat. “Yes, I have to ask. Of course, I have to ask.”

He props himself up, hips snug between your thighs. He could roll them against yours and seek the friction his chubbed up cock must physically need after you teased it.

But he doesn’t, and it makes you feel both inadequate and nervous.

“So, answer me, love.” He rumbles, as his pupils dance between your eyes. “Can I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure why, but it makes your eyes water and your heart hurt. Your brows draw together in a frown that rips at John’s chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, voice strangled in your throat. “Yes, please.”

John leans in to kiss your eyelids as you snap them closed.

And then he kisses your cheek, your nose, and your lips. His hand trails over your sweater. A gentle tug at the hem makes tears fall down your temple and into your hair.

You give an imperceptible nod at his silent request and he thanks you by pressing his lips to your jaw. He lifts it above your breasts, sitting atop the plain, skin-colored bra you're wearing. You haven't shaved, there's regrowing hair under your armpits and you're flushed to the bone. 

You're not the doll you allow him to see. You haven't prepped yourself for consumption this time, and it almost makes you squirm, as you force your biceps flush to your ribcage.

He can't see that you're not the perfect little puppet you've always shown him. If you aren't perfect, willing, and breakable, then he can find a thousand more like you—better than you.

But he presses a kiss to your sternum, ignoring sweat, squirming, and whatnot.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, tongue out to trace the line of the bone. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You sob. It doesn't deter him, as he lines the plain fabric of your cup until his fingers meet the clasp conveniently placed to the front. With a quick snap, he undoes it, and your tits spill out to the sides.

He hooks your attention back with a look, and you understand he’s asking, once again.

He’s seen you naked a thousand times but you realize he’s never seen you this raw. Your cheeks are flushed and his eyes have never looked so gentle yet hungry.

You nod again and he dives in, wasting no time.

His hands grab the fat of your tits. Push them together. Thumbs teasing nipples as they pebble under his pads. Lips kissing anywhere they can land, latching on flesh until it darkens. His teeth graze the peaks of your breasts, and your back arches off the floor.

Each grunt that escapes him has your spine vibrate. You can't fathom the thought that he likes this, not when you’re tasting like a long day at work and wet rain, instead of buttercream and mango.

You try to snake your leg between his own, to give back what he’s giving you. Carefully, you stroke the curve of your foot against his hard length, but he pulls back with his hips and gently guides your thigh to rest once more around his waist.

“Don’t need tha’, sunshine.” He grunts, a murmur lost as his lips mouth at your nipples. "This 's more 'n 'nough."

His hands hold you by the waist now, fingers gripping the flesh with tenacity. His beard scrapes at the soft skin of your tits as he travels downward with his mouth, following the path lined by your sternum to the gap between your ribs.

He licks stripes as if your skin were covered with cream. His teeth sink softly where your flesh is plumper, causing you to writhe against him, and he chuckles under his breath as he remembers you’re ticklish.

Such tiny things he knows about you, you almost forgot it’s been years he’s known you.

His bites turn kisses, and they're chastely pressed on the line of your stomach, over your belly button, and to the seam of your jeans.

John looks up at you when his lips reach the zipper, and by doing so you notice his brows arching up, causing lines to wrinkle his forehead. Pretty blue eyes take you in and the mess that you've made of yourself. Runny makeup, bitten lips.

You know he can see how undecided you still are. Brows pinched in both pleasure and discomfort because this is so new to you.

But you nod a little sharply for him to go on, as your mouth curls down in the hopefully non-futile attempt at muffling your sobs.

John unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips to your ankles in such an agonizingly slow manner you can’t help but think he’s doing it to give you time to rebut, in case you change your mind.

You don't.

He takes them off together with your socks and brings your foot next to his face. Places a kiss on the side of it, sending tingles up your legs that tip to the apex of your thighs. He leaves small pecks down your ankle and your calf, closing his eyes and sometimes brushing his beard against your skin.

You look away, cheek flat to the tiles, now wet with your tears and the rain soaking your hair.

It doesn't deter John in the slightest, not even when he slowly comes down to a crawl, chest to the floor and nose on your mound. He tugs with his teeth at the cotton of your panties, nothing more than plain white cheeky underwear. So different from the way you always present yourself to him, with your expensive lace and your silks and your soft skin—painfully waxed so it could mimic the feel of your babydolls.

Gingerly, you reach down with your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, smoothing them back from his forehead. You cup the side of his face and brush your thumb to his flushed cheekbone. He leans into your palm and kisses it, uncaring of the stickiness left by your previous activity.

You feel something inside of you crash and break, then, like a glass vase falling from a height. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, because it makes more tears collect at the corners of your eyes and those are never predictors of a good ending.

He digs the tip of his nose against your slit, following the wet stripe that inevitably formed the moment you dropped to your knees for him.

“Can I?” He asks, sending little spikes of electricity up to your chest when his lips brush against the sensitive skin covered by flimsy cotton.

You feel your chest get so tight someone might as well be curling rope around it.

You feel so pathetic for crying just because you’re being asked about what makes you comfortable and what doesn’t. You’re such an advocate for your friends to go out there and demand for their needs to be met, that you can’t help but wallow in your hypocrisy when someone asks for yours.

He waits patiently for your consent, even if he's a breath away from your private parts, with his hands caressing the back of your thighs. Even if he's done this to you a thousand times already, with your squirming body giving him a show worthy of the cameras, had they been there.

He makes everything around you look so soft, even the tiles of the floor that are uncomfortably sticking to your skin feel like plush cushions.

You wonder briefly if this is how it should’ve always felt, had you allowed yourself to recognize your needs instead of seeing your body as a means to make others happy.

It comes out of your lips as a breath that’s followed by a wet sniffle, your head nodding softly, contrastingly to how tight you’re biting your own teeth.

“Yes.”

No amount of pressure on your jaw could stop the sob that escapes you afterward.

John closes his eyes and a warm shuddering sigh brushes your skin. You’re starting to realize that maybe you’re not the only one who’s being affected by this sudden change in your and his intimacy.

His fingers hook at your panties and he slides them to your ankles, letting them hang down one foot. You swing it carefully and kick them off as he returns his attention to the apex of your thighs, hooking your knees on his shoulders.

He starts tenderly, pressing kisses on the soft flesh of your vulva, paying attention even to the smallest bits you weren’t even aware could feel good. He latches on your outer lips, feeling how puffy they get at the slight suction.

Your thighs are corded and stiff under his grip, arms hooked around each plush leg, and palms flat on your skin.

John’s eyes are closed, although you wish he’d look at you as he travels with his lips along your slit. A kiss on your hole without probing too much, then one along the middle of your slit, which was getting impressively wetter as time passed, and the one on your hooded clit.

It sent jolts up your spine, causing your hips to buck against his mouth. His fingers tighten around your thighs in response, as if he’s trying to rein it in for you.

You appreciate it more than he thinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been placed on top of the queue so blatantly in your entire life.

The tip of his tongue darts out, but it’s obscured from your eyes by the regrowing hair on your mound and from his thick mustache. So, it takes you by surprise when he all but licks a thin stripe over the protruding part of your clit.

You hiss, and your head goes dizzy. You feel tiny pinpricks tingling in your brain, making you lightheaded and more than a little breathless.

During the whole relationship, you’ve been so focused on appearing like a full meal to his eyes, that you forgot how good it felt to be that meal on his tongue.

He laps at you again, eyes now wide open to gauge more of whatever you were giving him. You feel them as bright spotlights aimed at your face, but you can’t find it in yourself to display the act you’ve always given him.

You're already too different from the woman he's so used to seeing. You wonder if he likes you anyway; or if he likes you less, or more. When your eyes lock with his own, a dark flash tells you to go back to your ways. To flutter your lashes and pout your lips in small pleas, whimpering moans that always make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

And just as you’re about to give in to those old habits, John flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks all the thoughts out of your head. You tilt it back in a groan that has never, not once, left your lips in his presence.

He seems more than excited to hear it and starts eating you out like you’re his first meal in a century. This time, there is no plasticity in the ways you move. You’re not squirming away and acting coy about it, meeting his eyes to make sure he realizes that you're his pretty doll.

This time there’s you and the pleasure he gives you. There’s a hand in his hair that shyly tries to keep him still, as he puckers his lips around your nub and sucks it in his mouth. There’s the subtle canting of your hips to press your cunt closer to him, and the way he makes sure you don’t pull away from his tongue with his thick arms coiled around your thighs.

It’s so strange to allow yourself to feel so much. All this time you’ve been oblivious to all this as it happened in your same body because you were too busy focusing on how you appeared to his eyes. Even as he tongued your hole, your head told you it still had to be about pleasing him—because nothing in this world could ever be exclusively about you.

It hits you sharply that your beliefs about yourself, instilled by the callous teachings of your family, had bled through every aspect of your life. You already knew that, of course, but you never realized they had seeped into your intimacy as well.

Yet now you have proof of it, because you're sure John has not changed his tactics, it's you who's finally allowing your body to feel all this.

He twirls his tongue around your clit and you’re seeing stars. It’s such a strong sensation that you think you might have lost a marble or two in the process. Each grunt he emits from his lips vibrates through you and elicits similar sounds from your own mouth.

You’re not even looking at him, and you don’t care. It’s too good. He feels fucking heavenly and you’ll probably end up apologizing later for not having included him more, for not having paid enough attention to him as you should’ve.

But now—fucking hell, now—there's only how his tongue toys with each and every nerve ending of your sodden cunt.

You let him manhandle you, then, like he did so many times in the past. But now he positions you in an unflattering angle you would've never allowed before. He sits up on his knees, carrying your pelvis with him, close to his face.

To help yourself up, you place your hands on your haunches, propping your elbows on the floor. The tiles press harshly against the bone, much like they did on your knees when you’d knocked them down to suck him off not even twenty minutes prior, but now that pain feels so fickle compared to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He locks his arms around your lower belly, soft thighs pressed to his ears, and he dives in again.

Like this, you’re sure he can see every stupid, unflattering thing about you. But there’s the catch—it’s stupid. You’re sure you’re going to rethink all this eventually, but now everything that isn’t John and his lips on you is so unbelievably, fucking stupid.

“Taste like honey, y’ do.” You think you hear him say, as he nuzzles your cunt for all it’s worth.

He delves his tongue into your hole, plunging as deep as he can until he’s nosing your clit too. Facial hair scrapes the inside of your thigh raw, but that only enhances the opposite bliss happening thanks to his mouth.

You whimper, but not for show; it feels criminally good, and John knows it's real because your thighs shake so fiercely his vision goes wobbly too.

He chuckles, but it’s not derisive. His eyes are incensed, the light blue barely a rim around enlarged pupils. He looks in utter awe as he takes you in; face flushed, hair still wet from the rain and now from the sweat too. With an expression he's never once seen before, not on you. The sheer discomfort of the position but also the complete bliss that makes you forget you could have this on a more comfortable bed.

“Look at you—fucking beautiful." He murmurs with his lips to your cunt. "Criminal to hide this from me, love."

Your lips part into an oval, and your eyelids tremble, fighting the need to close your eyes and just feel. But he looks so unbelievably stunning you refuse, categorically, to take your eyes off of him.

And he apparently thinks the same, because his gaze never falters, not even when you tighten the grip your thighs have around his head. Nor does his tongue, as he plunges it again in your cunt, nose nudging your clit just right. 

He might be fucking you with his mouth, but he sure is doing it with his eyes too.

And you’ve never felt so seen in your entire life. You’ve never felt so beautiful, so worthy, as right now. You wonder if he’s always been looking at you this way, but you were too lost in your own ways to notice.

You feel tears trickle down your temples again, mingling with your hair.

Jaw clenched tight, you breathe it out with all the strength you’ve got left in you.

“I love you.”

And John breaks into something different. You must have given him some final blow because his eyes shut closed and his brows knit together. An expression you've never seen, equally as pained as delighted.

He doesn’t answer, using his tongue for other purposes, keeping the stimulation both inside and out of you. Strong arms hold you still to his face, squeezing painfully tight around your hips. Thick palms flat against your lower belly, with his thumb tugging at your mons to unhood your puffy clit.

He goes on until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, arms giving out from under you. But he catches you anyway, hooking your legs better above his shoulders. The fact that your thighs are pressing against his ears gives you some sort of relief, knowing his hearing might have been muffled by your flesh.

So, you let go.

You moan loudly, fuck the neighbors, and whatever the world has to say. Fuck your head for sabotaging you, and taking you away from him.

You feel it build up slowly but suddenly; one moment it’s just fully encompassing pleasure, the next there’s a vine that stems from your ravaged cunt and curls around your belly, up to your neck.

Your throat blocks off, breathing shallow and sharp.

And then everything snaps.

John fights against the bucking of your hips just so he can keep his mouth on you and fuck you through it.

Your groan is so guttural you don't even think that was your voice. You don't even think, period. Your mind blacks out. A scorching heat develops from your sternum and coils around your chest like ivy in bloom.

You’ve had orgasms before thanks to his mouth, or his fingers, or his cock.

This, however, it’s so different you might consider yourself reborn.

It’s liberating. It’s new. It’s free and only, completely yours. 

You don't even notice, as his tongue slows down, that your eyes are staring at nothing on the ceiling. That they fill with tears. And that you're crying.

You notice nothing, but just how good your body trembles, from the tips of your toes to the conscience in your head.

You don’t notice the sobs that leave your lips, as John gingerly places your body back down. Nor the way your chest heaves as if you’ve just learned how to use your lungs, while he hooks his arms behind your shoulders, and lifts you up to sit butt naked on the floor.

He holds you to his chest and you painfully sob against it. Not a thought about whether this is the right time to cry crosses your mind.

He cradles your cheek to his heart, while wet lips press against the crown of your head.

“Let go,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “’M here, love. Let go.”

You cry so hard you think you might crack like porcelain on that floor. Your heaving sobs echo against the walls of the kitchen like the cries of a newborn child.

And John has no intention of letting you go through it alone. He is there with his hands, with his lips, with the strong, steady heartbeat against your ear until your wailing abates. Only then does he cup your cheek to lift your face.

You weep under your breath when you notice the bloodshot whites of his eyes and the clumped lashes. The dampness on his cheeks and the redness of the skin.

He smooths your hair back. Kisses your forehead with such intensity that he just might suck away the self-hatred your family has seeded in your brain with his lips.

He looks at you, then. Lips pursed in a tight line.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, love.”

It’s inevitable the way your lips stretch in a smile that quivers and shakes in a breathless, wet chuckle.

You dig the heels of your hands in your eyes, sniffling painfully hard to get some air in your lungs. Your mouth is pasty and God, you must smell like proper shite.

But John leans down anyway and kisses your lips, uncaring of the salt of your tears, the snot, and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

And you kiss him back, this time threading your fingers through his hair, arms looped around his neck in an embrace you never want to break.

Noses flush against each other’s cheeks, lips parting only for you to take breaths because your nostrils are currently too stuffy for you to use them properly.

You sniffle and kiss and tug at his hair and hold him until you're both sated, but never enough. It won’t ever be enough.

A few beats of silence reign the kitchen as you sit on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. The water in the pot must’ve boiled away, forgotten on the fire that still buzzes silently. John’s chest is your tiny alcove as you rest your head against it, and he holds you until your heart’s content.

Everything you’ve ever learned shakes before your eyes. Every thread that knitted the pattern carefully woven around you is slowly unraveling. The fabric wears down the more he shows you love without asking for anything in return.

He's making you regrow your limbs, returning the eyes they stole, allowing you to see that at the finish line, there's nothing but lies.

Nothing but missed calls, skipped appointments, and neglect. Honeyed words, saccharine pet names to render you soft as dough, willing to offer yourself to their exploitation. Sucking on every last drop of your sap, until only a hollow marionette is left.

John hasn't refilled you with energy; he made you realize you were never empty to begin with. Helped you see that they never smothered your fire to ashes, but only dimmed it to a flame, one you can rekindle easily.

One he cannot wait, for the life of him, to see ablaze again.

He’ll fight with you, give you the wood you need to keep yourself warm and your heart safe. Cut your strings once and for all, until you can get back on your feet again.

He thrives at the idea of seeing you glow like you did moments before, in your most raw and real form; a woman he's yet to meet.

However, being human, he does feel a temporary disappointment at the thought that you had put up such a blatant front for so long. Anger that he’d never noticed, thinking you were just this pliant little thing.

But he should've never thought of you as a thing. Never should've seen you as this obliging, pretty doll hanging from his lips. He should've dug deeper, like he always does even on the field, instead of falling for lies.

He’s often asked himself how you’ve never seemed to need anything, often pegging the behavior to self-sufficiency. You always took care of everything by yourself and promptly refused any aid when he tried to give it to you.

His mind reels with memories of the times he’s offered a helping hand, and you’ve politely declined it. It shatters him to think that you did it because you were afraid you had to give something back and maybe were too tired to offer anything.

It’s then that his mind deep dives into a place that sickens him.

How many times did you have sex with him and see it as a bargaining chip? Or as a way to repay him for something he’s done for you just because he loves you?

He shuts his eyes briefly, forcing the bile down his throat and deciding to dwell on the subject later. This moment comes first. You come first. So, he takes you in, blinking his eyes open once more.

He blindly reaches back to turn off the stove, before returning his arms around you. He brushes his lips to your temple, and your muscles soften under the way his breath tickles your skin.

You tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his own, gauging the earnestness swimming in his blues.

“I love you,” he breathes for the umpteenth time, that day.

No ventriloquist forces you to say it back. No strings move your arms to loop around his neck, as you lift yourself on your knees to be level with his eyes.

It's you, who rests your forehead on his own, brushing your nose to his in a butterfly kiss.

You feel like flesh and bone, more than polished wood tied to nylon strings. No voice box if not your vocal cords vibrating when you decide it, asking and giving all the same.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

There is no hunger for love, no finish line to reach. It’s not a race, not today.

And with John, you don’t think it’ll ever be again.

[kiwi-on-ice]

Kinktober 2024 day 16: Clothed Sex with Junkrat

fem reader, NSFW 18+

Also contains: creampie, jamison being suprisingly not as gross as I could have made him

The booming sounds of various explosions were becoming quite comment to your ears as you sit on the other end of Jamison’s makeshift workshop. You’d only just got in, and he hadn’t noticed, too engrossed in whatever bomb he was cooking up. Not that it matter, you were too engrossed in whatever mind-numbing content had appeared on your tiktok feed.

After a few minutes, unbeknownst to you your lover had glanced in your direction..and nearly caused both of your deaths when he slipped with the soldering iron against incredibly explosive material. He blinks a few times as he takes in your outfit, the tank top paired with the shorts that really are obscene to him with how much they show of your perfect legs. God he really is a lucky bugger.

Scrambling out his seat, he makes his way over to you quickly with a wolfish grin. "Well ain't you the prettiest lil firecracker i ever did see."

You look up, giggling a little at his theatrics until he plants a deep kiss on your lips. With a surprised chirp, you kiss back, haphazardly placing your phone on the nearby table so you can tangle your fingers in his messy blond hair. He groans against you, ever the loud type, before lifting you with sheer brute strength to push you against the wall.

"Jamie!" you exclaim, pretending to be scandalised by his neediness.

"What? Can't help it dolly, not with you lookin' like this."

He punctuates his words by grinding his hips against yours, allowing you to feel his hard cock hidden away in his dirty sweatpants. You'd marvel at how fast he'd gotten aroused if you weren't nearly gasping at his desperation, large hands grasping at your clothed tits.

Dragging his hands down, he felt you up completely, kissing and nipping at your neck as he started to rub between your legs over your shorts. But he hesitates.

"You ain't wearing anything under these?" he remarks, eyes bright with a gleeful wonder as you shake your head. "Fuck y'gonna give me a heart attack."

A small laugh turns into a choked moan as he roughly shoves his hand inside and starts to feel the wetness collecting in your folds. He clumsily rubs at your clit before sinking two fingers inside your hole, grinning maniacally at your noises.

"Always wet f'me, god you're perfect."

If there's one thing about Jamison Fawkes, it's that he's going to make his girlfriend feel like the most beautiful creature in existence. And he does as he fingers you, rasping how pretty and gorgeous and stunning you are as he hammers your g spot relentlessly.

But his need grows to an vast level, so he hastily tugs down his sweats just enough for his cock to spring out, before grabbing your thighs and hoisting you up. You grip his shoulders, instinctively wrapping your legs around him until his length bumps your clothed clit.

"Gonna make y'feel amazing babycakes." he promises, before moving the fabric of your shorts out of the way just enough before pushing in. He fills you up completely, before rocking against you over and over until your eyes roll back. Moans and groans and whimpers fill the outback air, Jamison marvels at how stunning you look; still fully clothed and sweating as you're railed against the wall. And you marvel at how strong your lover is, to hold you without thinking, to tower over you as he takes your pussy for his own.

The lewd squelches of your cunt fill his ears and he giggles, kissing you all over your neck. "I think she's tryin' to talk to me."

If you weren't being fucked out of your mind you would have rolled your eyes at his crudely cheesy line, so you settle for a desperate whimper as you reach to play with yourself. He loves a good show, so the sight of your nimble fingers strumming your clit makes the noises pouring from his throat increase tenfold.

"Yeah dolly, cum around me. Just like that, knew y'could do it." he praises, guiding you over the edge until you're squirting around his dick. It doesn't take long for him to do the same, cumming buckets inside your needy cunt that drinks it all in.

He pulls out, getting on his knees so he can see his cum leak out; his favourite part. You always get a little embarrassed, but you glance down at how his thumb hooks the fabric of your shorts, making sure the sight of your pussy remains unobstructed from his hungry gaze.

"So fuckin' hot." he says with a toothy grin, and it's with wide eyes that you realise he's still hard. When he leans in and starts to eagerly lap his cum from your folds, you get the sense you aren't leaving his workshop for a while just yet.

[the-californicationist]

Brisance (2/2)

Chapter 01 // Chapter 02

TW: smut, bombs, a random line about boot-worship (?)

Johnny stayed glued to the SAT-NAV screen, tracking his pretty little bombmaker’s every move. She was spending a lot of time on the outskirts of the Kotov bloc, and although none of his scouts had confirmed with a visual, he knew it was a matter of time before they discovered her safehouse. When she eventually found the tracker, the signal went dead, but the damage was done. She’d shown Johnny enough evidence for him to narrow down her base of operations.

So, in the middle of the night, without clearance, he cut out of camp and took one of the TAC-V trucks over to the site. He pulled out all of his stealthiest moves, trying to avoid detection. He was patient, watching for movement, staying hidden in the shadows, waiting for her. 

The snow crunched under his weight, so he slid in tiny steps toward a window in the side of what he thought was her base. It was a run-down lighthouse on the edge of the Urzikstani border with the Mediterranean Sea. There were no resources out here, and it was too small for any of Makarov’s men to use it as a fully-operational base camp, so it was almost completely forgotten. There had even been a dirt road leading to the lighthouse in the past – Johnny could see the old tire marks – but now, it was dark, windy, and uninviting. 

The sergeant peeked his head up over the window sill to peer inside. 

He could see her clearly through the open doorway of the adjacent room, her side profile backlit by a small fire she had going in the middle of the den, bent over her hands, tinkering with some wires. Unfortunately, there were only two ways inside of the building. The base only had one door, but the top of the structure had a hatch that would lead down to the main level. 

Johnny had made it this far, and he wasn’t leaving without some answers. So, he strung up his rope and hook to make a climbing lead. With a little skill, he was able to latch the anchor to one of the railings, and he prayed that it would hold. Then, he began the long walk up the side of the tower, feeling every bit like Gallahad, even if the woman locked inside was no wilting damsel in distress. 

He was breathless and sweaty by the time he made it to the top of the tower, hoisting himself up onto the rusted iron walkway as quietly as he could. Just as he was about to stand up, he heard the tell-tale click of a gun being cocked, and he froze in place, stuck staring into the sea and the wash of stars that glittered above it, his back to the light and the hatch. 

It was silent for a long time, almost too long. Johnny moved to turn his shoulders, but the cold metal of her gun barrel against the nape of his neck stopped him in his tracks. 

“Don’t…” She whispered. 

Even though she didn’t say anything more, he could hear the raw, painful emotion in her voice, her tone revealing her vulnerability.

“Lass, I wasnae g–”

“I should kill you!” She snarled, shoving the gun into his skin even harder, “Why did you come here? I can’t… I won’t let you ruin this for me. Not when I’m so close.”

“Alright, lass. You’re right. Kill me, then,” he said, his voice as serious as the grave he was angling for, and he turned to face her. As he moved, the gunbarrel dragged along the sensitive skin of his neck, leaving behind a red scrape like a lover’s hickey, evidence of her touch. 

For a moment, he thought she would follow through. Her eyes flashed hot and full of anger, she moved the barrel up and under his chin, forcing him to lift his eyes back to the stars, gazing up at Heaven before she delivered him to it. She gritted her teeth, her face twisted with rage, but as he peered back down at her, she was still as pretty as ever, looking like Athena at war, like a valkyrie on the vast battlefield, like Justice herself, wild and vengeful. 

And yet, she didn’t pull the trigger. When his warm hand slowly closed over her cold, trembling one as she clutched the pistol, she didn’t kill him like she said she would. She tried so hard to hold onto that anger, but she couldn’t do it. For whatever reason, she let him live. Johnny didn’t take the gun from her, but he moved it down, freeing his jaw from the bite of the metal. Then, she whispered, 

“I can’t stop.”

“I’m didnae ask you to stop, bonnie,” Johnny took a chance and reached up to touch her cheek, trying to comfort her through what was an unimaginable sort of pain. If Makarov had killed his sisters… “We’ll get that bastard, but you cannae do it alone, hen. Let me help you. Please.”

Her eyes peered deep into his, and within them, a darkness grew and grew, threatening to overtake her like a demon. She grabbed Johnny by his vest and yanked him even closer, her voice barely audible when she hissed,

“I need him to know it was me. I want to be the last thing he sees. For Sorcha.”

“I dinnae care how he dies, lass, but if you do,” Johnny nodded, “Then, let’s craft a wee plan. Perhaps not here on this fuckin’ balcony, but…”

That earned him at least the suggestion of a smile, and her gaze softened as she led him down the hatch and into the spiraling staircase of her lighthouse. Once inside, she reached up to latch the lock, and due to the lack of space, she had to press her chest in to his, arching her body over him and spreading her warmth through his clothes. 

His breath caught in his throat, and when she heard him, she paused, looking into his face to see how he was reacting. She turned to him, examining him like a curator examines a canvas, looking at him up close to see every little brushstroke. Johnny could feel her breath on his neck, and he had to hold back a rumbling moan. 

As she lowered herself down, she did so in a slow, dragging descent, rubbing herself down his chest and belly, testing his resolve. His face was twisted in a grimace, and when her thigh made brief contact with his, she knew why. 

He knew that she could feel his hardon through his canvas trousers, and when she raised her eyebrows in surprise, there was nowhere for him to run. So, he shrugged, explaining himself in a low, deep tone, 

“You look fuckin’ bonnie with a gun in your hand.”

His pretty bombmaker took the compliment, and she breathed with him for a moment. Then, he felt her hand slide around his waist to the front of his crotch, her palm pressed to his straining zipper, massaging the length of him as he stretched down his pant leg.

“I bet I look even better with you in my hand, huh, soldier?”

Soap grunted and lunged forward, catching her wrist to stop her from reaching his sensitive head, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she chuckled, bending to kiss his neck, and she squeezed the fat, lolling body of his prick as tightly as she could. He hissed, trying to back away from her, but she ripped her hand from his grasp and rushed down the stairs away from him, a wild look in her eyes. 

“Hey! Wait,” Johnny called after her, trying to command his tingling legs to pursue. 

He caught her about mid-way down the spiral, and they lost their balance, crashing into each other against the chipping, plaster wall. Johnny sealed his mouth to hers like she was his air, sucking on her lips like she was his sustenance. She was all over him. It felt like she had a thousand hands, all of them pushing and pulling and rubbing and pawing at his skin.

Eventually, Johnny managed to position himself below her in the steps, blocking her escape. They broke their kiss when they found their footing, and she stared into his eyes, that same fire repeated within them but instead of anger, she was fueled by hot lust. 

He watched her, waiting on a cue. She took one step back, raising herself taller than him. Then, another. Now, his face was at her breasts, and she began to unbutton her shirt for him. He let her go at her own pace, one hand on her hip and the other crushing the life out of his cock so that he wouldn’t finish before he started. 

As soon as her pretty tits were exposed, Johnny used both of his hands to rake down her bra until it snapped awkwardly around her belly, and her nipples were revealed to the cool air, tightening from the excitement and the rush. He put his mouth to one of them, suckling sweetly at first before locking eyes with her and biting down hard enough to sting. She cried out, but her hands were locked in his mohawk, fist over fist, tugging him closer, encouraging him to continue. 

Johnny moved to the other one, treating it better than the first, sucking in deep, long rounds of pressure, laving at her peak with his tongue. Then, suddenly, while he was lost in her, she took another step up. Now, his mouth was at her belly button. He gave it the same attention, teasing her with his mouth, kissing and sucking and licking and biting until she squirmed and squealed from the strangeness of his pressure. 

She took one more step, and Johnny was staring at the button fly of her trousers. He peeled apart the canvas, popping each button out of its hole. Each fallen button gave way to the soft pale blue cotton of her panties, covering her puffy mons. With the last button gone, Johnny wasted little time, using his hand to pull her panties down and over her sex, putting her on full display right in front of his face. 

Her scent filled his nose. She was wet, and her musk was warm and heady in the air between his mouth and her body. Johnny took a moment to admire her untrimmed curls, thick and soft as they lay against her swollen flesh. He ran his fingers over the top of her, petting the hair in a downward stroke, feeling it all the way until he reached her lips, over and over, forcing blood to rush to meet his hand with a trembling joy. 

Then, when he heard her sigh, he dipped one finger into the sweet honey that she had made for him, feeling the small pool of its warmth trapped behind her pubic hair, matting it down and hiding it from the cold air of the lighthouse. His mouth was on her then, and she gasped from the feeling. Her hands were back in his scalp, grabbing and scratching him, too wound up to say a word, but needing to tell him to continue his efforts. 

He licked her from her wet, slipping seam all the way up to her belly button in long, rushed licks, attacking her with the softest parts of his mouth, dragging his lips over her like they would paint her skin. Then, he rooted between her folds, pressing until he could feel the turgid rod of her clit, and he began to suck, bobbing his head against her as if it had been a drooling phallus, letting her fuck his mouth with her only rigidity. She hooked her leg over his shoulder and began to grind against his jaw, moving her hips into him in mindless, undulating circles, whimpering and keening in a steady, guttural rhythm. 

Johnny moved his fingers beneath her pussy lips, amazed by her warmth, and twisted his palm into her jeans, stretching her fly wider to accommodate his huge hand. It was a rough shove of fabric and flesh, but eventually, his fingertips found her eager hole and began to delve inside, prodding against her strong walls. When he was deep enough to find the spot that changed the timbre of her cries, he returned to suck at her clit, swirling his tongue through her to make sure he found every last drop.

“John…” She gasped. 

His name on her lips may as well have been a blinding flare for how quickly his eyes darted to hers, answering her call from between her legs. When he saw her face, he knew she was about to come for him, her expression frozen in an unfinished scream, her body trembling, the thigh looped around his shoulder squeezing to make sure he didn’t escape from his position. 

Johnny was lucky enough to feel her orgasm from the inside as well, her cunt clutching his fingers, holding him within her like a greedy little beast, hungry for whatever he would give her. The taste of her slick made him break out into a sweat, his own muscles shuddering from the excitement and the need. 

As she came down from her high, he let her go, slipping out of her gently, moving to stand. But, her boot heel stopped him in his tracks, pressing down on his shoulder to keep him on his knees. He cut his eyes at her, shocked by her challenge. 

She was fondling her breasts in both of her hands, smiling with visceral contentment, enjoying how he was trapped below her, smiling at him like she definitely had his number. 

“Wee demon,” Johnny chuckled, moving his mouth to the ankle of her boot, his lips crawling over the oiled leather like it was her pussy, smearing his spit and her slick all over the shoe. 

She gasped like it pleased her, so he continued, making his way up and over the boot until he came to her calf, scrunching up her pants so he could kiss her skin underneath, licking and sucking on her leg as roguishly as he would her tits. One of her hands found his scalp again and pet him gingerly, rewarding his dogmatic commitment to her pleasure. 

Suddenly, Johnny surged up the stairs, looping both of her legs over his arms and taking her with him, pinning her between his body and the inner wall of the staircase. 

“Fuck!” She grunted. The air rushed out of her lungs, and she tried to get it back. 

While she was stunned, Johnny raked down her trousers just far enough to give himself access, and he began to smear his cockhead against her folds. 

“Suppose you’re used to gettin’ your way, bonnie.”

Her wide eyes were her response, and the slow grind of her hips told him he would be rewarded for this, too. 

“I willnae take what isnae mine to have…” He whispered into her open mouth, breathing nearly as hard as she was.

While she was thinking about his words, both of them were rocking their bodies together, dancing to a silent song stuck in their heads. She smiled at him, and he caught the sinister tone in her voice just a moment too late.

“You can have me,” she showed him a little roll of paper that she had clutched in her fist, dug out of some pocket, crumpled and white like a cloud, “If you can catch me.”

The hiss of a lit match caught his attention, shoving his mind back into a semi-alert state. When the fire from her fingers touched the flash paper, it burned like dragon’s breath, spitting and raging. She’d put a little gunpowder in the roll, and the searing wrath of it startled Soap back away from the wall. He dropped her, but she landed in a crouch, and through the smoke, she shoved her way down the stairs and out of his sight. 

“Cheeky hen,” he laughed, waving the smoke out of his face and turning to race down the steps after her. 

There was a door on the second landing, and he burst through it expecting to find her there with a sly grin, but it was just a storage room. Boxes and boxes of equipment, but not her. He raced down the stairs to the main level and went into hunting mode. He crouched behind the countertop of her makeshift kitchenette, scanning the floor for her boots. As silent as a breath, Johnny slithered his way through the galley, keeping his eyes peeled for movement, trying to ignore his raging length pressing against his fly. 

There were two doors on the east side of the room, one led outside, but the other led to an inner chamber. The inner door was slightly ajar although the room was pitch black. Johnny slowly stepped toward it, shouldering it open as quietly as he could. When his eyes adjusted to the low light of the room, he saw what awaited him. 

His gorgeous little demolitionist was laying atop a huge metal crate made of tightly looped chain link, low and wide like a grand sarcophagus. Inside of the crate, green lights blinked intermittently, each one on its own independent pace, twinkling like stars. She was fully nude, her clothing discarded behind her, stretched out over the metal box, touching herself and moving her body like an invitation. 

“You caught me, soldier,” she purred, rolling another spool of flash paper in her fingers.

“Aye,” Johnny whispered, his hand reaching out for her ankle, pulling her leg up to his mouth to kiss the protruding bone, “But, what is this, lass?”

“A gift,” she sighed, pulling Johnny onto the crate with her, listening to the creaking metal complain about his weight.

Johnny kissed her, slotting himself between her legs and pressing his cock on top of her mons like a promise,

“For who, bonnie?” 

He asked the question like he already knew the answer, but she told him anyway,

“Vladimir Makarov.”

Johnny’s cock was already jerking to be stuffed inside of her, but he ignored it. He could only hear the blood slamming against his ears, rushing through every vein and blazing into his belly. 

They were laying on a giant bomb.

She hooked her legs around his waist and flipped him over, slamming him onto the crate flat on his back.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” Johnny looked below him at the blinking lights, praying that his presence hadn’t disturbed one of the punks or starter coils, “We cannae ju–”

Her hand coiled around his neck, and she applied just enough pressure to stop his words. Johnny let her do it, and his body seemed to take some sort of sick thrill in his compliance, his cock lunging for her as she straddled him. 

She sat up tall, her knees digging into the metal loops of the crate, her pussy rubbing back and forth along the heavy meat of his prick, and her free hand pinching the soft flesh of her breast, hurting herself more than she was hurting him. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, 

“Careful, soldier. Better stay very… very still… I’ll keep you safe, baby.”

Then, she released his throat and slid his cock inside of her hole, her aim true and sure, swallowing him up inside of her core in one smooth drop. Then, she began to grind against him, using his rigid tip to press into her pillowy g-spot, forcing him to feel the heartbreaking texture of her walls, drowning him in her orgasm-seeking revelry. 

“Bonnie,” Soap panted, trying to stay focused lest he lose himself to her magic, “I cannae do this. I… fuck… I cannae stay steady.”

“Shh,” she cooed at him, taking her time as she slowly stuffed all four of her fingers into his mouth, holding onto his bottom jaw to silence him, “You’re the one who wanted to join me, Mr. MacTavish. Now, hold still, or I’ll have to introduce you to my sister.”

Her grinding continued, luscious and sticky, the wet sounds of her cunt loud in the stone-walled room. Johnny tried to look away, tried to concentrate on the fifty-some kilos of Semtex below his arse, but he couldn’t. Not even a bomb could pull his mind from the view of his lover’s plump little body, round and soft and full and warm, all of her curves and edges trembling as she thrust him inside of her, fucking herself with his rod, taking her time with him. 

Johnny could only see her, could only stare at the glistening jewel of her pussy, giving her his thick fingers to rub against, addicted to the noise she made that came from deep inside her chest when he hit the spot she liked. He was almost ashamed at some of the sounds that were emanating from his own mouth. It was all he could do to keep from bucking himself up into her like some wild stag, blind with his rut and horny to the point of self-harm. So, if he couldn’t move, his body released that energy through his lungs, and he was moaning like her paid whore. 

Between all of her sweet, sing-song yeses and oh-my-gods, he was grunting and hollering like he’d been stuck with a knife, the aura of his climax threatening him with every exhale, her pussy pulling his pleasure from him like a water from a well, dipping him in, milking him out, soaking him inside of her. 

“How…” Johnny looked up at her with pleading eyes, “How will I come, bonnie? I cannae help tae move in you. I cannae… Oh, Holy Christ!”

All at once, Johnny grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up, following her with his own, pounding into her as his shoulders tried to stay pinned to the box, pushing down into the crate with all his might as his cock pistoned inside of her, humping her hard enough to leave stinging welts across her thick arse, pumping her full of his come.

She was above him, riding him like a bull, screaming for him, basking in his affections, free like a bird with her arms outstretched in rapture. For a moment, Johnny thought the worst had come over them. He came so hard that his vision flashed, and he imagined her bomb vibrating to life, consuming them both in its predetermined fury, taking him, her, and this godforsaken lighthouse with it. All for naught.

Yet, as he came to, he felt the cold chill of the crate against his skin and knew that he was alive. Only a petite mort had befallen him. His skin was electric, buzzing at every point that she touched as she rubbed his body with her body, letting him lower her back down as gently as he could. 

“Mmm,” she groaned with satisfaction, “Who knew switching sides would be so rewarding?”

“Gonnae have to do somethin’ about that wee death wish you’ve got, lass. Made me come so hard, I thought I’d have to see Peter at the gates with my bloody trousers around my ankles,” Johnny sat up with her still in his arms and slid off of the crate, holding her and looking at her like she had gone completely mad.

She looped her arms and legs around him and threw her head back in laughter,

“Blasting pin isn’t even set, soldier. I can’t bel–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Johnny’s mouth slanted over hers, kissing her as deeply as he could, feeding his tongue into her throat, his movements desperate and full of heat. 

“Shouldnae’ve told me that, hen,” he threatened her as he pulled away for a moment, his eyes darkening, “‘Cause now, you’re mine, and I’ll have you how I like.”

idek yall lol sorry

[misswynters]

Buddy, the snowman

featuring. s2 jayce x reader

a/n. i want everyone to picture s2 long haired jayce for this (my lil hispanic boy)

Piltover in winter was a different kind of magic. The city’s usual bustle slowed as the snow draped over rooftops, blanketed the cobbled streets, and softened the sharp edges of its mechanical marvels. The air was crisp, filled with the faint scent of pine, and for once, it seemed as if even the gears of progress paused to appreciate the quiet beauty of the holiday season.

You stood on the edge of the park, bundled in a thick coat, scarf, and gloves, waiting for Jayce. Who is always late, as usual. Snow crunched beneath your boots as you shifted your weight, your breath visible in the cold air. When he finally arrived, he was juggling a small box of cookies he’d picked up on the way, a thermos of hot cocoa, and his scarf, which he hadn’t managed to wrap around his neck yet.

“Sorry I’m late,” he called out, flashing you a sheepish grin. “I got held up by Mrs. Halloway. She wanted to tell me all about her snowflake shaped cookie cutters.”

You laughed, reaching out to grab the thermos before it slipped from his hands. “Let me guess, you were too polite to escape?”

“She cornered me at the shop,” he admitted, his breath clouding in the air as he finally wrestled the scarf into place. “But hey, I brought cookies!”

“Then all is forgiven,” you teased, linking your arm with his as you walked into the park.

The snow was untouched, sparkling under the late morning sun. Children’s laughter echoed from the far side of the park where a sledding hill was busy with activity. You and Jayce gravitated toward a quieter spot, where the snow lay pristine and the trees offered some shelter from the wind. “I can’t remember the last time I built a snowman,” you mused, surveying the scene.

“Then we’re fixing that today,” Jayce declared, already kneeling to scoop up a handful of snow. He packed it tightly, forming the beginnings of a snowball. “You start the bottom, I’ll handle the head.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You trust me with the foundation?”

“Of course. You’re the architect here, aren’t you?” he teased, his grin warm and inviting.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you got to work. The snow was perfect, soft enough to mold but firm enough to hold its shape. You began rolling the snowball across the ground, watching it grow larger and larger. Meanwhile, Jayce fashioned the middle and top sections, his gloved hands moving with practiced ease.

“Hey,” he called out after a while, his voice tinged with amusement. “Is this snowman going to rival the height of the council tower? Because it’s looking like you’re aiming for a structural masterpiece.”

You stepped back, admiring your work. The base was enormous, almost up to your waist. “Bigger is better ,” you retorted with a grin, dusting the snow off your gloves. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

Jayce chuckled, hoisting the midsection of the snowman in his arms. “Fair point. But if this guy topples over, I’m blaming the architect.”

You laughed as he carefully balanced the second snowball on top of the base. “You’re not exactly the most careful engineer I know, Jayce. Remember that time you accidentally launched yourself across the workshop?”

“That was one time!” he shot back, laughing as he adjusted the snowball until it was perfectly centered. “And I still say it was an unintended success.”

“You’re lucky I was there to catch you,” you teased, rolling up the final snowball for the head. Jayce stepped aside to help you lift it, his hands brushing against yours as you both placed it on top. The snowman took shape quickly, its proportions absurdly exaggerated but undeniably charming. Jayce pulled a handful of random gadgets and bolts from his pocket, because of course he carried those everywhere, and started sticking them into the snowman’s torso.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching in disbelief as he carefully attached a cogwheel where a button might go.

“Improving him,” Jayce said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Every snowman deserves a touch of innovation.”

You snorted. “This is why you can’t leave well enough alone.”

“I prefer to think of it as creativity,” he said, leaning back to admire his work. “What do you think? Too much?” The snowman now looked like a combination between a friendly holiday figure and an early prototype from Jayce’s workshop. His scarf draped around its neck (stolen from Jayce’s coat), the twig arms were bent at jaunty angles, and the “buttons” were a mismatched collection of gears and screws.

“It’s… unique to say the least,” you said, stifling a laugh. “But he needs a name. How about… Buddy?”

Jayce grinned. “I like it. He’s definitely our buddy now.”

The two of you stood back, admiring your creation. The late morning sun glinted off the snow. But then, out of nowhere, a snowball hit you square in the shoulder. “Jayce!” you yelped, spinning around to see him grinning mischievously, another snowball already in his hand.

“Consider it a christening for Buddy,” he said with a wink, launching the second snowball toward you.

You dodged, laughing, and scooped up some snow of your own. “Oh, you’re going to regret that!” The next few minutes devolved into a chaotic snowball fight. You darted behind trees, narrowly avoiding Jayce’s throws while lobbing your own with surprising accuracy. He wasn’t as agile as you, but his aim was scarily good, and more than once you ended up covered in snow.

When you finally called a truce, you were both breathless and laughing, your cheeks pink from the cold and exertion. Jayce flopped onto the snow, spreading his arms and legs to make a snow angel.

“Not bad,” he said between breaths. “But I think I won.”

“You wish,” you said, collapsing beside him. “I hit you way more times than you hit me.”

“Debatable,” he replied, turning his head to look at you. His brown eyes sparkled with warmth, and his smile was softer now, less mischievous. The two of you lay there in the snow, staring up at the pale blue sky. The world felt quiet, the only sounds the distant laughter of children and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

“Thanks for dragging me out here,” Jayce said after a while. “I needed this.”

You turned your head to face him, your breath visible in the cold air. “Me too. It’s nice to just... be for a while. No council meetings, experiments, or deadlines.”

“Just you, me, and our little Buddy,” he said with a chuckle, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. You felt your cheeks grow warmer, though whether it was from the cold or something else, you weren’t sure. “And the cookies,” you reminded him, sitting up and reaching for the box he’d brought.

Jayce sat up too, brushing snow from his coat. “Right. Can’t forget about the cookies.” The two of you sat together, sharing cookies and sipping hot cocoa from the thermos. Buddy stood proudly nearby, a testament to your combined (if slightly chaotic) efforts. Pulling off your gloves, cradling the thermos in your hands. The warmth seeped through your fingers as you took a sip, the rich, sweet cocoa melting the chill in your bones. Jayce opened the box of cookies, offering you one before taking one for himself.

"These are so good,” you said, savoring the buttery sweetness.

“Told you Mrs. Halloway knows her stuff,” Jayce replied, his grin boyish as he took a large bite. “Snowball fights and cookies. Best day off ever.”

You leaned back, watching Buddy stand proudly in the distance. “I think we outdid ourselves with that snowman,” you said.

Jayce glanced at it, a playful smile on his face. “He’s definitely got personality. Though next year, I’m thinking we add some light-up features. Maybe a mini hammer.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Of course you are. But fine, as long as I get to handle the design.”

“Deal,” he said, raising his cookie like a toast.

As the two of you sat there, sharing cookies and warm drinks, the soft glow of the setting sun painted the snow in shades of gold and pink. It was a rare, perfect moment of peace, one you knew you’d carry with you through the busier days ahead. And in the quiet of the winter evening, with Jayce’s laughter still echoing in your ears, you realized this was what you loved most about him: his ability to make even the simplest moments unforgettable.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Jayce pulled his scarf from the snowman and wrapped it around your shoulders instead.

“You’re going to freeze,” you protested, but he shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice gentle. “You’re the one who dragged me out here, so it’s only fair that I make sure you stay warm.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, leaning into his side as he slung an arm around you. “Same time next year?” he asked, his tone light but hopeful.

“Maybe, as long as you aren't late.” you agreed, smiling as you watched the last light of day fade behind the snow-covered trees.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @writingwisterias

[kingkunigami]

— rough

Kunigami taking his aggression out on you after wildcard— honestly I want him to knock me around a bit😩

Warnings: 18+, choking, asphyxiation, rough sex, creampie, Kunigami ignores readers request not to cum inside her, semi-public sex, slut used once.

Pairings: Kunigami Rensuke x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.5k.

There’s something different about Kunigami when he makes it out of the wildcard program. A darkness that lingers inside him and threatens to consume him whole, stealing the light piece by piece until he’s a shell of the man you knew before.

He’s colder, rougher, more intent.

Ravenous.

As he stalks towards you after a game, focused eyes honing in on you like a hungry lion stalking its prey— ready to devour you whole. A man ready to take out all the anger and aggression that’s been building up inside him, dangling over him like a noose.

And sometimes you can’t even tell whether your kind, caring boyfriend still exists inside him. It’s as though he’s a completely different man.

It’s divergent from the soft, sensual sex you’re used to with Kunigami. Full of reassuring words and touches as he rolls his hips against yours gently, as though he’s afraid you might break. Like a delicate butterfly that he cups in his palms, cherishing you with every fibre of his being.

But this man? He’s brutal.

Hungrily using you for his own lust, calloused hands brusing as he pins you to the wall. Your panties just about survive his rough movements as he tugs them down your thighs roughly, letting the fabric settle around one of your ankles before he’s hoisting your thigh up against his hip.

He’s indecorous as he’s swiping his palm over your naked slit, fingers delving between your folds to see how wet you are for him— and it’s not nearly enough as he’s kind enough to spit in his palm to rub the moisture between your thighs. Nudging your clit with his rough movements, just enough to have your hips bucking with want.

It’s like he’s a different man completely as he’s tugging at his shorts, pulling them down just enough to free his aching cock as the weight of it hangs low and heavy. Wrapping himself in a fist as he strokes the tip through your messy slit, his pre mingles with cooling spit as he knocks your clit. Cold, half-lidded eyes stare down at you as he blindly searches for your entrance.

The hunger and desire that burns molten fire inside him makes it difficult for him to find it, the swollen tip catches against it as he thrusts forward and misses. Sliding his length through your sex as he snarls in irritation, tightening his grip as he pulls at your thigh. Lifting it higher as he almost suspends you from the ground, keeping your weight trapped between him and the cold brick wall as he tilts back to try and see your cunt. To guide himself inside you as he finally catches against your tight, unprepared hole. Canting his hips with one sharp thrust as he buries his cock inside you.

“Oh, fu—” The penetration steals the wind from your lungs as your lips part to gulp air in.

You’re not gifted a moment to adjust to the sensation before Kunigami is using your body greedily— selfishly. His eyes are focused and intent as he curls himself into you, towering over you as he traps you against him. Soft grunts spill from deep in his throat, the sound has your clit twitching as the slight pain begins to morph into sheer pleasure.

“Ren—” You manage to choke out between airy moans as you let him use you how he so pleases.

“Oh, shit,” He exhales through his nose, “Always so tight for me.”

Each thrust is bruising as he pounds his hips forward, heavy balls slap against your ass as you scramble for purchase. Your nails dig into his broad, muscular shoulders leaving angry red lines in their wake, which only seem to goad him on. The sharp pain that ebbs through his veins has his cock twitching inside you, pulsing as he nears his release.

Kunigami gives one of your breasts a rough squeeze, fingers moulding into the supple skin bruisingly as you cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body betrays you as your cunt clenches pathetically from the abuse, begging him for more as your back arches towards his touch.

You reach up to curl your palm over the back of his hand, goading him to squeeze again as he does. Sucking in air through clenched teeth as he bites back a depraved grunt of pleasure.

“You like that, huh?” He murmurs, “Don’t even care that anyone could walk by and see you like this.”

And truth be told in the moment, you didn’t. You were certain his teams had caught glimpses of you in compromising positions before. Most of the time you’d have to coax your boyfriend into doing anything illicit, Kunigami often adamant that this sort of intimacy should be reserved for behind closed doors. But once in a while he’d let you tug down his shorts to relax him at half time, or bend you over before the game started for good luck— but this? This was downright depraved, and he could care less if anyone saw you like this right now. You were one thing that he had that no one else could have, a warped sense of power that consumed him.

“Fuck, such a slut.” He grunts as he brings his palm up higher to your neck, thick fingers wrap around your jugular as he squeezes. The pad of his thumb pushes into your jawline to direct your focus on him, staring into his auburn eyes as you feel the intensity of his gaze as he uses you selfishly. Seeking out his pleasure before your own as he works out every ounce of frustration on your poor, pliant body.

“Look at me,” He growls, “I said fucking look at me.”

Every word is annunciated by a precise, sharp rut of his hips as your eyes meet his auburn gaze. Your cunt pulses at the attention, intense diluted pupils have you writhing beneath him.

“S’too much,” You can barely make out between the hand tightening around your neck, cutting off your air supply as his thrusts become sloppier. Dropping more of his weight onto you as your walls tighten around his cock, your slick now leaks down his thick length as it creams around the base. Dribbling down onto his heavy balls as he anticipates his climax.

Expecting him to pull out at the last minute as always. Kunigami was always careful, always ready to stroke his length to finish himself off and shoot warm spurts of cum all over your tummy or ass.

“Pull out.” You whisper, his palm tightens around your neck as he nears his end.

But this time he was intent, determined.

“Rensuke.” Your voice is barely a whisper as the lack of oxygen goes straight to your head.

“Take it all,” Kunigami snarls as your cunt clenches pathetically at his tone, “Fucking take it.”

And a warmth consumes you as his balls drain inside your trembling hole, pumping globs of his thick release inside your obedient cunt. Continuing to give shallow ruts into you, burying his spend deeper inside your ruined walls.

“Fuck.” His grip loosens around your neck as he fills you to the brim.

You’re almost an afterthought as he pulls back, half-lidded eyes softening as though he’s just realised what he’s done. Feeling your desperate walls continue to pulse around him, desperately close to your own end as Kunigami takes pity on you.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, baby.” He grumbles.

Slipping a hand between your connected bodies as he presses the pad of his thumb against your puffy clit, rubbing swift precise circles against it as he leads you towards your own release. He knows your body better than you know it yourself as he has you teetering on the edge of your climax with minimal effort. The saccharine tartness to your moans has his softening cock twitching inside you as he feels you dancing on the tip of your release, goading you to tumble over the edge.

“Cum for me, princess.” He groans, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he watches you, “Always so pretty when you’re cummin’ for me.”

Feeling your chest tighten as the familiar sensation surges through you in harsh waves, your walls clamp down around his cock as you meet your own release. Kunigami’s grip on your thigh tightens to stop your legs from giving out and falling to the floor as he works you through your end. Cooing words of encouragement and praise as the intense pleasure continues coursing through you.

“Good girl.” He soothes, giving your clit a few more gentle circles until you’re trying to arch away from his touch.

Reluctantly pulling his spent cock from your messy hole as he tucks himself back inside his shorts. Bending down to help you back into your panties as he pulls them up your thighs, feeling the mixture of your release drooling into the crotch as the fabric sticks to your skin uncomfortably as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips.

“Let’s go home.” You plead, hoping that he’ll leave the building that has effectively stolen his spirit.

“Can’t,” He shakes his head, “I’ve gotta train.”

Kunigami can see the hurt flash through your eyes, but it doesn’t change his decision. You already know you’ve lost him to the Blue Lock program, and you can only hope to save his soul before it’s too late.

[bighungrywolf]

"Oh, you're driving me wild," David growled, his voice thick with desire. "Why don't you get down on your knees and keep the fun going?" With a firm hand, he guided his flirt's head down.

Without hesitation, the other guy sank to his knees, gazing up at David's towering, muscular frame, eyes filled with longing and submission. David smirked, the heat in his stare unmistakable.

"Ahh, much better," he purred, flexing his chest so it nearly obscured his view of the man beneath him. "I love seeing weaklings like you down there, at my feet. You think you're here for something sweet, don't you?" He laughed softly, darkly. "Oh, you're so wrong."

David's eyes gleamed as he licked his lips, towering over his prey. "No, what I crave is seeing you small, powerless, begging for me. It ignites something primal in me... a need to dominate, to consume."

Before the boy could react, David's powerful arms hoisted him effortlessly into the air, lifting him above his salivating mouth. The boy had no time to resist, no chance to escape. With a smoldering gaze, David took control, pushing his dominance to a new, intoxicating level, devouring the helpless man, making him part of something greater.

[t-tomuras]

⬿ ⋆˚࿔ •◦ ─── • 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞

Pairing: Moze x F!reader

Warnings: Mention of stalking, pinning, fingering, vaginal penetration, slight overstimulation, allusion to oral / cum eating

Wordcount: 3.1k

Notes: For darling @unriding < 3

The longer he trails you the more he doubts he’d even need to actually be invisible. Moze wasn’t even really trying to conceal his footsteps either, borderline overt stalking more than covert tailing. He should scold you for how oblivious you are, chastise you about being even moderately more aware of your surroundings. 

If it weren’t so exhilarating being this close to you without you even noticing, fueling his desire for the hunt. 

Now what will he do to find reprieve for his reaping? 

He’s not sure, not until thick forearms of corded muscle littered with ashen scars in dark contrast to the unmarred alabaster wrap around your waist. Hoisting you over his shoulder and darting into a nearby mouth of an alleyway before you could even so much as yelp. 

Carefully letting cold claws clamp over your mouth before he brings a finger to his own lips to shush you. His own expression is calm where yours is wild, if only for a moment until you recognize the handsomely familiar face beneath the shroud of his hood. Exhaling a long, slow breath as your body instantly relaxes in his hold. 

Should you really be doing that already? Submitting to a predator simply because you’ve known him for a short time? It makes his brows knit together, eyes narrowing over your reaction to him. 

“Have you no sense of self preservation?” 

The smile that had already begun to grace plush lips falls away before its completion, brows knitting together in confusion as you tilt your head at him inquisitively. Staring unblinking but unchallenging as he watches your pupils search his impassive features,“ if you wanted to hurt me you would’ve.” 

Moze looks taken aback, eyes widening minutely before he steels himself once more; you’ve changed him with your presence, that’s for certain. He’s much more expressive with you, though it only appears marginally so to those around him aside from the general and Jiaoqiu but even they aren’t privy to the parts of himself he kept locked away.

The parts of himself that you’ve seemed to create your own key to.

“How do you know I won’t? I still have my knife,” he leans closer towards you but doesn’t impose threateningly, another sign of the ways you’d managed to soften jagged edges, “I could reach it easily, unsheath and make use of it before you could even bat an eyelash.” 

You say nothing but your face scrunches cutely, brows furrowing in what Moze assumes is benign intimidation before your joy shatters the facade. Shaking your head slightly as a tinkling giggle bubbles from your chest and past your lips as your shoulders fall slack, once again seemingly so utterly at ease despite how he has you pinned to the wall in his domain of shadows, away from prying eyes. 

“You’re an odd one, too trusting,” but there’s little bite to it, humid breath fanning over your skin. Lilac hues with flecks of the swirling galaxy of color drinking you in before he fixes you with his gaze. His head dips closer, his lips brush over the skin of your jaw, “I challenge the general often in an attempt on her life.” 

“Yet you still protect her,” it comes out breathier than you’d intended, your fingers curl against his abdomen, aching to draw him closer as the tension mounts, “always when it matters most.”

“I’m unpredictable,” he hums as his head lifts, meeting your gaze from the corner of his eye as he gently lowers you to the ground, letting your feet rest flat but he continues to cage you in. His arm raises to rest his forearm along the building's wall, tilting into view while he towers over you, “I leave my motives unknown.” 

A hint of truth to his tone, not that he chose to lie, often choosing to respond with silence but with you he’s used his voice far more than he has in his life. 

And even though Moze knows you have the utmost trust in him, you shrink before him, curling slightly into yourself and bringing your arms to your chest for comfort rather than creating distance. 

He exhales slowly, a slow puff of warmth making your lashes flutter and glace back up at him. Moze is closer now, invading your personal space and it forces a wave of warmth through your entire vascular system in less than a second. Gasping slightly when his fingers hook beneath your chin to tilt your face upwards, nose so close to yours they almost brush as he whispers, “are you afraid of me now?” 

“No,” you’re quick to respond, however breathless it may have been. You pout at him, face scrunching once again but with a light scowl over pretty features, “I’ve never been afraid of you even when I’d only known you as the Crow Feathered Shadow Guard of the Yaoqing.”

You’ve never once used the infamous insult ‘weirdo’ that’s tacked on after his fabled name, you’ve always thought it was “too mean.” You’d told him as much the first time you’d ever worked with him, indignant on his behalf, believing he was unaware of the nickname instead of just uncaring. 

You’ve always been unmitigatingly compassionate to a man like him, kind to everyone you meet but Moze can see the difference in how you treat and react to him compared to the others that flock to your radiance. 

He knows, he does the same. 

Demonstrating that fact as he finally closes the gap between you both, lips sealing over yours tentatively at first before pressing more firmly when his free hand falls from your chin to grip at your hip. Arching you away from the wall he’s settled you against as he pulls your pelvis to his as he slides his hand to loop his arm around waist, angling your body so that your only support is your upper back and Moze himself. 

You mewl a cute sound into the kiss, stiff at first in your shock but you melt into Moze easily, relaxing in his hold the same as before but you yearn to draw him impossibly closer. Splaying your fingers out over his chest, smoothing along his collarbones at first before they slide higher. One hand resting on the slope of his shoulder, tugging gently at his hood until it slips from its place while the other weaves into newly exposed starlit locks. 

Your nails rake gently along his scalp, exhaling slowly into the unending kiss but Moze thrives on the element of surprise. Shocking you and forcing your face to heat further until you’re certain it warms his own skin when his tongue swipes teasingly over the seam of your lips. 

It’s a little fast for your first kiss with Moze, it flusters you and causes more arousal to pool in the lacy panties that match your casual dress for the day. ‘Subtly extravagant,’ Jiaoqiu had described your style and Moze was inclined to agree while he grasps at the delicate material, making it bunch around your hips when he guides your leg to hook on his hips as you open your mouth to him. 

Observing you with a lidded gaze to gauge your reaction to his guidance before he even considers moving forward, focusing on every reaction to him so he can pull away from you at the first sign of trepidation or rejection. 

He receives neither, met with subdued eagerness when your thigh clenches against him and you tug tenderly at the tendrils in your grasp. Moze groans reassuringly at your soft whimper, a quiet plea for more as he adjusts himself. 

Switching the arm he leans on as his head dips to litter affections to your throat, humming appreciatively when you crane your neck in the opposite direction to grant him more access as his hand snakes between your bodies. Disappearing beneath the mass of frilly fabric to cup your mound, nipping softly at your throat when you gasp at the contact even as your hips twitch forward. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Voice a low husk against your ear as he kisses the cartilage, reducing the weight of his touch in case you do ask him to stop. 

A sound catches in your throat, your voice surely failing you so you shake your head instead. Carding your fingers through his hair as he pulls back just enough to see your face. 

Your eyes look wet, your lips kiss swollen and worsened as your chew at the skin available to your teeth. You’re gorgeous, ruined looking already and he hasn’t even really touched you yet. 

You take his searching of your features as a lack of confidence in your response so you steel yourself, harden your resolve and swallow your desire to shy beneath him. You cup the curve of his skull and let delicate fingers encircle his wrist, drawing him closer to you as you press into him, crushing your chest to his.

“Keep going, Moze, please,” voice a feathersoft whisper before you steal another kiss, a ghosting brush before you lean up to his ear in turn, “touch me more.”

He can’t help but groan at the sound of your voice, sure you don’t understand just how sultry you sound and the wave of heat you sent coursing through his veins. Moze doesn’t have to be told twice, reacting to you the same way he does during a hunt: with ease out of sheer instinct and reflex. 

Skilled digits pulling your panties to the side to part through your slick folds, wetter than he’d assumed over the damp fabric. Coating his fingers with just a few languid strokes along your slick, pads of his fingers teasing at your entrance as the heel of his palm grinds lightly against your clit. 

The friction makes you gasp, keening slightly but you swallow it as you tuck your face into his throat and clutch at him tightly. Hips bucking into his hand as you chase the delicious shocks each touch sends shooting up your spine. 

Muffling your soft whines in his throat, dampening the skin with your humid breaths in between dotting kisses to try and ground yourself. It’s easy to get lost in him, in the pleasure he provides with his fingers alone; telling in how you try and drag him closer with the leg hooked over his hip. 

But you aren’t the only one equally zealous in the moment, every one of your salacious sighs and honeyed whimpers that toed the line of a sweet moan from teasing alone makes his cock twitch. 

Rigid in his now constricting pants, tenting the tight fabric when Moze stretches you for the first time. Testing initially with just his middle finger before adding his ring finger, curling the digits after a rhythmic pace that left you gasping in time with each pump of his fingers. 

And Moze was content you satisfy you only, to deliver you in rapture alone until you tremble in his hold. Distracting yourself by kissing at the hinge of his jawline until he steals the air from your lungs and you clutch at him like a lifeline. 

Concerning him for a fleeting moment until you whisper, “right there, right there Moze, I’m so close,” as velvet walls convulse tightly around his digits. 

It makes him hungry, it stokes a flame in his lower belly that again has him acting on instinct alone. 

Moze surprises you when he pulls his fingers from you, hardly even giving you time to lament the loss or fret at the possibility that you could ever say anything wrong to him as he acts hastily. 

He expertly undoes his belt after canting his hips away from you, quick to grasp at your other leg and hoist you slightly upwards. Lifting you with ease as you wrap your legs around his waist and hook your ankles behind his back. 

“Sorry, I need you,” husked against your lips between hungry kisses as your arms drape over his shoulders and your heels rest at the small of Moze’s toned back. Supported by his hands just below the crescents of your ass and the wall behind you, head nearly spinning from the hastiness of you both. 

Swallowing a surprised squeal as Moze ruts his hips into yours to soak his cock in your wetness that melts into a soft moan when the tip catches on your entrance. 

Everything slows from there, despite his fervent need, he’s careful with you. He hadn’t thoroughly prepped you, hadn’t considered stretching you enough to take him because he had only intended on your pleasure alone but you’ve always had a strong effect on him. 

Rolling his pelvis in tight circles, gradually sinking himself into you inch by inch until the neatly trimmed thatch of curls on his mound are slicked to his skin. Stalling for a moment to give you time to adjust to him, for your body to accommodate his intrusion, thankful none of the soft whines sounded pained as he pulled them from you. 

He could face hordes of borison and abominations of abundance without hardly breaking a sweat but simply being buried to the hilt in your divine heat has Moze panting. 

Subconsciously attempting to soothe you as he brushes his lips along the exposed skin of your shoulder and throat for a suspended moment. Steadying his breathing before you withdraw from your haven, a light sheen of sweat sticking the shorter hairs that frame your beautiful face to your skin. 

His thumbs swipes along your temple, smoothing some of it away before your own hand comes to cup his cheek. Earning his attention as your lean forward for a kiss, lovingly sucking on his lower lip and your mewl at the way his cock twitches within you. 

“M ready,” you sigh against his lips, flexing your thighs and calves to pull him closer as you steal another kiss, “move, Moze.” 

There’s just something about the contact and the way you say those words specifically that nurture the burning embers of yearning into the inferno of desire. His breath stalls in his lungs in his inhale, cradling the curve of your skull as he drags his hips backwards only to sink back in once more, faster this time. 

Groaning into your mouth for you to swallow as he repeats the motion, once, bucking out of sync once with the way you squeeze him on the next until he finds a steady pace. Unhurried but not leisurely, savoring you and the way you consume him in more ways than one, taking him like you were made for him and taking the love in him he didn’t think he was capable of. 

Far from worried about the semi-public setting, Moze specialized in remaining unseen when he didn’t want to be. 

Though he does wish this encounter would’ve been done privately, somewhere comfortable for you, something you deserved. Something that couldn’t be mistaken for a simple tryst but Moze does well to display this was far from, that you could easily infer this was a heat of passion. 

He doubts you’d ever felt the sort of tension he did in the moments he was alone with you, when you went on hunts together. 

How seeing the way you throw your head back and stutter on the syllables of his name with every thrust were the dreams that woke him with a start. The very ones that you’ve been concerned about because Moze refused to tell you about them. 

Now he makes the dream come true, thrusting his hips in rhythm with how you work to bounce on him. Rolling your own hips downward and somewhat out of sync every so often as you chase your impending climax. 

“You’re close,” stated matter of factly rather than posed as a question, voice a deeper timber than the already rich velvet that it was. His eyes widen minutely when a particular pointed thrust makes you arch as your fingers grip onto his shoulders, surely leaving lingering crescent imprints in his pale skin. He replicates the motion once more and garners the same reaction, this time with a perfectly pitchy yelp before you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Moze falls into that rhythm, staccato in nature, staunchly maintained as your soft sounds crescendos into wanton vocalizations. The feel of you pulsing around him, seemingly in time with his own heartbeat works, him up in time with you. 

Coils in both of your lower bellies winding too tightly and begging to break. It was far from intentional, much the same as everything about this entire blissful interaction, but he’s certain you’ll both finish together. 

His heart races at the thought, his arms of densely packed muscle tenses around your natural waist, clutching you to him as he hastens the pace. 

The lewd clap of skin fills the space between you, adding to the salacious symphony you compose together. 

Moze buries his face in your throat, laying a trail of feverish presses of his lips to your jawline until he’s able to husk in your ear, “let go, I want you to, cum for me.”

And you do what you’ve always done best for Moze, you comply. 

Throwing your head back with a sharp gasp as euphoria wash over you in perfect waves, Moze palming the back of your skull to keep you from knocking against the wall as he falls from the edge with you. 

Painting your warm walls in pearly ropes with little warning but even in the throes of passion his gaze is unwaveringly fixated on you. 

Always on you, filled with concern for your safety while on the battlefield, in awe in the amiable silence and now with utter adoration in the throngs of intimacy as he works you through your high. 

Gradually bringing you back down despite how you certainly belonged to the heavens. He slows the roll of his hips and reluctantly withdraws his softening length before the sting of overstimulation threatens to line your eyes and stain your cheeks with biting tears. 

Resting his forehead against yours as he massages carefully at the junctures of your hips, settling you on moderately shaking feet but he lets you lean on him for support. 

That is, until he’s sure you’ve calmed yourself enough to stand without swaying and your breathing has slowed to even draws. Sinking to his knees after brushing a feather soft kiss against the apple of your cheek  before sinking to his knees, hiking your leg over one shoulder when he does. 

The movement and position flustering you as your fingers comb through the fringe that falls over his eyes,  “wh-what are doing Moze?”

“Hold still,” said firmly with an unwavering gaze as he grips more firmly at your thigh to keep you from squirming away from him. Kneading the soft flesh as he leans forward to a kiss to your clit before flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive bud while canting your hips forward, “I need to clean you up too.” 

[princessbrunette]

after rewatching s1 and seeing rafe manhandle sarah and kie it makes me think about how differently the obx boys would do it with reader in a high pressure situation like the one at the outdoor theatre or say the girls and reader get into a petty argument.

rafe’s making it a point to his girl the he’s not above making a scene in a place that considers him king - and naturally doesn’t want to be seen as a pushover with his gf in public - so he’s a little rougher with her and a lot more dominant in his body language by towering over her

jj’s a little more blazé, but is making a point to stand his ground in the more casual dominance sense by defusing his girlfriend. like “yeah, okay mama, time to wrap this shit up.” then hoisting her up over his shoulder. giving cheeky ass pinches if she continues to try wrestle free.

john b feels like a rambler, gently holding his girl by the wrist or waist, slowly but surely walking them back from the situation. continuing to reassure her that “it’s fine, we’re gonna go home now - i know what happened but we move on, c’mon the twinkie’s parked over there.”

this is so real. i think rafe’s patience is a lot more thin than anyone else’s which doesn’t exclude you, so if you’re making a scene and it’s not about something he particularly cares about he’s gonna just get irritated by the whole thing and drag you away. i can see him lifting you with his arm around your waist, just walking away whilst you continue cussing and yelling. will chuck you down once you’re at a safe distance and spit out a lazy “‘fucks gotten into you, huh?”

jj’s is sooo correct too. but i feel like he’d be just as pissed off as you are so he’s making an active decision to try and be the reasonable one. he’s probably glaring at who you’re fighting with, tongue in his cheek, but as soon as he hears your voice crack like you’re getting upset he starts to nudge you away cos he knows it’s not worth it. “c’mon, walk away. walk away mama. not worth it, trust me.” i think he’d give your back a little rub as you storm away at his side though to try and subtly calm you down.

i can definitely see john b being a wrist grabber. maybe you even try and take a swipe at this girl but he quickly yanks your wrist back and gives you that stern wide eyed- raised brows combo and a gentle voice. “hey, we’re not doing that today. remember? laying low. think it’s time we leave, don’t you?” hmm

[brainddeadd]

Non sexual size kink with Matt Rempe pt 1

Matt Rempe towers over you, standing at 6’9", a giant compared to your 5’2" frame. The difference between you two is undeniable—humbling and oddly comforting. From the way his long arms engulf you in a hug to how you feel like a doll when he hoists you effortlessly off the ground, every interaction with him makes you hyper-aware of just how small you are beside him.

You don’t mind, though. In fact, you love it.

“Need a lift?” Matt asks, grinning down at you as you try—and fail—to reach the cereal box on the highest shelf. His voice is gentle, teasing but never mocking, just as it always is.

You huff but smile, feeling the warmth in your cheeks. “I can get it myself.”

Matt raises an amused brow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Mhm. Sure you can, short stuff.”

Before you can protest, his hands slide under your arms, and with ease, he lifts you off the ground as if you weigh nothing at all. You let out a small squeal, and he laughs—deep and rich, the sound vibrating through you.

“Matt!” you scold, even though you’re grinning, dangling in midair. “You can’t just pick me up like that!”

“I can, and I will,” he responds, placing you on the counter like you belong there, eye level with him now. His hands stay on your waist for a moment longer than necessary, his thumbs brushing circles against your sides. “Besides,” he murmurs, voice softer now, “I like having you where I can see you.”

There’s something warm in his gaze, something protective and fond, like he’s in awe of the size difference just as much as you are—but not in a way that makes you feel small. No, with Matt, the height difference is just another way he shows you how much he cares. It’s in the way he tilts his head to meet your eyes, how he bends down slightly when you talk, or how he always puts himself between you and crowded places, shielding you without you even noticing.

“You okay up there?” he teases, grinning as he leans in a bit closer, his nose brushing yours.

You can’t help but laugh, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. “Yeah, I’m okay. But next time, I’m getting the cereal on my own.”

Matt chuckles, giving your waist a playful squeeze. “Sure, princess. Whatever you say.”

And as he gently lifts you back to the floor, you know that as long as Matt’s around, you’ll never have to reach for anything alone.

[moonselune]

Hey, new person here, I just thought your giant tav was adorable and I was wondering if youd do the same but in the inverse with a tiny tav or do the guys with a giant tav

Oooo yes, I did it with a tiny tav with the ladies for symmetry

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape as you and Karlach traveled along the winding path. The journey had been long and filled with peril, but now, with the day's dangers behind you, the world felt calm and serene. Karlach, your fierce and towering lover, walked beside you, her fiery presence a comforting constant.

As the path grew uneven and difficult to navigate, Karlach paused and turned to you with a mischievous smile. "Need a better view of the road ahead, love?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with playful intent.

Before you could respond, she effortlessly scooped you up and hoisted you onto her broad shoulders. From this vantage point, the world looked different—more expansive and grand. But the real reason you loved this position was because it brought you closer to Karlach, her warmth and strength surrounding you like a protective barrier.

As you settled in, Karlach's hands gently held your legs, her fingers brushing your thighs. "Comfortable up there?" she teased, glancing up at you with a grin.

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Yes, but I know you just like having me close."

Karlach chuckled, her deep voice rumbling through her chest. "Guilty as charged," she admitted. "And maybe I like the view too." Her tone grew more playful as she lightly nibbled on your inner thigh, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

A shiver ran down your spine, and you felt your face heat up with a blush. "Karlach!" you protested, though there was no real force behind it. The sensation was both ticklish and electrifying, making you squirm slightly on her shoulders.

She laughed, a rich and hearty sound. "What? Just making sure you're paying attention," she said innocently, though her eyes twinkled with mischief.

As the journey continued, you marveled at how effortlessly Karlach carried you, her strength seemingly boundless. You felt safe and cherished, high above the ground but always anchored by her presence. The rhythmic sway of her gait, the steady rise and fall of her breaths, all combined to create a sense of intimacy and connection that you treasured.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Minthara's presence was commanding, her height and demeanor often making you feel small in comparison. But rather than intimidating you, it was a dynamic you found oddly comforting, even when it led to the occasional power struggle. One evening, after a particularly heated argument, you tried to storm off in frustration.

"I can't deal with this right now, Minthara," you huffed, turning to leave. Before you could take more than a few steps, you felt her strong arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground effortlessly.

"Oh no, you don't," she said, her voice firm but tinged with amusement. "We're not done yet."

You struggled briefly, but it was more out of principle than any real desire to escape. She carried you back to where you had been standing, setting you down with a smirk. "You're not going anywhere until we've settled this."

"Minthara, you can't just—" you started, but she cut you off with a gentle but insistent grip on your shoulders.

"I can and I will," she replied, her eyes locked onto yours. "Because I care about you too much to let you walk away angry."

You sighed, the fight draining out of you as you looked up at her. There was a softness in her eyes that belied her stern exterior, a tenderness that made your heart ache. "Fine," you muttered, leaning into her touch. "But only because I know you won't let me leave anyway."

She chuckled, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Exactly," she murmured against your hair. "Now, let's talk this out."

As you stood there, held securely in her arms, you realized that this was what made your relationship with Minthara so special. She was unyielding and fierce, but her love for you was just as strong. And in moments like these, you couldn't help but feel grateful for her strength and determination.

"I love you," you whispered, nuzzling against her chest.

"And I love you," she replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Even when you're being difficult."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae'zel often reveled in the differences between you, her lover, and herself. Your smaller stature was something she both respected and adored, often finding ways to test your strength and resilience in ways that left her both impressed and enchanted.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the middle of a Githyanki training exercise. Lae'zel had a wicked glint in her eyes as she handed you a massive, intricately designed zweihander that was almost as tall as you were.

"Let's see how you handle this," she challenged, crossing her arms and watching intently.

You took the weapon, feeling its weight settle into your grip. The metal was cool and the balance perfect, and despite its size, you swung it with practiced ease, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh.

Lae'zel's eyes widened slightly as you performed a series of maneuvers, the heavy weapon seeming like an extension of your body. Each swing, each step, was precise and powerful. She had expected you to struggle, to be weighed down by the sheer mass of the sword, but instead, you wielded it as if it were a feather.

"Impressive," she muttered under her breath, her admiration clear.

You turned to her, a playful smirk on your face. "Is that all you've got? I was hoping for more of a challenge."

Lae'zel's awe turned into a fierce grin. "You never cease to amaze me," she said, stepping closer. "Perhaps one day, you will best even me in combat."

You laughed, sheathing the zweihander. "Maybe, but for now, I'm happy just impressing you."

She grabbed your hand, pulling you into a passionate kiss. "You do more than impress, my love. You inspire."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had a different approach when it came to your smaller size. She found your petite frame endearing, often using it to her advantage in ways that left you both exasperated and enamored.

One late evening, you were sitting by the campfire, stubbornly refusing to go to bed despite your evident exhaustion.

"I'm not tired," you insisted, stifling a yawn.

Shadowheart sighed, shaking her head. "You need rest, my love. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

You shook your head, determined to stay up a little longer. But before you could protest further, Shadowheart moved with surprising speed and scooped you up into her arms.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, flailing slightly. "Put me down!"

She chuckled softly, holding you securely as she carried you towards your tent. "You're too stubborn for your own good," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "And too small to stop me."

Despite your half-hearted protests, you couldn't help but feel a warm sense of comfort as she cradled you against her. Shadowheart's strength was undeniable, and there was something incredibly soothing about being held by her, knowing she would always take care of you.

She laid you down on the bedroll, pulling the covers over you. "There," she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Now, stay put and get some sleep."

You pouted up at her, but the corners of your mouth turned up in a smile. "Fine, but only because you carried me."

Shadowheart leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Goodnight, my love. Sleep well."

As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of love and gratitude for her. Shadowheart might use your size to her advantage, but it was always out of love and care. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira often found herself marveling at the contrast between you and her. Your smaller stature compared to her tall, commanding presence was a constant source of amusement and endearment for her. She enjoyed using it to her advantage, finding subtle ways to show her affection and care while also having a bit of fun with you.

One evening, after a long day of travel and battling the creatures of the wilderness, you both settled down by a crackling campfire. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows across the campsite as you began to prepare dinner. You struggled slightly with the heavy pot, trying to position it over the fire. Jaheira watched with a bemused smile, her green eyes glinting with mischief.

"Here, let me help you with that," she said, stepping forward and effortlessly lifting the pot from your hands. You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through your chest at her gesture.

"I'm not completely helpless, you know," you said, crossing your arms and looking up at her.

Jaheira chuckled, setting the pot down securely. "I know, my love. But it doesn't hurt to lend a hand, does it?"

As you sat down to eat, Jaheira took the opportunity to tease you further. She handed you a large bowl of stew, almost too big for you to handle comfortably. "Are you sure you can manage that?" she asked with a teasing grin.

You shot her a mock glare. "Very funny, Jaheira. I can handle a bowl of stew."

Despite the banter, you couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you whenever Jaheira displayed her subtle dominance. It was never demeaning or belittling, always wrapped in a blanket of care and affection.

Later that night, as you were both getting ready to sleep, you found yourself shivering slightly from the cool night air. Jaheira noticed immediately, her keen eyes always attuned to your needs. Without a word, she scooped you up into her arms, carrying you over to the bedrolls with ease.

"Jaheira!" you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-protesting. "I can walk, you know."

She smirked, laying you down gently and wrapping you in a thick blanket. "I know, but I like taking care of you," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and love.

You snuggled into the blanket, feeling the comforting weight of it around you. "You know, for someone who loves nature so much, you sure do pamper me," you teased.

Jaheira leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "That's because you are my nature, my heart," she whispered. "And I will always take care of you, no matter how small or strong you are."

Her words wrapped around you like a second blanket, filling you with a sense of safety and belonging. As you drifted off to sleep, you felt Jaheira settle beside you, her larger form a protective barrier against the world. Her arm draped over you, holding you close, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always have her by your side, using her strength to support and love you in every way she could.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 4

Oh, shit. I was supposed to post this today, wasn't I?

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Feels, anxiety, grown ass adult conversations

Word Count: 2,055

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3]

You nibble on your thumb nail, trying and failing to pay attention to the audiobook blasting in your ears. You’re only a few short minutes from touching down at Avenger’s Tower after months away. There’s a nervous excitement bubbling away under your skin, but it is tempered by anxiety of seeing Bucky again.

You can’t help but glance at the parachutes lined up along the wall of the cargo bay you’re sitting in. Shaking your head imperceptibly, you dismiss the impulse as a coward’s way of avoiding an uncomfortable situation. You’ve already come up with a strategy, a game-plan, for how you are going to deal with Bucky and make this situation as easy as possible for the both of you.

You’re startled from your musings when you feel a hand lift the headphone from your ear. You turn wide eyes to Steve as he crouches beside you and tells you that you’ll be landing in less than a minute. 

You nod mutely. You discard your headphones and place them back into your duffel bag while tucking your phone into your back pocket. You take a steadying breath as you feel the quinjet settle down onto the landing pad. Steve and Sam join you at the back of the jet. With a soft jolt and a hiss of pressure, the bay doors open wide.

Standing against a backdrop of glass and steel and the bottom of the giant ‘A’ stands a lone figure.

Bucky.

He’s the only one on the platform, the wind fiercely whipping against his clothing and hair this high up. You can’t help but admire him for a fraction of a second. As you notice that his hair no longer brushes against his collarbones – instead, the short strands don’t even reach his eyes when the wind blows them onto his face. He looks ruggedly handsome with the new haircut, the length helping to define his face and accentuate the stubble growing across his jaw.

The effect he has on you is almost instantaneous, your heart acting as if you hadn’t spent months away from him at his request. It beats a staccato rhythm in your chest, demanding blood to flow to the beat of Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. 

You take a stutter-step off the jet, hoping for composure.

You remain five steps behind the boys as Bucky claps Steve enthusiastically on the back as they hug, muttering something into his ear. Then he lets go to grip Sam’s hand before bringing him in to bump shoulders. You use this time to look behind Bucky, checking to see if anyone else from the team is going to show up to greet you since you’re sure you won’t be receiving as warm a welcome from the man before you.

“Everyone else is out at the moment,” Bucky’s voice calls out hesitantly. You turn your eyes back to him, watching a pained smile spread across his lips as your eyes meet after so long apart. The wind snatches his next words away so you’re not sure if you weren’t meant to hear them or not, but you watch his lips form the words ‘Hey, doll’ as his smile relaxes into something less rigid.

A knife wedges itself into your ribs at the name. You swallow hard and paste a polite expression on, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, you hoist your bag higher onto your shoulder and walk inside, bypassing the group of men as they watch you leave.

You enter the building, breathing in the scent of your home and reacquainting yourself with the familiar surroundings. The medbay resides behind glass walls directly in front of you, the easy access from the landing pad having saved you life and limb on a number of occasions. 

Your feet guide you to the elevator on instinct, showing you the way to your rooms without conscious effort. The ding of the elevator doors closing and the hum of Black Sabbath playing quietly over the speakers brings a small but genuine smile to your lips, your first today.

You don’t anticipate many in the coming weeks.

The doors ding once again and you step out into the living quarters. You run your hands along the back of the plush sofa as you pass, then slide your fingers along the textured wallpaper as you exit the living room and head towards the bedrooms. 

You’re halfway down the hall when the stairwell door ahead of you opens quickly. You stumble to a halt as Bucky steps out, slightly out of breath. You watch him as he first looks in the direction you were walking then swivels his head to look back at you where you stand with your hand against the wall.

Your hand rises to clutch at the straps of your bag on your shoulder, now using two hands to keep it aloft instead of one. You fret with a loose seam with your fingernails when Bucky calls your name softly and walks slowly toward you.

He stops a mere foot or so away from you, but you increase the distance with a step back. There’s a flash of something in his eyes when you move away, so fast you can’t tell what it was.

His voice is soft when he speaks. “Can we talk?”

Shit. You hadn’t been expecting to have this conversation so soon. You’d been hoping for a little time to get into the right headspace, get your emotions in check before facing him head-on.

You nod your head and wipe your expression blank, removing your fidgeting hands and keeping them slack at your side. You lock down every emotion inside of you, just in case you can’t say what you need to.

Bucky nods back at you and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jeans, pulling in on himself. You can’t stand to see him so uncomfortable around you.

“Listen, doll, I wanted to apologize –” he begins. 

If you hear Bucky apologize again for suggesting to sleep together, hear how much he still regrets having spent time knowing you intimately, you will implode. All the feelings you’ve sorted through and the realizations you’ve come to in the last couple of months will burst forth out of your chest and spew all over Bucky. You’ll vomit out the words you held back when you were ‘together’. Then eight letters that would ruin everything between you forever will fall from your lips and land at his feet, where he is sure to stomp them flat underneath his boots again.

You can’t hear it. Not again. So you stop him from breaking your heart a third time.

“Stop.” You raise a hand in the air, palm towards him. You wave it back and forth in an effort to halt the apology in his throat. He closes his mouth and looks at you questioningly.

“We don’t have to rehash our last conversation, James. I get it, you –”

“James?” he interrupts softly, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

Dammit, he’s probably right, you think to yourself, that’s still probably friendlier than he wants.

“Sorry. Sargeant, then.”

“That isn’t what –”

“I did what you asked and got myself together,” you begin again. You stare hard at a blur just past Bucky’s head, unable to meet his eyes and see the anger and loathing again. “You don’t have to worry about any lingering feelings on my part. I took the time away to realize that I only thought I felt that way about you due to our arrangement.” 

Liar, liar, LIAR. You loved this man then, and you love him now. But your love suffocated him, stifled his ability to explore his sexuality and intimacy with new partners in the 21st century after decades under Hydra’s control. He wanted no strings attached to figure out what he needed, and you took the opportunity and ran with it. He gave you an inch and you took miles.

You refuse to do that to him again.

“I sincerely apologize again for forcing my feelings on you and overstepping. I understand if you no longer wish for me to call you Bucky or James, if you still wish to not be friends anymore. I –”

“Y/N, no,” Bucky says. He removes a hand from his pocket and steps forward, barely reaching out for you before dropping his hand again. “I never said that.”

Well, it was implied, you thought bitterly, sadly. “I don’t mind the formality, Sergeant. If that’s what I need to do in order –”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky demands forcefully. The shock of his words finally gets you to look him in the eyes. His jaw is locked tight and you can see his teeth grinding together.

So he doesn’t want me to address him at all? You think. Doesn't want me to speak with him at all?

“Ah. Well that…” You scratch the back of your head, turning your face away from him. “I mean – I won’t bother you outside of missions from now on, but I need at least some way of addressing you during –”

“If you say one more word, I’m going to lose my fucking mind!” Bucky yells at you, finally exasperated enough to raise his voice. 

You flinch and take another step back. “Sorry…” you murmur, looking down at the carpeted flooring under your shoes. All the sudden, you see Bucky’s boots inches from your own and feel his hands grab hold of your shoulders – not rough, but also not gentle. You raise your head, your wide eyes meeting his.

“I never said I didn’t want to be friends,” Bucky says vehemently. “Y/N, I am so sorry for how I acted the last time we saw each other – sorry for how angry I got.” At this, his hands loosen a fraction on your shoulders, his fingers no longer digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder blades. “You’re one of my best friends. I started seeing a new therapist after you left; she’s helped me realize how important you are to me. Helped me realize that –”

His words are cut off as you drop your bag and immediately slam into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. You burrow your face into his neck and squeeze your arms when you inhale the familiar smell of his soap and skin. You’ve missed him so much, missed his company and his voice and his laugh and his smile and just everything about him. Your eyes begin to water when you feel his arms circle around you in return, pulling you tight into his embrace.

You speak into the space between your bodies quickly before he can finish his thought, wanting him to know that you can do this. You can be friends again. He doesn’t need to worry about loving you back. Just as long as you can still be his friend. Just as long as you can still love him in secret. Just as long as you can still secretly hope he changes his mind someday.

“I promise I don’t love you,” you say to him.

Liar.

“Please, doll. Don’t say–” Bucky tries to loosen his grip and pull away, but you hold fast and keep going.

“I promise it was just a crush, I promise I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Lies.

You remove your face from Bucky’s neck, looking up into his eyes. You have tears streaming down, but you give him a reckless smile, “I promise.”

You are such a fucking liar.

Because being in his arms again reminds you just how much you’ve missed them. Just how much you’ve missed loving him up close.

Bucky takes a moment to look desperately at you, eyes flickering between your own, trying to find any hint of a lie. You’re so happy Bucky still wants you in his life as a friend that forcing the love to stay hidden isn’t excruciatingly painful at the moment. 

Taking your words as truth, Bucky nods his head once and crushes you to his chest, squeezing tightly. You feel him sigh heavily when he rests his chin on top of your hair. Nuzzling softly, he places a small, chaste kiss onto the crown of your head before pulling away entirely. 

A sad smile mars his face, and you can’t imagine what caused it.

Part 5

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

[currentfications]

Halloween Special | 🧛🏻‍♀️

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Pairing: Vampire!Bada Lee x Nurse!Reader

Warning: blood, suggestive content, 18+

Synopsis: Vampire!Bada is running low on blood stock on Halloween night

AN: the pathology lab lost my blood samples AGAIN, and I’m inclined to believe that they have secret dealings with vampires. That or the blood collectors have beef with me :( this was originally supposed to be a smut but it’s getting really late, sorry for the lack of proof reading >_< anyhoo thank you heaps for reading~

You were closing up the blood bank when the beam of headlights shone through the glass door. Squinting up at the parked car, you beamed as you recognised its driver. You waved a hand at the figure before quickly shuffling towards the back door, where the security camera have long since broken.

“You’re early,” you crooked a smirk at the tall girl approaching you, her cap concealing half her face. Still standing at the door frame, you held up a small cooler box. “You’re lucky I even have something for you.”

Bada flashed a cheeky grin at you, biting down on her lower lip as she does (y’all know what I’m talking about that one that smile that makes my heart goes-). “You’re lucky you had something for me,” she looked over you as she leaned on the door frame propped up by one hand, her oversized black crew shirt lifting ever so slightly from her posture. “Would be terrible if I run out-” she paused as she looked down at you through her lower lashes, “and have to resort to little innocent nurses again.”

Knowing that her threat is mostly empty, you still instinctively took a step back from the entrance as you covered your neck with one hand. “Nuh-uh,” you tutted back, “I have a Halloween party tonight. Don’t you dare ruin my costume.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bada looked at you up and down, checking out your outfit - a pink nurse costume with frilly skirt, white thigh high stockings secured by garter belts. Your matching pink wig and headband sits on the bench, waiting to be secured after the cooler-hand-off. “You’re going out in this?” Bada’s eyes darkened at the sight, “I think you have more to worry about than vampires.”

“I know it’s cheesy,” you defended, oblivious to the underlying message she was trying to suggest, “but I thought it would be fun to get out of the scrubs once in a while - show off some curves - y’know?”

She knows. In fact she knows very well, and is actively trying her hardest not to lose her self control over that strip of flesh between the hem of your skirt and the top of your stockings.

Your cheeks flushed as she continued to ogle at you in silence, completely forgetting about the reason of her visit. “Here you go,” you decided to remind her by waving the cooler in front of you. “I would love to hang around any other day but I have a bus to catch.”

“Let me in.”

“Absolutely not,” you shook your head as soon as she asked. “The last time I let you near me before you feed I ended up with a neck wound that lasted for days,” you grimaced at the memory of having to wear turtlenecks for almost a whole week during summer, “my coworkers still haven’t let me live that down when they found out about it.”

Bada sighed, reaching her hand out for the box. “Fine, give me the box. I’ll have a drink before driving you. You’re not taking public transport in that-” she trailed off as she gestured at your nurse outfit.

This is about the only time you condone drinking and driving. You held up the cooler.

Before you can register what happened, Bada pulled you forward by your wrist. Her other hand caught your stumble and hoisted you out the door onto the porch by your shoulder.

“AhhHhh! What the heck?!” You shrieked as she caught you (literally) off guard.

“That’s for not inviting me in,” her face was inches away from you, and you could feel the hot breath on your forehead. Slowly glancing up at the towering figure above you, you gulped as you realised how close you are to the beautiful - albeit dangerous - creature.

Her midnight blue hair glistened in the moonlight, streaks of blonde poking through as the breeze blows by. Something in her eyes sent chills down your spine - and butterflies in your stomach. Averting her gaze as you felt heat rising to your cheeks, you quickly looked away before she could catch on.

“W-what are you doing?” Your voice quivered, but you didn’t pull away.

“Hmm-” Bada tilted her head ever so slightly, feigning to be deep in thoughts, “-maybe I don’t want packaged food tonight after all, you look too delicious.”

The chuckle lacing her laugh sent the butterflies in your stomach further down south. You tried to recall what it was that you were going to attend, but your mind was drawing blank.

You looked back up at Bada, her gaze now filled with hunger and lust. You traced a finger over her plumped peach lips. Pressing your thumb against her top lip, you gently grazed her teeth, feeling the sharp bones against your skin. You nodded as you tipped toed to meet her slightly parted lips.

Her hand slid down from your shoulder to pull you tighter against her, deepening the kiss as she does. Her tongue easily took over as you handed over dominance, letting her have her way with you. You melted into her arms as she took her time sucking on your bottom lip, gently nipping with her teeth when it’s all red and puffy.

Breaking the kiss to catch a breath, you led the taller girl back towards the wide open door. “Welcome,” you gestured, and Bada finally took a step into your workplace.

Once entered, she wasted no time locating the nearest collection booth, propping you down on the cushion. You leaned back on the reclining seat and placed an arm on the arm rest out of habit.

Bada chuckled at the sight, “I don’t think I’m qualified to draw blood that way.”

“You’re right,” you withdrew your arm, wrapping it around her neck, “I wouldn’t trust you with a huge needle anywhere near me.”

Bada leaned towards your neck, nudging your loose hair away with her nose before hovering at the base. You giggled at the hot breath tickling your skin. “You’d trust me with this?” You can feel the vibration of her voice from how close she is to you.

You nodded, “try not to leave a massive bruise this time. You’d make a horrible histology tech.”

Bada hummed in agreement before sinking her teeth into the soft skin on your neck. You whimpered at the initial nip, gripping her hair to stop your arms from flailing around.

The pain was soon dulled by the dizziness creeping over you, your grip loosening as you feel the familiar tingle at the tip of your fingers. Bada’s jaw unclenched as you do. “Keep going,” you cooed, relishing in the lightheadedness a little longer.

“You’re spoiling me, nurse.” Bada muttered as she finished, licking circles around the bite mark. She had tried her best to keep the damage minimal, but you’d probably still have to wear a scarf for the next few days. Luckily the weather is suitable for it.

[gutter-bot]

A - Z Megatron X Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: violence and death, cult-like mentality

Megatron/Reader (You) in which you are a zealous follower at the dawn of the war

F is for Fanatic

“This is madness!”

Your narrowed optics observe the old bot as he is restrained, hoisted upright to stand on trembling limbs. Members of his guard, those who remained alive, protested the rough handling through their muzzles. The one at your pedes attempted to rise, but you pulled him back down to the ground, glowering at him in warning.

“You call this madness… I call it justice.”

The room stilled at the deep utterance, the entrance of the Decepticon figurehead seeming to stop time. Unhurried steps carried him through the wreckage of what was once the doorway, across the glossy tiled floor until he towered over the detained mech.

“The masses will not stand for this attack,” came his somber reply.

“We are the masses,” Megatron bit out, fanged grin punctuating the statement. “We are the righteous, once chained by your ambitions, but no more. You will bear the culmination of our wrath.”

The weathered official shook his helm, the cables that framed his faceplate swaying as he insisted, “The Council has agreed that the castes be disbanded. Is this not what you want?! The Prime will-”

“The Prime,” he interrupted, reaching out to clamp his talons over the old bot’s mouth, “does not speak for us. He has never lived as we have, never suffered at the servos of the Council. If you truly thought, Ambassador, that we would be satisfied with such a representative, you are a fool.”

You snarled in agreement, ramming your blaster into the helm of the mech at your pedes.

Megatron releasied the envoy, turning as he began to circle the room. He addressed his followers. “From the beginning, they've treated us as though we are nothing. It is the wreckage of our bodies that feeds their machine, our energon that fuels this planet.”

His every step is measured, towering frame casting its shadow upon all as he passes by. “And peace… peace is what they offer to appease us when we finally come to collect. An insincere apology for the horrors we’ve endured.”

He stops before you, and elation dances along your circuits as your gaze meets his. “What say you to that? Do you want their peace?”

“No!” the word all but leaps from your vocalizer, echoed by the thunderous cry of your brethren.

The silver titan turned to face the subdued old mech yet again, claws splayed at the demonstration. “And there you have it. We will take what is owed to us. And it starts with you.”

Pulling himself into as straight a pose as his aged frame could manage, he accused, “You are no savior, Megatron. You are nothing but a criminal. You claim to want to free your people, but the tyranny you offer in place of the caste system is no different.”

His laughter was deep, slow as he approached his prisoner, talons sliding into a fist as he unsheathed the blade from his gauntlet. “My tyranny, as you call it, will shape this world into greatness. A world in which all bots have the freedom to choose. I have plucked us from the cesspit of despair we have been forced to toil in. I have opened the optics of this planet’s inhabitants to the corruption of the High Council and the upper castes. Decadent, gluttonous vermin leeching profit from our suffering. There is only one way this can end. We take what we are owed and shatter every remnant of the old ways. Either you stand with us to realize this vision, or…” he drawled, lifting the weapon to rest upon his enemy’s shoulder plating. “You stand in our way.”

He took a moment to look around at the subdued guards. “The choice is yours now. Stand with us to dismantle the system of oppression that has gripped Cybertron for too long…. or face your end here and now.”

When no one responded, the large mech took a sweeping glance at his followers, nodding once. Blaster charging, you pressed it into the base of your captive’s helm, awaiting the final call. Righteous anger barreled through your lines. How they could continue to stand with these… monsters, after everything they were responsible for?! How could they not see the depravity of their world as it was? How desperately they needed to be cleansed. And cleanse them you would. This entire, filthy planet would be delivered from its wrongdoings by the only mech who was fit to rule it. You watched with mounting anticipation as your master lifted his blade.

“Decepticons, our time is now!”

His cut was clean and precise, and the Ambassador’s lifeless husk was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. The outraged cries of his guard were silenced shortly after with a barrage of gunfire. You smiled down at the smoking hole in the back of your captive’s helm before curling your servo into a fist and lifting it into the air.

“All hail Megatron!”

[longlivedelusion]

Hiker's Delight

Summary: Bucky takes you on a hike. That's it. That's the fic. Boyfriend! Bucky x Reader. Established Relationship.

Warnings: Just fluff and some mentions of post- Hydra trauma, but nothing too crazy. Will proper edit later!

A/N: Quick lil fic I wrote cause I've been just wanting more boyfriend! bucky, domestic life vibes. I need fluffy and comforting energy rn and this is that. Enjoy!!

Masterlist

I make my way up the hill, huffing as I grab onto a nearby rock to pull myself up.

Bucky's behind me, not out of breath at all, the damn super soldier and his stamina and-

"Hey, you doin' ok?" I hear from behind me, Bucky leaning against a nearby rock.

I nod, looking back ahead as I haul myself up. "This is just a bit more intense than I thought, I'll be okay though." I let out another grunt and I push another step. He's stayed behind me the whole time even though I'm going at a snail's pace, according to him I'd probably drop off and get lost if he lead the way.

"You sure you don't want-"

"No. You are not gonna carry me. I'm gonna finish *grunt* this *huff* damn hike with my own two feet." 

We pull forward, the slopes getting a bit more steep than I expected, which had me nearly sweating by the time we reached the edge. I looked up at the towering cliff knowing my arms were like jello, but I had to, needed to-

Bucky knelt down and held his hands out, a makeshift lift as he looked up at me. He quirked his brow.

"I can-" I start.

"Stop being stubborn and take the help doll. This cliff is a bit of a bitch, if you can't tell." He said waved his arm at the cliff to make a point.

I don't say anything and just sigh, knowing he was right. No use being overly stubborn about this. I prop my foot in his hands, griping where I could on the rock in front of me before Bucky said "Ready? 1... 2..."

And then I was up, the top of the rock pressed against my stomach as I hoisted myself over the rest of the way. I crawled forward, legs starting to feel a bit like jello now that I was on the ground. 

I watched as Bucky followed right after, easily pulling himself over like it was the easiest thing in the world. He stood up with ease, clearly not dealing with same jello legs as I just kind of collapsed on my back and took some deep breaths. 

"Ugh, this damn body. Why must it betray me so." My dramatic ass said.

"Because you just went on a pretty intensive hike with barely any training even though I offered to have you train with me for like 2 months."

My noodle arm managed to raise up and wave him off, "Semantics."

He chuckled, taking a seat beside me and brushing the sweaty strands of hair off my face. "Want some water?"

I nod, eyes closed as my breathing stedied, my body starting to relax and calm down from the overexertion. I heard a bottle cap untwist, making me open my eyes to see Bucky with some water in hand. 

"Come on, you can prop up against me if you want." He said, hand gently helping me upwards. I push myself up and shift over, my back now facing the soldier's chest as he hands me the bottle.

"Oh fuck that's good," I sigh, taking a long swig before passing it back over to Bucky. It takes me a moment, but after I blink a few times I finally realize the view before me.

Directly in front of us is the most beautiful mountain range I'd ever seen-- massive trees lining the edges of the mountainS, an eagle soaring overhead, and a huge, crystal blue lake smack dab in the center. So cut off from civilization, this untouched land surrounded my mountains and only Mother Nature as its mistress.

"Wow, this is-" I start, eyes wide as they tried to take in every detail. The lighting, the shades of green, the textures--all of it... "breathtaking."

"I'm glad you like it." Bucky said softly, his voice a soft tickle behind my ear. His arms wrapped around my waist, tucking me in a bit closer to him as I sat in awe.

"Even though I'm not the biggest hiking fan-"

"Huh, couldn't tell." Bucky joked.

"-oh hush. I was saying, even though I'm not the biggest hiker, I'm really glad you asked me to do this." I reached for his hands on my waist and gave them a small squeeze.

"Thanks for coming. I'd only ever been here alone before, and it was for a mission. So I'm glad I get to actually enjoy it, and with some pretty decent company while we're at it." He kissed the side of my head, a smirk pressed against my hair.

"Oh decent huh? Just decent?" I looked over into his blue eyes and saw they were already looking down at me. That shit-eating smirk plastered on his stupidly gorgeous face. "Says the man who practically begged to take me here."

He shrugged, "I don't remember begging."

"Oh? So all that whining and bribing with takeout was just a lapse in memory then?"

"Probably." He said, the nonchalance to his voice making me wanna shove and kiss his sarcastic ass all at once..

So I settle with a boop his nose and a scrunched smile. "Cheeky." I turn back to the view before me, settling back into Bucky. As I reached into my bag and pulled out the small lunch I'd packed prior, I heard a grumble behind me. "Hungry?" I ask.

"Just a bit." He chuckled lightly.

I pulled some of the sandwiches and some fruits out, grabbing one for myself and handing the other to Bucky. "I can't think of a prettier place I've ever eaten," I said, mouth half full as I took a bite of my sandwich.

He reached for some blueberries, arms brushing past mine as he hummed and popped them in his mouth. "I need to take you out more then. Can't let this be the peak of our relationship now can I?"

"I mean, as long as I can actually physically get to these places ok I'm down. My stubbornness can't handle another hike like this, or I'll try to climb Everest of something next time."

"Eh, Everest is overrated anyways." He said, taking another bite of food.

I turned around in shock, "Seriously? You climbed Everest?"

He had a cocky smile on his face as he nodded. "Yup. Was kidding about the overrated thing though. Impressed?"

"Um, yeah I'm impressed! But when, how, what was it like?" I rambled on. I couldn't believe this man I'd come to know and love still had stuff like this just to learn about. A whole lifetime to know. 

He put the bottle down, thinking for a bit. "About ten years ago, when I was still in..." He hesitated. Hydra. Something we both knew, understood in... Different ways. It didn't need to be said. "I remember bits and pieces, but it was cold as hell and windy. For a second there though, at the top of the mountain, I looked out and was me. Bucky. I didn't remember the last time I had been myself like that, and I just didnt know what to do but take a deep breath in, look out at the mountains. I sat there for... Fuck knows how long."

I set down my food and reached for his hand, my thumb tracing over the back as he spoke. "Is that why you like hiking and climbing so much?" 

He nodded, hand turning and holding mine. He looked at the metal hand below him intertwined with mine before he spoke. "It can always pull me out of whatever headspace I'm in, I don't know. When shit doesn't work and the day feels like hell, being out here just... Helps. It reminds me of who I was or could be. I don't know." He shrugged, looking away at the view.

I squeeze his hand, eyes tracing back to his face. "I think I can sort of understand. Not the hiking or climbing but... Being by the sea does the same for me. Helps me remember that I'm alive and here."

He nods, his gaze still in the horizon. "It's like, no matter how fucked up the world gets or I get, nature doesn't judge. She justs gets it and doesn't care. Doesn't care about who I am or what I've done."

"Because she just sees chaos and order and gets that both are important." I add, fingers still tracing along the side of his face slowly. "The rest of it doesn't really matter."

"Exactly."

We sit in silence for a moment before I shift Bucky's face towards me. His eyes lock onto mine in silent question. 

"Thank you for bringing me here. And sharing this with me."

He smiles as he leans down, a small kiss pressed against my lips before he let his forehead drop to mine. "Happy to."

"So where to next?" I ask, pulling back enough to look at him. "Another mountain? The desert? A tundra?"

"Actually, " he said, that cocky smile gracing his features again. "I got the perfect spot already in mind."

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 20 (Technophilia)

Ramattra x Male!reader

The room was pretty quiet with the exception of a few clinks of metal and muttering from Ramattra. You absentmindedly rubbed your shoulders as you watch him attach his new reproductive part to his pelvic plate, integrating it to his interface. The room was pretty chilly and it didn't help that you were naked, but you didn't want to complain. Ramattra looked totally in the zone as he fiddled with wires and silicone. You shift a bit on the bed to get a better look at the glowing purple appendage.

"Did you have to make it so.......big?" You ask, a bit nervous about how girthy his new upgrade was.

Ramattra chuckles slightly as he finishes attaching the new appendage to his pelvis, a hint of pride evident in his voice. "Why settle for anything less than perfection?" he replies nonchalantly, running his hands over the newly attached organ. "It certainly adds to the experience."

Turning towards you, curiosity laces his tone. "Are you worried about accommodating such a...large member?"

You chuckle nervously. "Just a bit" you say softly.

"Don't worry," Ramattra reassures you, "I'll take good care of you." He steps closer, his large frame towering over yours as he leans down, your faces mere inches apart.

"After all," he continues softly, lowering one hand to stroke along your inner thigh, his clawed fingers tracing over the skin, "I wouldn't want to hurt my little human".

He moves his hand to your chest and gently pushes you onto your back. You lift your knees up to give him space to work with. You watch surprised as his fingers ooze with lube. You blush, you didn't think he was serious about adding an automatic lubing attachment inside his hand. You though he was just teasing you when he mentioned it weeks ago.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches between your legs, pressing two fingers against your entrance. There's a moment of resistance before they begin to push inside, stretching your opening gradually. Despite the initial discomfort, there's an undeniable tug at your senses.

Your walls begin to adapt to the intrusion, welcoming his fingers deeper within you. As he works his fingers in and out, massaging your inner walls, moans escape your lips.

As your ass begins to produce squelching and squishing noises, a mix of embarrassment and arousal fills you. You quickly cover your face in shame, unable to believe the sounds coming from your own body.

Ramattra lets out a low chuckles as he moves his face closer to yours. "See? You're already responding beautifully," he remarks, his words dripping with satisfaction. "Imagine how amazing it will feel once I'm really inside you."

As you remove your hands from your face, revealing your flushed cheeks and needy gaze, Ramattra takes hold of your waist, pulling you closer until his faceplate comes into contact with yours. The contrast between his cool, metallic surface and your warm skin sends a jolt of electricity coursing through both of you.

His fingers continue working their magic, eliciting gasps and whimpers from deep within your throat. With each thrust, he grows more confident, knowing that soon enough, you'll be taking his cock.

Ramattra presses his faceplate firmly against your neck, causing you to shiver involuntarily from the sudden temperature change. Yet, instead of backing away, you find yourself leaning into the embrace, craving more of his attention.

As Ramattra withdraws his fingers from your tight hole, leaving behind a sense of emptiness, you can't help but whimper at the loss. But he doesn't leave you waiting for long.

With practiced ease, he moves on top of you as he hoists your legs over his broad shoulders. "Ready for me?" he asks, his voice deep and commanding.

At your eager nod, Ramattra positions himself at your entrance, the tip of his massive appendage hovering just millimeters away from your vulnerable hole. Slowly, he begins to grind against you, dragging his shaft across your sensitive flesh without actually penetrating. Each pass ignites a fire within you, causing your cock to stir and throb impatiently.

He chuckles darkly, taking great pleasure in watching you squirm beneath him. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Taking hold of his impressive length, Ramattra begins to tap the bulbous head repeatedly against your pucker. "Please..." you manage to utter between ragged breaths, pleading for release. However, Ramattra shows no signs of mercy as he continues toying with you.

Unable to resist temptation any longer, Ramattra finally allows himself to sink into you, pushing past the first ring of muscle with a slow, steady pressure. The feeling seems to shock both parties involved – you cry out in pleasure while he lets out a low groan. You notice him tremble as he takes in the new sensation of having a member.

"Fuck!" he growls, his voice strained as he struggles to maintain composure. "I didn't realize it would feel this incredible."

Determined to enjoy every second of this experience, Ramattra continues pushing forward, forcing his massive shaft further into your willing depths. Your body stretches around him, adjusting to accommodate his immense girth.

As he bottoms out, filling you completely, you can't help but whimper at the overwhelming sensation. "Relax, pet. I know you can handle it." He says as he adjusts his pose, shifting so that his weight presses down on you.

Allowing himself a brief pause to savor the fullness, Ramattra "exhales" deeply. "Damn, you humans feel so good," he grumbles, his voice rough with lust. "No wonder so many others crave this feeling."

Experimenting with the newfound sensations, Ramattra carefully begins to withdraw, retracting his length millimeter by millimeter until only the head remains buried within you. Then, with a sudden surge of passion, he plunges back in, hitting the sweet spot deep within you. You let out a yelp mixed with a moan as your head falls back onto the pillows.

The impact causes him to falter briefly, nearly losing his balance as he struggles to regain control. "Fuck, this is even better than I imagined," he mutters, his voice filled with genuine surprise.

As Ramattra finds his rhythm, establishing a slow and steady pace, you find the courage to offer guidance through gentle encouragement. "That's right," you whisper softly, guiding him to hit those perfect spots. "A little faster now, deeper..."

To your delight, Ramattra listens intently, his focus solely on learning as much as he can about sex. Gradually increasing the intensity of his thrusts, Ramattra drives harder and faster into you, causing you to cry out in ecstasy as your body betrays your attempts at holding back. Ramattra glances down at where his purple cock drives in and out of your hole.

Unable to contain his amusement, Ramattra chuckles darkly. "Look at you," he teases, watching as you grip the sheets beneath you. "And here I thought humans had some dignity left."

Even while being fucked silly, you shoot him a glare.

Catching sight of your expression, Ramattra can't help but laugh heartily. "Oh, did I hurt your precious ego?" he teases, his thrusts becoming more rapid and forceful. You huff and turn your face away from him.

Realizing he may have gone too far, he offers a halfhearted apology as he gently holds your chin to make you look at him. "Alright, alright. Sorry, pet. I promise I'll make it up to you." And true to his word, he increases the tempo, driving you ever closer to the edge.

As the pleasure builds within you, your words become less coherent, reduced to nothing more than fervent gasps and moans. "Fuck...oh please, oh God," you beg, your entire body tense as he fucks you into the mattress.

Delighted by your sounds, Ramattra leans close, his faceplate pressed against yours. "Listen to you, pet. So desperate for my cock." He growls, his voice deepening as he drives home the point by angling his hips to strike your prostate perfectly.

As you approach the brink of orgasm, Ramattra decides to put you out of your misery. With a growl, he slams into you one last time, driving himself impossibly deep within you.

The sensation proves too much for you to bear, triggering your climax. Cum shoots out from your cock, painting your chest white as your body convulses. Meanwhile, Ramattra holds onto you tightly, grunting loudly as he grinds his cock as deep as he can.

Feeling satisfied, Ramattra pulls out abruptly, his purple cock glistening with lube and your juices. Your legs fall off of his shoulders. Still rock hard, he stands tall above you, looking down upon your spent form.

Exhausted from the intense encounter, you collapse onto the mattress, your limbs heavy and useless after such an arduous session. Panting heavily, you simply lay there, unable to muster the strength needed to move a finger.

Realizing you might need a moment to recover, Ramattra brings you the glass of water that was sitting on the dresser by the bed, allowing you to quench your thirst.

"Take a breather, pet. We've got plenty of time for more fun tonight," he promises, running a hand along your sweat drenched torso. "Next round? Doggy style."

You groan as he chuckles. You forgot he only installed the cock, not the actual cum production parts. Ramattra doesn't have a refractory period nor the limitations of human stamina. You let out a long sigh.

"Okay...I'm game"

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist