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jmliebert · 10 months ago

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Scent of Seduction᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Summary: Halsin finds himself captivated by Tav, the feeling is mutual, of course. Their journey is full of danger and desire. Despite Halsin's internal struggle between primal instincts and duty, their mutual attraction intensifies. When Tav is in heat, their passion ignites... and well... let's just say things get steamy.

smut with (a little bit of) fluff?

Word count: 2,900

Tags: alpha/omega dynamics, heat, knotting, breeding, shameless smut

Warnings: explicit content (18+)

Author's note: today my demons won. sorry guys, but I was thinking about it for the longesttttt time

also! you can read this on ao3 if you prefer it that way ♡

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The first time Halsin saw you, he was in his bear form. Held captive in the dark cellar, surrounded by goblins; such lowly creatures. He was helpless and angry, but then he caught a scent of something, or rather someone's scent. Someone who surely didn’t belong there, and that person was you. His ears perked up, intrigued. His muzzle watered a little, your scent being so delicious. But he didn’t want to eat you, of course. His hunger was of a different kind, you see.

At the camp, Halsin could sense you. He felt it in his flesh when you weren’t near. His mind and body grew restless, but it wasn’t only that. When he saw you talking to Wyll or Gale, laughing with them and sharing stories, he felt those sudden pangs of something he hadn’t felt for the longest time; jealousy. He was far too old for that, or so he thought. His heart wasn’t one to stir easily, but with you...it was different. He clenched his jaw unconsciously at the thought of you being with other males. He couldn’t stand this, but he shook his head, ignoring the feeling for now, as he had different matters to attend to.

Yet, his eyes followed you with longing each time you were close.

During the Tiefling Party, it took all the strength he had to reject your rather obvious seductions. You were absolutely sweet, your cheeks flushed from wine, your eyes sparkly and playful. It was a delight to see you so happy and carefree, the hero of the night, the center of attention. You were shining, and despite having so many people to choose from, your eyes found his. Halsin's chest swelled with pride at the thought, but he had to remain composed. That's why he didn’t drink that night; a calculated move on his part, as he feared he might say something he shouldn't have. Halsin already knew he had a certain weakness towards you, and alcohol would only fuel that. In no time, he would confess his feelings for you, saying you were made for each other, that his body and soul yearned for you. He would say he wanted to protect you and love you for eternity, and when he told you that you laughed, thinking he was exaggerating, but he wasn't. It was the truth and his words towards you would be sincere. Then, if he really got carried away and his alpha brain would win over him, he would not let you go until he marked you and pushed his semen deep into your womb. Continuously.

And he knew you for only a few hours at least, and you had a world to save, and he had his duties, and you deserved more than that—you deserved to be courted, to be worshipped. Yet, when he told you to enjoy the night with someone else, deep inside he hoped you wouldn’t.

The thought of you with someone else boiled his veins with anger, but what choice did he have? As he thought about it now, he realised he would act differently that night. He would take your hands in his, kiss them gently and ask you to wait for him, but then, it was different. Maybe he was scared? Maybe he wanted to play it cool, not used to having such abrupt feelings towards someone?

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Halsin wakes up in the middle of the night, sensing your absence. With a sense of urgency, he stands up and follows your scent. You're not in your usual spot. He finds you at the lake, bathed in moonlight, your naked form illuminated against the dark water. Your slender back, cascading hair, and the gentle curve of your hips beneath the water's surface captivate him. You look divine, a sight to behold. However, Halsin quickly averts his gaze, feeling it's inappropriate to observe you in such a vulnerable state. Returning to his tent, he finds his body betraying him, his arousal evident in the half-hardness of his dick.

Oh, how he longs to draw nearer to you, grasp your waist from behind and draw you closer to his body, making you feel his growing arousal pressing against you. Showing you how much he wants you, how much he needs you. He would groan to your ear, bite your neck and take you here and there, as nature intended. But you are not his to claim, he reminds himself sternly, over and over again, resisting the urge to succumb to his primal instincts.

But that was about to change when you left the Shadow-Cursed Lands. He was finally free from responsibilities, finally free to follow his heart's desires, and you quickly noticed this sudden transformation of his. As you traveled together, Halsin seemed drawn to your side, even unconsciously. He sought to protect you from any danger, always ready to lend a hand when needed. You noticed him finding excuses to be near you, to touch you, to engage in conversation. His gaze lingered on you, his presence felt even when he walked behind you. During campfires, he sat close, his body language open and inviting, his thigh brushing yours. Though he laughed and talked with others, his eyes always found their way back to you, his attention unwavering when you spoke. It made you feel shy, this whole-hearted attention Halsin gave you, but undeniably it made you feel appreciated.

Yet, you couldn't shake the memories of your early encounters. After he helped you battling those goblins, covered in blood and exuding raw power, you felt a shiver run down your spine. He appeared strong and imposing, igniting something within you. But when you approached him with openness and willingness at the Tiefling Party, he rejected you, leaving you feeling foolish. You had hoped for mutual feelings or at least some acknowledgment, but for most of your journey, he offered only polite smiles and lukewarm courtesy. Why the sudden change now?

Don’t get me wrong, you basked in the glory of his attention, relishing in those small smiles meant only for you. But amidst the warmth of his gestures, doubts crept into your mind. Weren't you worthy of his notice before? Yet, you quickly brushed aside those thoughts, focusing instead on the present. Halsin cared for you deeply now, ensuring you were fed, rested, and shielded from the sun's harsh rays. He showered you with little gifts; wildflowers plucked from the roadside, stones with intriguing shapes and colours, and delicately carved wooden ducks. There was no mistaking his intentions; Halsin was courting you, with patience and respect. Your heart raced at the thought, eagerly anticipating his next move. You pondered what the future held, though you never could have imagined what was to come.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

You found yourself in heat as soon as you arrived at Baldur's Gate. It was as if your body had finally released the tension accumulated during your harrowing journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. After witnessing so much death, roughly cut body parts and darkness, your body sought solace within the safety of the Elfsong Tavern, nestled behind the town walls.

Despite the late hour, neither you nor Halsin slept. Instead, you reveled in each other's company, cuddling on the sofa with the soft glow of the fire casting gentle shadows around you. Halsin held you close, his strong arms enveloping your body, and then he cupped your head, drawing you nearer for what would be your first kiss. As his lips met yours, a haze descended over your mind, and you found yourself yearning for more. You were waiting for so long.

You eagerly shifted positions, settling onto his lap, deepening the kiss with a hunger you couldn't contain. Halsin chuckled softly, his fingers pressing against the sides of your body possessively. You gasped at the sensation, feeling a sudden warmth between your legs as your pants grew damp. Panic surged through you—no, it couldn't be.

"I'm sorry, Halsin, I can't right now," you managed to say as you swiftly freed yourself from Halsin's embrace and fled to your bedroom. You needed space, distance from him until you could gather your thoughts.

His kiss and the sudden rush of emotions triggered your heat, overwhelming you with fear and confusion. You buried your face in your pillow, tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggled to make sense of what was happening.

Morning brought a gentle knock at your door, and you knew it was Halsin. He had been there all night, waiting patiently for you. "My love, let me in," his voice was soft, tinged with concern. When silence greeted his words, he spoke again, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his tone. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, never," you replied, your heart aching at the thought that he might blame himself. "I just don't feel well," you confessed through tears, your voice muffled by the pillow.

"Whenever it is, I'm confident I can help you, my darling," his words were sincere and full of worry. You were clearly in distress, and he felt he should be at your side, not here, behind these closed doors. "Just let me in," Halsin pleaded, his forehead touching the wooden surface in resignation.

You wished he was here too. When you saw his shadow at the door, your heart ached with longing. You were scared he would think poorly of you, scared of losing control to the heat. You hadn't known each other for long, and perhaps it was too soon for him to see this side of you. But at the same time, you were devastated at the thought of being without him. Unsure of what to do, you began to cry, and when Halsin heard your sobs, he couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going in!" he declared, his voice resolute as he forced the doors open. As soon as he entered the room, he clasped a hand over his mouth. There you lay on the bed, naked, the room dimly lit by the morning sun filtering through closed curtains. The scent of you filled the air, potent and overwhelming. Halsin thought perhaps you had second thoughts when you kissed for the first time, maybe things had moved too quickly, but he certainly wasn't expecting this.

His dick twitched. You were in heat, he realised. "Oh, Tav..." You looked so lost and uncomfortable, your body covered in sweat, your eyes watery. All he wanted to do now was to take you in his arms and never let go.

"Halsin, I feel so hot I can't breathe. Touch me, please," you said, your voice laced with need. Halsin was there in the split of a second, responding to your plea without hesitation.

He took you in his arms, placing you on his lap, and you moaned, the sound emanating from deep inside you. As your bodies touched, you couldn't understand why you had pushed him away before, when you kissed for the first time. He felt like he was made for you, and you for him. Thoughts swirled in your mind as he held you close, his hands roaming all over you, his head buried in your neck, sniffing and then licking with long strokes, revealing in your delicious scent.

You began to grind on his thighs, your pent-up arousal needing release. Desperation fuelled your movements. Halsin placed his rough, large hands on your hips, guiding and assisting your grinding motion. In seconds, you reached climax, moaning and gasping. But it wasn't enough. The heat subsided for just a brief moment. Afterwards, you were ready for more. You wanted Halsin deep inside your wet and willing pussy.

You took his hand in yours and guided him to your heated entrance. "I need you here, Halsin," you whispered urgently.

"And you will have me, my love," he assured, his voice thick with desire.

You didn’t need to tell him twice. Halsin quickly took off his clothes. And that’s how you saw his dick for the first time. It was huge, but somehow you suspected it will be. He seemed pleasantly heavy. He was already oozing pre-cum and fully erect. Ready for you.

You lay on your back as he returned to the bed, your legs parted, inviting him in. Slick all over your inner thighs and your entrance, guiding the way. He didn’t even need to finger you. You were perfectly ready. Ready as he was.

Halsin kissed you passionately, causing your body to tremble with the intensity of the sensation. Every ounce of his desire and affection towards you was conveyed in that tender gesture.

"Halsin, please…" you moaned, your hips moving eagerly, your body yearning for more. His arousal at your entrance heightened your senses, driving you to the brink of madness. With a single swift motion, he guided himself inside you, and as he entered, you felt a rush of ecstasy that illuminated your senses like stars in the night sky. A scream of pleasure escaped your lips, echoing in the room, while he grunted softly in your ear, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to maintain control. It was a challenge to remain composed when you felt so incredibly tight and warm around him. The urge to climax threatened to consume him, but he resisted, knowing that this moment was all about you. In this vulnerable state, you entrusted yourself to him, and he vowed to cherish you, to prioritise your pleasure above all else. You were his priority, and he would savour every moment with you.

As Halsin began to move, his motions were deliberate and measured, each thrust a testament to his desire to please you. One hand caressed your full breast, while the other gripped your thigh, spreading you wider to accommodate him. The sight of you, so beautiful and lewd, whimpering each time he showed his dick deep inside you, elicited a primal desire within him. Every whimper that escaped your lips drove him further, his arousal building with each thrust. He couldn’t help but look at your exquisite, smooth pussy swallowing him over and over again.

"You are so good to me," Halsin murmured, his voice soft and filled with admiration, as he brushed a sticky strand of hair from your forehead before pressing a tender kiss to your skin.

As Halsin placed his thumb on your clitoris, his touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. With deft circular movements, he quickened his pace, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. In response, you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, craving the feeling of his muscles against yours, yearning for the weight of his body upon you.

His hard, deliberate strokes combined with the stimulation of your clitoris pushed you over the edge once more, eliciting another powerful climax. "Yes, yes, yes," you repeated, the words tumbling from your lips as your back arched and your inner muscles clenched in pleasure.

"Good girl," Halsin praised, his voice filled with satisfaction and pride. So responsive to his touch.

At this point, Halsin felt himself teetering on the edge of control. Sensing his impending release, he quickened his pace even further, his movements growing more urgent as his knot began to form. With each thrust, his desire to breed you, to fill you with his seed, consumed his thoughts entirely. He wanted nothing more than to hear you scream in pleasure beneath him.

As his movements became more erratic, more sloppy, he whispered urgently against your neck, "I need you to come for me one more time," his voice strained with desire. The sound of his groans mingled with yours, creating a symphony of pleasure as his flesh moved against yours in a passionate rhythm. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of utter pleasure being in his arms, being taken by him, feeling his knot pressing against your entrance.

As his knot fully formed, Halsin pushed it into you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from both of you. With three final, powerful thrusts, he released himself inside you, his loud moans reverberating through the room. In response, you screamed in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as you reached your third climax.

You took his knot so well, and he felt an intense rush of satisfaction as he emptied himself deep inside you. His dick, engorged and throbbing, remained buried in your tight, eager pussy, his knot ensuring that his seed would stay where it belonged. In that moment of shared bliss, you both relished the sensation of being joined so intimately, lost in the throes of passion and desire.

With Halsin lying on top of you, his weight pressing down on your smaller frame, you felt a sense of pure bliss wash over you. His presence enveloped you, providing a comforting sense of security. As he remained inside you, filling you completely, you relished the sensation of being pleasantly stretched by his size.

You never wanted him to leave your pussy, not even for a moment. The thought of his knot disappearing, signalling the end of this intimate connection, made you want to cry. But for now, he was still with you, his body pulsing with each release of his seed. You felt his warmth spreading inside you, filling your belly, and you surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of being completely claimed by him.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

thank you so much for reading !

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#bg3 headcanons #bg3 #bg3 romance #bg3 imagine #bg3 scenarios #bg3 halsin #bg3 halsin imagine #daddy halsin #halsin x you #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #halsin smut #smut and fluff #bg3 smut

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missmeinyourbones · 2 years ago

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leah don't you think prompts number 8, 24, and 25 would fit dabi so well 🫶🏻

oh my GOD. my stomach dropped reading this request. i already did 25 so i hope u can forgive me for this being just 8 and 24.

NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

cw: afab!reader, referred to as "my girl" once, overstim, dirty talk, cum play, spit, kinda mean/mocking dabi, touya may be into soft sex but dabi is a Freak send tweet

you can't.

it's the only thing your mind can conjure up right now. the only word playing like a record on repeat. if your brain is on fire then your body is hell itself because every inch of you is burning like sin. it feels so good that it feels wrong and all you can think is—

can't, can't, can't.

you aren't even sure you're saying it out loud, until you feel dabi's thumbs on your spitty lips, rubbing and parting them open to stick his digits inside.

"can't?" he scoffs through rough thrusts, "can't what?"

you don't even know what you're trying to say, what you're trying to get him to do.

he mocks your cries as you suck on this finger, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth. you look pathetic and he wants to swallow you whole.

"can't take it? speak up, baby."

"i can't—"

he nearly growls when he presses down on your stomach, "yes, you can."

he pulls out of you with a lewd pop, and though your lungs thank him for the temporary mercy, your body betrays you. shaking and whimpering at the emptiness, you thrash beneath him.

dabi shimmies upwards, off of the weight of his forearms and onto his knees above you.

he takes his flushed cock, veins so prominent he can nearly see the blood running through them, and he taps his head at your sticky hole.

he hisses in amusement when you jump and gasp at the teasing.

"you can take it, you've done it before," he mumbles beneath his breath before letting his hips buck themselves into you slightly.

his mouth pulls upward into a sickeningly sweet smile when he reminds you.

"in fact," he watches your hands grip the sheets beneath you until your knuckles turn white, "you do it every fuckin' time, right?"

he watches as his tip just barely gets swallowed by you, your hole quivering to stretch around him as it takes him in and pushes him out with a tacky squelch. it's disgusting and dabi decides wants to see it every time he closes his eyes.

"take my dick like a champ, baby," he lets himself rut against your hips, tip hardly moving inside of you, "cause you love it, right?"

he's hovering back over you, still barely fucking himself into you as he lets his hand find your jaw once more. he's caressing you softly compared to his mocking words.

his delicate touch forcing your head to slightly nod when he cruelly coos into your eyes, "yeah? right?"

the sound of your sloppy cunt is echoing in his mind, so he indulges himself in looking back down to where you two connect.

it's borderline insane, how his cock disappears into you before reappearing with a mere pull of his hips. it's magic, he thinks, both the anatomy of it all and how he's managing to control himself right now.

"look," he taunts, reaching forward to grab your neck and tilt it downwards.

and he's right. strings of cum and spit webbing you together as he continues to fuck you with only his tip. he nearly salivates when whispering, "look how messy you are."

your whines and gasps ignite something so primal in him, something he didn't even think he had until he's suddenly alarmingly aware of it, pressing you beneath him and letting his tongue find your pulsing skin.

"so you'll take it," he decides, pushing himself completely inside of you again.

"cause my girl's not a quitter, right?"

#dabi smut #touya smut #dabi x reader #touya x reader #dabi x you #touya x you #touya todoroki smut #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader

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her-satanic-wiles · 11 months ago

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Masterlist ⛧ Lost in Translation Masterlist ⛧ Ao3

Words: 10.8k

Reading Time: 43 min

Warnings: angry sex, begging, biting, corruption kink, creampie, cum eating, cunnilingus, dry humping, fear kink?, groping, feelings of claustrophobia, hair pulling, low self-esteem, mentions of grooming (non-sexual), multiple orgasms, nipple play, pain kink, penetrative sex, PIV sex, possessive Copia, primal kink?, praise kink, pussy slapping, rough sex, semi-public sex, this is objectively filthy, unprotected sex (sash the dick to smash the slick, lads), vaginal sex

Taglist: @zombiesnips-blog @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @ellenokumura @thew0man @sodoswitchimage @the-real-eggplany @deathmimedream @love-is-all-you-need-13 @kadedoesthings @rosyerato @xshadyladyx @popiaswife @perpetratorwithaquill @punkiy50 @onlyhereforghost @kaijukimchi @copiaspet622 @jaymechaos @akayuki56

As the newly appointed Cardinal Copia struggles with the weight of a looming prophecy, a resilient scholar challenges the narrative, uncovering a conspiracy that reaches beyond the walls of the Ministry. The emergence of a forbidden love ignites a rebellion against a power-hungry Sister, whose thirst for control threatens to reshape the very foundations of the Church. Will the revelation of those schemes lead to liberation or plunge the Ministry into chaos?

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Your conversation with Copia left you feeling perturbed at best. Something didn’t sit right with you. As the Ministry’s librarian and main archivist, you knew most of the prophecies that circled the Church - none of them mentioned the antichrist’s Prime Mover, not that you could remember, anyway. That prophecy ate away at you, gnawing its way into your brain like a worm fig fly burrowing into an unripe fig.

Arriving back at the library, you were bombarded by Aisha and Riley, both of whom had seen Copia talking to you when he should have blessed you. Both had their concerns, of course, worried that you’d fall back into some kind of relationship with him and wind up with your heart broken again, but when they heard what you’d learned, they were just as stumped as you.

“It’s entirely possible that you’re wrong about this, ___.” Aisha said, her tone hesitant but still as honest as usual. “I don’t understand why someone would base their whole lives around a prophecy that wasn’t accurate… or real.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” you replied, animated in your actions, “no one in their right mind would. I feel like I need to put on a tin-foil hat right now and go to my cork board, but I have read damn near every inch of this library. I’ve digested almost every single Satanic, religious text I can get my hands on. I’ve read all the prophecies we know of thus far - I just don’t remember this one specific one.”

“But,” Riley interjected, their tone just as measured as Aisha’s, “there are thousands of prophecies after all. You can’t expect to remember each one.”

“No, but I do expect to be reminded of them as I hear them. Of course, I couldn’t remember every single one in great detail, but I’d remember the gist at the very least.”

Aisha, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, I guess.”

Riley, “What can we do?”

“We? Bitch, I know you’re not dragging me into this stupid charade.”

“Look at it this way, the faster she figures out what the prophecy is, the faster she can move on and we can all forget this debacle.”

Aisha looked at you and clapped her hands. “Where do we begin?”

Well, that was the question. In a library filled with thousand-year-old texts, each with its own historical relevance and prophecies given by each author who just wanted attention or fame, where would one begin? When every book in that room carried mystical contents, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. So, you all chose a large, mahogany table and set that up as your base, comandeering each seat and preventing anyone else from using it or interrupting you. Then, you all searched for and grabbed any historical text in reference to prophesies or the antichrist and dumped them all on the table. How many books were there in the end? How many stacks had piled up so high that you’d created yourselves a small prison? 300. 300 ancient, scholarly texts that had mention to the antichrist and relevant prophecies.

Aisha and Riley took it in turns to manage front desk for you, but both of them took a stack of books and a notepad with them so that they could continue the research in their down time. You, on the other hand, remained at the desk, allowing your other work to fall behind so you could figure this out. It was like your brain could only focus on one important task at a time, and when you discovered that this was important, it ended up taking top priority.

Daytime became nighttime, and nighttime became hazy cycles of reading relics and skimming over pages full of prophecies that blended into one another like a jumble of misplaced words. As the light from the lamp flickered across the tattered covers of the volumes, the library filled with the smell of old paper.

There were open books all around you, their yellowed pages teeming with historical descriptions of apocalyptic visions, and mysterious symbols. The prophecy’s complex language mingled with the deep religious debate, creating a maze of material that seemed designed to confuse rather than educate.

You carefully noted every detail that even slightly referred to the prophecy in question, cross-referenced sections, and compared the subtle differences between translations. Notes strewn all over the pages, a disorganised collage of your efforts to put the jigsaw together.

You kept getting the feeling that you were chasing shadows as you dug deeper into the texts, reaching for something that was evasive and eluded you every time you believed you had a lead. There were creases on your cheeks from exhaustion and the weight of the old books pressing down on your shoulders.

You worked side by side with Aisha and Riley, who translated texts, brought you food, and consoled you when you felt that you could no longer take the frustration any longer. The three of you formed an unofficial partnership to take on the mystery surrounding the prophecy.

Nights became days, and you couldn’t tell which day it was. Every page you turned echoed the murmur of countless seekers who had gone before you, the moments merging into an invisible blur.

And then, in the midst of the seemingly endless search, a faint glimmer of recognition sparked in your mind. A passage, hidden within the dense verses, bore a semblance to the prophecy in question. The revelation struck like lightning, awakening a surge of determination within you.

“No!” You said, much louder than you’d anticipated.

Riley and Aisha snapped their heads to your direction (as did the rest of the library goers who were startled by your outburst.) “What?” Riley asked, standing from their seat and leaning over the desk at you.

“The prophecy Copia and Sister Imperator believes just doesn’t exist. It’s like it’s been conflated from an old antichrist theory from centuries ago. Listen to this, “‘the antichrist will be born on the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year. Only then can he come forth and do Satan’s bidding, bring about the end times and raze a new Hell upon this Earth.’ This prophecy was taken from an old Catholic text and whoever deciphered it left footnotes and opinions.

“The translator doesn’t believe that the antichrist would bring about the end times, not in the way Catholics believe. Armageddon won’t pass as a rain of fire from the sky and the destruction of the planet, but more like a sociological shift that will destroy the Catholic church and bring education to those indoctrinated by Yhwh’s Bible.

“What I’m getting at is that there’s no mention at all of a wife for the antichrist, or if the antichrist will even produce an offspring at all. In fact, the author seems to believe that this sociological shift will become the antichrist’s final act - ‘the antichrist will die at the hands of the non-believers, messiah’d in the same way as their saviour, for only death can bring the motivation of the masses to call for a change of the system’.”

“So why does Sister Imperator place so much emphasis on the ‘wife-with-three-sixes-in-their-birth-date’ theory?” Aisha asked, putting her book down and looking at you.

You shrugged. “Maybe she’s mistaken?”

Riley shook their head. “No. Sister Imperator doesn’t make mistakes - she bends the Ministry to her will to benefit her. She’s far too smart to make mistakes as big as this.”

“You think this is more sinister?”

Riley nodded. “Surely she must have said something to you the last time you saw her?”

You began to shake your head, eyebrows furrowing at how hard you were thinking back to your conversation with her. “She told me to never let them see what they’ve done to me.”

“That was after you saw Copia fucking another person. I’m talking about before, when you felt like you had to go see him in the first place.”

You tried to remember everything that happened during that conversation, but it had become so long ago that the details had become a little fuzzy. “She did say something a bit strange now that I’m thinking about it. She said something like, ‘we didn’t work this hard for the Cardinal’s career for it to fail’ but the ‘we’ was an ‘I’ until she corrected herself.”

“See?”

Aisha, “So you think that Sister Imperator has organised this whole thing? Nah, I’m not buying it. If she organised this then why didn’t she make herself Mama and be done with it?”

“Because,” Riley rummaged through one of their piles of books and flicked to a page, “according to the Emeritus lore… mythology… whatever… the Satanic Church runs as a democratic type of monarchy - we can have a say on who we want to run the Church, but they have to come from the Emeritus bloodline given that they are, supposedly, direct descendants of Lord Lucifer Himself.

“Now, up until he became head of the Church, no one knew for sure who Cardinal Copia’s parents were. The amount of interest Sister Imperator showed on the kid made everyone believe Imperator was his mum, but no one could be certain if Papa Nihil was the Cardinal’s father. Just because the Cardinal has the typical Heterochromia doesn’t mean it’s real. Remember how people whispered about the idea that Imperator made the Cardinal wear contacts every day? It wasn’t until he became Head of the Church that people started accepting the Cardinal’s lineage, because only an Emeritus can lead the Church. Sister Imperator is not an Emeritus. She can’t directly lead the congregation. But her son can.”

“This sounds unbelievable.” Aisha claimed. “If the Cardinal was an Emeritus, then why is he still Cardinal? Why isn’t he Papa?”

Riley thought for a minute. “Maybe because Papa Nihil is still alive.”

“Then surely Papa Nihil would be Head of the Church right now, since Papa Terzo passed?”

“After last time?” You asked. “Nah, he wouldn’t take up that position again. Why do you think Papa Primo took over while Papa Nihil was still alive? Even if Papa Nihil wants to be the Head again, I don’t think the Clergy would let him.”

“Maybe that’s why the Cardinal is still Cardinal,” Riley added, “the Clergy won’t let another son ascend to Papalcy as long as a Papa is alive.”

“Which is why Papas Primo, Secondo and Terzo died.” You said quietly. “She said, ‘we didn’t work this hard for the Cardinal’s career for it to fail’, and we know the previous Papas didn’t die of natural causes…”

“They had to die because they would have fought back against Sister Imperator and her wishes!” Riley exclaimed closing their book and dropping it to the table. “My head is spinning.”

“But she said ‘we’,” Aisha thought aloud, “who’s ‘we’? She couldn’t have done all of this alone.”

“Aisha’s right,” you said, “this had to have been a group coup, there’s no way one woman could pull off three murders and an ascension all by herself.”

Aisha, “Well, Papa Nihil is still alive, so we know he must have been involved somehow.”

Riley, “Who stood to gain from the Cardinal’s ascension? Who did gain from the ascension? Who’s new to the Upper Clergy?”

You, “Cardinal García’s new, he wasn’t around before Papa Terzo.”

“Cardinal Dubois and Cardinal Li.”

“Archbishop Müller was bragging about his payrise in the bar not three weeks after Papa Terzo’s removal back in Sweden.”

“Now Cardinal Al-Farsi was removed from his position in the Upper Clergy, and we know it was because he was actively against the removal of Papa Terzo.” Riley looked at Aisha, now standing wide eyed and frozen in her spot. “Aisha?”

“Sister Evelyn Chandler.”

“Who?” You asked.

“She’s due to be the Cardinal’s Prime Mover in all of this, apparently she has three sixes in her birth date as well. No one benefits as much as she does.”

Your world came crashing down around you once again, your brain ticking into overdrive as you remembered catching Copia rocking against the other woman in his office months ago. During the first and only Mass you’d attended since then, you remembered seeing her wandering into the Basilica behind Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator as a third, important member of the family, but your mind was hyper-focussed on seeing Copia for the first time in so long, you almost didn’t register her. Almost.

In all the time since you caught them together, your mind had been all over the place. If the whole Ministry was talking about Sister Evelyn and the Cardinal, then how could you have missed it? The short answer was that you just weren’t listening. As a way to distract yourself from what had happened between you and Copia, once you’d left your home and re-entered society, you had holed yourself away in your office to work on the translations. Seeing her for the first time (truly seeing her, not just as a lump on Copia’s lap) during Mass, it didn’t register that she was the person grinding into Copia’s crotch, and that she had become important enough to be paraded to the entire congregation.

She never interacted with you, never acknowledged your presence, never looked at you, not that you’d noticed anyway. It was so easy to just not see her. But now it was all flooding into your brain, the idea that she and Sister Imperator could have orchestrated this whole thing behind Copia’s back.

Was Copia in on this?

No, he couldn’t possibly be. He seemed genuinely angry at the “prophecy” and how he’d have no part in it if he was given the option. Besides, no one advocated for Papa Terzo harder than Copia. Copia publicly looked up to Papa Terzo, worshipped him almost similarly to his worship of Satan. He wouldn’t be happy with the death of his half brother, not when he idolised him so much. Watching him from afar for as long as you did, meant you were able to see him in multiple different moods, and he mourned Papa Terzo. He mourned his half-brother for months, almost the whole year he’d been Head of the Church and leader of the Ghost Project. He definitely wouldn’t have gone through with it… right?

“So where do we go from here?” Aisha asked both you and Riley, pulling you out of your miniature crisis.

“Well,” Riley began, “I’m not entirely sure. We have all this circumstantial evidence, but there’s no proof of anything. Like I said, Sister Imperator’s smart, she’d hardly leave any physical proof of her crimes.”

Aisha turned to look at you. “You said you wanted to figure this out and now you have. All you have to do is present all of,” she gestured vaguely to the table, “this to the Cardinal and then you can move on.”

“What if he’s in on it?” You queried, your voice quiet and scared.

Riley shook their head. “Nah. The Cardinal’s a lot of things - ‘dumbass’ would be a word I’d use for him - but he’s not the kind of person to usurp the Satanic throne for his own personal or political gain. I mean, look at the man; he spent all his fifty years trying to be invisible. If it makes you feel any better, I think he’s a naïve and gullible idiot who’s so desperate for his mother’s love and approval, he’d do anything to appease her. You said yourself he doesn’t believe he’s the antichrist, right?”

“Right.”

“Well then, there you go. There’s your answer. He thinks he’s in this position because it’s the right and prophesied thing to do. Not because he’s a puppet in his mother’s games.”

Aisha’s tone was lighthearted. “Honestly, fair play to her. A bad bitch who knows what she wants. I admire that.” Both you and Riley looked at her with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “What?” She stood from her seat. “I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs.” She turned to walk away and raised her fist in the air. “Go live your best life, Queen!”

Riley sighed. “I hate her sometimes.”

“Mmm,” you agreed. “You gonna help me put these back?”

Riley sucked in air through their teeth and began to back away from the desk. “You know, I would, but Sister Kowalski said she needed help finding books about rituals and, you know, can’t let Sister Kowalski down.” They gestured to the table. “But you got this, right?”

You shot a middle finger at them.

“Atta girl!”

Setting the books back was a lonely task thanks to Riley’s disappearance and Aisha ‘working at the front desk so she can’t leave’. But it gave you chance to think about the situation at hand.

There was a crushing feeling of helplessness that descended over you as you carefully returned those old books to their shelves. With every book you placed back, the magnitude of the problem became more apparent and the weight of the knowledge you acquired felt like a burden. You felt exposed and helpless when you realised you were trapped in a web of deception and surrounded by people who had ulterior motives. The Ghouls and Sisters around you went about their business, oblivious to the storm building within you. You were more aware of your inner struggle in the library’s profound silence.

The sensation that you were just a pawn in a much bigger game lingered as you pushed a hefty volume back into its proper position. Your sanity was being tormented by doubts regarding Copia’s role, Sister Imperator’s actual motivations, and the possibility of Upper Clergy influence. Your impression of being trapped was echoed by the library’s walls, which seemed to be closing in on you.

Copia’s POV

With every passing hour, Copia was more and more convinced that he’d never see or hear from you again - at least in the way that he wanted to. He paced the floor of his office when he was alone inside of it, mind raging at the prospect of living his life without you. He was so convinced that you were running from him - and who could blame you? He felt like a sham, a joker with the hat of a Cardinal and all the responsibility of a Papa. Out of all of it, all the attention and the duties, he only wanted you. And he was tormenting himself as punishment for doing stupid things that could lose you in the end.

A knock on the door interrupted Copia’s thoughts as he paced his office, gripped by the agony of possible loss. Startled, he turned to face the entryway, a glimmer of anticipation replacing the dread etched on his features. “Come in,” he called out, his voice a mix of apprehension and hope.

The door creaked open, and a Sibling stepped into the room. Copia thought he recognised this person, but being the head of the Church and living in the Ministry alongside thousands of other clergy members, everyone’s face was familiar to him. “Good afternoon, Your Dark Eminence,” they greeted cautiously, closing the door behind them. “Mind if I have a word?”

Copia, his expression a blend of curiosity and anxiety, gestured for Riley to proceed. “Of course, Sibling… uh…”

“Sibling Riley Martinez, Your Dark Eminence. I work with Sister ___ in the library.”

At the mention of your name, Copia’s stomach flipped. He was excited to know that you’d sent one of your friends to talk to him, but nervous at that exact fact. What did you not want to say? Or rather, why didn’t you want to convey your message yourself? Why did you send your friend as he would a Ghoul? “Ah, yes. Sibling Martinez, what brings you here? Is everything okay?”

“Well, Your Dark Eminence, no. May I?” Sibling Martinez gestured to the sofa in front of Copia’s desk. Copia nodded, and invited Sibling Martinez to sit.

They cleared their throat and began to tell Copia exactly what they and their friends had discovered. Copia listened carefully as Sibling Martinez revealed the information, each word hitting the weak spot in his heart like a hammer. The information weighed heavily on him, and a hint of resentment started to peek through the gaps in his calm demeanour. Fury couldn’t even begin to cover how Copia felt. His wrath simmered beneath the surface as the truth came to light. His hands balled into fists as he tried to control the flood of feelings that were about to explode; not that Sibling Martinez would know, from the outside Copia looked calm and collected, as if he was just listening to any old story. But on the inside, he was seething…

Sibling Martinez continued to share the discoveries, detailing the inconsistencies in the supposed prophecy and connecting the dots to Sister Imperator’s potential involvement in a larger, more sinister plan. Copia’s jaw tightened, his frustration morphing into a potent mixture of anger and betrayal. “So, she’s been playing me all along,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sibling Martinez. The realisation was a bitter pill to swallow, and the taste of deceit lingered in his mouth.

“Sister ___ also suspects that Sister Evelyn Chandler is a key player in all of this. The three sixes in her birth date, the sudden rise in her status—”

The anger within Copia surged to the forefront. He slammed his hand against the desk, the impact resonating through the room. “Maledizione!” he exclaimed, his frustration breaking through. “I trusted them. I trusted Sister Imperator. And I thought Evelyn was just a pawn, but they’ve been orchestrating this entire thing.”

Sibling Martinez nodded, acknowledging the weight of the revelation. “It seems that way, Your Dark Eminence. Sister ___ would have wanted you to know. She’s trying to make sense of it all, just like you are. She doesn’t know what to do about any of this, though.”

Copia paced the room, the fire of betrayal burning within him. “And you? What do you think of all this?” he asked, his gaze piercing into Sibling Martinez’s eyes.

Sibling Martinez hesitated for a moment before responding, “It’s a lot to take in, Your Dark Eminence. But if there’s a plot against you, we want to help expose it.”

Copia continued to pace the room, his mind brimming and full with fresh rage. The cogs in his brain were ticking over and over. Something about Sister Evelyn’s involvement didn’t quite add up, though. If the plot was based around a flimsy, untrue prophecy, then Sister Evelyn would know that it wasn’t real - yet, she, like Copia, was fully immersed in the whole farce. But what was the answer.

He stopped pacing and turned back to his guest. “Who did you say benefited from my ascension?” Sibling Martinez listed the known members of the Clergy and Copia clicked his fingers together. “You’re missing one. I’ve just discovered Sister Chandler’s involvement.”

“Your Dark Eminence?”

“Of course she benefits - of course she does. She becomes Prime Mover. But, she was unaware of this whole plot, I’m convinced.”

“So how is she involved?”

“It’s not her. It’s her father - Saltarian.”

“Cardinal Saltarian? I don’t know him, I’m sorry.”

Copia shook his head. “Not Cardinal, just Mr. He has no title. Mr. Saltarian has been in my life for almost thirty years at this point, a very good friend of my mother’s. There’s not much that he doesn’t know, to be truthful. He’s a spy to everyone - not a man to be trusted. He may not be a member of the Church per se, but I doubt my brother’s deaths didn’t line his back pockets in some capacity. Not to mention his daughter becoming my Prime Mover. That would give him a power that he wouldn’t have as a mere Cardinal.”

“So what are we going to do about this, Your Dark Eminence?”

Copia stopped and thought for a moment, weighing all of his options. “You do nothing.” Sibling Martinez went to protest but Copia continued. “For now at least. I appreciate you coming to me with this information, Sibling. And please thank Sister ___ for starting this whole investigation. After everything I’ve done to her, I don’t deserve it.”

“Well, she doesn’t want you suffering. What will you do?”

“I’m not sure.”

The truth was, Copia was sure, he just didn’t want word getting back to you. Not yet anyway. The way Copia was feeling, he was more than ready to burst into Sister Imperator’s office and confront her about all of this. It wasn’t until Sibling Martinez had left that Copia was able to straighten himself up and storm to his scheming mother’s office, and unfortunately for her, she was there.

He didn’t knock - he didn’t see the need. He was too angry for pleasantries and kindnesses. Sister Imperator didn’t have a guest, so he could get right to the point without disturbing another person. “Ah, Cardinal.” She said, an amiable smile on her face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Three sixes in her birth date, hm, Sister? That’s why Sister Evelyn is to be my Prime Mover?” Copia’s attitude was foul, completely out of character for him.

“So the prophecy says.”

“So it is to do with the prophecy and nothing to do with Mr. Saltarian’s involvement in raising me to power?”

She was silent for a moment, just a brief second too long, but that was all the confirmation Copia needed.

“You are despicable.”

Sister Imperator’s expression remained stoic, her eyes meeting Copia’s with unwavering confidence. “Everything was done for the Church, for our cause. The emergence of the antichrist is a crucial moment in our history, and we can’t afford to let it slip away.”

Copia scoffed, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the air. “For the Church? Or for your own gain? Mr. Saltarian’s involvement, the manipulation of prophecies, the orchestration of all three of my brother’s deaths - all to secure power for yourself.”

Sister Imperator leaned back in her chair, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Power is a means to an end, Cardinal. Our mission is to bring about the reign of Satan on Earth. Sacrifices must be made, alliances forged, and obstacles removed.”

Copia’s anger intensified, a storm brewing within him. “You manipulated me, used me as a pawn in your game. And for what? To satisfy your thirst for control?”

“Control is essential in guiding the destiny of the Church. Your ascension was necessary, Cardinal. You were groomed for this role, and now, you stand at the precipice of a new era. To serve as the antichrist just as the prophecies have told!”

Copia shook his head, his disbelief transforming into a fiery resolve. “I won’t be a puppet in your schemes any longer. I won’t let you exploit the Church - and me - for your personal agenda.”

Sister Imperator chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “You’re still learning, my dear Cardinal. The puppeteer does not relinquish control so easily. The Church needs a leader, and you were chosen for a reason.”

Copia’s resolve saw through the complex web of deceit, and his eyes hardened. “I won’t play your games any longer. I’ll expose the truth to the congregation. They deserve to know the extent of your manipulation.”

“Expose me, my dear boy, and the entire congregation will work to overthrow you.”

“So be it. I never wanted this role - this was your dream.”

“You wouldn’t. Now, enough with this idiocy, Cardinal. You have duties to attend to and a ritual to prepare for.”

“I’m going to put a stop to this.”

“Mhmm. Of course you will.” Sister Imperator went back to fiddling with papers on her desk, making herself look busy in order to get Copia to leave.

With a blazing determination in his eyes, Copia left Sister Imperator’s words trailing behind him. The seriousness of the situation weighed on him, but he couldn’t turn his gaze away from the betrayal that had occurred. He wondered where to go next as he made his way more into the Ministry.

There was an unsettling silence in the hallways, and shadows played on the walls. Copia’s mind whirled with ideas about how the congregation would respond, potential partners he might discover, and the impending threat of Sister Imperator’s power. He knew he needed help, and he needed someone he could rely on.

Copia entered the library in search of comfort, the smell of ancient volumes and parchment reassuring him, and guiding him to a familiar room. He discovered you absorbed in your task, a serene determination on your face. The agony and turmoil of the past had given way to a steely resolution, a testament to your resilience.

You looked up as Copia entered, a mix of surprise and apprehension in your eyes. “Your Dark Eminence,” you greeted respectfully standing from your seat with your voice betraying no emotion. Your eyes were just as wide and doe-like as they were the last time he saw this expression on your face, except that time you wore his bedsheets as a dress. That time he ravished you on his dining room table and showed you absolutely no mercy. The mood he was in again, he didn’t want to show you any mercy again; he wanted you beneath him on that desk, screaming his name and taking everything he was willing to give, everything he felt like he had to give.

Was he wrong for feeling this way? Absolutely. After everything he put you through and after promising to wait for your answer, he should be doing that. He should be waiting for you to contact him. He should be giving you the space and time that you needed to work through this. But there was too much anger coursing through his veins, too much adrenaline working through his body with nowhere to go.

There was a look in his eyes that you’d never seen before - an anger that had never been present in all the time you’d observed him from afar, or spent directly in his presence. It terrified you - but had your core tightening in knots and aching for relief you’d not had in weeks. You wondered if you’d let him touch you like that again, if you’d give in to his urges in order to quell your own.

Copia opened his mouth as if to speak then closed it again. Despite his anger, he was still hesitating to get the words out. But he stepped closer to you, slowly, tentatively, as though moving would scare you off like the doe your eyes portrayed you to be. “You need to stop me if you don’t want this, amore.” He told you, his voice dangerously low and rumbling as he spoke. “Any word from you and I’ll walk away.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, breasts rising and falling with the heaviness of your breaths. Each step he took closer to you made you more and more breathless, your hairs standing on edge and your body tingling in anticipation.

He was right in front of you, a gloved hand reaching up to the back of your head and pulling at your hair from the roots, lifting your face to look directly into his and expose your neck. “If you don’t stop me, I’m going to bend you over this desk and take what belongs to me. Will you let me, amore? Will you let me inside you again?”

You whimpered, unable to trust your voice to convey your thoughts accurately. Your mouth was drier than it had ever been, saliva refusing to flood your mouth and whet your lips. Your whimper was the only response you could muster, and it clearly displeased the Cardinal.

He tugged harder on your hair, lifting your head a little further back. “Words, amore. Use them.”

“Y-yes, Cardinal. I-I… want you inside me.”

Though your words were barely a stuttered whisper, Copia still counted them. His lips smashed against yours, teeth banging against teeth as he encapsulated your lips in a rough kiss. The hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair moved to your waist, pulling you closer to his body while he pushed you back against the desk, trapping you between him and the wood just as he did the first time he had you back in London. His tongue entered your mouth, tasting you again for the first time in so long, and groaning at the sensation. He missed this - he missed you. There was a part of him that wanted to be gentle with you, but the rest of him was too tightly wound; he couldn’t bring himself to handle you with care.

He broke the kiss and stepped away from you just long enough for him to grip your hips with both of his hands and turn you around, before he pressed you back up against the desk. His hard cock tented beneath his jeans and cassock, bulging against your ass cheek and reminding you just how much he desired you, how much he craved and needed you.

Your palms were flat to the lacquered wood, leaning against the desk for some support while Copia had his way with you. His hips gently rocked against your body, desperately rubbing himself against you as his lips attached themselves to your neck, kissing and licking at the exposed skin there. In frustration, he pulled your habit off your head and threw it to the ground, before placing his hands back at your hips. But those hands wandered as they loved to do, grabbing and squeezing at your body roughly, getting their fill of you after weeks of being deprived. He gripped onto your love handles, your stomach, moving his way up and groping at your breasts, squeezing and rubbing them beneath his gloves and your clothes. He caught hold of your nipples between his thumb and finger, while his teeth captured your ear and bit down gently.

“Copia!” You breathed, your hands moving to sit on top of his as they tweaked and pulled at your clothed nipples. Small moans escaped your lips as he toyed with your body, your pussy dripping and screaming for some attention.

Copia chuckled and released your ear. “Is she needy, hm? Needy for her Cardinal’s cock?”

“Please.”

“Sathanas - you have no idea how much I missed hearing you beg for me, amore.” He let go of your right nipple and ran his hand down your body, stopping at your crotch. He covered your cunt with his hand and gripped it. “Are you wet enough for my cock, I wonder? Are you ready for a good,” he slapped your cunt, “rough,” another slap, “fucking, hm?”

“Yes, Copia! Please!”

He lifted your habit and dipped his fingers into the waistband of your panties, hooking them against the elastic. “Tell me, amore. Tell me how much you want me to bend you over this desk and pound this cunt.” He pulled them down just enough to completely expose your bare pussy to him, a string of your wetness snapping when the fabric was pulled too far down your thighs.

“I w-want you so deep inside me. I’m so desperate for your c-cock, Copia. Please… please give it to me.” As you spoke, you felt him reach beneath his cassock and fumble with his clothes to free himself. “Fuck me, please!”

His hand came up to your shoulder blades and pushed you down flat against the desk. The other fisted his cock, stroking a few times before lining himself up with your dripping wet entrance.

“I won’t be gentle with you, amore.” His warning was delivered more like a threat, but it had your walls clenching nonetheless.

“Make it hurt.” You whispered.

He pushed in all the way to the hilt, not bothering to take it slow. He let your words go to his head and set a relentless pace inside of you, hitting your cervix deliciously and making you scream out with each thrust. Your cunt opened up for him just as easily as it always did, further proof that you were made for him. His hips snapped slowly, but roughly, making your entire body jiggle with the force of each one, and the heavy desk to slide across the floor.

Sliding into you felt like sliding home. After all the time he was away from you, he couldn’t have you, and hold you in his arms, there was a massive bout of relief that washed over him. This felt good, it felt right. It was everything he needed after all this time. And you felt the same way. You didn’t realise just how much you needed him and missed him until that moment.

Copia’s grunts as he rammed his cock inside you filled the room alongside the loud squelch of your cunt swallowing him whole. His hands were now attached to your hips, gripping onto them as tightly as he could, leaving red marks and bruises in his wake. Copia was so long and thick that he stretched you out so nicely, and he always made you feel so good inside. By the time he was finished with you, you were usually a sore, shaky pile on the bed, with little ability to move or even think. You could feel your knees weakening as Copia rearranged your insides, your whole body turning to mush at his hard mercy - a mercy he wasn’t willing to show you as he picked up his speed but maintained his roughness.

There was a dull ache that came with the head of his cock slamming into you as hard as he did, but you worshipped the feeling. After going so long without feeling him stretch and fuck you, you needed to feel him, no matter how much burning came with it.

Your ass jiggled more than normal as you moved your hips to meet his thrusts and arched your back as far as you could for him. He let loose a torrent of profanities in Italian, each one telling you how you felt incredible for him, wrapped around him and squeezing him so fucking tightly he could hardly breathe.

“Made to take this cock, eh?” He huffed, his Cardinal paints dripping from his face with the exertion of his movements. “Built for me to fuck whenever I wanted to. Cazzo! I didn’t take you as much as I should have. Should have had you hanging off my dick every fucking day. Closest to fucking Heaven I’ll ever get. Fuck!”

“Right th-there! Oh, fuck, Copia! Right there!” You moved your hand down to your clit and began to rub at it, furiously stroking your bundle of nerves and tightening around him, causing him to let out a groan so deep and gutteral, it had you whining for him.

“Always so tight for me, amore.” He breathed as he watched the cream from your pussy gather at the base of his cock. “Always so wet and pliant, taking everything I give you like a good fucking girl.”

He started thrusting more rapidly and erratically. The fingers that had been gripping your hips clenched even more tightly than before, as if he was afraid you may vanish at any moment and leave him without an orgasm.

“Copia! You - fuck! - You’re gonna make me cu-cum!” You could feel your toes curling in your shoes, your brain turning to mush at the feeling of him rearranging your insides like he hadn’t done before.

“Tell me, please, amore! Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“Copia, n-nobody could… compare! Nobody could ever… make me cum… like you. Fuck, Copia, I’m so close. Please!” You continued to work yourself into a frenzy, rubbing quickly over your clit and applying more pressure, your other hand gripping onto the edge of the desk so tightly your knuckles were turning white.

Your cunt cinched tighter around him, making him feel almost choked. As you reached your peak, it became extremely hard for him to move inside of you. Copia felt his knees turn to jelly from the force of his body, forcing him to thrust within you one last time before spilling his load into your twitching hole, a strangled groan falling from his throat as he bent at the waist, sweaty forehead resting on your back while he was emptying himself into you.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

He pulled out of you, ignoring your whine at the loss of connection. You turned your body as much as you could to watch Copia fall to his knees behind you, groping your ass cheeks and pushing them upwards, in turn spreading your labia apart and watching as his cum spilled from you like honey from a wand. “So fucking filthy for me, amore. What a gift for me, eh? I was blessed by the Dark One, no?” With his hands still pulling your body apart, he dove into your cunt, licking the dripping cum from your hole first before playing with your sensitive clit when he’d deemed your labia clean enough.

His tongue came down on your hole again causing you to cry out in sensitivity as he dipped his tongue inside you, scooping out his seed and swallowing everything he’d gathered. The one hand that played with your clit was now tangled in his salt and pepper hair, pushing him deeper into your pussy as it screamed for a second release.

“Amore, does my tongue feel that good?” He tormented you with his remarks, stroking over your clit with his gloved fingers in place of his mouth for a little while. “It’s that good that I could make you cry like that? Merda! Listen to yourself.” To prove his point, he started to suck on your clit more forcefully, making the squelch of your heat louder with each rough move.

Following his actions you tried again to stifle your cries by biting your lower lip, but it didn’t work. Instead, your cum leaked out of your body onto his face, soaking his moustache as you came a second time. He was moaning at your taste, and you could hear him slurping everything up, like he was sipping from a water fountain. It wasn’t until you physically pushed him away, your body exhausted and shaking that he finally stopped tormenting you with his tongue, and backed up.

Like an old man usually would, he groaned as he stood up from his knees, gripping onto the desk to help him stand as his own body wasn’t responding as it should. You chuckled at him, a lazy laugh spilling from your lips as you watched him rest against the desk, tucking his soft cock back beneath his clothes. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and his chin still glistened with your release, his hands not wiping him clean yet for reasons unbeknownst to you. So, you fought with your own weakness to stand in front of him, and kissed him, your tongue popping out from behind your lips and licking up your juices from his lips. Once you pulled away, you rubbed your thumb over his chin and wiped up the excess of your cum, sucking it into your mouth.

“You shouldn’t do things like that,” he complained, “I’m too tired to fuck you again. Give me a few minutes.”

You laughed. “Rest and recover, old man.” You said, tapping his chest with your hand. You began to pull your panties back up and make yourself presentable. “What brought all that on?”

Copia explained his reasoning for coming to find you, that he didn’t intend on fucking you within an inch of your life, but he saw you and he had too much energy, too much adrenaline, he just couldn’t help himself. You listened intently, affectionately holding onto his arm and pressing soft kisses there every now and then. It wasn’t until he’d been silent for a few seconds that you realised tears were beginning to fall from his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blubbed upon noticing you’d seen him, “I’m so sorry.”

Copia’s sudden apology caught you off guard. You reached up, gently wiping away the tears from his eyes. Concern crept into your voice as you asked, “What’s wrong, Copia? Why are you sorry?”

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “I… I just can’t believe how much I’ve hurt you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I want it so badly.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his eyes. You sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We can work through this, okay? We can figure things out together.”

He nodded, appreciating your understanding. “I love you, ___,” he confessed, his voice laced with sincerity. “I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “I love you too, Copia. But…”

He cried a little harder. “No, please, no ‘but’. Anything but that…”

“Sister Evelyn’s still going to be your Prime Mover. And I don’t want to be your mistress and share you with other people. Not like that, anyway.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek and rubbed his nose with his glove, taking a sniff before he spoke again. “I never wanted her in the first place. And I don’t intend on going through the ritual with her. I didn’t to begin with, and I definitely don’t now. Please don’t walk away from me.” He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding onto you as if afraid you might slip away. In that moment, you both clung to the hope that love could conquer the challenges you faced, no matter how complicated they seemed.

You could feel a storm approaching as the weight of Copia’s remarks hung in the air. Even after his sincere admission and your mutual hug, an overwhelming feeling of doubt clouded your relationship. You could not deny the truth of Sister Evelyn’s existence in Copia’s life as he clung to you.

“I can’t promise everything will be okay, Copia,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the silence that followed. “I want to believe in us, but it’s hard when there’s someone else in the picture. And with Sister Imperator pushing for this, I don’t see how we can get passed this.”

Copia’s grip tightened, a mix of desperation and fear painted across his features. “I know I messed up, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, don’t leave me.”

Your heart ached at his plea, torn between the love you felt for him and the reality of the situation. “Copia, I need time. I need time to process everything and figure out what’s best for both of us.”

He pulled away slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of certainty. “Time,” he repeated, his voice carrying the weight of the unknown.

You nodded, tears welling up in your own eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, Copia. But I can’t be with you if it means sharing you with someone else. It’s just too much.”

A pained expression crossed Copia’s face, his emotions on full display. “What if… listen, the full moon and the ritual is in two days. Once the ritual is completed, nothing can change it. No Sister Imperator, no Sister Evelyn, no one. What if I performed it with you?”

Copia’s idea lingered in the air, an intriguing yet unsettling proposition. The weight of his words fell on the room, and you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of unease and want. The prospect of sharing such an intimate ritual with Copia sparked hope, but the history of grief and betrayal threw a shadow over the decision.

Your glance met his, looking for genuineness in his eyes. “The rite, Copia, is a sacred and binding ceremony. This isn’t something to take lightly. Are you sure that this is what you want? And can we honestly move on from what has happened?”

He nodded, a determined expression on his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. A life with you matters more to me than anything else.”

Despite your concerns, the honesty in Copia’s voice touched your heart. The thought of rewriting the story and starting again seemed appealing. However, the scars of the past warned of caution.“I want to believe in us, Copia,” you said, lowering your tone. “I’m scared. Is it possible for us to move passed everything that happened between us?”

Copia’s hand gently caressed your cheek. “I know it’s not going to be easy. It’s too late to undo the harm I caused you. But I’m willing to go to any length to get back what we had.”

His vulnerability mirrored yours, and for a brief time, you sensed a real yearning for redemption. The thought of standing at Copia’s side during the ceremony, rewriting the tale together, gave you a sense of hope. “One day, Copia. One day to think about it,” you said, your eyes locked with his. “If we’re going to do this, we need to be certain. No more secrets, no more pain.”

He nodded, understanding the weight of your words. “I’ll give you the time you need, ___.”

He kissed your hand and left the room, butterflies forming once more in his stomach. Copia couldn’t ignore the feelings of nervousness and optimism that swirled in his gut as he left your office. The weight of the coming ritual, the decision hanging in the balance, and the frailty of your connection all played out in his head like a symphony of doubts.

Copia returned to his office and slammed the door behind him, providing a brief respite from the turmoil outside. The room felt both familiar and foreign, reflecting his emotional rollercoaster ride. He took a deep breath, hoping to calm himself. His heart was warmed by the hope that lingered from your conversation. The thought of starting again and correcting the past with you by his side was a light in the shadows. Copia slumped on his desk, his thoughts racing with possibilities, worries, and a desire for a better future. For the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of hope. The notion of sharing the sacred ceremony with you held out the potential of a new beginning. His ambition was fueled by a real desire to repair what had been broken.

As the night of the ceremony approached, the mood in the Ministry became electrified with excitement. The corridors were alive with whispered talks, and the air was thick with the weight of approaching events. The faithful assembled, dressed in ceremonial attire, and made their way to the Basilica di Lilith for the long-awaited ritual between Copia and Sister Evelyn.

You could feel the tension in the air like a physical force among the wave of followers. After careful consideration and talks with Riley and Aisha, the choice to carry out the rite alongside Copia was made. While the uncertainty persisted, a calm resolve grew within you. This was your night, the first night of many where you would be beside the man you loved - provided all went according to plan, of course.

Copia’s Ghouls had split, and the one half had made their way to a secret, smaller chapel in the Papa’s quarters: the Cappella di Venus, named after another woman who had been demonised by the Catholic Church, based from mistranslations, as usual. Catholics mistaking Venus rising before the Sun, bringing light to the world before the Sun had woken and drowned Her out, they had taken this to be a metaphor for the Devil challenging God, and in turn destroying everything She had, just as they had done for countless women throughout time; Hypatia, Jezebel, Lilith, Eve, Delilah. The list went on.

The Cappella di Venus, located in the heart of the Papal Quarters, radiated a sense of intimacy and secret that contrasted dramatically with the grandiosity of the Basilica di Lilith. Despite its modest size, the chapel was opulent and splendorous, providing a more private sanctuary for the Upper Clergy’s private rites.

The chapel’s entryway was embellished with beautifully carved wooden doors containing occult symbols. When these doors swung wide, they revealed an area that glistened with an otherworldly brilliance. The chapel was bathed in a warm and intimate brilliance from soft lights emanating from exquisite candelabras carefully positioned along the walls.

The architecture of the church reflected a bygone era, with vaulted ceilings covered in brilliantly coloured murals depicting scenes of celestial beauty. Every surface was embellished with gold highlights and intricate filigree, catching and reflecting the dancing candlelight. The air was fragrant with incense, producing an unearthly atmosphere that seemed to transcend the terrestrial realm.

The chapel’s centrepiece was a magnificent altar made of polished marble veined with deep crimson and ivory tones. A tapestry portraying the Emeritus bloodline’s symbol hung behind the altar, a quiet homage to the sacred lineage that ruled the ministry.

A life-sized statue of Venus, the venerated figure of love and beauty, presided over the chapel’s focal point. The statue was meticulously carved from marble and showed Venus with a calm look, carrying symbols of love and grace. Candlelight threw subtle shadows on the statue, giving the impression of movement within the stone.

The chapel’s velvet-cushioned pews formed a semicircle around the altar, creating an intimate atmosphere for the limited few who had access to this secret sanctuary. The chapel’s walls were embellished with stained glass windows representing images of historical significance to the Church, and tales from Venus’ mythology, transforming the ambient light into a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the polished surfaces.

As you and the Ghouls took your places in the dimly lit chapel, the excitement in the air was obvious. Aisha and Riley stood by your side, bringing a mix of comfort and shared concern. The flowing shadows formed by the flickering candlelight created an atmosphere imbued with both mystery and holiness.

The atmosphere in the chapel appeared to increase in tensity as the minutes passed. The gentle rustle of velvet as Aisha shifted alongside you, as well as the occasional exchanged looks with Riley, expressed the shared fear. You cast sidelong looks towards the entryway, the carved wooden doors closed, separating you from the imminent ritual.

The Ghouls lined the chapel with solemn looks, dressed in their ceremonial attire. Their veiled features betrayed no emotion, adding to the seriousness of the situation. It was a dramatic contrast to the turmoil you were experiencing.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Copia wouldn’t arrive on time, that circumstances beyond anyone’s control would derail the meticulously prepared arrangements. The weight of the impending rite pressed in on you, increasing the anxiety with each passing second.

Everyone’s attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps echoing in the corridor outside the chapel. The oak doors creaked open gently, exposing Copia standing there in his scarlet cardinal robes, the remainder of his Ghouls following behind him. As you caught his gaze, a rush of relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of anxiety. His eyes were a mix of tenacity and vulnerability, expressing the turmoil of his emotions.

Copia entered the chapel with measured steps, the doors closing behind him with a soft thud. The Ghouls separated to make way for him as he approached. The mood shifted, the coming ritual’s heaviness settling over the chapel like a heavy shield.

He took your hands into his as Aisha took her spot between the two of you, and placed a kiss on the back of them. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, “I had to dodge a few Sibling latecomers.”

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” You said, a smile on your red lips.

Aisha sighed. “It won’t be long before Imperator figures out what’s going on, can we get started please?”

In secret, Aisha had taken a white candle and carved it on two sides, one with the symbol of Venus, the other with the symbol of Lucifer - together representing the freedom to love whomever one chooses. The candle was placed in a dish, similar in shape to a martini glass (but the bowl was rounder and the stem was a little shorter) and while you and Copia held it, Aisha lit the candle. “May the Father guide you on your future together,” Aisha said as the candle began to burn down, “and may the Lover bless your union in Her name.” The candle would continue burning after the ceremony had been completed, and once it had burned away, it was said that the remaining smoke would help to bless the couple, and banish negative spirits.

A special oil had been concocted the day before, too, this time by Riley. Using the same book that Aisha was reading from during the ceremony, Riley had crafted an oil known to enhance love and bring abundance, made from roses, patchouli and vanilla, as a symbolic gesture to boost passion, and create a magnetic energy that drew people together. After the candle had begun burning, Aisha took the condiment-sized bowl filled with the oil, and drew the Satanic Cross over yours and Copia’s forehead, right where your third eye would be. “May Lucifer protect you and your union from outside evil.”

Venus, personified in the statue that overlooking the event, cast an ethereal gaze upon it. The warm glimmer of candlelight reflected off the Goddess’s marble face, granting Her presence an unearthly atmosphere, while the light of the full moon bathed the chapel in the rainbow of colours, as if she was bearing witness alongside Venus as well as lending Her power to the ceremony.

You and Copia swapped rings as the rite neared its conclusion, a symbolic union that Satanism kept given its roots in ancient Roman weddings. The ring planned for Sister Evelyn was now on your finger, already blessed and ready for a life bound to an Emeritus.

As the rite came to a close, you and Copia kissed, confirming the tie formed in the sacred chamber of the Cappella di Venus. The bond felt profound, a joining of fates that resisted the tyranny of a false prophecy. The kiss embodied relief, an unconscious acknowledgment that, for that brief moment, the outside world and its difficulties had vanished.

You could feel a gentle presence lingering in the chapel after the rite, as if the ghosts of Venus, Lucifer, and Lilith Themselves were looking over the unhallowed site. The energy left behind was a harmonic blend of celestial elements, and the flickering candlelight seemed to dance with renewed life.

It was done - and no one was able to stop or break it.

Barely thirty minutes after the ritual had completed, chaos broke loose. The consequences of your secret ritual were sure to make an appearance that night, given the fact that Copia had jilted his initial Prime Mover at the altar, and ruined the ritual for another month, but that was before Sisters Imperator and Evelyn had discovered the ritual had already been completed with another woman. They both came charging into Copia’s home - now yours, too - unannounced, Sister Evelyn’s red dress flowing behind her like a hellish princess only to find you and Copia entangled in each other’s arms after enjoying one another’s bodies, the blessed ring nestled comfortably on your finger and an uncharacteristic, shit-eating grin on Copia’s face.

The air crackled with unspoken tension as Sister Imperator’s stern expression deepened.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sister Imperator’s voice cut through the room like a whip. “Copia, explain yourself.”

Copia remained where he was, uncaring who saw you wrapped in his arms. You were both covered by sheets, but even still he felt both exposed yet powerful. “Isn’t it obvious? I chose ___ as my Prime Mover. The ritual has been completed.”

Sister Evelyn’s eyes flickered with a mixture of fury and hurt. “You… you betrayed me, Copia?”

Copia’s grin faded slightly, almost guilty. “Betrayal implies there was trust to begin with. I never intended to go through that ritual with you, Eve, and you know that. I suppose your father will be pissed, though.”

“Of course, he wants the best for me.”

Copia flinched, a cockiness coming from somewhere he’d never used before. It was turning you on to see, if you were being honest with yourself. “Will you tell her, or do I have to? Not fair to keep her in the dark now, is it, Sister?”

Sister Evelyn’s expression shifted from hurt to simmering anger. Her eyes bore into Copia, a storm of conflicting emotions playing out on her face. The revelation of her father’s involvement added another layer of complexity to the unfolding drama.

“I will handle this,” Sister Imperator interjected, her tone firm and commanding. “Evelyn, leave us. I need to speak with Copia alone.”

“No,” Sister Evelyn demanded, “someone is going to tell me what’s going on before I lose my shit at all of you! I’ve been jilted, humiliated and betrayed and now I demand some fucking answers!”

Copia’s defiance wavered for a moment, but then he sighed. “The prophecy is a farce, Eve. It was all a huge lie to get me in power so she could do what she wanted with the Church and your father could get a bit of control.”

“Her dad?” You gasped from beside Copia, earning you a slight chuckle from him. “Oh shit, that explains it.”

While he spoke, he still held onto you, his fingers stroking up and down your bare back softly. “The three sixes in a prophecy is for the antichrist, not for you.”

Sister Evelyn’s anger intensified at the revelation, and she shot a venomous glare at Sister Imperator. “Is this true?” She demanded, her voice sharp and accusatory.

Sister Imperator, ever composed, met Sister Evelyn’s gaze without flinching. “The prophecy was a means to an end, Evelyn. The emergence of the antichrist is crucial for the Church’s future. Copia’s ascension was a necessary step.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened, her disbelief evident. “But I thought… I thought I was meant to be his Prime Mover.”

Copia’s grip on you tightened, a silent reassurance amidst the unfolding chaos. “You were a pawn in this, just like me. I never wanted the ‘Papa’ role, I’m certainly no antichrist, and I’m sorry your fate was tangled up in this so your father could gain some power. Go, be free. Enjoy a new life with fewer responsibilities.”

Sister Evelyn, caught between hurt and anger, took a step back. “I can’t believe I let myself be manipulated like this.” She looked directly at Sister Imperator. “Fuck you. For all of this!”

“Hey, Eve?” Copia said, his voice gentle but the same shit-eating grin appearing on it as before. “We’re looking for a new Cardinal to fill the role in the Upper Clergy - how about it? A bit unconventional but I think you could do well, no?”

Sister Evelyn smiled, eyes never leaving Sister Imperator’s. “I’ll take it.”

Sister Imperator’s nostrils flared, her displeasure evident. She turned back to Copia, angrier than ever. “This disobedience will not be tolerated. You will face the consequences.”

“How?” You said, finally joining in on the conversation to deliver the final blow. “Exposing him means exposing you, too. Would you really want to risk it, Sister?”

A tense silence filled the room as Sister Imperator assessed the situation, her steely gaze shifting between Copia, Sister Evelyn, and you. The balance of power teetered on the brink, and the impending clash of wills hung in the air like a storm about to break. She hated not having the upper hand, not being in control and dominating the underlings. She was, however, a smart woman, who knew when to cut her losses and concede. But if either of you thought this would end here, you’d be wrong. She’d be back with something else, some other way to exert her power and control. But for now she simply muttered, “This isn’t over!” And stormed out, like the world’s worst Scooby Doo villain.

Sister Evelyn, no… Cardinal Evelyn, now with a pep in her step bid the both of you goodbye with the promise of seeing Copia on Monday to make good on his word, leaving the both of you alone in your marital bed.

You climbed on top of Copia’s lap, the bedsheets falling from your body and exposing your nakedness to him in all your glory. “You know, that confidence was very hot of you, Cardinal.” You said, your voice teasing and suggestive.

Copia laughed. “Oh was it, now?”

“Mhmm.”

“How hot?”

“Let me show you.”

And with that, you leaned down and kissed him, a passionate kiss that had him growing hard beneath you again, refractory period now over and ready to take you one final time before you both slept.

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

Hello, everyone! Mel here.

I just wanted to thank everyone for your continued support since I started posting Kinktober last year, but also now with Lost in Translation. It really means the world to me that you not only read my fics, but also leave comments and share it around, so thank you so, so much! Truly, you don't know how much this means to me.

I also want to thank @zombiesnips-blog for her commission, for her saintly patience, and for trusting me with her idea. This was an incredibly fun piece to work on and I cannot wait for the rest of you to see the next fic we have planned, which will be coming soon!

This is just a quick reminder that commissions are open and I have multiple membership options open, so if you are so kind as to support what I do, then I would be most appreciative. If not, I still am deeply thankful for your time and readership!

Much love!

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mvgnvsvntimvjoris · 1 year ago

Note

All the cool "weirder" asks, which is maybe all of them? I dunno, I trust your judgment on which ones are the cool ones

I am SO SORRY, I read the ask, told myself to answer later the same days and managed to forget for ages ! But here it is, at last !!!

Weird asks, the cool ones ? You trust me too much with cool, I don't know how to identify cool !

I'll answer them all ! Thank you @mxcasual !

1 : Who is / are your comfort character(s) ? At the moment it might be Gale from Baldur's Gate 3 ? I need my escapism and he's a guy I'd geniunely be friend with. We would go to fantasy therapy together and do magic.

2 : Lighter or matches ? : Matches, I need that scratch before it ignites, it's a primal need ! Also I am just bad with lighters...

3 : do you leave the window open at night ? : If it's not too cold, yes, bring me that outside AIR

4 : which cryptyd being do you believe in ? Sadly none ? I wish for mothman tho, they seem pretty cool

5 : what color are your eyes ? Boring blue, YAWN

6 : why did you do that ? I don't know !

7 : hair-ties or scrunchies ? Scrunchies all the way, velvety black ones if possible

8 : how many water bottles are in your room right now ? Two, one empty and one full !

9 : which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee ? I tried both in various combination and I just don't like coffee when it's not in relation to desserts.

10 : would you slaughter the rich ? Yes

11 : favorite extracurricular activity ? Dreaming ?

12 : what kind of day is it ? I thought we were sunday but it's saturday night

13 : when was the last time you ate ? An hour ago, maybe two ?

14 : do you love the smell of earth after it rains ? Yes, and it drives me mad that I've lost my sense of smell years ago (not covid related, way before that).

15 : are you a parent ? Yes, of two cats, I wish I was a better parent to them

16 : can you drive ? Yes, had to !

17 : are you farsighted or nearsighted ? I never remember which one, but I have glasses !

18 : what hair products do you use ? uuuh Shampoo

19 : imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails ? Absolutely, but don't you dare painting mines, I hate the feeling of it, I have to scratch it off really quick

20 : do you say soda or pop ? Neither, here we say the drink's brand and that's it

21 : something you’ve kept since childhood ? Everything I could, but as one exemple a piece of a door handle I broke. Still have it. I like it.

22 : what type of person are you ? I don't know how to describe myself at all, I'm sorry

23 : how do you feel about chilly weather ? I love it but it doesn't and has me on a hit list.

24 : if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing ? Watching the sunset or the stars, either talking or enjoying silence together

25 : perfume/body spray or lotion ? None ? Allergy is a bitch and strong smells are deadly

26 : a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times ? IRL ? Because I'd have to answer : Failing at something

27 : about how many hours of sleep did you get ? Oh no, uh well last night was a mess, got 2 hours and I'm about to explode because of it

28 : do you wear a mask ? Yes

29 : how do you like your shower water ? Not too hot, barely body temperature, just enough

30 : is there dishes in your room ? No !

31 : what type of music keeps you grounded ? Classical, shits make me cry almost all of the time

32 : do you have a favorite towel ? I have one, my own, not really favorite just here to do the job !

33 : the last adventure you’ve been on ? Going to a concert in another country by car, does it count ?

34 : is there a song you know every word to by heart ? Way too many, sometimes I don't even like the song, but it's engraved. I need brain space but the songs won't go

35 : what’s your timezone ? uuuh, CET ? It's 10pm right now

36 : how many times have you changed your url ? I think twice, because I had a christmas one once

37 : someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years ? My oldest friend, went to school together when we were 12 and still being gentle annoyance to each other ! Also I'm pretty sure i have tumblr mutuals who count too

38 : a soap bar that smells good ? I don't know : ( loved lavender

39 : do you use lip balm ? No, can't stand the texture on my lips, has to get rid of it immediately...

40 : did you have any snacks today ? No, but I had two meals ! (little victories)

41 : how do you take your coffee ? I don't

42 : an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site ? Instagram, another godforsaken site

43 : what’s your take on spicy foods ? I like it a lot, my stomach likes it less :o)

44 : you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it ? Uuuh....********* ******

45 : can you remember what happened yesterday ? A bit ? Showed a monsters book to my oldest niece, then I watched her play minecraft while I played Animal Crossing, made dinner, talked with the fam, watched 3 hours documentaries on the weather, then movie critics, then I fell asleep.

46 : favorite holiday film ? I...by default I think Nightmare Before Christmas ? But that's more because I first saw it when I was a kid (like 6 ?), a familly friend gave it to us as a Christmas movie and VHS's opening short film kind of traumatized me ? I love it for halloween now tho

47 : what was the last message you sent ? "La lumière t'attend !"

48 : when did you first try an alcohol beverage ? Well one christmas when I was a child (no idea the age, around 7 ?), family left and I tried to finish a red wine glass, it was disgusting

49 : can you skip rocks ? YES, it's so fun ! Been years !!

50 : can i tag you in random stuff ? Of course !

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sinner-as-saint · 4 years ago

Text

we can’t stop, we’re enemies.

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader AU

Run-through: After the events of the last battle against Thanos, you teamed up with Sam and Bucky to carry on your superhero duties. You got along with Sam just fine, he was a really good friend to you. Bucky however, was not. From constant banters, to unnecessary hand-to-hand combat, to purposely getting each other in trouble during risky missions, to being the main cause of Sam’s migraines; it was safe to say that you and Bucky considered yourselves to be each other’s nemesis. Although that soon changes when, courtesy of your silly banters, a certain mission goes slightly wrong - one which involves strong chemicals which, unbeknownst to you, were designed to mess with the brain and hormones, thus encouraging the need to breed and procreate amongst all those who inhale it...

Themes: enemies-to-lovers, smut, sex pollen trope, dirty talk, swear words, fluff

“How is it going up there Sam, talk to me.”

You spoke, waiting to hear from Sam through the ear piece.

The three of you were on a mission on unfamiliar lands. Rumor had it that some shady organization was conducting illegal experiments. The whole location was spooky, and you needed to be thorough and quick. So Sam decided to get an aerial view along with Red Wing, and see if there are any threats coming your way while you and Bucky decided to check out the underground laboratories.

The whole place was shadowy and old, it almost seemed like no one had been here in a long time. But still, these people were criminals so you had to gather every evidence you could which would lead you their way.

And so far, after exploring the place for the past half an hour, you found nothing major. Just weird laboratory glassware filled with liquids and what not.

“Sam?” you called out again into the ear piece, keeping your gun at the ready. “Say something damn it.”

His reply came. “There’s something sketchy about the building at the back, I’m gonna go check it out. But you have to promise me you won’t kill each other by the time I get back.”

You and Bucky sent death glares at each other in disgust. He was on the other side of the lab, flipping through files and papers, while you were searching the cabinets and drawers. The two of you were separated by a steel workstation. Dark leather jacket, metal arm exposed; you’d find him handsome if he wasn’t so annoying.

“Sure, whatever.” Bucky mumbled, being his grumpy self.

You frowned at him, “Dude, drop your fucking attitude.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at you, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sam roared through the ear piece, “Enough! Focus, you two are in the labs and we don’t know what’s in there. Just, maybe look out for each other. Okay? I’m going in.”

“Be careful, Sam.” You spoke, sending another dirty look at Bucky.

“Yeah y-,”

Sam got cut off. All you could hear was some static noises and then complete silence.

“Sam? Can you hear us?” Bucky tried reaching out but neither of you could hear him. “This isn’t good.”

“Damn it!” You cursed. “Maybe he flew out of range. Or maybe we’re too deep under.”

For once in his life he nodded, agreeing with you. “Let’s just hurry up and see what we can find. We need to get out of here as fast as we can and get to the Jet.” He said, flipping through more and more files and papers, his metal arm glistening in the poorly lit room.

You sassed in the same tone he used before, “Don’t tell me what to do.” And you earned yourself another glare from him.

Fifteen minutes later and you two still had nothing to work with.

“This is useless. There’s nothing here, this is just bullshit.” Bucky complained, slamming down a file on the workstation so hard that it made you jump.

You were annoyed. You slammed a cabinet shut and turned to face him. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is work getting too tiring? Do you need a break? Hmm?”

“Shut up, you’re the one who keeps whining all the time.” He wasn’t wrong.

You stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the cold workstation. “Well maybe if you’d quit complaining and actually do your part of the job, then I wouldn’t have to whine about always doing everything on my own and you taking credit for it in front of Sam.”

He leaned forward, his metal arm already denting his side of the edge of the workstation. “Maybe if you’d stop bitching about everything and everyone all the time then maybe we’d get along and actually get shit done.”

You leaned in too. “Or maybe if just me and Sam teamed up, we’d work better. I still don’t know why he keeps you around. Take your metal arm away, what are you? Exactly, just a hundred year old, confused man.”

He smirked. “And what are you? Just a spoilt, whiny brat who knows how to use a gun?” He knew just what to say to get the reaction he wanted out of you.

In less than a few seconds you had your loaded gun out in front of you, aiming it at his forehead. “And guess what, she never misses a target.” You spat at him.

You had done this before; aiming guns at each other until Sam comes to break the tension. But Sam wasn’t here this time.

Bucky knew you would never pull the trigger on him so he gave you a handsome, arrogant smirk which only pissed you off even more. “Come on, shoot.” He provoked you.

“Stop pissing me off.” You warned.

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me for calling you a whiny, spoilt brat? See, that’s exactly what brats do.”

“James, stop.” Oh he was getting on your nerves. You were agitated.

He just smirked and went on. “I actually believe that that might be your superpower, destroying people by annoying them to death with how much of a brat you can actually be.”

You glared at him, unmoving, furious. You placed your forefinger on the trigger. “Say brat one more time and I will blow your fucking head off and when Sam asks, I’ll make it seem like an accident.”

He leaned closer, aligning his forehead to the barrel of your gun. He stared at you with his stormy, ocean blue eyes; inciting you to just pull the damn trigger. He watched you with mischief in his eyes. “Brat.” He mouthed, smirking right after and waiting for your reaction.

You clenched your jaw and shifted your aim just a little so that the bullet misses him but still shoots right by his ear. You pulled the trigger without hesitation, shooting at the shelf filled with dark red and brown liquids behind Bucky.

Bucky maintained his calm and composure despite the loud sound of the shattering glass falling on the tiles right behind him. “Brat.” He said again, out loud this time.

“I hate you.” You lowered your gun but then noticed something behind Bucky. Smoke, or some sort of vapor oozing out of the broken flasks and test tubes. You froze for a second. “Bucky, look.” You walked around the workstation and joined him on the other side.

The vapor quickly filled the room like thick fog, reducing visibility and making your throat burn a little. You coughed; once, twice. You looked beside you and Bucky was standing there with a look of horror on his face.

The moment his supersoldier sense got a whiff of the vapor, something in him ignited. No…

“We have to get out of here. Now.” You heard his voice, then felt his cold fingers wrap around your wrists as he tugged you along, making his way out of the lab. He tried to hold his breath but he couldn’t hold it very long. He tried to find the door to exit the room but that was hard too because neither of you could see properly.

“This stuff,” you spoke in between coughs, “will probably kill us, won’t it?” You held on tightly to his arm. “You need to get us out of here now.” The vapor was reducing your visibility more and more.

He felt the side of the wall, looking for the metal handle of the door through which you entered the lab. “It won’t kill us.” He growled as he looked beside him. You were standing close to him, so close, holding on to his arm tightly, a thin layer of sweat covered your face.

It was almost funny how you had your gun aimed at him just a minute ago and now you were relying on him for protection.

“How can you be so sure? Do you know what this stuff is?” You asked.

He sighed. He knew. “I have a hunch, but let’s hope I’m wrong.” He felt warm. Deep inside something stirred in him. Animalistic, primal, feral. It was there, pressing and burning. Guess he wasn’t wrong.

He finally found the door and he pushed it open, letting the two of you out and you took off running at once. You tried to reach Sam. A couple tries later, he finally responded. “I got some names, I think we got what we’re looking for. Where are you guys?”

“We found…. uh, nothing. We’re on our way to the jet, meet us there.” Bucky responded, running beside you.

You were confused out of your mind, not to mention you felt feverish. Hot, and you were sweating more than usual in places you’d rather not think about. Something in you was yearning to break free. You felt chained, you needed release. You felt like something had awakened inside of you; a deep hunger. Aroused, you felt aroused. Or was it just the adrenaline rush?

By the time you tried to figure out what was actually going on with you, you both had made it to the Jet.

“I feel sick.” you mumbled, stumbling on your way inside the jet. “I think… I think that smoke poisoned me.” You placed your palm against the side of the plane to hold on so you don’t fall. You felt like gravity wasn’t pulling you down anymore. You were a little out of breath.

Then you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. You grimaced as it only ignited the fire which you just found out had been burning inside you since you left the lab.

“You’re not poisoned. You’re not sick, you’re gonna be okay. We just have to… we have to get home.” Bucky was worse than you were. His enhanced senses allowed him to feel everything you felt, times ten perhaps.

His heart raced as he got a whiff of your fading perfume, mixed with the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your natural, raw scent. He could feel your arousal from here, and it pulled him in so easily. All he wanted to do was to tear your suit off, pin you up against the side of the Jet and fuck the living hell out of you, stretch you out and just rail you until you could no longer take it.

Fuck.

You looked up at him; heart racing, palms sweating and even your mouth was salivating more than usual. “You know what that thing was, don’t you?” You asked, ignoring the way his cold hand upon your shoulder made you want to lean into his touch even more. “What was it?”

You saw the look in his hooded eyes. Bucky sighed, pulling his hand away from you and the loss of contact made you whimper ever so quietly. You felt warmer and more and more breathless with each second that passed by.

“They used to make those substances, long ago back when I was with HYDRA. I didn’t expect to find those here. They were used to… to try and see if they could get super soldiers to procreate naturally.” Bucky explained and waited for your reaction.

“Sex pollen. Correct?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

You were a little shaken, but relieved knowing that at least it wasn’t poison and you wouldn’t be dying a painful death. “That’s… I mean, it could have been poison.” You didn’t know how to react after you pieced it all together. “How long before it wears off?”

“Twenty-four hours unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you fuck it out of your system well enough.”

That had you surprised. “Oh. Well that’s just great, isn’t it? Fucking perfect. I’m screwed.”

Bucky tried his hardest to refrain himself from leaning in and biting that sassy mouth of yours, shoving his tongue past your lips to shut you up, to hear you moan and gasp and cry out his name as he takes you however he wants to…

“We.” He corrected you. “It’ll get worse every hour.” He replied.

You sighed and moved away from him, unzipping your combat suit partly and removing the jacket because you couldn’t handle the heat. Bucky cursed as you stripped into just a tank top and tight pants, right in front of him. He felt his cock get harder.

“Can you not?” He sounded pissed off again; frustrated. “This is all your doing. The least you can do is make this a little bit easier for both of us.”

His words made you turn around and glare at him. “How is this my doing? I didn’t even know what was in that lab.”

He stepped forward, instinctively. The sight of your exposed neck and your soft skin was making him think of unspeakable things that he wanted to do to you. As he advanced, you tried not to look down at his cock, straining against his zipper. Your heart raced as you took in the size of his bulge. Enhanced super soldier indeed.

“Had you not been a spoiled brat who can’t take a joke, you wouldn’t have tried to shoot at me nor would you have shot those flasks!” He argued, feeling more and more warm as he got closer to you.

You took a step forward as well, fueled by annoyance, lust and anger. “Who was it who provoked me into doing that because they couldn’t keep their fucking mouth shut, huh? That’s right, your annoying ass!”

Bucky pushed you against the side of the Jet without a second thought. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with his hand while pressing his body into you, his metal arm circling around your waist and pressing you further into him.

He hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t thought about how your warm breath would feel against his skin, or how warm your body would be under his touch. You felt feverish, having him this close. His tall, large frame and his tight grip made your whimper under him. Your body reacted to him naturally.

All you felt was warm, his body heat, his scent. The feeling of his cold leather jacket against your flushed skin. You wanted him. Or rather, your body did.

“Don’t you provoke me now, you fucking whiny brat.” He whispered, menacingly into your ear.

You tried to ignore the shivers his voice sent down your entire body. But he saw it. And you could feel his erection press against your crotch. Just to mess with him, you discreetly moved your hips against his, making him hiss loudly.

“What are you gonna do about it, dipshit?” You sassed, knowing that given his intensified senses he must be feeling much worse than you.

He groaned as you kept grinding against him, your pulsating core rubbing against the bulge in his pants. And that only made it worse for both of you.

“Fuck…” Bucky swore, before quickly pulling away from you, but not releasing you yet. “You’re such a bitch.” His body was screaming for you, each nerve ending of his was on fire. A fire only you could douse.

You were just the same, on the edge and wanting to reach out for him; knowing he would satiate your hunger better than anyone could. Your body was throbbing as you stared into his eyes, your gaze lowering down to his dog tags. How you wanted those dangling right above your face…

You heard someone clear their throat. It wasn’t Bucky.

“Something you two need to tell me? Or is this just your new way of trying to kill each other?” A deep voice asked from behind Bucky.

“Sam! Are you okay?” You escaped Bucky’s grip and rushed to Sam.

He seemed alright to you. He nodded. “Yeah, we just need to get home. I need to notify the team and see what we should do next. What was in those labs?”

You glared at Bucky. His smug face alone was pissing you off, but God right now you wanted to ride that man until the sun came tomorrow morning.

“Just a bunch of useless experiments. Nothing major.” He glared at you as he said the last bit to Sam.

The ride back home was one of the most painful, annoying and frustrating situations you had ever undergone. Each time you felt like someone was watching you, you’d turn your head to the side and find Bucky staring; and his stares would make your body tremble in need.

Meanwhile he was having a hard time too, in more ways than one. He could feel his blood rush south even at the brief sound of your voice whenever you sighed in annoyance or talked to Sam. Luckily the latter could not pick up on the thick, sexual tension.

Once at the compound, you each hurried to your own rooms and that’s where you stayed until the evening. Sam found it weird that you both skipped dinner but he didn’t need another headache today so he went to bed, telling himself that he’d deal with you two tomorrow morning.

Bucky was a mess. Even after an hour under the cold shower his body was still calling out for you. He tried taking care of his business on his own, but that wasn’t working. He was still so hard it was painful. Nothing could make this better, nothing could soothe the pain - nothing but you. He needed you so badly it was driving him insane, like he was an animal in heat being asked to suppress his feral desires towards his mate. Being away from you was painful. He couldn’t help but hate you for no reason at all usually, but he’d do what it takes to be inside you and make you scream his name right now.

You were equally as troubled at the super soldier. You tried taking a warm bath and tried to think of other things you could focus on, but nothing worked. Your toys didn’t seem appealing tonight, you needed him, all of him. You shivered at the thought of his taut, virile body under yours, or above. His masculine scent, the sound of his moans, would he bite?… fuck. You could feel your arousal leak out of you every now and then, it was insane how aroused you were. You couldn’t look at him for long without getting unnecessarily annoyed, but you would do anything just to have him rearrange your guts right now.

What made it worse was that neither of you could stand each other at all. Enemies, you called yourselves. But right now you couldn’t help but crave each other in the most salacious way possible.

Fuck this. You couldn’t take this anymore. You decided to swallow your pride and make your way to his room and ask him if you two could come to an agreement on how to fight this thing because it would be impossible to go another twenty hours feeling like this. You were burning from the inside. This was unbearable.

Just as you opened your bedroom door, you were slightly surprised to find Bucky standing right outside your door. His metal hand up midair, as though he was to knock on your door and you happened to open the door just in time. You almost drooled at the sight of him; sweatpants and a tight, white t-shirt. You swallowed and cleared your throat.

“Hey.” You greeted him, not knowing how to deal with this situation. You felt so drawn to him in that moment, so damn restless and needy that it was hard to breathe right while looking at him.

“I was, uh, about to knock…” He didn’t know how he got here, he didn’t remember. Maybe it was the chemicals messing with his brain and turning him into a hungry beast. He didn’t care that he was knocking on your door in the middle of the night, he wanted you. He was craving you and that’s all he knew. Also the oversized t-shirt, the only you were wearing at the time, was not helping at all.

“Yeah, um…” you rambled then stopped talking the moment you found him staring into your eyes with a wild look in his eyes.

That was it.

You grabbed him by the waistband of his sweats and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. Before Bucky could process anything, you had him pushed against your closed door and your mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily. Your hands slowly slipped under his tight t-shirt and you lazily trailed your hands up and down his toned abs.

His hands gripped your hips on either side as he kissed you back with just as much ardor as you did. His body ignited the moment he felt your lips and hands on him, yet the heat was weirdly satisfying; it stimulated him but calmed him down at the same time. It felt perfect. This was just what he needed, you.

Your movements were rapid and passionate, fiery. Hands roaming each other's body, touching and feeling and exploring; making each other moan like you were both touch-starved.

You let out a soft moan when you felt his tongue slip past your lips, stroking the top of your mouth while his metal hand slipped under your shirt. Your body was tingling wherever he touched you. His touch made you feel way better than you had felt in the past few hours and you were grateful. Your moans sent his mind straight to the gutter and he couldn’t wait to be inside you.

“I need you…” you whispered against his lips as you pulled away to catch your breath. “I need you to fuck me… right here, right now.” Your demands made him smirk as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes.

“Oh?” he managed to still find the energy to be an ass to you. “Why don’t you go on and beg for it, then?”

You scoffed, leaning in to lick his lips while you hand dipped into his pants. You grabbed his erected cock and gave it a little, gentle squeeze. He moaned like he hadn’t been touched in forever. Like he was desperate for one thing and one thing only; you. You whispered, “You need me too, Bucky. I’m not gonna beg you, I’m doing you a favor here.” You slid your closed fist up and down his length and made him moan some more before you let go and watched him groan and clench his jaw in annoyance.

He looked down at you, panting in need just as you were. His hand slid into your hair and he gripped it, tugging on it just enough to make you gasp in pleasure and pain. “Still a fucking brat with that annoying attitude I see?” He leaned in to bite your exposed neck, making your cry out in pain before he licked the spot, soothing it. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you.”

He let go of your hair but tightened his grip around your waist as he placed his mouth back on yours. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow; biting your lip and bruising your already swollen mouth. He was wild, and you needed it and more.

He pushed you down on your bed, and stood back to watch you for a moment. How did he never realize that you were so naturally beautiful? He looked down at you like a predator looking at his meal; fiercely, ready to ruin you and make you scream and beg and satiate his hunger. As well as yours.

“Well, if you’re done staring…” you knelt on your bed and reached out for him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him closer. “I want you in me. Now.” Your demanding tone riled him up.

Bucky grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back again. “If you wanna get fucked, you’re gonna ask nicely. Understood?”

You glared at him, shooting death glares right at him while your hand palmed him through his sweatpants. “I fucking hate you.” You spat at him, whimpering as he pushed you back down on the bed, quickly climbing on top of you this time.

“I hate you too.” He knelt on your bed, straddling your waist as he tore your oversized shirt in half and off your body, throwing the pieces of fabric somewhere on your bedroom floor. You laid beneath him in just your underwear and he growled.

“That was my favorite shirt, you fucking idiot.” You whispered, breathless, shivers dancing down your spine as he traced your mouth with his two fingers, slipping them past your lips once, then twice then trailing his now wet fingers down your neck, till your belly button.

“You think I care?” he leaned down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, kneading the other with his metal hand. The contrast of his warm mouth around one and his cold hand around the other was driving you crazy. He bit, and tugged and licked; making your back arch off the bed as you purred in pleasure.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his erection again to try and alleviate the pain. You were desperate. Bucky pinched and rolled one of your nipples while he lightly grazed the other with his teeth, and you let out a loud moan.

“Please… please, I need you. Please…” You muttered under your breath, knowing he could hear you. Bucky smirked as he pulled away from your chest, ignoring the way his cock throbbed. “What’s so fucking funny?” You grabbed him by the throat, pulling his face closer to yours.

His metal arm reached down in between your legs and he ripped your underwear off. The fabric hurt just a little when it tore against your skin. “Just that it's the first time I heard you asking for something so politely. It’s not so hard after all, is it?”

Now he was pissing you off. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and flipped the two of you around. You got on top of him and straddled his waist, trapping him under you like he had you before. You had better control like this.

You grabbed him by the jaw and leaned in to kiss his lips, fiercely. “Stop fucking playing, Barnes.” You whispered against his lips, grinding against his hard cock again. He closed his eyes and hissed in pleasure as you kissed down to his neck, nibbling on his skin along his throat.

He moaned, hands gripping your hips and guiding you as you rubbed your bare core against his clothed erection. “No? I thought brats liked games?” He mumbled.

You pulled away from his neck and looked down at his smug face. “You are so fucking annoying.” You reached down in between your bodies and lowered his sweatpants all the way down until he kicked them off. You grabbed his cock and stroked him gently, agonizingly slow. He moaned shamelessly, and eventually caught on that you were just teasing him even more.

“Don’t tease me…” he sounded just as breathless as you were.

“Why? Not so fond of games anymore?” you sassed, rubbing your throbbing core against his thigh while you stroked him so gently that he felt like he was losing his mind.

He growled as he grabbed you by the waist and flipped the two of you around, him being on top again. “Enough,” he growled in your ear, “Spread those legs for me.” He ordered, settling in between them as you spread your legs to accommodate him. He grabbed your thighs and parted your legs even more as he aligned the tip of his cock to your opening. “Now stay still, don’t move.”

You braced yourself for him, but nothing could have prepared you for that. His length stretched you open until he was seated deep inside you, filling you up entirely to a point where you couldn’t even think of anything else other than him being balls deep inside you.

You moaned as he removed himself entirely and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear, “Fuck….” you heard him moan; panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you.

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. He kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you over and over again, making your eyes tear up. The burning need subsided a little bit as his cock brushed against all the right spots inside you. “Buck… faster, please,” You whimpered.

He chuckled into your ear, “Needy little brat…” he mumbled as he sped up into you, making you lose your ability to focus on anything else other than him and his body. He pulled away from your face to look down at you, his metal hand coming up to wrap itself around your throat. “This is what you wanted since we left that lab, huh? For me to fuck your greedy little cunt? Hmm?” He taunted as he stretched you out completely. You lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist; allowing him to thrust deeper into you.

You felt tears escaping your eyes as he pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours fucking deeper into you. He was relentless; each moan which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough.

You felt a pressure form in between your hips, your body begging for release. “Bucky… please.” You moaned, begging. For something, anything. You’d take anything at this point. But right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he pulled out.

“Please what?” He surprised himself with how he was able to tease you in this situation when all he wanted was to make both of you cum over and over again.

“I need to cum, Bucky please,” you cried, with tears in your eyes.

Bucky leaned in to kiss your swollen lips, not minding the tears. “Do you deserve it?” He asked, and you nodded immediately, your body shaking with how bad you needed to cum. “Oh you do, do you?”

You nodded again. “Please…please...”

“Well since you asked nicely…” Bucky flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his muscular body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again.

He rocked into you from behind. His hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm against your lower abdomen. He liked how he could feel himself deep inside you with each thrust. And he liked how that drove you insane, he could by the way your walls gripped his cock.

“Feel that, little brat? That’s all you’re good for… to take my cock like a good little slut.” He whispered.

You groaned at the sound of his raspy voice, his words making you milk him even harder. “You wish, you dipshit.” You moaned as he sped up when you least expected it. You whimpered, and he chuckled now that he had you at his mercy.

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he choked you gently as he bent down to whisper in your ear, “I can assure you that no one is ever gonna fuck you this good,” he boasted as he very gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “Fuck… please....” you cried.

You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. “Cum for me. Now.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You came undone, hard and fast; moaning his name as you did. Bucky came right after you.

You collapsed onto your bed, sprawled unevenly and not even caring. Your eyes were shut in fatigue, your heart racing and you could feel Bucky’s body heat right next to you. He was catching his breath too, mumbling something under his breath which you couldn’t catch.

For the first time in hours, you felt at ease. Your body wasn’t yearning anymore, but the hunger was still there. So when Bucky got up to leave, you grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into bed with you.

He smirked as he fell helplessly onto your bed again, right next to you. “You want more, you greedy little brat?”

You punched his arm before getting up and getting on top of him again, sliding your body down his cock. He hissed as you did.

“Just another round.” You whispered, loving the sight of him under you. His tan skin against your white sheets, him moaning as you slowly lifted up and sank back down on his cock. Oh fuck…

You placed your hands on his muscular chest to hold yourself up as you sped up, riding him like you’ve been dreaming of this whole time. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you up and down his cock until you both found a pleasurable pace.

You weren’t going to last too long, but you just needed to have him buried deep inside you again. His thick, girthy cock stretched you open as you took him as best you could, moaning and whimpering desperately as he groaned and gasped under you.

Your walls gripping him and milking him like they had earlier, not even a few minutes ago. You felt the pressure forming nicely in between your hips again. You let out a loud moan as you felt his cock reach places it hadn’t before, turning you into a mess.

His grip on your hips tightened as he brought you down on his cock with force each time and thrusting upwards to fuck you deeper. “Cum for me.” He threw his head back, growling. “Cum for me again…”

Your hand grabbed him by the jaw and you leaned in to press your lips against his, claiming his open mouth and muffling his animalistic growls as you came undone around him again. Your orgasm then triggered his.

You fell limp on top of him right after and he instinctively cradled your head. “You okay?”

You nodded, your sweaty bodies pressed against each other but neither of you minding it. “Yeah.”

Bucky gently rolled to his side, letting you down on your side of the bed. You tried your best to calm your racing heart. Not to mention you felt much, much better than earlier.

Bucky got up to leave again, and you grabbed his hand before he got completely out of your bed. He turned to face you with a smirk then groaned dramatically, “Woman please, I’m not a machine. The pain will subside now, I believe we’ve done pretty good at fucking it out of our systems. I can’t go all night, seriously.”

You were in a haze so his words made you giggle. “You’re really leaving?”

He looked down at you, sprawled on your bed. Your face was glowing, you looked ethereal. “You want me to stay?” He asked, wondering where the sassy brat in you went.

You nodded.

He smirked, getting back into bed next to you, “What, now you're obsessed with me?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up. I’m just saying since I might need you again in the morning, you might as well just sleep here.”

He pretended to be hurt. “Wow.” He didn’t mind that at all. He got under the covers with you, “So… is it just the chemicals or are we…?”

You snuggled closer to his side, he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head under his chin. “Shh, I still hate you.” Your tired, soft voice reminded him of a sleepy kitten.

He held you closer. “Of course.” He looked down at you and saw that you had already fallen asleep on his chest. He cracked a soft smile, whispering under his breath, “Brat.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #sex pollen #tfatws #marvel

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kiridarling · 4 years ago

Text

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎.

katsuki bakugou | competitive sex + f!reader + pro hero!kats + hickeys + hair-pulling + ripping clothes + a surprise guest + more! minors dni.

— 1.8k words

"Text Shitty Deku we're gonna be little late."

“Katsuki. Hands off.”

The ash-blond sighs, grumbling like the petulant child he is before forcing his hands to his sides. Glaring at you through the mirror, he grunts, “Fuckin’ why.”

"Because I'm trying to get ready and you're in the way." You swat his hands away and reach for a brush, rolling your eyes when he ignores everything you just said in favor of hooking his chin around your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. You shrug him off, "Now move."

In your defense, you've been pushed to your limit.

You two are already late enough for the Gala as it is, you know, the one that's exclusively for pro heroes. And yet, for some reason, today's the day your boyfriend's brain seems to be in his dick.

Katsuki digs his teeth into your neck, hard enough to make you whimper before you rip his head away by the strands of his hair. He growls in frustration, the grip on your waist ever-tightening.

"Y'know...if people saw the type of shit you pull in private, they'd think you were the aggressive one."

"You let me get away with it," you respond absentmindedly, leaning towards the mirror until the cool from the counter presses into your gut. Mistake.

"Right. I've been too fuckin' soft, huh?" Katsuki says more to himself than to you before he's forcing you over the sink with a heavy hand on your back; the metal from the faucet knocks you in the collarbone. "That shit changes today."

"I—Kats, we don't have ti—" but the indisputable sound of ripping cloth bounces off your bathroom walls, and the addition of cool air brushing your inner thighs implies precisely what you hope he didn't just do.

His phone clatters on the counter before he's nudging your legs wider, nestling between them, and settling on his knees.

"Text Shitty Deku we're gonna be late."

"Katsuki Bakugou, did you just rip my fucking stockings?" You howl, grip tightening around the marble countertop in fury. Katsuki growls, delivering a heavy slap to your ass.

"I said fuckin' text him."

Your chest rises and falls with indignance, and yet you're punching in the code to his phone anyway, telling Izuku to reserve two spots at the table next to him because you two won't be able to do it yourselves.

"D'ya send it?" Katsuki asks, having a blast as he kneads your exposed ass to the point where it's sore. You nod, dropping the six-by-four box onto the countertop in resignation, and the ash-blond's chest rumbles at that, hand disappearing only to crack back down twice as hard. "Good girl."

Pushing your panties to the side, Katsuki wastes no time in sliding in his finger to the first knuckle, grinning when you shudder against him. You squeal as his teeth graze your inner thigh, and he hikes your knee onto the couch, dismissing how much you complain about the burn.

"What? Can't get a better view?" He growls, cheeky bastard, before he's sucking a hickey into your thigh because he knows you like it and pushing his finger in the rest of the way. You narrow your eyes, glaring at the small sliver of his smug face you can actually see in the mirror—and he's quickly filling you with a second finger, chuckling at your moan.

"You shouldn't have a view in the first place," you grumble, insistent on standing your ground. "You should be viewing the road because we're supposed to be driving right now."

"That's a real fuckin' pity then," Katsuki responds apathetically, lips pink as he moves to suck another hickey—closer to the apex of your thighs this time. You whimper as he scissors his fingers and passes a messy thumb over your clit, hips burning from holding this position for so long. With a final lick, Katsuki pulls away from his third or fourth mark (you're not too sure) and smacks his lips. "On the sink."

"On the c—Katsuki we have to g—wah!"

Katsuki takes it upon himself to hook his arms under your thighs and hoist you onto the cool thing, sending all miscellaneous bathroom items flying. You sigh, accepting the fact that you're probably not going to make it out of the house tonight as your back kisses the freezing glass, and Katsuki pushes your knees as far back as they'll go.

He curls a lip, and then he spits, getting saliva all over your pussy and thighs, and it's wholly and utterly lewd. And yet, you bite your lip at the feeling, and he grins, knowing you like it just as much as you'll say you hate it.

"You're a fuckin' dirty girl, y'know that?" Katsuki's eyes go dark. You huff, threading a hand through his ash-blond locks to tug—and you're the one grinning when he moans.

"I'm not the one who's making us skip a mandatory gala to get his dick wet," you quip with a raised eyebrow, and your hand never leaves his hair. "Am I?"

Katsuki growls with a curled lip, but you know better, and so does the clammy grip on your thigh. You tug on his hair again, and suddenly you're full of him, yelping in surprise as your arms scramble for his back for better purchase instead.

"What was that?" He asks breathily, hiding a groan behind a bitten lip. You're just thankful he's giving you time to adjust, or so you think, until he almost pulls out entirely before his hips snap forwards as hard as they can, knocking your spine into the mirror and a bottle of lotion onto the floor.

You moan, hands searching for his hair again because you know it's one of the only things that will provide a one-up—Katsuki bares his teeth at that, bending over to suck a mark into your neck and his hips continue to fuck you into tomorrow.

"You fit like a goddamn glove," Katsuki wheezes, the grip he has around your stocking-covered thigh edging on bruising. "So tight around me—fuck—"

"K-Kats—" you grapple for his dress shirt so hard it tears, causing you to crash against the counter and make more of a mess that's already been made. The ash-blond's hips don't do anything but speed up though, filling you to the point where a deep breath feels like too much.

"Fuck baby, you're so goddamn needy," Katsuki grabs your attention by your jaw with a gritty chuckle, "But this shit's only for me, ain't it? 'Cause you're fuckin' mine."

You whimper with a nod, nails latching onto hot and sticky skin now. Katsuki hisses as they rake down his back, but that only makes you want to dig in harder.

"Fuckin' say it—tell me you're mine and no one else's," he challenges with a glint in his carmine red eyes, and something in your gut churns underneath it. Something painfully primal and raw, which has you howling out:

"'M yours, only yours!"

You jolt when his thumb returns to your clit and refuses to let up. Katsuki growls at that, somehow finding the stamina to speed up—and gripping your shoulder for leverage. You moan, eyes fluttering as his cock reaches the deepest it has tonight, and you’re sure Katsuki can tell as well if his curse is anything to go by.

Ring, ring! Ring ring!

Surprisingly, Katsuki's phone survived the purge and still sits on the counter, albeit teetering on the edge of absolute destruction. The ash-blond catches it before it falls and has the nerve to swipe right, not allowing you to fit in an objection or any say in this at all.

"The fuck do you want, Deku?" He grunts, putting the phone on speaker before he sets it back down. You eep in protest, but all he does is mouth the words quiet, baby. So you're huff, biting onto the meat of your palm for extra precaution.

"Um, Kacchan? Where are you guys?" The greenette's voice echoes off the bathroom walls to the point where it's nearly comical how clueless he is, and yet Katsuki refuses to slow down. "People are starting to ask when you're getting here..."

"Not fuckin' goin'," Katsuki's sweat drips from his brow onto your chest, and all of a sudden, you're aware of how painfully close you are, but hold back in fear of making too much noise. Izuku sighs through the phone, and you can feel his disappointment from here.

"I—Kacchan, you can't just opt out of these things, you know," Izuku says, echoing your words from earlier. "Mandatory means you have to attend."

"Yeah, well, I got better shit to do, Deku," the ash-blond spits, though he's grinning like the devil because the asshole knows you're close, he can just tell at this point, and you hate how well he knows your body.

"It doesn't matter if you don't want to go, Kacchan!" The pro-hero shrills, voice peaking out of pure frustration. "This is mandatory. As in, M-A-N-D-A-T—"

Katsuki hangs up.

"Why is everyone so goddamn mouthy these days?" He grunts, primarily to himself, and somehow you have the will to giggle. Katsuki's eyebrows furrow as you tighten around him, spurred when the head of his cock nudges the perfect spot, and his nails start to tear into what's left of your stockings as he shudders, "I—fuck baby, I'm gonna cum."

"What? Being on the phone with Izuku got you all riled up or something?" You jest breathily, and Katsuki growls, slapping your outer thigh.

"Don't fuckin' bring the nerd up right now," he wheezes, and you resist the urge to quip back—mainly because you're close yourself. You reach to pull Katsuki's hair again and his hips stutter, eyes fluttering with a breathy moan as he finally fills you up, keening over to dig his teeth into your neck. And his orgasm is only the catalyst for your own, thumping your hands against his chest as your body ignites like a live wire, toes curling and eyes screwed shut.

Katsuki stays seated in you as he catches his breath, head resting on the cool mirror with his ash-blond hair mattes brown to his forehead. He's always uncharacteristically soft while basking in his afterglow, face and chest flushed bright red from exertion as his eyes soften in a way he rarely lets them.

"You good?" He pants, chest still heaving as he blinks down at your exhausted figure. Somehow, you find the energy to nod.

"I don't feel like leaving anymore, though," you declare towards the ceiling. Katsuki clicks his tongue.

"Was hopin' you'd say that," he says gruffly—you narrow your eyes but bite your tongue. "Wanna watch a movie?"

A movie doesn't sound...bad.

You sigh in defeat (again), though jolting when Katsuki's phone rings. He quickly presses red, and 9 missed calls from shitty fucking deku is the first notification on his home screen. You two share a look—the ash-blond shrugs.

"What? I told the fucker I had better shit to do."

wrote this for a friends bday and i was like,,,i guess i could put it here too...

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #bakugou smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years ago

Note

I absolutely love all your writing! It has honestly brought me so much joy, so thank you

I saw in one of your posts, you mentioned consensual non-con… how do you think Henry and his characters would feel about doing that with their SO? Xx

Did I? There I go revealing my kinks again…

Here you go Anon. I don’t know how good this is, I’m on almost no sleep, Sorry...

Warnings: Obviously discussion of consensual non-consent.

Masterlist

Consensual Non-Consent (CNC) Headcanon

Below the cut

Henry

Henry wouldn’t suggest playing around with CNC, however, he would give it a go if you wanted to. It would tickle his creative side and he would bring all his acting talents in the scene. He would create a character, figure out his back story, discover his motivations and would plan out a tailor-made scenario to ensure your fantasy lived up to expectations. He would want to ensure you had clear boundaries, a safe word and what gain an idea of what kind of aftercare you would expect. He would also want to talk about what happened after to make sure you were ok with how it went.

Captain Syverson

Sy is game to try almost anything in the bedroom if you’re into it. He is the consent King in my opinion so if he is clear that you are into it, he will do it. Much like Henry, he will want to establish clear boundaries and preparations to ensure you are safe. He will treat it like any other mission, preparation is the key. He will create a clear plan of what he will do and have contingencies in place in case something goes wrong. He would surprise attack you; you wouldn’t know when it was going to happen. While he may be a bit hesitant to go all the way, but once he feels you struggle beneath him, something ignites the primal urges in his brain and he loves it so much that next time you do it, it will be at his suggestion.

August Walker

Of course, August would be up for it. August loves hearing his sweet girl telling him her fantasies, however this one does puzzle him a little. He can’t quite work out how it would be any different to any other time he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants. He supposes he can wear a mask if that will help.

Walter Marshall

Walter would take some convincing. Not because he isn’t into the idea, he absolutely is… possibly a little too much. Walter has a dark side that he keeps under wraps as much as he can when he is at home, that dark side is for work and work alone. He would be worried about losing control and going too far, pushing to a place that too dark, a place he won’t come back from. Eventually he agrees, but he is adamant that not only do you need to use your safe word if things go too far, but that he has a safe word too, a way to step back if he feels like he is going to get lost. He trusts you to be honest and protect yourself and him.

Geralt of Rivia

There isn’t much that happens in a bedroom Geralt hasn’t tried, he is decades older than you after all. When you suggest it to Geralt he agrees readily, and a small smile pulls at his lips. For a moment you are jealous, thinking of the woman he must have done it with before. But you quickly realise that’s not why he’s smiling as he says, “Are you going to start running, little rabbit, or shall I just take you here?” You run.

Mike

Sigh. Mike is into it, really into it. The problem is you just can’t take him seriously. He tries to attack you, jumping out from behind the door with such a playful “Boo!” that you can’t help but laugh. You eventually give up, loving your sweet puppy for his playfulness and forget about your fantasy.

Tag List 1

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67

#henry cavill headcanon #captain syverson headcanon #august walker headcanon #mike hellraiser headcanon #walter marshall headcanon #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

Text

Green (Bucky x Reader)

Word Count: ~3k

***Warnings*** : Graphic and explicit consensual non-consent. It’s all pre-negotiated roleplay, but it includes fighting, struggling, spitting, scratching, the whole nine yards.

A/N: The companion fic to Red. You do not need to read that first; this stands on its own. However, without that as an introduction, there’s no obvious indication until about two-thirds into the fic that what’s happening is consensual.

More on this in another note at the end, but thanks to @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @katwillrise @mskathywriteswords @cracksinthewalls @littlegreenplasticsoldier @stunudo and the rest of the Slack squad for helping me sort out my feelings about “dark” fic, and for being a safe space to talk through stuff like this. This was really fucking difficult for me to write, but I’m glad I did.

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

- From “Wild Geese,” by Mary Oliver

It’s just like any other Friday night, until it’s not.

One moment I’m turning on the light in the entryway, hanging up my coat — next there’s a prickle down my spine, some primal reptile-brain instinct —

Run! Now!

— but there’s no time to recognize it for what it is. My body isn’t in the habit of being threatened; my body is tired and lazy, moving on autopilot through the comforting routine of Friday night. In the heartbeat between instinct and action, he pounces.

The hand over my mouth is metal: unyielding, unliving, chilling me down to my core, and if it wasn’t for the heat of the rest of his body all down my back, I wouldn’t assume he was human. His right arm is around my ribs, locking me in place, and it feels feverish in contrast but it’s trapping me as securely as if it was iron.

I can’t reconcile the cool metal against the human warmth, or the awful metallic tang mingled with the barely-there whiff of sweat. My mind is moving all jerky and slow. I can’t make sense of this.

Doesn’t matter, though, because I’m trapped anyway, like a wild animal in a snare. Trying to make sense of it won’t change the fact that vicious iron jaws snapped shut around me.

It was just like any other Friday night.

Panic clutches around my lungs all at once, adrenaline flooding in, and everything in me screams, fight back.

I thrash and squirm in his grasp, but he has my arms pinned down at my sides, and I’m small and helpless against the solid wall of muscle that is his chest. My raw strangled gasps come out as tiny hitched sobs, muffled by metal, barely audible in the still half-dark entryway of my apartment. He leans back, hefting me up so that my feet don’t quite touch the floor any more, like I weigh nothing, and takes a few steps away from the door.

“Don’t make a sound,” he snaps, before spinning me around, slamming me back against the wall and pinning me there with his metal hand at my throat.

Panic makes everything sharper. It’s too sharp, sharp like the shadows cast by the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, sharp like the way he’s watching me with pale hard eyes.

“Why — why are you here?”

He tilts his head, considering me.

“I was sent,” he says simply, in a low rasp of a voice.

“What do you want?”

Something cracks open in his eyes, like a tectonic shift bringing magma to the surface, and then the strangest expression spreads slowly over his features, fierce hunger and wild terror all at once. Fear splinters like lightning down my spine.

“Take off your clothes,” he says quietly. “Let me see you.”

I lash out with both hands, ready to claw at his eyes, but with his arm outstretched, he’s just out of my reach; when I scratch and slap at the metal wrist, he doesn’t even seem to notice, and when I strain against his grip, I only succeed in choking myself. Black spots dance across my vision, and I draw ragged wheezing breaths, clutching uselessly at the sleeve of his black leather jacket, still twitching and twisting feebly.

At least he can’t undress me with one hand, I think, for one absurd second.

Then his free hand twitches down to his side, and he’s raising a knife. Dark oxidized metal gleams in his fingers. I freeze, staring at the wickedly honed edge of it as he brings it closer, holding it up at eye level before lowering it slowly.

The tip hooks under the first button of my blouse, and when he flicks the blade upward, the fabric separates like it’s nothing. I barely dare to breathe as he cuts my shirt open, one button at a time, with surgical precision. The knife is so close to my skin that one wrong move could slice into me.

When the ruined remains of my blouse gape open, he lowers the blade, ready to cut through the waistband of my skirt, and my frayed nerves snap.

“Don’t,” I blurt out. “I’ll do it. I’ll cooperate.”

I unzip it, trying to step out of it without moving my head, still trapped by the constant silent threat of his fingers around my throat.

He sheathes the knife so that he can push my shirt roughly down my arms. My bra straps follow; he tugs them down my shoulders and reaches around to pop the clasp open, and when it falls, he pauses, licking his lips as he gazes up and down my body, taking in the revealed skin.

There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when they meet mine for a long, frozen moment. He draws a breath like he’s about to say something, and his grip loosens a fraction.

I’m not done fighting.

I spit in his face, and when he flinches, I wrench myself away, twisting out of his grasp, bolting down the hall toward the bedroom door.

Just as I wonder whether he’s reconsidered, whether he’ll let me go, he snarls, “You’ll regret that.”

I go down hard and fast when he tackles me, barely getting my arms out in time to break my fall, and the impact sends a flash of pain through one elbow but there’s no time to think about that — no time to feel it — not when I’m thrashing and kicking and squirming — but he’s too strong, too heavy — I almost writhe away but then he rolls me onto my back — pins me, sitting on my thighs — and my fists are swinging, flailing uselessly against his face and shoulders, but he doesn’t even seem to notice — and I let out a desperate sob as I realize I’m helpless again.

I want to scream, but there isn’t enough breath in my lungs.

He shuffles up on his knees until he’s straddling my waist, looming over me, blocking out everything else, and he snatches my wrists as I beat my fists against his stomach and chest. His lip curls, baring his teeth in a feral approximation of a smile, and he gathers my wrists together so he can hold them in the bruising circle of his metal fingers.

Flesh fingertips dig cruelly into the hinge of my jaw, forcing it open, and he leans forward to spit into my open mouth — something twists and clenches deep in my gut as I sputter and choke, skin crawling with disgust.

“Not so nice, is it?” he sneers, sitting back on his heels.

Worn black denim stretches over muscular thighs as he shifts, drawing attention to the fact that he’s hard — the thick shape of his cock is obvious, straining against the fabric.

My eyes snap back to his face, but it’s too late. He chuckles, throaty and smug, and then he rubs himself through his jeans, squeezing roughly, making it impossible to ignore his arousal.

“Is that what you want?” he asks — taunts — and I shake my head frantically, throat too tight to speak. He smirks and drops his hand to my chest, tweaking one nipple hard enough to make me yelp. He shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall, and light catches the dark metal plates of his arm.

Hot stinging tears well up and roll down my temples, blurring my vision, but not before I see his fingers on the button of his jeans, popping it open.

“No,” I choke out. “No. Please, please, please —”

He has to move to shove his jeans down, has to let me go for a moment — a fresh wave of adrenaline surges up with sickening speed, and I scramble back, twist, flop onto my stomach — it’s graceless and uncoordinated but I’m not giving in, not yet. I’m army-crawling out from under the cage of his body and I’m almost free — almost — but before I can get up on my hands and knees he’s yanking my panties down.

Panic rises to a crescendo.

I shriek — thin and pathetic even to my own ears — too frantic to even see straight, and then my breath is punched from my lungs as his hand slams down between my shoulderblades and crushes me to the cold hard floor. I curl an arm around my head protectively, burying my face in the crook of my elbow, and I whimper into the dark space it makes, trying to hide from what’s about to happen.

My body is vibrating with tension like a rubber band about to snap, every muscle clenched so tight it hurts, and when I feel the blistering-hot pressure of his cock between my thighs I almost snap.

“Struggle all you want,” he growls. “Won’t make a difference.”

And it doesn’t make a difference. He shoves, and after a split-second of resistance he’s slamming into me with skull-rattling force. He grunts as he grinds in, working himself into me as deep as he can be.

The weight lifts from my upper back, and I suck in a desperate breath, only to sob it out again as he braces himself on his left hand and tangles the right in my hair. It stings, but somewhere along the line I’ve lost the ability to feel pain as pain; it’s only another sensation, and it’s eclipsed completely by the flint-to-tinder flare as he starts to move.

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but I can’t hold back a moan.

It’s too much, too fucking much, he’s too big, wrenching me apart, taking up every bit of space inside me and forcing me to accept the intrusion. There’s no rational thought left beyond I can’t take this.

There’s nothing rational about it, though.

Something catches and sparks — ignites — and wildfire licks up my spine before bursting out through every inch of me. It’s going to burn me alive, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

There’s nothing wrong with it, I try to tell myself, but shame slithers through my belly anyway.

I’ve never been this wet in my entire fucking life.

I’m breathing fast and panicked, I’m naked and squirming on the gritty floor, and it’s humiliating, and it hurts… but friction is friction, and my traitor of a body is slick and eager even though my rational brain is screaming for it to stop.

“Stop,” I choke out. “Stop, don’t —”

“Don’t what? Don’t make you come? Don’t make you admit how much you like this? Not fightin’ back any more, are you?”

I sob and shudder, squeezing helplessly around him. “Please.”

“Shit, can feel you gettin’ close — gotta see this,” he says, panting harshly, and then he’s pulling out, grabbing at my shoulder to flip me onto my back.

He hooks an arm up under my knee to open me up and drives in deep again, and I spasm around him, spine arching so forcefully my head slams back against the floor. He’s wild-eyed and wrecked, but he stops for the space of a jagged-edged inhale, pausing, slack-jawed with shock when I look dazedly up at him.

“Green,” I breathe, and slap him across the jaw with a crack.

He moans and surges forward all at once, hips snapping down, and the pleasure-pain coils tighter inside me, ratcheting up to new impossible heights.

I’m not going to stop fighting — not now, not ever, no matter how good it feels. I hit and scratch and claw, and when my nails catch on his cheek he gasps, rhythm faltering for the first time.

He’s scorching-hot, steely-hard, every thrust a solid filthy smack against my skin, a vicious stretch pushing me to my limit — and it hurts, it hurts, but the adrenaline makes the pain feel faint and distant, and the pleasure is raw and immediate and building (faster by the second) into something inescapable.

I can feel it starting to overwhelm me. My muscles are seizing up, but I’m fighting back on pure animal instinct, still. I grab him by the throat with one hand, pull his hair with the other, and his face is the last thing I see before my world dissolves: cheek bleeding from a rough scratch, features contorted, mouth open in a wide red O that’s somehow, unmistakably, a smile.

Bucky is breathing just as hard as I am, when I swim to the surface again.

We’re both drawing deep wet gulps of air, gasping on each exhale. I twine my arms around his neck limply, resting one palm between his shoulders so I can measure the rise and fall of his lungs.

I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, but I feel everything: every little tremor and twitch that goes through him, the slick warm tickle of aftershocks as he starts to go soft inside me. His face is buried against the side of my neck, and his right hand cups my cheek, so very gentle, thumb stroking my temple and wiping away tears. He kisses me softly where my pulse hammers under the skin.

My heart is racing, beating against my ribs like a wild bird caught in a cage, but my head seems very far away from the mess of my body.

I whimper when he pulls back, but he doesn’t go far, not yet — I can hear the barely-there rasp of fabric as he shifts.

“Can’t believe you’re still wearing pants,” I mumble, slurring like I’m drunk.

“Wearing is a generous word,” he says flatly.

It’s a weak impersonation of his usual deadpan snark, but I let out a cracked giggle, and for a hysterical second I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop giggling.

Bucky whispers, “Gonna get you up now, okay?”

He slides his hand under my head, cradling the back of my skull, and kisses my sweaty forehead before gathering me in his arms. He sits up carefully, pulling me against his chest and letting me burrow into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

Then there’s a disorienting swoop of motion that means he’s standing up. I feel fragile and strange as he walks, like something inside me will break if it’s jostled, but I trust him to keep me safe. He nudges the barely-open bedroom door with his hip, easing us through it, and behind my closed lids the quality of the darkness changes as he steps toward the soft golden glow of my bedside lamp.

“Not going anywhere, just going to put you down for one second,” he warns me.

The comforter is already pulled back when he settles me on the bed, and he pulls it up around me, wrapping me up.

“Water,” he says quietly, holding the glass to my lips, and I sip carefully. “Juice? Something sweet?”

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

He steps back. I hear the soft thump of his shirt and jeans dropping to the floor, the click of his dog tags as he puts them back on, and then he’s sliding into bed next to me. I shift closer and trace the chain around his neck, touching the familiar imprint of letters in the metal.

My swollen lids are heavy when I open my eyes, and they sting when I finally look up at him, taking in his puffy parted lips and the red line of dried blood on his cheek where I scratched him. It’s already healing, it’ll be gone within a couple hours, but I brush my finger over it anyway, making an apologetic face.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. He clears his throat and swallows hard. “I’m the one who — I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about. It was…”

I don’t know how to finish that sentence; I shrug, helpless, dizzy with the enormity of getting exactly what I wanted — of getting what I never thought I’d be able to ask for, let alone have.

His lashes are wet, his eyes shining in the low light, and that’s when it really starts to sink in. I shiver, and then I can’t stop shivering, and I curl forward, burying my face in his chest.

It’s hard to believe that the world is still turning and even harder to believe that he’s still here.

“God, sweetheart, you were incredible,” he whispers, voice breaking, wrapping me up in his arms and kissing the top of my head.

Shuddery, convulsive sobs wrack my body, one after another, and I don’t try to hold them back even though they’re so powerful I’m afraid they’ll crack my ribs on the way out. The tears are nothing to be ashamed of. It’s more like they’re physical evidence of shame leaving my body, purging it with each ugly sound wrenched from my throat.

I never would’ve said it out loud if we hadn’t stumbled into his violent fantasies. There’s nothing wrong with you, I told him, and I sounded so sure, but I still had a hard time believing it about myself. My rational mind knew that it was natural… but it was like knowing that the person who grabbed me tonight was the same man holding me now — it was like knowing he would never hurt me, but feeling my body panic anyway.

Bucky holds me, crooning nonsense fragments against my hair, until it subsides.

I sit up enough to look at him, and I’m conscious of how blotchy and swollen my face must be, but I let him brush away my tears. I feel soft and raw inside where I’d been holding all that guilt. Everything is starting to ache.

“God, we’re a mess,” I say thickly. He lets out a huff of laughter.

“I love you,” he blurts out. His eyes go a little wide, like that wasn’t what he intended to say.

“I love you too,” I say, wobbly but warm, and I duck my head again, resting with my ear over his chest to hear his heartbeat.

His sigh is long and shaky.

“Yeah, we’re a mess,” he whispers. “Feels good though. Feels human.”

fin.

N.B: If you’ve spent any amount of time around my masterlist, you probably will have noticed that one of my favorite subjects is the shame people (especially women) frequently feel about sex in general and their fantasies in particular. I also really love writing enthusiastic consent, and so in a way this is very different from anything I’ve written before.

I have trouble with the way a lot of fanfiction seems to glorify coercive or under-negotiated dom/sub scenes, and most so-called “dark” fic is triggery for me in its oversimplification of things like rape fantasies; they’re normal and common and natural, but frequently the way they’re written has the same flat, male-gaze approach as a lot of exploitative porn, which I hate. Rape has never been a fantasy for me personally (although it has been an actual life experience) but my #1 fantasy is finding the sort of trust and partnership and support that would make this sort of roleplay emotionally safe. I also just felt compelled to tackle the challenge of writing about something that is often considered so shameful, and writing about it in a way that neither romanticizes or demonizes it.

So. Yeah. In case you need a reminder: don’t punish your body for what it wants.

(If you liked this, please reblog or leave a message?)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #mcu #mcu fic #tw rape #tw: rape #consensual non-consent

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ibelongtowrath · 4 years ago

Text

Kitten - Satan x Reader

Warnings // 18+/NSFW, female reader, kitten play (cat ears, collar, tail), daddy kink, praise in the form of “good girl,” brat taming, spanking, vaginal sex Word Count: ~1.6k

Happy Day 9 of Obey MEmber, Satan Day! As we all know, I’m hot for Satan, so I had to write something for him for his dedicated day. Again, horny writing brain go brrr, that’s basically been the inspiration behind most of my stories lately. And again I suck at thinking of titles.

Late on the eve of a weekend night after a long, grueling week of exams, Satan reaches towards his nightstand to grab the silken emerald rope draped across the ancient wood. He places it onto the bed, still unsure of whether he’ll be using it tonight. A slight breeze sneaks in through the small crack in his window, the warm, Devildom night air caressing your face in a gentle tendril as the branches of the trees wave outside, almost knowingly, as if watching and waving in anticipation.

The demon runs his nails down the small of your back, a small shiver traveling up your spine with the motion. Grinning, he digs into your soft, delicate skin just a bit harder, leaving light scratches in their wake. He pulls you to him, pressing his chest against your back, leaning in to nip at the place where your neck and your shoulder meet, trailing a hand down your arm.

“Such a good girl you are for me, aren’t you, my sweet kitten?” Satan purrs into your ear, letting his warm breath ticklish.

You swallow, thighs pressed together. The collar adorning your neck bobs with the movement, complete with a silver bell. A soft jingle sounds as it moves, and Satan dips a finger just beneath the tight leather band, gently tugging you closer to him, until the space between your bodies is barely noticeable. Playfully, he reaches up to your hair, where your soft, fur-covered cat ears lay, matching perfectly with the color of your hair. He runs his fingers over them with another grin, admiring how natural they look on you, chuckling softly as you instinctively flick them cutely a few times at his touch.

“The spell worked perfectly,” Satan remarks. “I was able to give you only select feline qualities while keeping the rest of your body in its delectably human form. Don’t you love it, kitten?”

“I do,” you nod with a smile. This is fun.

“You do…?”

“I do… Daddy.”

“That’s a good girl.”

Kissing the top of your head, Satan strokes the ears one final time before stepping back, studying your backside.

“While I do enjoy these,” he continues, “I believe this is my favorite part.”

Satan runs a hand over the ample curve of your behind, where a fluffy cat tail lay, just above your tailbone.

“Yes, I believe I’ll have quite a bit of fun with this,” the demon says with a wolfish grin. “The spell is set to wear off in 24 hours, but I admit, the thought of keeping you this way forever is far too tempting to ignore, hm?”

“I do like the look,” you tell him, teasing him with your tail.

He chuckles and begins massaging the base of it, savoring your soft moan as he caresses the new, albeit temporary, appendage. Pressing his free hand to the small of your back, he urges you to bend over the bed. You comply, resting your arms on the mattress and laying your head atop them.

“Open yourself to me, my sweet kitten,” he commands.

Nodding in agreement, your back arches. Gently, he pushes a knee between your thighs to part them with a deep, guttural growl, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest.

“Good girl.”

The sight of you spread before him ignites a primal urge within. Despite your feline features, Satan is the one that studies you like a predator ready to pounce on its prey, eager to sink his teeth into your delectable flesh to satiate the hunger within. Your arousal coats your wet heat, practically dripping onto the wooden floors, shining in the low candlelit haze of his hastily-cleaned bedroom, books askew. Satan runs his fingers in a slow motion between your legs, teasing the sensitive skin of your core. Groaning at the feel of your abundant wet excitement, he leans over your pliant body, cock pressing against your back as he bites your shoulder, leaving a set of angry red marks behind that will surely bruise later.

“You’re so wet, kitten,” Satan growls, biting you once more. “You’re already coating my fingers. Does being my little plaything turn you on? Make you so excited to be my mindless little toy and purr for me as I wreck that pretty little pussy of yours that you can’t help but gush between your legs at the mere thought?”

His thumb circles your clit, savoring the sinfully sweet melody of your lewd moans. You bite your lip, pushing back against him, desperate to feel his cock drag between your walls, stretching your core to its limit. Chuckling darkly against the back of your neck, he hooks two fingers beneath your collar, pulling on it ever so slightly as you gasp.

“Ah, it seems as though my kitten is in heat, hm?” Satan remarks, smirking against your skin. “So hungry for my cock, ready to be filled and bred like a proper little cumslut.”

He slides two fingers into your heat, curling and pumping them skillfully. Pulling his hand from your collar, he moves it to his cock, stroking himself slowly as he watches his fingers disappear into your wet, quivering pussy, practically throbbing with need.

“Now… I want you on the bed on all fours, arching your back so sweetly for me, just like this. Am I understood, kitten?” Satan asks, adding another small nibble for emphasis.

A wicked plan formulates at the forefront of your mind, and you can’t help but grin, knowing you may full well regret this very, very soon. You have not a care in the world at this moment, though, deciding to test the waters to see the Avatar of Wrath’s reaction to your open defiance. Raising your eyebrows at the demon behind you, your lips part to utter a single word.

“No.”

Satan pauses his ministrations, his brow furrowed in questioning.

“I don’t believe I stuttered, kitten,” he says slowly. His fingers move back to your collar, slipping underneath. “On the bed. Now.”

“Make me,” comes your reply, cool and confident, grinning wickedly.

Is it unwise to challenge the Avatar of Wrath? Probably.

Is it fun? Most definitely.

A loud growl tears from Satan’s throat through clenched teeth, the sound quickly turning into an angered snarl as he tugs you forward by the collar as you let out a surprised yelp, forcing you into a standing position. He bites into your neck, harder this time, nearly breaking the skin before his hands move to your waist, picking you up and placing you onto his bed with force.

“My kitten appears to be very feisty tonight,” Satan snarls, reaching for the silken tie and unraveling it swiftly. “Perhaps she is in need of a firm reminder of exactly who is in charge here. Me.”

Grabbing your wrists roughly, the soft, cool fabric kisses your skin as the demon makes quick work of binding your arms together, laying them flat against your back. He grins at his handiwork before placing his hand onto your back and pushing down, effectively forcing it to arch high into the air, your cheek to the mattress. Your head turns to the side, studying his handsome face and the way he smirks, completely smug.

“Are you going to behave now, kitten, and be a good girl for Daddy?” Satan asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Hmm… maybe,” you retort, wondering what he will decide to do with you next.

Another growl escapes Satan as he, without warning, lifts an arm into the air; the next second, your jaw clenches, letting out a sharp hiss of pain as a hand smacks hard against the delicately soft skin of your ass cheek. He rubs the sore spot for a few moments before giving you another smack, relishing your cries as the residual cracking noise cuts through the otherwise still silence of his chambers.

“That’s not the answer I wanted to hear, kitten,” he says, his voice now in a low timbre, almost sultrily, but laced with frustration and annoyance at your continued disobedience.

Deciding to tease you further, Satan moves behind you, positioning his cock between your legs. He suppresses the urge to fuck into you right then and there, your wetness coating his length, reigniting that primal desire to have his way with you and fill you with his seed. You want it, too, in the way that your hips instinctively move to push back against him, to coax him inside you, throbbing with need.

“Do you think I’m going to reward you for your bratty behavior, MC?” Satan chuckles, teasing his cock at your entrance. “Only good little girls get rewarded. Are you going to behave for me now, or do I need to fuck this attitude out of you?”

You whimper in response, then attempt to cover your mouth with a hand. Tugging at the restraints, you remember that you have no use of your arms, opting instead to shake your head. Satisfied with your reaction, he laughs once more, placing another firm smack on your ass.

“I suppose I will have to simply fuck you into submission,” Satan purrs. “It seems my pretty little kitten has forgotten who her pleasure belongs to. Who it is that makes her body bend to their will, whose name falls helplessly from her lips in screams of pleasure every time she cums.”

His hands move to your hips, gripping the skin tightly, leaving small bruises in the indentations of his fingers.

“Face in the sheets, kitten,” he instructs, voice laden with silk, “or my hips will do it for you.”

Sliding his cock into your tight, wet heat, Satan’s hips begin snapping into you mercilessly, barely gives you time to react. Your face presses into the mattress, stifling your loud, gasping, breathy moans of pleasure.

“Good girls get to feel good. Good girls get to cum,” he rasps. He groans at the sensation, the feel of you so familiarly delicious, head tipping back in pleasure for a few brief moments. Reaching for your tail, he yanks on it lightly before pressing his chest to your back to growl into your ear.

“Purr for me, my sexy little kitten, and show me that you can be a good girl.”

#obey me #obey me satan #satan obey me #obeyme #obeyme satan #satan obeyme #obey me satan x reader #shall we date obey me #obey me shall we date #satan x reader #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me lemon

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renegadeontherunn · 3 years ago

Note

19 for the prompts if you haven’t receive it yet <3

of course jas my beloved!!!! thank you so much for the ask <3333

19. "You were supposed to be there." // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

The Force is just as surprised as they are.

So when a flash of orange darts around the corner accompanied by two white blurs, Anakin and Obi-Wan don’t even get the chance to blink in appropriate surprise before they’re on the ground. A knock to Obi-Wan’s head and in the delay, his wrists are bound with Force suppressors. He half crumples when they make the fatal click, strength, peace, power smothered under frigid metal.

Ahsoka almost feels bad.

Almost.

The real pain comes after weeks in those horrible cuffs, the hole in your head, in the air, where your whole life used to reside growing sharper, hungrier, darker. But Obi-Wan will understand that soon enough. Just like she had.

“Ahsoka?”

It’s Anakin—isn’t it always?—and his voice is dripping with shock. One of the guards Ahsoka had taken with her on this little hunt, Cross, has Anakin’s arms wrenched behind his back, but the Force suppressors still dangle from his belt. Ahsoka is banking on Anakin’s confusion, his attachment, to keep him weak. She can’t take that same chance with Obi-Wan.

“Ahsoka you—you’re here.” His eyes are wide like a child’s, and Ahsoka can practically see all the things he wants to say crowding behind his tongue. “What’s going on? Are—are you alright?”

It’s been months since she’s seen either of them and when she’d trudged down the steps of the Temple this was certainly not how she’d expected their reunion to go. A small part of Ahsoka, the part that’s still the other one, grips her ribs and screams to be let out. To reach out to her Master, her brother, to slip back into the spot between him and Obi-Wan where she’d fit so well for years. Her throat grows tight. Ahsoka despises her. And so she leans harder on the Force like she’s been taught and hopes the voice—voices—will die out in agony. Starting with his.

“Ahsoka?”

Obi-Wan hasn’t spoken yet. Silence is a weapon too and Ahsoka doesn’t appreciate such chilling indifference. She remembers why she’s here. Not to talk or back down or weep. She’s here to kill.

She takes a soft step forward and almost like he knows what’s coming, Anakin starts struggling against the guard, trying to push himself to his feet, words tumbling out of his mouth. “Ahsoka, wait, wait, wait, what’s—what’s going on?” Thunder cracks low in the sky and it’s only then that Ahsoka notices the enormous hole blown out of the Temple hallway. Smoke blackens the night sky and shrieking sirens collide with the screaming Force. “Ahsoka?”

She can tell he’s trying to ignore the flashing gold of her eyes, but he can’t look past the blood-red beam of light that ignites from her saber. Ahsoka has never seen him more in denial, more heartbroken than he is kneeling before her now. Her ever-sure steps stutter and to compensate, she digs down into her rage. Anger keeps her strong, keeps her fighting, it shields her from the weakness that love or pity or regret will sink her to.

“Ahsoka, stop!” Her hand is already shaking on her lightsaber hilt. Ahsoka strikes Anakin across the face, her metal-laden fist cutting a line of blood down his cheek. She’s never preferred such hands-on combat, two lightsabers and her agility give the distance and speed she needs to fight, but rage—and it’s rage, she tells herself, not sorrow, not grief, not guilt—is weighing her down.

That’s fine. Power can be a million things and so can Ahsoka.

The need to adapt has been forced on her by the very people Anakin and Obi-Wan are trying to protect, and it’s always good to give back.

She realizes she’s still hitting him. Anakin’s face is awash in blood—Ahsoka doesn’t know what’s his and what’s from her own knuckles. She looks at the guard and he releases him. Anakin stumbles back and up, heads outstretched in front of him. He wipes his face, clearing as much of the blood as he can and his lightsaber is ignited a shaky breath later. Obi-Wan might be saying something at last, but it’s lost as Ahsoka bounds toward Anakin. She lets instinct and primal, brutal fury take over. Their sabers clash.

Later, when Ahsoka has cried and screamed and torn apart her new quarters on Coruscant, she won’t remember what happened. All of a sudden, she’s towering over Anakin, both their lightsabers gone. She’s mildly surprised when she realizes she was actually able to best him, then scolds herself for not having faith in her new teachings. A swift kick to Anakin’s ribs leaves him gasping, and Obi-Wan is definitely saying something, but Ahsoka knows she’s far from vindicated.

“Ahsoka, stop,” comes Anakin’s voice, strong as it is quiet. “Please. Listen.” His eyes are bright blue through the bruises, the blood, and Ahsoka has always folded first. She squeezes her eyes shut and stumbles away, tearing apart whatever vile emotions swarm her.

The Force is dark and stormy around her, suffocating, but powerful. It blocks out the pain, the grief, the failure Ahsoka feels, and she clings to it.

Anakin is standing, one hand clutching his ribs, when she looks up again. His hands are reaching for her. “I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, we will fix it.”

Furious tears race down her face. “You can’t stop this!”

Ahsoka wants to scream. She wants to scream because this is hard, far harder than she’d expected. The Jedi are wrong, the Jedi are evil, she’s had more than enough experience to understand that. How many times has she heard their immeasurable list of crimes, how they abandoned their own principles and people, their own children. Words flicker through her memory. “The rift in the galaxy is not our fault.”

But Ahsoka has learned that it is.

Given the right circumstances, a little education, nudging (pressure—torture—part of her brain cries) by the right people (the wrong people—don’t you see, child?—this is all wrong) and here she is. And here they are.

And she has a score to settle.

Ahsoka grits her teeth, taloned nails cutting crescents in her palms.

There will be justice, there will be recompense, and by her hand.

She looks into the eyes of her old Master and it’s like looking into the past. There’s that sick feeling in her chest again and Ahsoka crushes it, pushing down until something shifts and then snaps, sharp shards of glass cleaving her ribcage.

Ahsoka raises one shaking arm and chokes him with the Force, his feet drifting off the ground, back pressed hard against the wall. Though she’s never done it herself, she’s seen it from Anakin plenty of times and Ahsoka now understands the fury he wields that’s always surprised her.

His hands scrabble against his throat, desperate stare pleading, trying to reach her.

Something burns her eyes. Her fist tightens. “You were supposed to be there!”

The words tear through her, ripping the already scarred air. Months of unsaid words choked back swell, clogging her throat, and she can barely breathe past the broken syllables. With another yell that scrapes her insides raw, she throws Anakin down on the other side of the room. They both gasp for breath. Obi-Wan has stopped talking.

Anakin pushes himself up on a shaking arm, eyes darting straight to Ahsoka’s crumbling facade. Salt stings her lips.

The guard—Ahsoka thinks his name is Double—shoves Obi-Wan down beside Anakin, and his bound hands immediately go to Anakin’s trembling shoulder. Mumbled questions fall from his tongue, panic twisting his tone. Anakin’s eyes never leave Ahsoka’s.

“You were supposed to be there.”

The words are quiet, rough, homesick notes barely speaking through her tears.

Obi-Wan’s head whips over his shoulder, grey eyes too hard to read, and Ahsoka decides he’s never looked at her with anything but ice.

Hell has frozen over and so have they.

Anakin is openly crying, his gaze melted into waves of sorrow meeting Ahsoka’s gold-eyed shore. Obi-Wan has always been a glacier. Icicles prick his cheeks.

Biting rage sears Ahsoka’s chest. She doesn’t care what it takes; she’ll burn this Temple to ash just to feel the thaw.

Injured as he is, angry as she is, Anakin is too easily thrown when Ahsoka coaxes the Force to her will. Obi-Wan reaches for him, helpless, his hands useless under those cuffs. Anakin flies back, his shoulder clipping the side of the hole in the wall, and he tumbles off the edge. Ahsoka rushes forward, for a moment scared she’s killed him, but his hand—his metal hand—is digging into the rim of the hole, just barely holding on. The metal creaks.

It’s not a far drop, not enough to kill him anyway, and Ahsoka doesn’t know if she’s disappointed or relieved. She tries to be disappointed. Rain beats down against his face, but his eyes are bright blue when they look up at her.

She sees his lips move, hears the faint notes of his voice—something like I’m sorry, something like please—but the clouds scream over whatever he’s trying to say. Ahsoka looks away. Something is on fire out there, even in the storm, and the horizon is darkened by smoke.

“Ahsoka.”

Her head automatically jerks down to meet his imploring gaze. That sorrow again, that guilt, worst of all, that hope. Both halves of her howl with the roaring rain.

“I’m here now.”

You were supposed to be there.

“I’m here.”

Ahsoka can’t tell what’s rain and what’s tears on Anakin’s face, can’t tell the same on her own. She looks behind her at Obi-Wan, for reasons she doesn’t bother to understand, and sees him struggling against the guard harder than ever. She wonders what he would do if he was free, almost calls for his release just to see.

But she has already spent too long here, made too many mistakes. The weak part of her has grown louder, and she needs time to smother it completely.

Ahsoka looks down at Anakin again, salty tears biting through her gritted teeth. She calls her lightsaber to her hand, hovering it just next to his face, barely searing the edge of his skin. The red glow makes him look dead already.

“I could do it.”

Then she tears herself away, turning into the shadowed warmth of the Dark Side.

It’s a disappointment, it’s a failure, it’s a relief drowned by wrath at having allowed these parts of her past to live. Obi-Wan shudders to his feet, bleary eyes panicked as he rushes to Anakin, Double and Cross now dutifully following Ahsoka out. There’s sounds of struggle, movement, shifting robes. Ahsoka can almost picture Obi-Wan’s strong grip, Anakin hauling himself back up into the Temple, hair sopping, water pooling down around them. It’ll stain the stone. If it survives that long.

By the time Anakin pulls trembling limbs up, his mind still shaking off frigid rain, raw betrayal, chilling hurt, Ahsoka is already gone.

#fiona speaks #HEHEHEHEHEHE #ALL I KNOW IS ANGST #thank you for the ask jas!!!!#i hope you like it!!!#this was very fun to write mwahahahaha #disaster lineage #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #proofreading this was just me going yikes....YIKES #ASDJKSDA;LASJK #my writing #answered #jas tag!#and thank you to katie for the guard name assistance akdjajfka very much appreciated!!#i’m not totally happy with this one but yeah!

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littlefreya · 5 years ago

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 11

Synopsis: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence, gore, cutting, angst, manhandling, choking, foul language, bondage, breath play, unprotected sex.

A/N: Assuming my usual panic attack positions! Ok, so there are about 2 chapters left and I fear this story is about to conclude... 😰 This chapter put me through an emotional turmoill! Many thanks for my editor and muse @agniavateira, @yespolkadotkitty for the cover art and @dancingwendigo and @wondersofdreaming who’re helping me through my panic attacks and providing tips

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me

Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It’s so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace.

A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs.

As if she dissolved into him.

Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire.

“What the fuck do you want!?” August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they’re closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.

The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.

“Relax, stop shouting.” she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty.

August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity.

Or so he believes.

Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild’s direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.

She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. “Feels nice doesn’t it?” she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. “To wake up with your tits out.”

Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears.

“Don’t move,” Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August’s arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.

Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can’t define or recognize at all.

It makes him feel attacked.

Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.

Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August’s profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night.

It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam’s affection.

“I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep,” she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. “You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed.”

Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable.

A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won’t let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It’s enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh.

But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.

“Why can’t you just let me be?” he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair.

“You came here,” she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown forms between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. “You wanted to retaliate.”

Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice.

Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his.

‘Fight it! She betrayed you.’

“Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die.” he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. “You should have ended it, darling.”

“Yes, I should’ve killed you,” she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers.

“I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to kill for them, I don’t want to kill you. It hurts.”

Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August’s pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.

Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.

“Right here,” she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. “I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don’t remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them.”

The azure ocean in August’s eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again.

“What do you want? What do you think this is?” he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it’s just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.

“I want you,” she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid’s bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble.

“I want to follow you on your mission.”

‘She is lying. Don’t trust her, remember what happened the last time you’ve placed your faith in a woman?’

August’s nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do.

Ever since she stepped into his life he’s been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.

Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. “Why should I trust you?” he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal. “You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?”

Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. “You need proof.”

The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass.

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move. He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist.

August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin.

Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.

Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist.

Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August’s heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside.

‘Show no weakness, prove your strength.’

“You want loyalty.”

“Won’t mean a thing if you’re dead,” he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won’t even make a whimper.

‘What is she waiting for?’

“I’m not going to save you,” August warns.

Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus’. At least this gives me a choice.”

The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.

August’s brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. “What on earth does that mean?” Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him.

“I have to kill you.”

“You’re a slave?” he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. “How very disappointing, Ingvild.”

“A tool, controlled by men whom I’ve never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto.” she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic.

“They stole my freedom…” she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. “They stole me... what did they take from you?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued.

“But I am bleeding for you.” she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. “You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I’m dying anyway.”

August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn’t.

As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn’t let her drown.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she’s quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.

“Hold it up, like this,” he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. “Where are the bandages?”

Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies.

“Keep the pressure on,” he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second.

They’re tainted by fear.

Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such a beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.

“Have I proved myself?” she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.

His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her.

The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.

‘You can’t let her go, can’t let her slip between your fingers.’

With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.

“This is not the devotion I need from you, princess.”

Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.

“Angel,” August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. “Do you want to be devoted to me?”

“Yes,” she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.

Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August’s diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face.

“Then show me your devotion.”

“No…” she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. “I’m not a toy.”

August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks.

“Did I stutter?” Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings.

She must submit freely.

Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache.

It’s nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August’s growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin.

A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.

“I want everything.” August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep-grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own.

Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants.

‘Fuck, her touch...’

Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle.

Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.

“Fuck!” August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure.

But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him.

He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.

‘I deserve her.’

Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs.

If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man’s Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble.

“Come here,” he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. “Take me in”

A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest.

Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.

Shivering, she halts, hearing August’s snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.

“All the way in, angel,” he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her.

He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern.

“Good girl.” August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.

But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt.

“August, please.” she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins.

“Devotion.” he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist,he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap.

His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl’s hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.

Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in her depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.

August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She’s impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts, as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.

“Poor little tight cunt,” he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. “you missed this?” he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, “You missed me fucking you, angel?”

Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria.

The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.

August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. “Careful,” he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. “Don’t damage what’s mine!”

Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.

August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales.

“You want to breathe?” he snarls.

Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridges of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.

“Then come for me, angel.”

With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts.

Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.

“August!”

Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.

Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.

Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue.

August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken to dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child that carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers.

They had killed each other after all and then brought one another’s hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.

“Easy, babygirl.” he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. “That was intense for you, wasn’t it?”

She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.

“Sh... it’s okay,” August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. “I’ve got you.” he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.

He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn’t have been his right now.

Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms.

~*~

The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It’s painfully plain, like something out of an 80’s film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight.

Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water.

Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August’s arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.

“They will come for us.” Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. “Once they know you’re not dead, they’ll hunt us. We need to move, fast.”

August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? ‘She chose, you didn’t force her.’

Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.

“We should,” he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. “Just relax now, you won’t do me good all broken.”

“You care about me,” she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.

“We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester,” he answers, ignoring her comment.

Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.

“For the plutonium,” she utters.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it’s to please him, or if it pleases her as well.

Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

It’s as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him.

In her mind, she can’t help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn’t speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.

“What did Sloane do?” she asks curiously. “In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you.”

She feels August’s sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn’t think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild’s arms.

“She tricked me.” his eyes focus onto nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild’s wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. “She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner.”

“A woman,” Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. “Lacey.”

Her name on Ingvild’s tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine.

“Yes,” he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. “We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn’t.”

Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.

“It sounds like you loved her.”

August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn’t her carnal devotion he sought for.

“Where is she now?”

“Dead.” he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.

“I killed her.”

In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow.

Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can’t explain to herself. August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.

“Try to rest,” he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. “Long days are ahead.”

“Will you read me your manifesto?”

August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he’s actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?

But the softness and warmth of her body feels more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind.

“There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle...” he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice.

_________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker Fanfiction #August Walker smut #August Walker x OFC #Henry Cavill Smut #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry Cavill Fic #August Walker Fic #augustwalker #henrycavill #augustwalkersmut #henrycavillsmut

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bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

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I don’t often muse upon PJO, but when I do, its random as hell.

Anyway, tonight’s thought (singular, also: derogatory, as in very possibly a mistake) is about exploring aspects of the Greek gods that are extrapolations of like, what they’d be like in the modern world instead of just in terms of their ancient myths.....and how that might widen the scope of their demigod children and their powers.

Like take Hephaestus for instance. God of the forge and fire, of invention and artifice......now widen the scope on those things through the lens of the modern age.....might he also be considered the god of modern science, not just in terms of things like engineering and technology, but also physics, chemistry? Or would those things fall more under Athena’s purview......unless you separated them into finer divisions. Like, you could consider Athena’s overview of knowledge and wisdom to make her the goddess of science and higher learning or whatever in general........OR you could separate it like.....Hephaestus is the god of natural or physical sciences like physics and chemistry, and Athena is the goddess of not just wisdom and tactics but things like psychology, computer sciences, etc.

Or OR get Dionysus up in there too, and make it like Hephaestus is the god of chemistry, of chemical reactions and the like, Athena is the goddess of physics, of the most full and complete understanding of the physical universe via things like the unified field theory and its comprising forces of electromagnetism, strong and weak nuclear force, etc, and then Dionysus the god of biology, hmmmm.....

Cuz imagine then, demigod children of Hephaestus, where instead of pyrokinesis, some get powers like transmuting elements.......oh man, the things you could do with that??? Not just lead into gold but they’d be terrors in battle because they could transmute the very air someone breathes into chlorine gas, blood into acid, flesh into stone. Or using that power defensively, making them able to keep guns from firing by dampening the chemical reaction that comes from igniting gunpowder, or just knocking someone out or putting them to sleep by just tanking their metabolic reactions. Mingling magic with modern know-how and creating their own version of truth serums by turning the water someone drinks into something akin to sodium pentathol when just brushing their fingers against someone’s glass, or rendering all drugs or toxins that might have been slipped into their drink null and void by transmuting them into harmless H20.

(I know that Luke was mentioned briefly as being good at making potions aka alchemy due to being a son of Hermes, but frankly, transmutation as a mastery of the periodic table makes waaaaay more sense for Hephaestus’ kids, I’m just saying. And plus the Greeks didn’t so much consider Hermes an actual god of alchemy as they more just kinda viewed him as their god of all things miscellaneous and tended to lump anything they didn’t have particularly strong feelings about and/or a grasp of under his umbrella. Hermes was really just the patron god of being random as fuck and oh great gods of Olympus I have no idea what I want to do with my life, give me a sign. Hermes: poofs into existence on their shoulder and says SOUNDS LIKE YOU NEED TO GO BE GAY AND DO CRIME YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST, DIVINE MANDATE, LETS GOOOOOOO).

Give children of Athena more practical applications for being heirs to her wisdom, knowledge and strategic acumen by also giving her dominion in the modern age over humanity’s quest to better understand the universe we live in and all its rules, the ins and outs of the laws that govern reality itself.......thus Annabeth and others’ potential acumen for magic being here not the end result of them stepping on Hecate and her kids’ toes, but rather more a function of making them the embodiment of ‘magic is just sufficiently advanced technology’ as they - via an innate and heightened understanding of the very nature of the physical universe - find holes in the fabric of space and time that let them slip from Point A to Point B as easily as crossing the street, play tricks with gravity and relativity and things that leave others baffled and amazed and them just shrugging and being like its all in the wrist, dude, and also, the fact that our mom just GETS reality in a way that everyone else will still be playing catch-up to a thousand years from now.

Children of Dionysus (yes I know he barely has any shhh we’re not paying attention to the series we’re just musing on demigod powers here) who combine the godhood of grapes and revelry with loud music and laughter......the way music can help with plant growth, because music is essentially just VIBRATIONS and vibrations stimulate activity in plant cells in a variety of ways.....and thus similar to Mr. D’s tricks with controlling vines and rapidly growing plants, AND his ability to affect the psyches of others, which is described as inflicting or curing madness and I’m like ehhhh do we have to describe it thus though.....put all that in a pot, shake it, not stir, and abrakadabra, alakazam, other psychic pokemon random Psyduck shout-out and voila! ALL of that could be afixed to and made the end product of godly and demigodly control and manipulation of vibrations, cuz Dionysus is literally the god of just vibing in all its infinite forms.....and thus its all just about how vibrations affect plant life on a cellular level, how they can affect brain chemistry in a variety of ways, triggering a lot of the more primal centers/functions of the brain, etc. You kids are driving me crazy, he’d yell at his demigod kids, and they’re like umm wow, like ACK CHOO UGHLY, father, welcome to the 21st century, all we’re really doing is directly stimulating the prefrontal cortex of your cerebellum with our banging rock music, and its making you angy, what about it?

And speaking of actually, if we and by we I mean me cuz I am and its wheee, are theorizing about Athena’s brood getting to be all magical wunderkind whizkids with their scientific acumen and divine cheat-sheets for the physical universe, maybe Aphrodite and her kids could snatch up those psychology and psychiatry job titles instead. Love, desire, also things like obsession, hyper-fixation......is Cabin Mighty Aphrodite really just pheromone central or are its campers more like magical dopamine and serotonin factories just pumping out good vibes all around them, being like come hang out, its free brain juice. Like, imagine kids of Aphrodite who just by their mere presence could help the legions of ADHD demigods focus better, concentrate easier, get shit done because the goddess of passion and her children like....have the gift of helping people to more productively pursue their passions in ALL forms, not just the physical desires they hold for others but the passions they hold for arts and crafts and sports and y’know, saving the world on magical coming-of-age quests when their milkshakes bring all the monsters to the yard.

And then Ares not just as a god of war and conflict, but of entropy....the tendency of the universe to trend towards disorder, randomness, uncertainty....the kind of things that so often incite or enflame conflict......but applied at large not just to interpersonal dynamics but to the world itself. With his children possessing demigod abilities that disrupt or weaken bonds, both in the form of emotional ties between allies and commitments towards various ideals or courses of action, but also the ability to PHYSICALLY weaken bonds, resulting in an enemy’s weapon falling apart at a touch, or increasing the instability or volatility of an object so it blows up akin to how Gambit of the X-Men’s powers work and can turn even playing cards into a weapon, etc, etc.

And don’t even get me started on Hermes! No, seriously, don’t. Mostly because I haven’t thought that one through yet and I got nothing. I mean I got some things but they are nebulous and have yet to spring forth fully formed from my head like Athena from the fuckhead of Zeus, that absolute fuckhead of legend and yore. In my defense though, I haven’t like, eaten any primordial goddesses of thought and memory, so.......like, idk, I’m taking the longer route here I guess.

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gagmebucky · 5 years ago

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[steve. breeding kink. baby.]

“Wanna know what makes it worse?” Steve leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent with your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

in which you’re playing with a baby and steve can’t resist himself. (includes steve’s pov, avenger!steve rogers x girlfriend!reader, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, mild daddy kink, unprotected sex.)

do not repost.

—

Procedure requires debriefing at the end of every mission. In this hours-long process, an agent must recap the objectives and the means used to achieve them; deviations to the original plan and why; as well as whether success was gained, and any other pertinent intel possibly acquired.

This routine is mandatory for all those working for and with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.; not even the Avengers are exempt from this. Except in this particular case where the titular first of the super-powered team has forgone the professional necessity, and instead, is in search of you.

Normally, America’s golden boy can handle the dangers that occur in such a violent but imperative field. He understands the risks and pressures inherent to his line of duty, and he’s always accepted it, dealt with it because the overall outcome dwarfs the bad.

On this particular assignment, however, the stakes were higher than usual and although the quick snap-quick decisions he made ultimately paid off, it didn’t soften the blow of the sacrifices made. Times like this, he has to wonder if it’s worth it.

The tension weighs on his shoulders and crackles underneath his skin; his synapses are frayed with the memory of each fallen agent, the orders he doled out preambling every one, and the electricity curls his fists and locks his jaw. It’s corrupting that logical part of his brain, and that craving for vengeance can’t be sated with his knuckles breaking a few punching bags.

In rare moments like these, when the serum is pumping through his veins like rabies, there’s one thing to straighten the edges and bring him back from the trenches. That solace is you; your alluring smile and twinkling eyes, the musical carry of your laugh, your seemingly innate ability to figure out what’s wrong and quell the turmoil cycloning inside of him.

So he doesn’t report to Fury like he’s supposed to, doesn’t go over the myriad of errors that only worsened as the mission progressed—no one stops him either.

When employees spot him marching down the corridors, stealth suit still on and rippling across his hulking mass, his strides colliding deafeningly with the floor, handsome and affable features tightened intensely, their only recourse is moved out of the way. Thankfully, they get the hint because if someone hadn’t, he knows he’d snap and do something he might regret.

His senses, formerly haywire in his manic state, have lasered into tunnel focus; his eardrums hone in on the specific sound wave of your crooning voice, and the olfactory nerves in his nostrils guide him in a trail to the source of your intoxicating essence.

Steve slams the door open and storms into the upper, restricted level of the headquarters. His hastened pace slows upon your increased dose, lulling his awareness and distance waning significantly. As his search nears its end, he recognizes where he’s at: the luxurious space designed by and created for Tony Stark.

The doors are open so he doesn’t waste time knocking (not that he possesses the patience to abide by his hundred year old manners). Upon entry, he’s taken the tranquility occupying the atmosphere and the sight of you bathed in the sun’s glow; bright rays beam through the impenetrable windowed wall of the tower while you gently rock the three month old baby perched on your shoulder, probably basking in the dual warmth of you and the star.

From afar, behind you, the brown-eyed girl’s mother stands. With her head tilted and soft gratefulness slanted into her lips, the strawberry blonde’s hip rests against the office’s wet bar and watches fondly as you effortlessly soothe her child’s fussiness into a thumb-sucking slumber.

“Aren’t they cute?” Pepper Potts remarks as he steps beside her. Her gaze maintains on his girlfriend and her daughter. “Morgan would not stop crying for the past few hours, and I did everything to calm her down. I was frazzled and at my wit’s end then I handed her off to her aunt, and now she’s as quiet as a mouse.” She pauses and spares a glance over to his adoration-fixed stare, a slyness twisting into her smile. “I don't know what stage you two are at but she’d make a great mom.”

Steve knows you occasionally babysit for the Starks, but he’s never seen you like this. You’re in your element, swaying back and forth while you hum inaudibly into the infamous delicate baby’s ear. Her small hands are curled around your neck and her face nuzzled into the crease of your shoulder, with the opposing thumb slid between her lips as her big chocolate eyes flutter into a peaceful rest.

Suddenly breathless—but it’s not from the exertion—he has to agree, nodding his head. “Y - yeah,” he answers to both statements because it’s fucking adorable, and while there’s never been a doubt about your caring nature, this cements the fact that you would be an amazing mother. The sensation boils in his gut, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Has she always been this good with her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper tells him matter-of-factly. “With her, other kids, too. She came with us to the park, and this one kid was screaming his head off and she just went over and poof! He was happy.” Her eyes are back on your slow pacing silhouette. “I would swear she was made for this. I bet she was a nanny in another life.”

His knuckles clench as her words ignite the simmering inferno of his being. Made for this, made for this, echoes in his head and he has to remind himself that he’s in public. But the primal image of you, radiating like an angel with a little piece of him growing inside you, has already carved itself in the forefront of his psyche.

Steve has never been into traditional gender roles, not even when he was in his time and it was the norm (he’s always been a very progressive thinker). But, God, he can’t deny the appeal now that he has you. There’s something so primally satisfying about having you at home, free of any worries that aren’t about your family, potentially—preferably—knocked up.

The carnal urge grips him more intensely than before. Usually, he can suppress that visceral desire to bury himself bare inside you and spill his virility until he further claims you as his. However, receiving a glimpse of you in this maternal state, it has every instinct screaming that you’re irrefutably perfect and primed.

As if on cue, you turn around with the effectively lullabied infant clinging around your neck. After a flicker of surprise, pleasant then concerned, you pad on over to carefully hand over Morgan to her thankful mother. Your attention rivets back to him with a knitted brow gaze.

“Babe, hey,” you greet in a gentle voice. Worry ebbs into your gaze amongst the usual stare of attraction upon dragging across the navy blue material that still clings to his muscular torso. You offer your hand, which he immediately takes, and you guide him out of the office into the hallway. The door shuts behind you, and the sectioned off level is empty, but your voice is still quiet when asking, “What happened?”

You stand barely a breath away, and the proximity pacifies his senses. His stance loosens while a smile upturns a corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he answers then clarifies, “Nothing that matters anymore, anyway.”

The amendment dwindles your concerned curiosity because it’s honest—he doesn’t need to dwell when you’re standing here—and you can hear it; another lovingly scrutinizing up-and-down glance confirms that his earlier disquietude has settled significantly.

“D’you have fun back there?” he goes onto wonder, eyes flickering over to the closed door. Your earlier titillatingly visage snaps into his brain, and he subconsciously bites down on his bottom lip. “You looked like you were.”

You accept his subject-change with a nonchalant shrug. “Babies like me, and I like them,” you tell him, smiling at the admission. “What can I say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you want me to knock you up.” The words fumble out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and while he hadn’t intended on letting it slip, if he did, it would’ve been without the serious fluctuation he blurted it out with.

In a lame attempt to correct his slip of the tongue regarding a topic you both rarely discussed, he quickly adds, “I’m joking.” A surprised expression had crossed your features upon processing his former response, transitioning into something he can’t yet pinpoint if he likes. As if to test the waters—or dig himself into a deeper hole—he says, matter-of-factly, borderline suggestive, “But you know, back in my day, you’d probably already have a few popped out by now.”

“Mr. Rogers!” you gasp in an almost-shocked tone, but your cheeks split with a devious grin. “Are you telling me you want to be a daddy?”

Disheveled by his mission, then upended by your placating presence, he’s more awkward than the day he met you. “Fuck. Look, I’d never pressure you, okay?” For the millionth time, the previous scene plays mentally; he exhales heavily. “It’s just you with her, and I. . . never mind.” He shakes his head, deciding he’s still on the edge from both events today, and dismisses his animalistic inkling. “Act like I didn’t say anything.”

You fold your arms and nod.

“Uh-huh, daddy,” you drawl, scintillating in mischievousness that simultaneously has his heart skipping a beat and his cock jumping. Your smirk widens before disappearing beneath a cascade of feigned innocence. “We can just act like you don’t want me to have your kid.”

His lips part at your teasing twist of his words. “That’s - that’s not what I said.”

“Isn’t it?” You lift a brow. “It is. So, maybe I should find a guy who does. I think any other man would take immense pleasure in going condomless inside of me.” One hand wiggles into your jacket pocket while you peddle away from his orbit; a rectangular plastic ruffles as his reflexes instinctively catch it. “You know, I think Bucky would really appreciate me. I bet he’d have the manners to really wife me up and make me—“

He knows you’re poking fun of him; playfulness alight within your gaze that he usually enjoys. In actuality, he understands there’s zero truth in your jesting and he’d be more amused than jealous. However, currently, the circumstances have corrupted his sensibilities.

“That’s not funny.”

Your laugh echoes musically. “It’s not ‘cause it isn’t a joke,” you say between your giggles, your amusement pardoning your spacial awareness. “I mean—Steve!” Your yelp is louder and even more musical when he surges forth and reigns you in.

Air expels from your chest as his body cages yours against the wall. Using one hand to brace himself above you, his opposing appendage tilts your dazed blinking up. “Now do you really think I don’t want you to carry my kid?” he rumbles. “Because if it were up to me, I would’ve taken claim to your womb the second I saw you.”

Your breathing hitches, and you try to remain unaffected but he’s too keen on your reactions to be fooled. “O - oh?”

“Yeah.” His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Wanna know what makes it worse?” He leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent to your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

A sound, hybrid between a moan and a gasp, escapes your throat; humor eviscerated, desire exudes from you and submerges his senses in a provoking intoxication. The rush sinks into his brain and triggers that visceral frenzy within him but he has no interest in suppressing it anymore.

He releases a guttural groan and grabs your hips. His big hands splay on either side, thumb slightly kneading back and forth, and he draws you in closer. “I can smell you right now, too. Not only how wet you’re gettin’ but that it’s that time for you, isn’t it?” he purrs and nips at your lobe. “You’re mine for the taking.” His teeth catch your pulse, sucking a mark onto the vulnerable skin. “Hm, baby?”

“Y - yes!” you moan wantonly loud as your weight sags into his embrace. “Always.”

“Good—” His hands cinch on your flanks and abruptly hoist you up: prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to encircle around his neck. “—cause holding back with you is gonna be impossible.”

With your body clutched around his abdomen, he heads for the closest empty room, scoped out via his enhanced hearing. Unceremoniously, he turns a handle and breaks the lock of the unused office space; two doors down from the main room, it’s smaller but it has a sturdy-looking desk in the center.

He kicks the door shut and sets you down as your lips find his. Although you’re sat down, legs dangling over the wooden edge, you keep your elbows hooked around the nape of his neck and coax a ragged groan out of his chest with the deft stroke of your tongue.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes and parts from you in order to yank your jacket down your shoulders. Tossing it off the side, he reveals a braless tank top and your nipples he can see have pebbled underneath. His imagination takes off once more, envisioning what the already perfect twins will look like in the wake of his seed taking root inside you.

His blood pumps viciously, flowing downward and flooding his cock to strain beneath the oppressive stealth-suit fabric. Like you’re reading his mind, you unhook the utility belt and similarly shove it off somewhere on the side.

Something rustles, and it’s the condom you’d thrown at him. Absentmindedly tucked under the cinch of the belt previously, it falls into your undressing hands. Your eyes rivet up to him, lashes fluttering big, as you hold it between two fingers: halfway offering. “What are you gonna do, daddy?”

At that particular moment, it occurs to him that you’re doubting his seriousness. While abundantly clear you want this, you’re dubious on whether he’s going through it. Which is preposterous, but he figures that the look on your face when he spills inside you bareback will only further his orgasm, consequently heightening the odds of his end-goal.

He plucks the packaging from of your grip, holds it up as your gazes clash and makes a show out of discarding it out of reach. Then he seizes your knees and slides your ass to the edge so your center is flushed against him, rocking into his hardened imprint.

“You,” he answers your query, tone a growl, as he peels your jeans off. He continues on just to shred your panties. “I’m doing you. With nothing to separate me from you, nothing to keep you from your rightful destiny: knocked up with our baby.”

“Please,” is all you utter, but the room’s thick with sensory evidence of your essence.

Spreading your thighs as far as possible, he glances down to spit lewdly on your glistening mound; a long dribble of saliva coating your eager button and slit. He uses his thumb to smear it all over, mixing with the puddle you’re creating, dipping into your sticky folds with his middle finger.

The whole time, you’re choking with these hungry and appreciative little noises. Likewise, you’re watching as he prepares you thoroughly and roughly to wring the cum out of him. “S - Steve,” you mewl coherently and buck into his messy caress. Your fingers are tugging pleading on the lower half of his uniform. “I need you. Please!”

It is about damn time.

His control has been witting away since the first time you called him daddy. He swiftly wrenches the suit down and exposes his leaking, throbbing cock to your tunnel of relief. His size always dwarfs your kempt triangle; an initial observation one might come to is the improbability he won’t fit. But he does, every single time, and in this special instance, he’s going to ensure all of his formidable length is buried in your fertile heat.

He rasps his tip over your clit, plastering his translucent white pre-cum over the engorged nub, then traces down the crease of your slit. As he prods in, his hands span your thighs and help open up your elastic entrance for his ravenous cock. He stretches your tightness slow but unyieldingly while you both watch with labored breathing, transfixed by the sight of your dripping core enveloping his veined and tanned angry stalk until he’s nudging your cervix.

“Good girl,” he grits out, strangled by the electricity prickling his nerves. He slips support underneath your ass, intertwining from the inner to the outer so when he hauls you up, your knees are bent over his elbows. “You ready to make me a daddy, baby?”

“Yes!” You nod quickly with a moan. “Shit, you’re big—and deep. Really fucking deep.”

He chuckles huskily because if you think that now, he can’t wait to see you once he’s truly plundered new depths. “Now, you just hold on tight and let me do all the work. I only want you to focus on givin’ me a baby, okay?”

In the middle of an abandoned office room—possibly a storage area—he heaves you up and drops you back down. Your arms curl around his neck, hands twisting into his suit, while he alters between gravity and his hips jutting forth to drill inside you.

Without any mind to those around you—just you and him—he fucks you with every ounce of strength coiled into his super-charged build. Ignoring the fact that door is unlocked, broken more specifically, and the possibility that there’s likely high quality surveillance cameras watching, your shared sounds of carnality fills the room in between the harsh collision of skin.

Each propelling thrust seems to jostle further than further, carving himself into your inner walls. Like he said before, he handles all the work, effortlessly bouncing your sporadically clenching channel with his inhuman strength and stamina; leaving you to accept and bask in the stimulation his cock is providing and the gift he’ll be depositing inside of you any time now.

Your lips are breathless in his ear, gasping, “Daddy, please,” that has him climbing the rope faster. The beg pours gasoline on an already roaring fire, igniting wildly to burn up his legs then his stomach and on its way to take him under.

“Y’gonna make me a daddy, baby? You’re gonna be a pretty lil’ mommy and take care of us? Is that what you want?” he croons, identifying the way you tighten as your steadily approaching orgasm. “Y’gonna have your pretty pussy squeeze me until I’m shooting my load and knocking you up?”

He’s pretty sure your nails have punctured the suit’s resilient material. “S - Steve, fuck! Please. Yes! Cum inside me—cum inside me—“ you cry out with genuine desperation that his limbs tingling numbly. “I want it. I want you. Please. I wanna feel you!”

His jaw locks and works you somehow even harder. The room is completely engulfed with you, your arousal, the potency of your ovulation, and your future with him; once he releases, it’ll only seal the fact that you’re his and belong to him (as well as vice versa).

“Who’s gonna be a daddy, baby? Who are you making a daddy, baby?” His words are practically slurred while fever coalesces across his entirety. “Who owns your pretty little pussy and your womb?”

“You—Steve—daddy,” you sob as your orgasm seizes up around his cock, giving him no other choice other than to: “Cum inside me, daddy—!”

Something beastly rips out of his chest, and without protest, he gifts you exactly what you want. He burrows into the absolute hilt and fires inside you for what feels like forever. Spurts of ooze finally wane, nudging your fruitful cervix, but even then, he doesn’t dare retreat from your heavenly depths.

The aftershocks force him to set you back down on the desk, still buried and keeping you stuffed. His face nuzzles the junction between your neck and shoulder languorously, and you lazily run your fingers through his hair, walls periodically pulsating.

When he regains the energy, he straightens and pulls out of you until his bulbous head is blocking your entrance; he stops there because he realizes something. “It’s gonna leak, and as hot as that is, I need to keep you full, baby.” Abruptly, he hauls you up and shuffles the position so that he’s sitting on the desk, and you’re sitting on his cock.

Your sensitivity flares around him, and you squeal. “F - fuck!” But you adjust to comfortability, blinking at him. “For how long?”

A smile curls into his lips, and he strokes your cheek while his other hand lays on your belly. “For as long as it takes.”

[masterlist / feedback]

#steve rogers x you smut #steve rogers imagines #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers smut #marvel reader insert #marvel smut imagines #my writing #marvel imagines #my fics #mANY ERRORS

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angelguk · 5 years ago

Text

→ bad behaviour 02 — a namjoon scenario

member: kim namjoon

word count: 3.9k

genre: established relationship + smut + fluff + college!au

warnings: this the first time this couple fucks but no one’s a virgin / namjoon has a massive dick / size kink / unprotected sex / creampie / slight dom!namjoon / multiple orgasms / oral sex (fem receiving) / brief mutual masturbation / this is isn’t the conclusion of this relationship there’s still a parents!au coming i was just horny for namjoon

soundtracks: lost in japan, shawn mendes + ラビリンス, mondo grosso

Namjoon looks good with his head between your thighs. It’s a strange thing to note, especially when his warm wet tongue is pressed flat against your cunt. When he drags it upwards, swirling your slick along your folds, you can’t help the tremor that echoes through your thighs. He’s got his nose nudging against the apex of your cunt, breath soft as he licks you open. The fire in your gut blazes at a dangerous heat, but you don’t pull away. Can’t really, even if you wanted too. His big firm hands pin you to mattress, trapped for his pleasure.

“Namjoon-” Your breath hitches in your throat because he’s slowly dipping tongue into your hole. Toying with you with that wild glint in his honey eyes. He hums against you, plush rose lips shiny with your slick. It’s dripping down his chin but he makes no move to wipe it off when he pulls away from your core. Something heavy settles deep inside your gut when he looks at you like that, mouth covered in your need.

“Yes, baby?”

Your walls should not clench so desperately at that pet name. But they do, because it comes from Namjoon’s lips.

“C-could you use your fingers?” You don’t know why you stammer, but Namjoon makes you nervous in a way you can’t describe. Some primal part of you wants to just be good for him, take the teasing and toying you’d quickly learnt Namjoon preferred in the bedroom. But your thighs keep quivering every time his tongue swipes across your cunt and you know you’re close. It would be nice to cum around his large fingers - or something else.

That realization hits you so hard that your head falls heavy on his thick comforter. You’re left blinking at his popcorn white ceiling as he peppers kisses against your thighs. When his tongue swirls around your clit you jolt back to reality, the reverie of Namjoon’s thick cock splitting you open disappearing back into that dark crevice of your mind. He sucks around it hard, the tip of his tongue flicking smart little licks against the sensitive bud, until your blubbering expletives into the heavy air.

“Namjoon please -” You’re squirming under his hold, the lewd squelches from your gushing cunt sonorous in his room as he spreads you open with vigour. It’s a good thing Hoseok wasn’t home. He’d looked at you funny the last time you came over and your stay had ended with Namjoon’s face buried deep between your legs. Namjoon had told you to ignore it but you know how loud you get when he eats you out. You can’t even imagine the sounds he’d pull from you with that thick cock of his.

“My baby wants to come on my fingers? Huh?” You nod shamelessly, though the aching in your core suggests you want more than that. “Then you better be a good girl and cum on my tongue first.” He’s deep in your hole again, nose bumping against your clit with every erratic jerk of your hips, Your grip on the sheets is death-like and your heart thumps dangerously in your chest. You can feel it coming, that tip over the edge that threatens to shatter you into pieces and mould you back together again. The dig of his fingers in your hip is aiding to that rush too. He feels so fucking huge and you want desperately want him to pin your down and fuck you into the mattress until you’re crying from how big he feels inside you.

It’s that image that sends your tumbling over the tip, your toes curling from intensity of the wave of pleasure that comes crashing down on you. You drown in it, whining when Namjoon doesn’t give you a moment to breath. He keeps his mouth on you, lapping up your release with greed.

“Holy shit.” It’s the only coherent sentence you can muster. You’re pretty sure you bit your tongue when you came. It feels numb in your mouth.

He laughs at that, the deep chuckle vibrating in your chest. “Still want my fingers?”

“Is that even a question,” You mutter back, eyes flickering downwards when Namjoon shuffles onto his elbows. He sits up a moment later, that’s when you notice how flushed his skin is. His lips glisten with your release and makes your insides flutter. He’s shirtless, like you are, muscles flexing beneath his golden skin, but you’re naked on his sheets while he’s still got on his stupid grey sweats that lead to this predicament. You should expect the dark wet patch across his crotch but the sight still sends you reeling. It’s wild to think that you have that type of effect on him.

He catches your gaze but he doesn’t shy away, a large firm hand slipping under the band of his sweats. You watch him rearrange himself with a buzzing beneath your skin. There’s already a flame igniting in your gut from the small action. Namjoon smiles hard, those dimples of his sending your resolve right out the window.

“Want to suck me off instead? I can make you cum again later.” He’s got a hand resting on his sweats, waiting for you to say something.

“Yeah, sure. You got condoms?” He wasn’t expecting you to say that. And neither were you, if you’re being honest with yourself. But you can’t hold yourself back any longer. You’d spent enough time getting to know each other by now. And you could still get to know Namjoon with his dick buried deep inside you.

“Huh? Yeah, I do? Why?” He’s blanking, cheeks turning a pretty shade of rouge.

“Why? Namjoon, babe.” It takes him a moment to catch on. You can’t help but smile when he blinks hard at you again.

“You want to - are you sure? You want to?” His sounds dubious but his eyes glitter with want.

“Yeah. Only if you want to, of course.” You don’t know why you sound so timid, maybe it’s hesitation in his eyes. Namjoon falls silent for a moment, head tipping backwards with his eyes shut. The silence is louder in your head and suddenly you feel overexposed, the bareness of your skin and your blatant request heightening your vulnerability . Your legs close involuntarily as you struggle to find the words that will bring back the easiness you’d distrubed when you’d blabbered your desires.

But then Namjoon is on you, mouth working your own open with a desperation that you’ve never felt from him before. You fall apart beneath him with ease, heart on display for him with how easily he knocks your legs apart to make room for himself. Your hands paw at his skin, nails dragging along his back when his tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like you and it makes your heart swell. The love you feel threatens to escape from your chest. When you break apart, Namjoon’s staring at you intently. You ache to push his mouth back against your own but you give him time to recover, collect the words you can see swimming behind his caramel eyes.

“You’re absolutely sure?” He settles for that instead, but you feel like he’s asking a lot more with that question.

“Yes.” It’s a whisper in his room, one that crumbles the tension in the air.

“Stay it,” He mutters, nose bumping against yours. “Say what you want me to do.”

You fall quiet at that, hands still on his skin as he lowers his crotch against you. You can feel him twitching along the span of your stomach, the damp patch on his sweat pants clinging to your own sweaty skin. He feels massive above you, every flex of the muscles in his broad back sending a tingle to your core. You like how tiny you feel underneath him, caved in by his overwhelming presence, safe in his arms.

You swing your legs around his waist, stomach flipping with he groans gently against your ear. “Namjoon, I want you to fuck me.”

“You’re going to kill me,” He mutters into your skin. But then he’s breaking away before you can muster up a retort. His sweats come off in a flash, cock bouncing from how hard he tugs his pants off. The tip is dangerously red, shiny with precum that slides along his length. Sometimes you forget how well-endowed Namjoon is. But that’s impossible to do now that you’re facing the reality of that being deep inside you. Your brain nearly short-wires from the mere thought of it.

It actually does a moment later when Namjoon fists himself, pumping quickly along his thick length until there’s another spurt of slick spilling from his slit. His hand is huge but his dick still looks threatening in his grip. You can already feel the stretch phantom of it already, walls clenching with anticipation. The sheets feel damp underneath you. It’s only then that you notice the slick dripping from your cunt.

“You need to finger me.” It’s not something you want but you do need to prep yourself before Namjoon even attempts to fuck you. But then something clicks in your brain. “Or you could watch me finger myself?”

Namjoon’s hand comes to an abrupt halt, cock twitching in his palm. “Yeah. Yeah I could do that.”

It takes you a moment to rearrange yourselves on his bed. You’ve got your legs spread open for his view, fingertips playing with your wet entrance. You can feel his eyes on your skin, core blazing with how his gaze stays steady between your thighs as his hands trail along his length. Your folds are shiny with your slick. It makes him crazy, how pretty your pussy is.

“Two,” He states. You comply because two of your own is technically one of his anyway. There’s a slight burn from the intrusion, but you work your fingers deep inside you regardless, pumping harder when Namjoon swears softly under his breath. The angle isn’t the best and your clit is sorely neglected but you could care less. Namjoon is watching you like you’re a deity, eyes hooded like he’s ashamed to watch you but there’s an ardour there like he can’t bare to look away either. You don’t know where to look too, enraptured by the way his hand steadily slides around his cock, a sharp jolt echoing in your core when he tightens his fist around the tip. You crave those hands on you, inside you, ruthlessly working you open. Namjoon sighs when you add a third, heady from how wet your fingers are when they reappear from your cunt. You don’t know if you can add a fourth but you’re curiosity is piqued. It makes you imagine whether you’d ever be able to take four of Namjoon’s - or maybe his entire fist.

You tuck that thought away for later though.

“God, you’re beautiful.” It’s a sentiment you don’t expect to hear, especially when you’ve got three fingers deep inside yourself and it cuts sharply through your fantasies. But Namjoon says it with such sincerity that your heart bursts, walls involuntarily squeezing around your fingers. It’s not even sexual but your body reacts like that regardless. He’s got you wrapped around his fingers and he doesn’t even know it.

“Don’t say things like that,” You chastise, trying to hide the effect he has on you. Namjoon watches your fingers fall from your cunt.

“Why not? You are beautiful.” He’s leaning forward before you can wipe your slick swiftly against his sheets. There’s another burst in your chest when he takes your hand and slips your fingers into his mouth. He cleans them with his eyes locked on yours. You feel the roaring in your head everywhere. You don’t know what to say when he’s done, mouth slightly agape. Namjoon does though, and he’s in your space again, a hand cupping your jaw as he peppers kisses across the hollow of your neck. You fall back onto the mattress without thinking, body moving in tune with Namjoon’s as he nudges your legs open once again. This time though, you’re both naked.

“So beautiful,” He says, large palms coming to slide beneath your thighs. You’re small again, in a cocoon of Namjoon that you never want to escape. “Can’t believe I get to have you like this. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Do you shiver from the words or from the graze of his fingertips against your nipple, you don’t know. But you do know that your brain is melting in your head, the heat from Namjoon above you fueling the dangerous fire in your gut. “My baby. God, I love you.”

You can’t say it back. You don’t know what words are anymore, every fiber of your being consumed by the overwhelming love you feel for Namjoon. But he must see it in your eyes though, when you look at him because he pauses as draws closer to your lips. There’s that silence again, but it’s not filled with uncertainty. It’s filled with something else. Love, surety, adoration. You can’t pinpoint it. You just know it’s there.

When he kisses you, you feel it there too. In the way his mouth his soft on yours, coaxing little moans from your throat as his tongue slides against your own. You let him have everything in that kiss, every desire and urge, every worry and fear, and all the joy you feel too. Namjoon takes it, controlling the kiss gently, holding you down with tender hands. You know then that he’ll take care of you. And that’s all you really want. It’s all you ever need.

Your mouths are wet with each other when you part. You steal another kiss before Namjoon can get away, your bones melting when he groans deep into your mouth.

“Let me get the condom,” He mutters, when you finally let up. It takes a split second to decide you could go without it.

“I’m clean. And on birth control.” He doesn’t say anything, just a brief moment where you can see his brain working behind his eyes and then his body is flat against yours. You huff in his crushing hold, a giggle trapped in your throat.

“Do you want me to die?”

“Death by pussy sounds like a good way to go,” You retort, digging your elbow in his ribs until he props himself up. He rolls his eyes at that, but there’s a glimmer of a smile on his face.

“The things you do to me.” You’re about to share sentiment when Namjoon suddenly gets on his knees, dragging your closer to him as he does so. You don’t miss how his hard cock grazes your thigh with that motion. Your cunt feels incredibly empty. Thankfully Namjoon doesn’t prolong it any longer, spreading your legs as far apart as they’ll give, his hands splayed against the back of your thighs nearly gripping your ass. You squirm when you finally feel the tip of length trail along your cunt. When he settles at your core, you can’t help but fist the bed sheets. He feels massive, and he’s not even inside you yet. You know he feels you tense up because Namjoon pauses, concerned eyes on you.

“This okay?”

“Yes. Can you please fuck me now?” You don’t mean to add that edge to your voice but the temptation of having Namjoon so close was starting to overwhelm you. His eyebrow raises at that, before they settle and a look flickers across his eyes.

“You want my cock that bad, huh?” You dislike the way he exposes your desperation. But then there’s a press against your cunt and Namjoon is sliding in deep. “My baby will get what she wants then,” He says, but his teeth are gritted.

Even with the help of your fingers, you’re still tight around his dick. There’s a still resistance as he slowly thrusts forward. It’s a lot to take in. For the both of you. Namjoon’s massive, splitting you apart with soft shallow thrusts that leave you shaking in his arms. And you’re such a snug fit around his cock that it takes everything in Namjoon for him not to blow his load right there and then. The sounds you’re making aren’t helping his cause either. They travel right to his gut those little gasps that float from your pretty mouth. It makes him want to haul your legs higher, fold you right in half and fuck you until you can’t even speak. But he hold himself back, weary of the way his thighs tremor with the promise of his orgasm, and shifts himself slowly into you.

You groan when his balls finally met the curve of your ass. You can feel every thick inch of Namjoon inside you. It’s slightly uncomfortable but you know that’ll fade away the moment he picks up his pace. You’re heady when you finally glance at him, eyes lingering on his happy trail, until they taper down to where his skin kisses yours. It sends a strange thrill through your body, the fact that you’re joint like this. Namjoon’s eyes are on you too, but it takes you a moment to recognise how still he is.

“You can move,” You mumble, wiggling slightly. Somehow you sink further on his dick. But then Namjoon grips your hip hard.

“Don’t move.”

Oh. Oh.

His skin is flushed, gold tinged pretty rose. Even his breathing is harsh. He’s holding himself back. Your walls clench on their own accord and the glare Namjoon sends you just makes you squeeze around him tighter.

“I would appreciate,” He rocks his hips into you. Hard. “If you listened.” His eyes flicker to the way your chest bounces when he drives his dick into you. It’s an observation that’s going to feature in all his future masturbation sessions. You open your mouth to snap back at him, but Namjoon takes the opportunity to draw himself out and slam into you hard. His vision blurs when he feels the way your walls adjust to his dick, like your cunt was made for him. The squeak you let out mortifies you. It’s a sound you never knew you could make but Namjoon is set on hearing it again. His hips move faster now, picking up a pace that makes you feel like your guts are being rearranged. You doubt they’ll ever feel the same again.

“That’s it baby,” He groans out, when he finally fucks a whine from your lips. “You’re taking my cock so well, baby. Gonna ruin this tight little cunt. Is that what you want? Huh?” You can’t think, nerves moulding together from how deep Namjoon drills himself into you. There’s a slight curve in his cock that makes the tip nudge against that spot in your walls. He picks on that small detail when your back arches off the bed after one particularly harsh thrust. It takes one swift shift of your legs and suddenly Namjoon’s got you folded in half, split neatly on his dick as he drills you into the mattress.

“Answer me,” He hisses, when you clench hard around him. “Shit - is this what you wanted?”

“Fuck yes,” You manage to groan out, pleased when Namjoon fucks you a little harder. “Wanted this. Needed this. God why is your dick so huge - fuucckk!” His hand is suddenly on your clit, sharp precise flicks that send stars to our eyes. It happens so quickly that you momentarily shut down from how fast it overtakes you. Your legs quiver with every thrust, walls squeezing his dick as your body tenses. Namjoon watches you with dark eyes, forcing down the coil that threatens to snap in his own gut. He could stay like this forever, your cunt dripping and tight around him. You’re so warm and welcoming for his dick that he can’t help but push himself deeper, fingertips relentless on your clit until your swipe them away with a wrecked cry. He decides then he wouldn’t mind dying like this at all, your walls milking him for all he’s worth.

You feel like you’re being made anew, ripped open only to be sown together again by his hands on your skin, marking you with remnants of his presence. The sutter of his hips against your own draws you down to earth once more. He’s close and you let him hike your hips up further, fold you so that his cock sinks deeper into your gut. He drills your with fervour, like he’s chasing something he’s afraid will disappear. The imprint of his mouth against the curve of your neck makes his desperation palpable. It makes the air heavy on your own tongue. You don’t say anything, can’t really. Namjoon fucks you brainless, firm body quivering beneath your fingertips every time your walls clench tightly around him. You revel in it, the rapid panting against your sweaty skin as his hips piston you into the sheets. There’s a tinge of pain from your sensitivity but it’s washed away by the steady drag of Namjoon’s cock inside you. It’s a different kind of stretch, one that hints that you’ll feel sore and hollow when it’s over. But that’s just another incentive for him to fuck you into the sheets again. And again. Until you feel him there forever.

You coo in his ear as he nears his high, whispering sweet nothings that make him latch his mouth onto your neck. There’s a wildness in his thrusts now, and the loud sound of your skin meeting fills the air. You take everything he’s giving you without protest. You know that there’ll be marks on your skin tomorrow but you couldn’t care less. Especially when he comes to an abrupt still, hips jerking desperately into your own. His face is buried deep in your neck when he spills himself inside you, but you still delight in the wrecked moan that falls from his lips.

Something lurches in your chest when he hauls himself off your body, sweat beading on his forehead. You nearly move to wrap your legs around his waist again, keep his softening cock deep inside you with hopes that it’ll harden again but then Namjoon pecks your nose and smiles and you bloom. When he rolls over, you find to hard to regain your breath. Your legs feel gross and his cum is steadily trickling out of you but you can’t find it in you to move. Namjoon stays quiet too, the joint rhythm of your breathing the only sound in the room once overflowing with your passion. It takes a moment for the two of you come down but when you do, you instantly turn to look at each other. His eyes are still glazed over and he’s glancing at you with a gaze you can only akin to adoration. You know you’re looking at him like that too. Namjoon pecks your nose again.

“You got any classes tomorrow?”

“No,” You croak out. Your legs still feel like they’re dissolving into the mattress, the aftershocks of your orgasm ebbing through your system. Namjoon makes a noise of acknowledgment at that, his firm arm winding down to rest at your waist. You don’t protest when he tugs you closer and nestles his face into your neck, heart flipping violently in your chest. “Why are you asking?” You continue, hoping to distract yourself from the staggering love you feel for the boy beside you.

“Cause I’m not letting you leave this bed anytime soon,” He mumbles into your skin, eyes heavy. He hand holding your waist tightens a little. “Gonna fuck you forever.”

“You’re gonna have to marry me then,” You whisper back, hating the electric shock that zips between your heart and your pussy at that statement.

His eyes flutter open. “I did say I was going to marry you, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Exactly.”

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