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evergreenfields · 1 month

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Tea for Two

Part 2 of Yours Truly, A Hostage (Part 1).

After rescuing you in Piccadilly Circus, the Captain takes you up on your invite. Naturally you make tea, scones and sexual tension.

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!reader

CW: explicit smut, piv sex, penetration, fingering, descriptions of a male body and female body (reader). MDNI.

Words: 3.5k

A/n: Let me know what you think! Also, I love how reader can afford to live on her own.

——

You honestly didn’t mean to be folded in half and speared so deliciously by John’s cock. It was only supposed to be tea and scones.

He arrived promptly, not giving you a chance to worry you had been ghosted.

You open the door to find him standing with his hands clasped at his front.

“Hello.” He says, it’s a rumble, heat fills you.

“Hi! Come in! Let me take your jacket.” You wave him into your tiny flat.

“Thanks, love.” You don’t watch as he shrugs it off. He’s wearing a green plaid shirt that hugs his broad chest. He looks different to yesterday, you thought he may look smaller as he wouldn’t be encumbered by all the gear and harnesses. But he was still huge, tall and broad. He’s not wearing a hat so you see his hair is neat and kind of side parted with a lot of grey. He’s in dark blue jeans and boots which probably added another 2 inches to his hulking frame.

“How did you know I love a tea party?” he marvels at the teacups while rolling up his sleeves revealing strong bulky forearms covered in dark hair.

“My third eye.” You point mysteriously between your eyebrows, trying to be nonchalant even though you feel flustered as he essentially started the foreplay by revealing his muscled forearms.

“What else does that third eye see?” He looks at you, it's strange how such icy blue eyes can show heat.

“It sees you behaving yourself.” You say with more gumption than you actually felt. You carry over the teapot and he waits to seat you. You can’t help but laugh awkwardly as he gently tucks your chair in.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” He says with mirth, the delicate teacup in his large hand was making you feel a certain way. You try not to stare.

“It’s a bit much.” You say quietly, “but so was yesterday.” Your thighs bounce up and down nervously. “How’s your friend, teammate, the younger guy, Gaz?”

“He’s alright, he sends his best,” Price didn’t want to reveal the full conversation they had when he told Gaz he got your phone number. Things like “but sir she’s closer to my age” and “no sir, she wasn’t complimenting my facial hair.”

“Oh bless him,” you say, touched.

“Are you okay? What you went through yesterday was no cake walk.” His brows knit together.

“It’s not really hit me yet, to be honest.” You admit, feeling conflicted because you were absolutely sidetracked with getting ready for a date with an SAS captain. You had left your statement at the police station earlier in the morning.

“If you need to talk, I’m here. And there’s no shame in speaking to a professional. A proper professional.” When he smiles, his lips disappear into his moustache and you find it was so endearing, smiling unintentionally along with him.

“Are you always like this with… rescued hostages?” You say earnestly, you’re not sure where you’re going with it.

“Definitely not.” He sits back, ramrod straight, “especially as you were so subtle.”

You feel mortified at how eager you were yesterday and it must show because he leans forward with a concerned hand out, as if to say ‘wait’.

“I’m glad you weren’t subtle,” he says quietly, “I was really taken by you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” It feels weird hearing something so vulnerable, it doesn’t feel real. You feel flushed.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, “I know it’s your job but… it must be such a weight on your shoulders.” You reach out without thinking and squeeze his hand, it’s hot while yours is cold.

“You’re sweet,” he whispers “I’ve been doing this a long time, love.” He turns his hand over and envelopes your fingers, you feel patches of rougher skin.

You nod feverishly “I’m sorry I - it’s another world. I just sit behind a desk.” You’re in uncharted territory, he operates in another world, a dangerous one, one that collided with yours yesterday.

“You don’t need to apologise, it’s an important desk.”

You’re not satisfied with that. Trying to find the right words, caressing circles with your thumb into his hand, you blurt out “you were really brave.” You speak through the embarrassment.

“I couldn’t see you but I could hear you.” Your heart rate climbs. “It was…” you breathe out “so decisive and final.” He squeezes your hand. “I knew I was safe.”

He smiles warmly and covers your small hand with his. You sit like this for a moment, in the moment. You were sure the events of the last 48 hours would dawn on you heavily but right now you felt grounded.

“You’re wondering what to do with your other hand now, aren’t you?” He chuckles, breaking the silence.

“Am I that readable?”

“You’re an open book.” He smiles warmly, crows feet etching into his skin.

You reach over and tentatively cup his cheek, his beard tickles your palm, your thumb caresses his cheekbones, he has bags under his eyes, you sense you were right about him carrying unspoken weight. “Am I?” Vulnerability seeps from your pores.

You breathe from your mouth and on your second intake, John has a hand on the back of your neck. His azure eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. You didn’t realise how your hands got to his shoulders and on the back of his neck.

He pulls you in slowly and you engulf him, the band has snapped, the kiss is deep and forceful. He controls the pace which is deliberate and slow. He bleeds into you and you feel dizzy with the intensity. His mouth is molten on yours.

You both break away with a pant, the table shakes and the cutlery clinks.

“You alright, love?” Both of his hands are back on the table, palms down, unthreatening. His voice is no longer suggestive, but clipped. You search each other’s eyes.

“I’m good.” You nod frantically.

“We can go as far as you want, we can stop right here, you’re in charge alright?” Your heart and stomach flips.

“I-.” You laugh, shaking your head, all you can feel is the wetness growing in your knickers.

“Talk to me, love.” He flips his hands so his palms are facing up.

“I’m not usually like this.” You say, standing up, “but then yesterday wasn’t usual either.”

Pushing your chair back abruptly with a squeak, you climb into his lap and straddle him. You hear a quiet vibration from his throat, a delectable groan.

“If it makes you feel better, neither am I.” He feels just like you imagined but better, harder, expanses of muscle and a layer of mass. Your dress barely covers your ass as you seat yourself on his lap. His hands move along your waist and down to the swell of your hips. You can smell his cologne and see his eyelashes flutter again as his gaze roams over your chest and neck.

He looks up at you and you can’t look back, his gaze is too intense, you want the floor to swallow you up. You look up to your left, feeling goosebumps as he explores your exposed thighs. He presses them, sighing.

He kisses your neck. You feel tickled by his beard hairs and flexing thigh muscles. In response to his kiss, you do what any respectable woman would do on top of a man, you push against his hardening cock. The chair creaks as he bucks his hips up to meet yours, both of your heavy breathes filling the room.

When he hears the moan that tears from your throat, he is undone. He imagined what you sounded like while he got dressed for the date, and this didn’t hold a candle to it. With one swift motion he pushes his seat back and lifts you up. He squeezes your ass which causes your cunt to flutter and twitch, your knickers fall into your folds.

“My bedroom’s out there to the right.” You wrap your legs around him and you feel something hard.

“Fffuck!” You gasp and grind into him, unashamed.

“That’s my belt buckle.”

You whine in response.

“In time, in time.” he kneads your ass while minding your knees through the tight corridor. He gently lays you on the bed and pushes you into the mattress, manoeuvring so his growing manhood is against your throbbing cunt.

“This is a nice room.” He says seriously while only looking at your eyes and pushing his erection against the juncture of your spread legs, waiting for your reaction.

You gasp, “oh it’s big” and push back against him. His eyes roll and you feel emboldened at the sight of this burly man, a captain no less, lost in how your body feels. You reach up under his shirt to feel the mass of his pectorals, you’re electric with need. His bulky arms on either side of your head frame your vision.

“Darlin’ you are beautiful.” He unbuttons his shirt with one hand while still hovering over you. He likes the blush that falls across your features when he opens his shirt. He kisses you deeply before quickly taking the shirt off his shoulders, pecs flexing and skin shining with sweat. You catch that narrow waist and a happy trail of hair disappearing into his jeans which you resented were still on.

You didn’t realise you said “fuck” out loud again and his laugh hits you in your core.

“Your dress is really pretty, can I take it off?” John drawls, you nod and smile dumbly at his flattery, he’s clearly enjoying your fucked out brain working overtime.

You wriggle out from under the dress and let him pull it over your head. His hands claim your breasts in your lacy bra, fitting perfectly in his palms. You think you heard him groan “s’soft” before pressing his lips to yours.

“Did you wear this for me?” He pushes the lace to either side of your swollen breasts and sucks on your nipples. He teases them gently, pleased to feel they were hard and ready for him. The rough pads of his fingers give you much needed friction.

You look up at him doe eyed and then say “I did. Why are your jeans still on?” with a hard tug of his belt.

You see him laugh silently, shaking his head. He gets up from the bed. The loss of his weight makes you bounce up slightly. You pant and touch yourself, mewling at the ceiling.

A wry smile appears on his face as he bends to take off his boots, watching you intently as you draw circles on your clit through your knickers. He drops his boots next to your slippers, they are massive in comparison and you find yourself breathing in sharply.

Finally the zipper comes down and he shucks his jeans. You watch his bulge intently as he moves.

“Are those boxers regulation?” Your mouth is dry. He laughs and you feel that same flash of affirmation you felt when you first met.

“Are you always like this?” He doesn’t climb on top of you, instead he lays beside you and places his hand on top of yours, taking over the job of drawing circles into your bud. He then slides his middle finger down and up your wet slit, collecting your dew in your knickers.

“Definitely not.” You manage to say before you moan and shudder at his touch, you feel a tightening coil and the pleasure spreads through your body like shattered glass, instant and permanent. His fingers are deft and the movement precise.

“Y/n, you’re so wet.” John’s breathing is heavy against your cheek. You look at him as if to say something but when you meet his eyes, you’re speechless. Only a moan comes out and you snap your eyes shut as waves of electricity hit you. You don’t realise your hands are on your breasts.

“Tell me what you want.” He grits against your temple, hot and humid.

You open your mouth but you can only moan while he teases your clit with fleeting strokes.

“Tell me,” John slides your knickers to the side, eyes down at your glistening sex, “what you want, love.”

You arch your back and turn your face away from him, shy and overwhelmed. You really were in charge of the pace.

“I want you inside me.” Your voice muffled by the back of your hand.

His thick fingers followed the curve of your mound and down to the dip of your entrance. Slick with your juices, it doesn’t take much for his index and middle fingers to push through. John’s cock twitches at the sensation of your tight, hot cunt. You hear him take a sharp inhale.

“Tha’s it.” He begins pumping and you’re embarrassed to already feel an orgasm building. God he’s good at this you manage to think. His fingers curl up to your g-spot and you start to see specks of light behind your closed eyelids. John revels in the sounds of your wet pussy around his fingers and your moans. He adjusts himself, mindful of the undeniable tent in his boxers.

“John I’m- I’m- gonna!” You pant in time with his pumps. You can see his massive forearm and bicep moving between your smaller by comparison legs, his once parted hair now messy and his dark gaze on you - you’re pretty sure that’s why you came so suddenly.

“Oh god fuck!” You call out, the orgasm pulsing through you violently. Your stomach involuntarily convulses and you writhe, one hand knotted in the duvet and the other one clutching his free arm. John watches as you ride out the orgasm, the broken pants and small whines short circuit his brain.

“Fucking hell.” He breathes. You look up at him, neatly groomed beard, a strong dimpled chin and a smirk that could kill. He’s stroking his hand over your thigh and up to your stomach, his eyes are hooded.

“I’m not on birth control,” you say with a parched mouth. You roll over to a drawer and pull out protection. You tear one from the packet, you know it can be a deal breaker for men but it sorted the riff from the raff.

“I had no idea you wanted to have sex.” He says dryly, a prominent bulge in his boxers. You chuckle and slap him playfully in the chest, leaving the packet against him.

You trail your hand down his chest.

“It’s all yours.” He muttered as you pushed past his waistband to find his heavy cock. He breathed out with a guttural groan, calling you darling. You bite your lip and ignore the redness in your face, he’s well endowed and you’re almost afraid to see it. You remove your hands and pull at his waistband so his reddened cock springs out.

“Of course it’s huge.” You mewl, pulling back on his foreskin gently to reveal a pretty pink and leaking tip. John tenses at your needy touch, restraining himself.

You slink to the floor and manoeuvre yourself between his legs. John's heavy breathing fills the room. You reach behind your back and unhook your bra. You shuffle closer and the tip of John’s cock smears precum on your breast.

“Oh love, you already said thanks,” he laughs, bucking his hips so his cock is nestled in your cleavage. You press your breasts together around his manhood and bounce on your haunches. The Captain grunts, his hands pushing your hair out of your face. You stare at his engorged cock appearing and disappearing between your breasts.

Soon he gently pulls you toward him and peels your knickers off. He makes quick work of putting on the condom, you like that he does it in front of you.

“Let me take care of you now.” You climb onto him and rub your slit along his cock, coating it with your wetness.

“You’re perfect.” He groans in response, fingers digging into your hips. You grind faster and faster, moaning with abandon.

“Are you always such a gentleman?” You stutter, rolling your hips, your hands splayed across his muscled chest, your cunt quivering around nothing.

He laughs and flips you over, his arms on either side of you. You giggle in surprise and then choke out a groan when he pushes his cock against your core.

“Please fuck me” is all it takes for his resolve to crumble, on top of your supine and smooth body, smelling like flowers and white musk. You moan in unison when he pushes his tip against your core, his hips shifting closer and closer. Your pussy clenches around his girth.

“Oh god - is it all in?” You stutter, blood rushing to your face, your cunt pulsing at his sheer size.

“Just half way, love.” You hear the smirk. “I’ll slow down.” He pushes himself deeper tantalisingly slowly. You pant when his hips are flush with yours, eyes fluttering. You wonder how you looked stretched around him.

“You alright?” He checks.

When you nod, John sets a steady pace, pulling mostly out and then plunging back into your heat, down to the hilt.

“Oh god,” you shudder, hands gripping his shoulders. His stomach connects flatly with your clit.

“You like that?” His voice distorted with the movement.

“Yes! Yes!” He speeds up and your world is a flurry of motion. His thrusts are fast and sharp and they push you into the mattress.

You feebly try to bring your legs up onto his shoulders.

“Deeper?” He snarls, his day couldn’t get better. He easily swings your legs onto his shoulders, the backs of your knees wet with sweat against his chest. You’re folded into a mating press and speared by his cock. The friction melts you, you’re surrounded by his mass, his scent, his strength.

You thank the stars for his training because his stamina is unwavering. The bed frame creaking, mattress thumping and lewd noises from your wet cunt hits his ears, he’s not going to let this be a 1 and done.

“I think I’m gonna-”

“Do it darlin’, cum on my cock.”

“No no - I think I’m gonna wet myself.” You shudder, a palm to his chest.

“You won’t, trust me.” He grits out while maintaining fevered eye contact, “let go.”

And with that, your orgasm tears through you and you cover both your nethers in liquid.

“Oh f-uck!” You writhe and roll your hips, John slows down to languid thrusts, whispering into your ear “tha’s it, good girl.” The aftershocks spasm through your body, your toes tingle and you babble incoherently, having never squirted before.

“Mmm, y/n,” the Captain hovers over you and looks from eye to eye. He unsheathes himself from you which is met with a whine from your parted lips. He plunges himself back in. You’re wide eyed and breathless at the motion.

“Yes John!” Your nails dig into his shoulders and your calves and feet flop uselessly over his back as he thrusts quickly and deeply, slamming into your sex.

Soon his hands are under your knees and you're folded further, the angle causing him to connect with your tender spot. You feel a fizzle build in your stomach again.

With unnatural speed and precision, John gets you on the precipice again. You begin to feel him quiver, his muscles coiled and tense as he pistons in and out of you. One of his hands squeezes your right breast and the other is on the mattress.

“Please Captain, please,” you coo, trying his rank on for size with a broken moan. With that, John erupts inside you with a violent shudder, his member pulsing stripes of white hot seed. His orgasm is sharp and absolute.

“Ah love, fuck,” He grunts, his thrusts turning sloppy and his grip loosening on your tender breast. “You’re something else.” He barely manages to grit out. You stay entwined for a few moments, savouring the afterglow between kisses.

“Let me clean this up.” He climbs off of you, a finger trailing down your left breast. You’re too fucked-out to respond.

“To the- to the um left.” You call out to him but he’s already found your bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror, his sweaty and hairy chest heaving, face flushed red, hair falling onto his forehead, his softening cock hangs between his sweaty heavy thighs, with a full condom.

He swings by the kitchen for two glasses of water, still naked. He likes how your face softens when he passes you a glass, he doesn’t know if he’s flattered that you only looked at his eyes when he appeared.

He joins you in bed, both of you gulping water.

“Tell me,” your voice is hoarse, you add a pause, “what you want.”

John peers at you as if you’ve grown another head. Then a suppressed smile grows across his face as he realises. You are secretly proud of how you copied his accent.

There’s a pause and you patiently give him some grace, he drains the glass and places it on the bed side table.

Finally he turns to face you with softness in his eyes and says, “you. Asleep on my chest, love.”

#captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #john price x female reader #cod fanfic #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price #john price fluff #john price smut #captain price smut

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kaledya · 12 days

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Hey hey! It's a-me!! The essay writer again!

Lol, sorry.

This time, I just summed up some questions about your AU Exorcists

1. Since Lute's and Adam's personalities are different in Sinners Symphony, I suppose that the morale in the army is different from canon, far closer to "We do what has to be done" instead of the usual "Haha, die you little b@#es. I'm at 261 now, how about you?" Am I correct?

2. How do the Exorcists fight? Now we know that in your AU Blessed weapons are insanely overpowered (sinners are crying for a nerf constantly), I wonder if the soldiers still fight open and without cover just to mindlessly kill a bunch of sinners or if the ladies have more discipline in this?

3. And lastly, two questions in one, do the Exorcists leave behind their weaponry like in canon? Since if not, Carmilla Carmine would probably not become an overlord, or at least have far lower than in canon, since the weapons would be super rare and far more difficult to manipulate with, resulting in less employees, resulting in less deals, resulting in less power.

Have a great day/night. Richard.

And by the way, Sir Pentious in Sinners Symphony when?

Yes the exterminators are a well trained and disciplined unit of soldiers, some lieutenants are even trained by Azrael himself, they do not take pleasure or enjoyment from their work or see it as a game, they do what needs to be done, nothing more and nothing less. There is discipline in the army like in today's armies, the soldiers respect their superiors very much and obey their orders under all circumstances.

Lute is the most skilled exterminator at the moment, in fact she was personally trained by Azrael and is the closest exterminator to Azrael. Lute has the greatest respect for Azrael and will not hesitate to punish anyone who insults him.

War styles:

I haven't designed it yet, but I'll try put a sketch here. Exterminators are divided into 3 different classes

Seraphic Smitebringers (Divine Strikers): These warriors are equipped with heavy weapons that reflect the power of the heavens.

Celestial Swiftwings: This group is known for the speed of their wings, descending upon their enemies like lightning.

Ethereal Vanguard: These warriors combine both powerful blows and swift movement to create a versatile force on the battlefield, but they are neither as fast as Swiftwings nor as powerful as Smitebringers.

Weapons they use

For Seraphic Smitebringers:

Divine Retributors: Great, luminous hammers that echo like thunder with each strike.

Judgment Hammers: Mighty war hammers, adorned with gold and silver, representing fair judgment.

For Celestial Swiftwings:

Heavenly Katanas: Long, slender swords that slice through enemies with speed and grace.

Windscythes: Light and sharp sickles that harness the power of the wind.

For Ethereal Vanguard:

Astral Lances: Spears made of stardust, effective at both near and far range.

Balance Blades: Two-sided blades that offer the perfect balance of power and speed.

The exterminators don't leave their weapons in hell as in the canonü (1. they don't leave a weapon in hell that can kill them 2. the weapons of the exterminators are made in a customized way, they have a spiritual value. 3 even if they leave it, nothing much changes, a sinner cannot touch it)

Carmilla is an arms dealer again. (Like Tony did before he became Iron Man), she is a weapon merchant, her power comes from the quality and uniqueness of the weapons she made in this AU, not from angelic weapons. she is still a 2nd place overlord, after all, Pride Ring is a battlefield and a battlefield needs weapons

+ Carmilla has destroyed all of her rivals, no one else in Pride Ring can enter the weapon trade because they are destroyed directly by Carmilla. so Carmilla's power is still the same, nothing has changed in the level.

I wish you a good day too

and I have no idea about sir pentious right now.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au

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repulsiveliquidation · 4 months

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here's a minuscule sneak peek of 'Too Dangerous'

Too Dangerous - Mafia and Football. [SMUT!] [top! R. bottom! OB.]

i think this is going to be a fun one. let me know what you think.

“I’m not mad, my love. I’m so proud of you for being brave and coming to me. Let me worry about it now, yeah?”

“Okay.”

I pull her in for a kiss, hands roaming her body. I won’t lie, the swimsuit she had on was a massive turn-on and if we weren’t about to fuck in the pool, I was sure as hell going to devour her before bed.

“You look way too fucking good in that two-piece not to be ravishingly worshipped, my darling.”

She blushes, kissing you hard. Ona pulls your hands around to her ass, which you squeeze hard and draw a deep moan from her. Your hands pull at her cheeks, fingers rubbing gently at her asshole and folds. You maneuver her around to the edge again, picking her up easily to sit. She leans back, as your fingers pull her bottoms to the side and bury your face in her folds. She’s soaking wet, arousal thick and delicious.

She whimpers for you, strong hands tangled in your wet locks. Your tongue darts into her, throwing her legs over your shoulders before pulling her closer to the edge. You're practically holding her hips up, lips suckling at her clit hard. Ona moans loudly, back arching off the ground.

“Please!” she moans, fingers tightening in your hair as her legs squeeze at your head deliciously. You slip two fingers into her, pumping in and out of her slick pussy hard. They press up into her sweet spot, fingertips rubbing circles over it to get her to come faster. She huffed and puffed, face contorting into all kinds of pleasure. She makes eye contact and cries out your name, coming hard and fast. Ona pants, licking her dry lips.

“A la mierda esto, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will die.”

“Picked out a new strap for you to be split open on, mi amor.”

“puta madre!”

“Yeah, this one’s pretty fuckin’ big huh?”

“Feels s-so good!”

Your hips pound into Ona, swimsuits abandoned at the foot of the bed. She’s on her front, trying her best to push her ass back on you as you fuck her from behind. She tries to keep up, knees buckling every time the new strap finds a new erogenous spot she never knew she had. It was significantly bigger than she had ever taken, with three prior orgasms and a fingering of a lifetime, she was finally open enough to take the head. Coming once again was the key to taking the whole thing, Ona looked absolutely wrecked when speared on it.

“You’re so fucking hot baby, taking my cock so well princess,” you cooed, hands turning her onto her back as your fingers rubbed her clit that you just spat on. She was sensitive beyond words, her speech slurred, and was barely babbling, hyper-focused on her pending sixth orgasm for the night.

“Are you gonna cum, my sweet?” you whispered into her ear, leaning over her as your hips did not slow down one bit. Hands pressed her legs wide open, harness dragging over her clit with each powerful thrust.

“Yes, yes!” she croaked out, head nodding hard and fast as she cried tears of frustration and sexual arousal.

You spat on her hot clit again, fingers rubbing messily at her folds as you sped up even more. She screamed, orgasm ripping through her hard. She was convulsing and begging for you to not stop, the aftershocks making her beg again, this time for you to stop.

You chuckle and do, pulling out and pulling the harness off. She tucked in your chest immediately, cradled, and kissed softly.

#woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #fc barca femeni #ona batlle #ona batlle smut #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #bottom ona batlle #woso smut #woso

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rubberduckyrye · 17 hours

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Okay in all seriousness. There's something that I REALLY want to talk about as an open discussion with the fandom, but. This is not going to be a very nice thing to hear/talk about.

It's about how Gonta is treated by the fandom.

As a fan of all the V3 characters now, and as someone who has always been a fan of Gonta, and as someone who has many mental disabilities and two diagnosed neurodivergancies... I'm tired of playing nice about it.

You all need to stop being ableist towards Gonta.

I've mentioned in the past that I don't like shitting on personal interpretations. I don't like saying something is or is not canon because narration is just a big web of text that you try to decipher with your own personal biases, experiences, and thoughts. That's why two literary analysts analyzing the same text with the same literary criticism rules can come to wildly different conclusions--why people develop different headcanons from the same canonical information.

But one of the things that challenged my integrity is just how many people view Gonta as this innocent, naive, ignorant, baby boy who can do no harm/never has a complicated/dirty/violent/sexual thought in his life ever.

This incredibly ableist interpretation of the character bothered me for, well, obvious reasons (See: It's fucking ableist, need I say more?) but I never challenged it as harshly as I am now because to be frank, it's not my place to tell people how to HC a character. It still isn't. But I've pretty much given up on my integrity on the subject and have decided to go all in on discussing why this interpretation of Gonta is just. Really bad.

First of all, not to promote my own analyses here or anything, but I think this analysis I did of Gonta explains a LOT in regards to the ableism the cast gives him in canon. I also think that this subtle ableism is why the fandom is so bad with Gonta's characterization in headcanons and fanfic--because they've seen how the cast treats him, and they think it's normal. They don't see the microaggressions, they don't see the subtle ableism in the cast--they just see this big giant idiot who speaks like Tarzan in the English version (which... I don't actually know why people assume Tarzan (Thinking of Disney's version) is stupid. Like as a boy he had to reinvent the spear with no one to guide him on how to do it. He was able to strategize and outsmart "civilized" men in the final showdown. Still I digress) and don't see the literal genius behind his social awkwardness.

There is also another very important point I'm going to make in addition to this, and it's going to be very uncomfortable to Gonta fans who insist he's nothing but a sweet baby who only has pure thoughts. Especially to the fans who insist he "can't be sexual" or think it's weird to ship him with his peers.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but... Gonta blatantly has sexual desire and gets horny right in canon.

This is further clarified here:

It wasn't a matter of Gonta didn't want to touch her because touching someone in their underwear was inappropriate, or being flustered because she was in her underwear which is inappropriate...

It was literally a "weird feeling" that made him unable to approach her or touch her. A "weird feeling" that Miu makes pretty obvious as to what it was--sexual arousal.

He literally was sexually attracted to and felt sexual arousal from looking at Miu in her underwear. He had sexual feelings and thoughts about Miu. Why?

Because Gonta is a young man.

Gonta is a brilliant, talented young man who has normal human thoughts for someone his age--sexual desires, upsetting thoughts, complicated thoughts, ectect. He is not a child, he is not mentally stunted (I've been informed that people have literally said this on Ao3 for the NSFW Gonta fics, please for the love of god stop that)

I think the reason why Gonta fans typically want to keep him as a "pure baby child who can do no wrong" is because treating him like the young adult that he is makes it harder for them to justify Chapter 4. Every time I've seen a Gonta fan that hates Kokichi, it's always followed by the sentiment of "Kokichi manipulated and abused Gonta into killing Miu, so it's all Kokichi's fault." They're afraid of nuance and liking a character with the grey morality of genuinely thinking Mercy Killing the cast is a viable option, because it challenges their own morals about the character they adore.

To those people who read this and are upset: You can and should like Gonta! Gonta is a magnificent character who showcases the subtle way microaggressions can manifest and hurt people, he's a good-hearted person and a literal genius, he cares deeply for his friends and loves everyone with upmost sincerity.

But.

You need to re-evaluate your stance on Gonta if you think he's a stupid, naive fool who Kokichi manipulated. You need to re-evaluate why you think those thoughts, why you think Gonta being shipped with anyone is "Kinda weird" or "has weird consent problems" or "give you the ick." You have to challenge yourself and ask yourself uncomfortable questions in regards to why you treat Gonta like a child when canon has proven otherwise, why you think he cannot have violent or sexual thoughts, why he can't think mercy killing his class is the only way to save them.

This isn't an attack on you--but understand that these specific takes on Gonta? They are ableist in nature. They belittle and dismiss him, they treat him like a child, an idiot who can't think for himself--and you have to come to terms with the fact that Gonta is a far more complex character with complicated thoughts and feelings who is a young adult. Not a child. A young adult.

So again, ask yourself this: Why are you treating this young adult like he's a toddler?

#Gonta Gokuhara #Miu Iruma #Kokichi Ouma #Danganronpa V3 #DRV3 #As an AuADHD individual who thinks Gonta is Autistic coded #do you understand how frustrating it is to see this shit #Do you understand how it feels to be infantized? To be told through the lens of a character “You're too stupid to be an adult”?#Worse yet is that I'm also constantly told that me being short and baby faced makes me “child coded.”#Do you understand how ableist this all is. Do you Understand?#Anyway that's one post down. Gonna go read a thing for Star #This does genuinely upset me though as an AuADHDer #Please stop. I am speaking on behalf of people like me--/Please fucking stop./#Tag Edit: Yes this is safe to RB and spread around #Please do RB this in fact

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tylermileslockett · 7 months

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ARES

“Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities, harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the spear, O defense of father of warlike Victory, ally of Themis, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of righteous men, sceptered King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aether…”

(-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

ARES (AIR-ees), God of war, courage, and civil order. The raging, wrathful deity unleashes his bloodlust in the fury of battle. His sacred weapons glittering; the golden helmet, spear, and shield. The boar head icon on the shield symbolizes Ares turning into a boar and jealously gorging the youth Adonisto death, for the youth's affair with Aphrodite. The serpents are creatures associated with Ares: the Colchian dragon (which guards the golden fleece in the sacred grove of Ares- from the Jason and the Argonauts myth) and the Ismenian dragon (which guards the sacred spring of Ares near Thebes).

Flying above Ares' shoulderAres shoulder is his daughter, Nike, the goddess of Victory, Nike. In the upper right are vultures, animals associated with Ares, and his sister Eris; goddess of discord. This goddess who, unable to enter the banquet of the gods, threw in the golden apple inscribed "for the fairest" causing strife for the women and ultimately bringing Paris of Troy to judge, as a precursor to Helen and the Trojan war. Galloping into battle below are three Amazon warrior women, the leader being Ares daughter; Queen Penthesilea, (who Achilles killed in battle at Troy and fell in love with her as she lay dying.)

Want to own my Illustrated Greek myth book jam packed with over 130 illustrations like this? Support my book kickstarter "Lockett Illustrated: Greek Gods and Heroes" coming in early 2024. check my bio LINKTREE

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milolunde · 14 days

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So, Sonic Forces! … again. Posts like this will be put under Forces!RW from now on, just so I can keep things together.

Following this post, I’ve been thinking about my reimagined Sonic Forces a lot. It’s high up on my list of things to rewrite, but… that list is quite long and is made up of stories that, for the most part, will live exclusively in my head. However, I had so much fun making my last post that I wanted to make another.

I wanted to touch on an aspect of the Phantom Ruby: how it’s able to make hordes of copies at Infinite’s will.

In my mind, the Phantom Ruby makes clones with the same attributes as any other illusion. Those made to witness the illusion will be unable to control feeling, despite reason, what they are witnessing is real. This enhances the Phantom Ruby’s powers, making its illusions able to affect the world as if they were real.

However, copies are different as they can perform most of the abilities their source can, but only if Infinite has a solid grasp on what those abilities are. For example, Chaos remains in his base state because Infinite does not understand his evolution, but he does understand chaos energy and chaos manifestation, so Shadow’s copies is able to harness Chaos Spear (though its nowhere on the scale of a true Chaos Spear. It gathers available chaos energy and turns it into a weapon, but without an emerald the copy has to draw upon the natural chaos energy around it). This is also one of the reasons Zavok is so… lame, for lack of a better word, and why Infinite resigns his copy to being Sonic’s jail keeper.

Why, then, would Eggman have Infinite stop at making copies of Zavok, Chaos, and Shadow? Of course, it’s because he finds them worthy allies as they have all put Sonic in close life or death situations and all have beaten Eggman himself at least once. If they worked together, they would undoubtedly be able to take Sonic out without the need for more manpower.

But… why not copy Sonic himself after his capture? Eggman chooses to copy Metal Sonic so, with Sonic himself imprisoned, having Sonic’s speed and agility on Eggman’s side would be a valuable resource.

————

vvv Continuation + Close Ups/Textless Art vvv

————

Eggman told Infinite they should make copies of Sonic to torment the world they were conquering. Having their precious hero, or at least his likeness, working with Eggman would destroy their moral… Infinite proposed, instead, not only was it too soon to show their cards in Infinite’s full abilities, but that tormenting the world with their hero acting against them would be nothing compared to the psychological play of allowing the world to believe Infinite, a hand in the Eggman Empire, had taken him out for good. Letting a likeness of their hero wander around could work against them, influencing people to gain a “hope against all odds” approach.

While Eggman agreed, it wasn’t until after he had Infinite show him the Ruby could, in fact, make a copy of Sonic. Despite not wanting to, having the copy ended up working in Infinite’s favor. After commenting on the pest Sonic was, the Doctor agreed that, yes, looking at that hedgehog for too long was giving him a migraine; he didn’t want to imagine what having hundreds of him would do… Good. Because Infinite thought Sonic was too annoying to waste his power forging copies of him, anyway.

Infinite looked at the copy. He could appreciate the hedgehog’s indomitable spirit and his ability to ruin things. He could even acknowledge that, yes, he was enough to be the world’s hero.

Until now.

————

Five, closing in on six months after Sonic’s defeat, Tails found himself miles from his live-in workshop, the last one left after Eggman’s takeover. He managed to gather supplies before his home was invaded and made it out by his scruff on the Tornado, but she hadn’t gotten them out without taking severe damage. Still, she flew, and she landed, and Tails could start repairing her to the best of his ability. He didn’t need a plane since the sky had been put under lockdown, but the Tornado was Sonic’s. He’d hate for Sonic to find out he had wrecked the Tornado and done nothing to fix it.

While sorting out the damaged parts, Tails heard something scuff behind him… He tensed before he moved, much too caught up with the Tornado to remember he should defend himself first, worry later, when his eyes caught the source of the sound.

Impossible.

Tails didn’t think it was possible, but he tensed more at the sight of his brother, his big brother, the sight of Sonic walking idly past him. Something slipped past Tails’ lips, maybe it was supposed to be words, but he didn’t know which ones. His big brother stopped. And turned towards him…

————

Gotta cut myself off from my more story-writer way of telling this before I get carried away. Apologies! But, if I’m able to work on this more, maybe there will be a full scene in a full chapter in a full story for this? Perchance…

Shadow would appear and, before Tails could process it, would be fighting the copy down the street. Shadow’s been dealing with Phantom copies since day one of Eggman’s invasion, and he knows Sonic well enough to be able to spot a fake from anywhere.

Tails would, of course, chase after them, leaving behind the Tornado and all of his supplies. As far as he knows, it was Shadow who helped take Sonic down in the first place and he’s ready for answers as to why, and answers on how Sonic got back, and why they’re fighting again, and…! Well, a lot of answers!

By the time Tails gets there, Shadow would have already taken the copy down; it’s on the floor, lifeless, and starting to disappear. Tails would launch himself at Shadow, claws and teeth bared, kicking and scratching out of everything he’s thought and felt about Shadow for the last five months, but Shadow would easily subdue him. Tails is tired, and hungry, and most of all he’s devastated.

Once Tails is able to hear anything Shadow tries to tell him, he would tell Tails about the fact Eggman is generating copies. Shadow has a certain soft spot for Tails, especially in his current situation, so while the scene would be to get information about the Phantom Ruby to Tails, it would also serve to give him the comfort he needs, and closure that no, Shadow didn’t hurt Sonic and, no he’s also not looking for him but, if he hears anything, he’ll let the kid know.

————

I don’t know if I’ve said it, but I’ve got a biiiiig list of media I’ve rewritten entirely in my head for fun and that usually means I have the most barebones chapter layout for them and even some ‘first drafts’ for certain chapters; like this hypothetical chapter!

That’s it, really. I had fun talking about Forces and showing how I would do things! I tend to get carried away a lot when I’m writing about the things I like. I really didn’t plan to write this post out the way I did. Hopefully the difference between my presenting the concepts and writing them out for a more entertaining read of what I would do wasn’t too confusing.

#forces!rw #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic #sonic forces #shadow the hedgehog #my art #tails the fox #miles tails prower #unbreakable bond #ultimate bond #…technically.#oh man. how to I tag writing… better question how do I tag this accidental conglomerate.#solution; I won’t.

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chronicowboy · 11 months

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every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) | 22k

"Do you have any idea what its like telling him his Buck is hurt?"

"Yes," Buck growls out, voice sharp as the knives embedded in Eddie's chest. "Yeah, Eddie, I really fucking do because I was the one that had to tell him that you'd been shot."

Eddie laughs. Its a broken sound, animalistic and rough and sounding only like a laugh echoing halfway across the galaxy. A wet laugh, edges razor sharp with bitter irony, corners like spears of desperate loneliness. He wants to grab Buck by the face and make him understand. Make him understand that the comparison of those situations is an admission of Buck's place in Christopher's life. Make him understand what Buck has never quite been able to grasp fully.

"Once," Eddie says instead. "Once. Imagine doing that five times within the last six months. Over and over and over. Watching his little face crumple like that first time when we didn't know if you'd ever wake up, listening to him begging to see you even if you've already been sent home because he doesn't quite believe that you aren't gonna disappear like his mom." Its too much, too much all at once, and Buck's mouth falls open like he hadn't been expecting it. A chink in his armour. Eddie exploits it. "He's terrified, Buck. And you just keeping throwing yourself into danger like he doesn't care about you."

"I know he cares," Buck argues hoarsely.

"Do you?" Eddie pushes, eyes dropping to the tense line of Buck's shoulders. "Do you? Because I think that if you did, if you knew just how much he cared, you wouldn't be ignoring harnesses and risking your life for a Walmart bunny."

"You know as well as I do that toys mean a lot to kids—"

"They're valuable, yes," Eddie concedes. "But not at the cost of a life, Buck." Not your life. "Does Christopher even cross your mind when you free climb down a cliff?"

"Of course he does!" Buck clenches his hands in the pillow he drags into his lap, unable to do anything else to purge his anger. "It was a little boy I was climbing down for, Eddie! You don't think I was thinking of Christopher?"

"I don't think you were thinking of him in the right way," Eddie snaps, pushing himself up from the armchair and pacing the floor in front of the coffee table.

"And how should I have been thinking of him, Eddie?" Buck's voice turns cold and emotionless in a way that sends a shudder down his spine. "In terms and conditions? In legal fine print? In the event of your death? Is that how I should have been thinking of him? As his back-up plan?"

"Back-up plan?" Eddie stares down at him incredulously, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

(OR: buck gets reckless, eddie gets angry, they talk in all the wrong ways, and the universe decides to intervene) [AKA The Angst Fic/season seven divorce era 2.0 fic]

@danielsousa @diazly @gracelcdomas @diazass @rogue205 @alyxmastershipper @pinky-promisesss @evanbucklxy @buddiearemydads @youraveragebookwhore @kenneth-black @poughkeepsies @littlechaosgremlin @krispold @scarcrossedbuck @thisyearsloveisnow @shortsighted-owl @ebdaydreamer @mellaithwen @littlebunnyz @shipping2survive @wallpaper-inside-my-heart @theroguetranslator @thebestbooksaround @i-am-a-mess24-7 @disasterpans @cowboy-buck @violet-rot @angstydiaz @livingonzenstreet @chiefcolorathletetoad

#sami rambles #okay this is an absolutely wild ride and i hope y'all enjoy it #please feel free to scream at me on here as well as ao3 #and uh yeah hope this hurts you guys as much as it hurt to write it :)#911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic

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phoenixcatch7 · 10 months

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So there's an actual in game reason you can't get lynel weapons anymore??

So I was looking over the monster statues, just examining the design, when I notice something I'd seen but never really twigged:

Those are nuts and bolts. Huh. That's not natural, that's been added on. In fact, you can still see part of the original scratchy lynel horn from botw underneath, even if it has mutated a bit like all the other horned monsters.

See, lynels, with lizalfos in a lesser way, are the only enemies in the game with the intelligence and cunning to forge weapons. A lizal can only manage one boomerang, shield or bow with varying spikes and occasionally repurpose some hylian armour (and often loot anyway), but lynels are capable of creating their own unique metals and using it to completely outfit themselves. Armour, bows, shields, spears, clubs, and swords, complete with sheaths and harnesses and decoration!

But in totk the particularly pointy ones are missing, leaving only shields, armour, and bows. Their weapons were subject to the Decay as well, but instead of trying to use them anyway, what did they do? They broke down their own weapons and repurposed them as enhancements to their own horns! Extra defence and a new devastating attack!

But... For what reason? They could have kept using those weapons just fine, everyone else is! It probably would have been more practical to start attaching things to the end, like the goblins have all started doing (albeit with mixed results, they seem to inordinately favour mushrooms). Why would the most feared enemy in the game feel the need to put more points into defence and intimidation, even sometimes utilising the rock armour?

What would they be feeling the need to so strongly defend from, even to the point of sacrificing huge attack power over it?

...

Link. It's Link.

The 5 nothing hero of hyrule, who built a whole community of speed running, styling on, brutally murdering lynels almost exclusively again and again and again. Moldugas, hinox, talus, they haven't changed a bit! They weren't at the center of every flashy slow mo clip since the first game came out!

But lynels in totk are running scared, they're building bigger horns to look scarier and armour to hide in, because once they need to get their short range weapons out its already over, or maybe link will just stop farming them for top tear weapons XD.

Tldr: unlike other monsters, which have branched out to kidnapping, riding flying monsters and rolling big spiky balls, lynels have gone entirely the other direction in order to try and scare the hero off after the last round of stylish massacres, and attached their old decayed gear to their horns.

Tldr tldr: botw link is the reason you can't get lynel weapons in totk because he scared them too much.

#Sorry lynels! I'm still going to farm you for your loot! Congrats on swallowing your pride enough to use hylian weapons though lol #Don't think I've even seen a blue lynel outside the floating coliseum. Found one in akkala and immediately went hunting for silver pelts.#It's actually hilarious how much the loz community has affected totk. Like there's glitches they've made features there's pranks they pull #There's lots of little changes they've made to the world and physics engine. Sometimes it's funny #Like rehydrated ganon and the new extra revealing outfits. Sometimes it's how elemental effects now continue through the weapon spin.#Sometimes it's assuming lynels just have bigger horns like the rest until you look closer and realised they enhanced them to be Extra Tall #They've started trying to posture like cats that 'totally aren't scared what' because the loz community is utterly terrifying XD #loz #legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #totk #loz totk #loz tears of the kingdom #tloz totk #tloz tears of the kingdom #totk lynel #lynel #botw lynel #botw #tloz #silver lynel #loz theory #long post #lmaooooooo

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allarica · 9 months

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"Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities, harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the spear, O defender of Olympos, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of the righteous men, sceptred King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aither wherein your blazing steeds ever bear you above the third firmament of heaven; hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless youth!"

Part 1/? of Allarica's Greek Gods

Commissions are open! || Support me on Patreon

Prints on RedBubble || Follow me on Instagram!

#ares #greek myth #greek mythology #nico di angelo #mythomagic #percy jackson #aphrodite #pjo #hoo #toa #allaricasworks #agg

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kowaiitenshii · 10 months

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[Sunkiller Lullaby Part Three]

Pairing: Darth Vader X Reader

Plot Summary: Finally, it’s time to enact your duties as Darth Vader’s personal attendant. What will happen as you accompany him in his everyday life?

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Murder. Mentions of death. Mentions of alcohol. Alcohol consumption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of violence. Descriptions of injury. Descriptions of a wound. Reader is a former slave. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns and descriptions used. Corruption. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 6k

A/N: First off, I want to say a HUGE thank you for all the love this fic has gotten. I had put off actually writing this for months, for fear that it wouldn’t make sense to others, or fear that no one would care to read it if I did. Just goes to show you, you’ll never know if you don’t try! Here is part three of this series, how many parts it will be in total; as of right now I’m unsure. But! I’m committed to writing this story out in its entirety, and I only hope you enjoy it!!

Part One // Part Two

Part III:

And then you wake up.

Groggy, bleary-eyed and half awake, you groan in frustration. Of course you had to wake up, just when everything was beginning to get good.

You can still feel the fluttering of the butterflies in your stomach and the ache of yearning in your chest as you stretch and slide out of bed.

Sighing longingly, you decide to take a nice, hot shower before starting your day.

You line the bottom of the shower with aromatic salts, deeply breathing in the steam in an effort to recenter yourself. The gentle caresses of the hot water wash away the leftover tension in your body, and you savour the feeling of it trickling over your skin in little rivers.

Eventually to your dismay, the water begins to go cold. You begrudgingly start to towel off, examining your form in the mirror as you do so. Stepping closer as you dry your face and hair, you stop in your tracks when you notice that something is off.

You lean closer into the mirror, peering at the point of interest. Your bottom lip is pinker than usual, almost like it’s slightly swollen.

Your heart begins to beat faster, and as you pull down your bottom lip with quivering hands to examine the inner side, you swear it stops.

A fine chill runs down your spine, your hairs stand on end when you see it.

A small red mark on the inside of your lip. A bite mark.

Your eyes go wide, and your hand drops from your lips thoughtlessly. You stare at your own reflection in terrified shock.

How could that be possible?

If it was all just a dream, then how could the effects carry over into the waking world?

This question shakes you, leaving you locked within the confines of your own body, wrought with confusion.

For a long moment, you simply stand there shaking, icy spears of dread piercing your chest.

The only thing that finally snaps you out of your trance is the sound of familiar knocking at your chamber door. Realising you are still quite naked, you rush out into the main chamber of your suite.

“One moment please!” you call out as you hurriedly begin throwing on the garments you had laid out the night prior.

You almost regret your choice of clothes; the undress you chose is an obsidian black, low-cut, with long sleeves that drape over your arms and leave your shoulders exposed. The waist of the dress cinches in with ties in the back, and there are thigh high slits on either side of the skirt. You add an upper body harness for an additional touch of much needed stability, and you pray to the maker that the outfit is acceptable. You are rather nervous to wear a more revealing ensemble in front of your master, as if you had been a braver person when you picked it.

That is, until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rounded mirror of your vanity. The dress exposes you in all the right ways, while still maintaining an elegant sensibility. The fabric falls beautifully over your curves, and the harness hugs them in all the right places; sure to impress any who had the privilege of looking upon you.

Finally, after brushing out your hair and deciding to leave it down, you call out for your droid friend to enter.

“Come in!” you call.

The droid enters promptly, carrying a silver platter loaded with your breakfast, and it pauses for a second when it sees you.

“Looking lovely today, Madam!” it compliments you, bringing a smile to your lips.

“Are you ready for your morning meal?” it offers politely.

Taking your place at the table, you nod.

“Yes, please.”

Admittedly, you aren’t very hungry this morning, your appetite soured by your recent discovery in the mirror. Picking at the morning’s selection of baked fruit pastries, sweet jams, and whipped creams, the droid takes notice.

“Is everything to your liking, Madam?” it asks, cocking its head in curiosity. “I can bring you something more suited to your tastes if you find it lacking.”

Blushing lightly, you shake your head, feeling a tinge of guilt for seeming ungrateful.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Everything is perfectly delicious.” you reassure the kind droid. Everything is delicious, your mind is just stuck elsewhere.

“I just…” you pause, worrying your lip between your teeth as you try to find the right words, the droid looking at you with curiosity.

“I had the strangest dream last night.” You admit in a hushed tone.

The droid nods in understanding.

“I am very sorry Milady.” it apologizes. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? I understand that dreams can be troubling for a great many humans.” It offers generously.

You simply smile at the faithful droid, appreciating its support as you shake your head.

“No, But I am thankful for your offer.” you reply, the droid nodding in acknowledgement before it begins to tidy up.

The droid leaves with the clutter momentarily, before returning to report the day’s agenda.

“Lord Vader would like you to meet with him.” the droid announces. “He has several negotiations with the Empire’s trade and resource unions scheduled today.”

Nodding, you figure that discussing meetings with Lord Vader is much more palatable than nearly having a rock dropped on your head.

“I’ll meet with him now.” you affirm. “In his quarters I presume?”

The droid nods, holding its hands together politely.

“Yes, Milady. Shall we?” it asks, gesturing towards the open door. You nod in response, rising from your seat and allowing it to lead you to your master, as it always does.

As you arrive, you can sense Vader’s dark and snaking presence imminent in the room beyond, tickling at the edges of your perception. You take a deep breath to gather yourself, before bidding your droid friend a goodbye and entering the room.

Standing ominously in the center of the room, Vader observes you silently for a long moment as you approach. His gaze has a weight to it, and you can feel it roving over your body; sliding heavily over the curve of your chest, the cinch of the harness at your waist, the draping of the skirt over your hips. You can feel warmth spreading over your chest, your shoulders, your cheeks, but you stand straight despite the fear of offending Lord Vader with your choice of garments.

“Good morning, my lord.” you greet him, bowing gracefully.

“Morning, young one. The dress suits you.” is all he says in response, and you take it as a success, a smirk creeping across your lips.

“Thank you, my lord. I had hoped that you might like it.” you say with a careful smile, feeling a measure of relief at his approval.

Vader gives you a nod in response, and you stride over to meet him where he stands.

You look up at the blank visage of his face, expectantly awaiting his command. Unwaveringly meeting your gaze, he begins.

“I have several meetings for negotiations scheduled today.” he informs you, as the droid had. “You are going to accompany me.” he states.

Your eyebrows raise for a split second with pleasant surprise, accompanying your masters during meetings was nothing new; it would be easy.

“As you wish, my lord.” you affirm in a steady tone and with a gracious smile.

You have attended meetings with several of your masters in the past, and you know that the most you’ll be doing is listening to something mildly disinteresting for a few hours. Considering everything you’ve been through, this should be a breeze in comparison.

All you have to do is sit around and look pretty.

And that is something that comes quite naturally for you.

Vader nods down at you before speaking again.

“You will accompany me as an ambassador.” he explains, his mechanical voice bouncing off the walls at you. “It is my belief that your image will be of aid in gaining favour for the Empire.” He says, still staring down at you.

His praise, his belief in you is a feeling completely new to you.

For so long, you had been burdened by masters that saw you as sub-human, less than a person. You had attended meetings as an object, a trophy, never an ambassador.

The realisation begins to dawn on you that your treatment under the Empire will go well beyond your expectations, and you are grateful in a sickly sort of way.

How ironic it is, that a Sith Lord is the most gracious and generous master you’ve ever had.

Smiling up at Lord Vader, you bow once more.

“Thank you, my Master.”

He tips his head at you in acknowledgement of your thanks.

“Your duties will simply be to accompany me, nothing more. I will handle the negotiations.” He says, his gaze never leaving you.

So it was exactly as you thought. Your only job was to sit around and look pretty. A welcome relief.

“An easy task, my lord.” you chime. “I will not fail you.” you promise him in full confidence.

“I should hope not.” he booms simply, before pacing over to the window with you following close behind.

It is then that you realise the ship has begun to descend upon the flight-deck of a snow covered planet. The sun reflecting off of the thick blanket of snow below is bright and blinding, hurting your eyes and forcing you to shield them as you look. There are skinny, evergreen trees that stretch out for miles around the sprawling fortress, and you suddenly realise that you are severely underdressed for the frigid weather.

Snow falls in fat flakes over the landscape littered with greenery, and you can only hope that you’ll be spending most of your time inside.

Wordlessly, Vader walks over to the long white couch you had dozed upon the night before, slipping his fingers into a notch on the underside and pulling out a long drawer.

Ah, that’s why his couches are so much firmer. They double as storage.

You watch curiously as he pulls out a heavy, fur-lined cloak and shakes the dust off of it before silently striding back over to you, coming to stand directly behind you with it in his hands.

Feeling his dark, menacing presence right behind your back, you bristle with the anticipation of his movements. Even though you know now that he would not truly harm you, it’s still hard to shake that expectant, anxious feeling that swirls in your gut.

Like a deer in the headlights, you stand still as he drapes the weighty cloak over your shoulders, his large gloved hands reaching around your neck to fasten the chain. You have to use great self restraint to not flinch when his fingertips brush against the exposed skin of your collarbone, even though the touch is feather-light, barely a whisper against the skin.

The darkly coloured furs that line the cloak are thick and soft to the touch, warming you up nearly instantly. It’s much too long for you, dragging the ground behind you like an elegant train.

Of course it’s too long, it’s Lord Vader’s very own cloak.

“It seems you’ll be needing this.” he says, his deep, distorted voice quieter than usual.

You blush, your eyes tracking him as he paces back in front of you.

“One more thing.” Lord Vader adds, and you notice a plain, black box in his hands that you hadn’t seen him pull out.

Brows furrowed in confusion and your heartbeat quickening, you watch as he opens the box and presents its contents to you.

It is a dainty silver circlet crown, adorned with blood red drops of crystal. They sparkle invitingly in the light, and you look up at Lord Vader’s severe countenance in disbelief.

It is the most beautiful, the most extravagant item you have ever been presented with.

Vader’s commanding, droning voice snaps you out of your daze.

“A symbol of your status.” he explains, removing the glittering circlet from its box.

“I will not have anyone mistaking you for a slave.” he says, gingerly placing the crown on your head.

A symbol of your status.

Status.

Something you have been without for countless years. Something you have so badly wanted, something your heart had ached for, devoured itself for. To be recognized, to be seen as more than a mere object or tool for your master’s whims.

So many emotions wash over you in waves, it's hard to keep track of them. Relief. Gratitude. Grief. Pain. It’s almost too much, your chin wobbling as you try desperately to maintain your dignified composure.

Placing a hand to your heart, you bow to Lord Vader.

“Thank you, my Master. Truly.” you whisper gratefully, meeting his unreadable gaze.

He simply nods in response, taking a long moment just to look at you. You stare back at him with softened eyes, truly hoping he can sense the sincerity of your words.

You can feel the jerk of the ship docking, and you know that it is time.

Silently you follow your master through the blank white corridors of the ship, taking a few deep breaths to prepare yourself.

These sorts of affairs are really just for show on your part, and playing a part is one of the things you do well. Accompanying a Sith Lord in anything is risky of course, but in this moment, you feel safe.

As you disembark, there are Stormtroopers and pale, tall aliens roaming about everywhere. Two of the smooth-skinned aliens dressed in regal, draping layers of garments greet Lord Vader, then yourself. You bow respectively back to them, and they usher the two of you inside the fortress, along with an entourage of troopers.

They chatter to Vader about their success with some increased production rates as they lead you to a large, conference type room. Holding your head high as you walk, you revel in the unfamiliar sense of power you feel. To be seen as an active part of a whole, to be treated as such.

The room you’re led to is wide and dimly lit, adorned by lavish crystal chandeliers that hang from the ceiling. There is a long black table in the center of the room, lined with seats that are filled by your master along with several of the pale aliens. Lining the carpeted walls of the room are several long couches, and there is a plush, velveteen chaise lounge against the wall directly opposite the head of the table where Vader sits.

You recline lithely on it, fixing your eyes upon the table and listening as the meeting begins. The dark-eyed aliens chat idly about stocks, production rates, exports, and all manner of boring business type jargon. You pass most of the time in your own head, lest you die of boredom. For once, it is useful to have so many things on your mind to mull over.

Your tongue keeps worrying over the raw spot on the inside of your lip, and you come no closer to an answer for the bite mark’s existence.

Yet, there it is. Existing.

You know it’s real because you can taste the tang of iron every time your tongue flicks over it.

Despite being inside, the air on this frigid planet remains chilled. You shift under the weight of Lord Vader’s furred cloak, placing it over your legs as a blanket. The furs are so thick and so soft, you gather they must be of very high quality.

Bringing an arm up absentmindedly and stroking the soft furs across your cheek, you realise it smells like Vader.

It smells strongly of the leather of his armor, of musk, and of a spice almost like pepper. It is a palpable reminder that it belongs to him, that you belong to him; and it sets you on fire.

Who better to belong to? As uncanny and questionable as it felt, Darth Vader has been the only one who had actually seemed to put any thought into your care. He housed you in the finest room, gifted you the finest garments, fed you with the most decadent feasts. He had even proven his adamant refusal to kill you.

He even cared that you’d not be perceived as a slave.

A change in your mindset is beginning, you aren’t sure how it started, but you know it’s happening. A change in how you view the imminent Sith Lord that is your master; and in turn, you have begun to see the Empire in a new light. It is true that all your life you have been told the Sith were treacherous murderers who hungered for nothing but power, but now you have begun to question the validity of those tales. While the strict brutality of the Empire and the Sith was true… you are morbidly curious about the underlying traits that your master holds within.

As the negotiations carry on, they seem to be going well. Production rates, revenue, and stocks are all up.

Good for your hosts, you think. Darth Vader will let them all leave alive.

Another tall, grey-skinned alien slips into the room, much more modestly dressed and carrying a golden platter of deep-red glasses of wine, and you eye them hungrily. It had been ages since your last taste of the stuff. She flits quietly about the room, offering the drinks to your hosts and eventually landing upon you.

She asks you something in a language you can’t understand, extending the tray towards you.

Your eyes flick across the room to your master, and he gives you a barely perceivable tilt of his head in allowance.

Smiling, you gladly take one of the large glasses from the tray, thanking your hostess before taking a sip.

Your eyes slide shut with great satisfaction as you swallow, the coldness of the wine is refreshing; it tastes sweet with the depth of fermentation and the sharp zing of alcohol.

It’s immediately warming as it hits your stomach, a flush tickling at your cheeks.

You gather that must be why they serve it on such a painfully snow-barren planet.

Sipping languidly at the rest of the glass, you fix your wandering gaze on Lord Vader. You haven’t had many opportunities in which you could just sit back and examine your master, so you choose to take full advantage of this one.

He is seated, looming at the head of the table, and the aura of those that surround him is one of subservience. It’s fitting, as his countenance and airs that surround him are so fierce and so commanding. He sits in silence for the majority of the time, and when he does speak they hang on his every word.

As you look upon him, you come to the comprehension that he is equally as entranced in looking upon you.

It is a small detail, one that everyone else in the room seems to miss, but you know without a doubt that behind that mask he is staring back at you.

Wishing he had been the one to serve you that wine. Wishing he would be the one to share it with you.

The sensation of staring at each other is that of fingers reaching for another, that tingle of warmth just before the touch.

Swirling the wine in your glass, you decide to work a little bit of your personal magic.

With your eyes half-lidded and maintaining eye contact, you slowly raise the crystalline glass to your lips. You take a long sip, savouring the taste and being sure to make a point of licking your lips, before fixing them into a relaxed pout.

Vader tenses visibly as he watches, and you feel a great deal of satisfaction when he is the first to avert his eyes, forcing his attention back onto one of the speakers.

It is your way of testing the waters with Darth Vader, and you know now that you hold at least some modicum of power over him.

A while later the negotiations end, and all is well.

The alien species agrees to increase their productions and exports of their materials to the Empire by fifteen percent, and Lord Vader seems pleased.

What production and what exports, you did not care to know.

Everyone rises from their seats, and you gather that is your cue to join Lord Vader where he stands.

The group of aliens lead you back to the flight-deck, chattering their praise and thanks at both yourself and Lord Vader.

The deck is now bustling with people and Stormtroopers, all gathered to watch as you disembark. As you walk behind your master to the extended ramp of his ship, you get a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, which screams at you.

Something is wrong.

Something bad is about to happen.

Time seems to slow, and your mind races.

Inevitably, you act on those impulses which have been instilled in you; that is all you know to do.

In an instant you leap in front of the turned back of Lord Vader as he enters the ship, successfully shielding him. Right then, a beam of hot plasma shot from a blaster knocks you clean off your feet, and Vader turns on his heel instantly.

It hurts, Maker it hurts.

A fiery, searing pain spreads throughout the entire left side of your body as you lay on the cold ramp, and your head swims from it. The world fades in and out in black and white as the pain worsens with every pulse, until the inky blackness of unconsciousness consumes you.

The last thing you hear is an anguished, savage roar tearing its way from Darth Vader’s throat.

Fueled by anger, by the hatred of seeing your crumpled body laid on the floor, Vader shoots an arm out; instantly pinpointing the source of the blast and lifting the perpetrator out of the crowd in his invisible grip.

A rebel in stolen Stormtrooper armor. A treacherous criminal. A fool.

Without a second thought, he clenches his fist, revelling in the sickening sound of each and every bone in the perpetrator’s body snapping at once before allowing their lifeless body to hit the ground.

It is what they deserve.

With no care toward the opinion of others, Vader hastily gathers you into his arms before storming onto the Executor, the flight-deck erupting in screams and chaos behind him.

Ordering a commander to tell the captain to take off, he begins running with your limp body in his arms.

His heavy footsteps echo like thunder off of the sterile corridors surrounding him, and his breaths come quicker, but he does not hear them.

The only things he can feel are the biting urgency to get you to safety, and his boiling anger.

Anger towards you, for being so careless, so foolish in trying to protect him, and anger at the Rebellion. Anger that you were hurt. Anger that the rebels would be so brazen in an attempt.

Whatever he had planned for the rebels, he was now planning much worse.

Frantically entering the key code for the door, he storms into his private chambers.

With one arm he swipes everything off of his workbench, the objects crashing to the ground with a sharp sound that falls on deaf ears. He drags the worktable to the center of the room, before placing your lifeless body onto it, carefully cradling your head as he sets you down.

Once you’re on the table, Vader looks over you as his chest heaves. It’s quite easy to spot the injury on the front of your left shoulder, dangerously close to the vulnerable parts of your chest. The blast had burned a hole straight through the heavy cloak you wore.

He wastes no time in tearing his cloak off of your body, intensely focused on the task at hand.

Making quick work of undressing you, he removes your harness and slips your left arm out of the sleeve, being careful to respect your modesty.

Bare skin exposed, he examines the extent of your injuries. It is bad, there’s no doubting that. But thankfully, there is no exit wound. You aren’t bleeding, as the blast had melted through the cloak and cauterised the wound in the process. But the skin around the deep black mark left by the shot is dark red, and angry.

He knows without a doubt that it is excruciatingly painful.

As he looks, an unfamiliar pit grows in his stomach. Not anger, no. Something else. Sorrow, remorse that you had been hurt.

He can feel the death of his peace of mind imminent on the horizon.

Why does he care?... A question for another time.

Lightly pressing two fingers to your temple, he uses the Force to keep you unconscious.

Not forever, just long enough to tend to you.

Vader quickly paces into the room that houses his Bacta tank, gathering an arm full of medical supplies and pharmaceuticals.

Laying them out next to you on the table, he gets to work. He painstakingly peels away every strip of burnt cloth, every piece of charred skin - lest it become infected.

He checks your expression every so often, ensuring that you don’t awaken during the process.

He sterilizes the angry lesion, then begins to dress it. As he covers your skin with gauzy bandages, he finally begins to come down.

You were safe. He had kept you safe.

It was best not to waste his energy on worrying.

He would make those who had done this to his very own possession pay.

Carefully slipping your arm back into your sleeve, Darth Vader rises from his hunched position.

All there is left to do now is to wait, and to plan.

He and the Emperor would ensure their suffering.

As Vader gazes down upon you, he seethes. Seethes at the thought that your smooth, powder-soft skin had been sullied. Seethes at the idea of anyone but himself causing you such pain, leaving such a scar.

Yes. They shall suffer.

Vader spends a long while just watching over you, using the Force to keep a close eye on your vital signs. The blood flowing from your heart throughout the rest of your body, the oxygen flowing in and out of your lungs.

Even then, as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest and the fluttering of your eyelids in your heavy slumber; He can still feel the ringing of the bells.

That magnetic pull you have which drags him ever closer.

Eyes snapping open and jolting upright, you nearly knock your head on Darth Vader’s helmet as he looms over you. An intense pang of pain stops you in your tracks, forcing you to wince and suck in a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

“Easy, small one.” your master soothes, the sound of his voice gently bringing you back down to reality. You breathe heavily as the hot, pulsing pain flows back through you, and you glance around the room, your ragged body still reeling from the last moments you can remember.

Immediately you recognize the sterile interior of Lord Vader’s chambers, your eyes tracking the mess littered about the floor. His tools, mechanisms, and machines lay discarded on the tile. Looking down at the table you’ve been sat upon, you realise it is Lord Vader’s own work table.

He had thrown away everything so easily just for the sake of tending to you.

Yet another uncharacteristic act carried out by your Master.

In your dazed stupor, the scene is almost like a fairytale.

You, the princess of the kingdom of evil.

He, your knight in raven armor.

Maybe. You think as you cautiously glance up at him. Maybe the rumours were not true; or perhaps this side of him was one that had been shown only to you.

That could only mean then, that you were somehow special.

“Are you alright, my Lord?” you ask, frantic eyes flitting over his ominous form for any signs of injury.

“It is I who should be asking you.” Vader retorts. “What you did was reckless.” he says, a hint of scolding in his tone.

Your head and shoulders drooping and your eyes falling to the floor, you feel ashamed.

“I am sorry, my Master.” you whisper. “I acted on impulsivities that still linger from my past. It is all I know.” you admit truthfully, your eyes locked on the ground and the fire of shame burning your cheeks.

“It is my duty to ensure the safety of the both of us, not yours.” he asserts firmly, placing a heavy hand on your right shoulder.

“It would take much more than a simple hit from a blaster to defeat me.” he says, a surprising hint of teasing in his voice, his other hand coming up and rapping on his shoulder plates with a repetitive thunk.

It brings a tired smile to your lips, and you let out an amused huff.

“I understand the truth of that now, my Master.” you jest, your eyebrows quirking up.

There is a beat of heavy silence, and your eyes again fall to the floor cluttered with Lord Vader’s machinations. You feel a great deal of guilt at the sight of his possessions laying discarded everywhere all because of you.

Slipping off of the table with difficulty, you begin to lean over to gather the pieces.

Before your fingertips can even brush a single piece, Vader catches your wrist in a leather-clad hand.

You stop in your tracks at the sensation of his grip as he pulls you upright, placing another firm hand against the small of your back to steady you. His touch at your back sends a fine shiver up your spine, and you feel far too close to Lord Vader for comfort.

Your heart rattles in your chest when he speaks again.

“Let go of your past, girl.” he scolds. “I have droids for cleaning up after my messes. It is not your duty.”

You’re unable to say anything in response, staring up at your Master with stars in your eyes.

“I command you to rest.” Vader demands softly. “I did not labour over you just so you could reinjure yourself so quickly.”

Feeling hazy, you give a faltering nod and swallow the tension in your throat.

“I am relieving you for now.” he states, his voice rumbling through your body like shockwaves at this close vicinity.

“Retire to your suite for the night.” he orders, finally releasing you from his grasp.

“Yes my Master,” you stammer, rubbing the wrist he had grabbed. “Thank you.”

You shakily amble out of the room, your pace slowed by the pain and the thick exhaustion. Your trusty droid companion awaits you beyond the door, and it bows to you before throwing its arms up in shock at the sight of you.

“Good heavens, Madam!” the droid exclaims. “Are you quite alright?!”

Letting out a tired chuckle, you smile as you respond.

“It is but a flesh wound, my friend.” you laugh.

“Then we shall get you back to your chambers at once!” the droid declares. “Come! Come!” it urges you.

You slowly follow your companion back to your suite, and all you can think about is the soft cradling of your bed, the slick silkiness of your sheets.

As you enter the comfort of your suite, your legs feel as if they weigh hundreds of pounds while you drag yourself to bed. The kind droid brings you a hot cup of herbal tea before leaving you to rest, and you slowly sink onto your back in the middle of your mattress, letting out a sigh of relief as your body settles into it.

As exhausted as your body feels, your mind is wide awake with a thousand thoughts.

Today was just so much.

The dream. Your lip. Even just the meeting and everything surrounding it was a lot to unpack. The attack. The fact Vader had tended to you personally.

Your mind swam with questions, with the acute newness of everything. At the same time, the aching of your shoulder and the soothing warmth of the tea was working to wind you down.

After a while, the droid returns with a meal on an ornate bed tray, and it isn’t until you smell its heavenly aroma that you feel the churn of hunger in your stomach.

“I’ve come with your supper and an announcement, Milady.” the droid chimes, allowing you to adjust yourself before it places the large tray over your lap.

Your dinner is a hearty spread, consisting of a meaty soup with wide noodles in a clear broth topped with fresh herbs, a side of lightly sauteed greens, and freshly baked rolls. You marvel at it for a moment with your mouth watering before turning your attention back to the droid.

“Due to the increasing boldness of the Rebellion, Lord Vader has deemed it necessary for a Sith Lord to attend you during the night.” the droid announces. “He refuses to have any further chances of your safety being endangered.”

All of a sudden, your mouth goes dry. The last thing you needed was a Sith Lord watching your every move in the night; but you knew Lord Vader was being completely serious, and his word is final.

You understand now, that he will stop at nothing to defend something - or someone - that was his.

Letting out a soft sigh through your nose, you take in a deep breath.

“Then so it shall be.” you concede, and the droid nods in response.

“Splendid. I shall retrieve your guardian once you are finished with your meal, Milady.” the droid says with a bow before leaving you to your dinner.

You wolf the food down with great voracity, thoroughly enjoying the much needed nourishment before dusting yourself off and walking the empty tray over to the table.

You decide that if you are going to have a visitor, you are going to be presentable at the very least.

Swiftly you change into a new set of sleeping robes, sighing happily at the comfort of the clean fabric. You hobble over to your vanity, taking a seat on the velvet-cushioned stool and looking at yourself in the rounded mirror. Of course, you look tired, although thankfully you didn’t look as bad as you felt. Your hair is mussy from the commotion, flyaways sticking out every which way.

You get to work detangling it, being careful to brush with the uninjured arm. As you finish putting it into a messy updo, allowing stray locks of hair to remain loose, a familiar knock comes at the door.

You feel your anxiety spike like shards of ice in your gut, knowing what awaits you beyond the threshold.

As the door slides open and the droid and the Sith Lord enter, you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning.

Even beneath the dark cloak that shrouds his figure, his form is unmistakable, and you recognize him instantly.

It’s him.

The one you dreamed of. The same figure. The same piercing eyes. You can even spot his scar in the dim light.

Your ears ring.

It feels like your heart stops.

And before you know it, you faint.

Sith Divider Credz: @saradika

Taglist: @heyitsaloy @poisonedsultana @cryptidsrcool @mayhemories @sxoulchvn

@shyartisanvoidwagon @stxrrielle @jasontoddloml @heirtothekingdom @briqueenofthenorth

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

Note

Pegging with Bucky!! I'm begging you, I need it 😩

JUST 4 YOU MY ICON AND LEGEND❤️❤️

Kink Bingo - Pegging

Rating: Explicit

Tags: BUCKY IS BABY CHOMP, pegging, beefy Bucky, dom!reader, multiple orgasms, riding The Strap like a champ, not really Buck gets overwhelmed like 10 strokes in, man tears per usual

You slid your warm palms up Bucky’s tensed back, thick muscles knotted up in anticipation. Snug against his wide body you cooed, “Think you can take my cock honey?,” you ground the strap against the brunette’s well-stretched hole, “I already prepped you but you’re sooo tight.”

Bucky turned to face you, veins pulsing in his neck. His full lips moved but he could only seem to blabber, “Nngh- baby- please!” You had already wrung out an orgasm from fingering the former assassin open, so he was particularly spacey and needy.

You smiled a soft smile, reserved for your baby boy. He nuzzled into your gentle touch, blue eyes so achingly wide and trusting. Bucky ground back against the silicone toy, whining about ‘your cock’.

“I don’t know sweetie- you’re my big boy but your hole is tiny.”

Bucky trembled and his face fell at the idea of not being stuffed up from your cock. He pressed a stubbled jaw into your palm, begging silently. The man eventually managed, “Noo- I can take it, pleasepleasepleaseplease!” You shushed his frantic rambling and soothed, “Hush now, I’m just playing sweetheart.”

You tucked sweaty hair behind his ear, pressing featherlight kisses down Bucky’s twitching back. While your hands settled on his hips, head of the cock ready to spear Buck, you sighed, “Gonna fuck you good and hard baby doll, don’t cry.” He’d still cry, but you’d lick the tears up. Bucky cried pretty like that.

With a gasp from Buck you breached his tight rim, easing the fake dick in carefully slow. The brunette’s arms went limp and he twisted big hands into the pillow, whimpering. He tried to shove himself on your strap— earning a sharp swat to his muscled ass. You chided, “Bad boy, last thing I want is to hurt you because you’re a slut!”

Bucky moaned, “S-sorry m’sorry I’ll be a good boy!” You softened at the pained expression, giving him a pinch to the soft skin below his belly button. The brunette whined and tried his damnedest to stay still, ripping the pillowcase a little. He bit down on the inside of his cheek when you sank in just a bit deeper.

“That’s it, taking me so well Buck,” you sighed.

You canted forward, watching him swallow your cock easy as usual. Bucky’s strong back arched when your hips finally came flush to his own, mouth hung open. The brunette gaped, mumbling nonsense to himself. You grabbed onto long locks and pulled his head back a little, asking directly, “What’s that baby?”

Bucky gasped, titanium arm shifting and readjusting in the stagnant pause. He bit out in a small voice, “You’re s’big it feels- hah, good.” You grinned and pulled your hips back, darkly watching Bucky’s rim stretch around the girth of your strap. You snapped back shallowly, watching his bared throat bob with a bitten-off whine.

“God you’re fucking pretty Buck, made for taking my dick hm?”

More shallow thrusts, teasing him real good ensued. You moaned softly at the feeling of the harness rubbing against your swollen cunt. Bucky mewled, “Can I ride it? Please- please wanna be good for you?” He posed it as a question, you hiding a laugh at the poor baby’s shitty begging.

You decided to have your fun with Bucky, casually replying, “Sure baby, but you gotta do all the work,” you leaned forward to get at his puffy lips and breathed, “Since you wanna be a big boy, I’ll let you choose your pace.” His glossy blues darkened and the brunette licked into your mouth eagerly.

You sat back on your ass and pulled Buck along, trying to keep him from sliding off. He whined at the change of angle, bouncing on you like he was getting paid. Bucky couldn’t focus on two things at once so you moved away from his sloppy mouth to watch the show instead.

The soldier whined— all pouted up from the loss of your lips. When Bucky rocked down onto your cock at the right angle the slight was forgotten with a slutty moan. You gripped his hips and ushered him along with praises. You could hear his flushed cock bouncing against his taut belly, slick sounds gracing your ears.

Bucky shivered and paused on a particularly brutal thrust, drooling over himself from the cock jamming into his prostate. You laughed, “S’that your sweet spot Buck? I can hear you going dumb for it.” He jerkily nodded and tried to move again, getting stuck on the next dive onto the fake dick.

His voice pitched up and Buck erupted into goosebumps. You slid your hands up his body to pull at tight nipples. Bucky eloquently whined, “Ah- oh- baby, ah!” He gave an attempt to ride again and stopped, moaning deep in his chest, crying your name. You knew he was trying to keep going but failing miserably.

You pinched at the left peak and murmured, “You gonna cum on my cock baby boy? Want me to take over? I won’t be mad.”

He looked over a broad shoulder, pretty pretty face crumpled and red. You could eat him up. Using a gentle hand you pushed the super soldier back into the beginning position, now practically straddling his ass. Bucky twitched again, whining brokenly like a bitch in heat. You relentlessly battered his ass this time— pouring all of your energy and focus into that spot.

Bucky shouted breathlessly, going tight and unmoving under your thrusts. He cried thinly, “Don’t stop don’t stop s’good don’t stop!” You thought about jacking his perfect cock off but stopped when the brunette started sobbing. He spread his thick thighs wiiiide open and cried out high and wanton.

You gripped onto his tight waist, gritting your teeth in exertion. Bucky was falling apart quickly under you, trembling and carrying on like he did on the cusp of blowing. The brunette’s blue eyes were red-rimmed now as he stared at you. He blubbered, “Kiss me, gonna come, close for you!” You grinned at the last part, seizing Buck’s drooling mouth.

You panted into the lip lock, beginning to grow tired from the forceful ministrations, but Bucky fared no better. He could barely kiss— too busy getting noise after pitiful noise fucked out of him. He whined in warning, “Cumming!”

You paused and watched in awe. Bucky was practically divine when he came. He cried fat tears and shakily puffed whiny yelps of your name, violently twitching from head to toe. He tossed his head back, then forward to watch you fuck more cum out of him. His ruddy cock finished on his belly and copiously onto the sheets below.

You sank deep a final time, Buck beginning to grow limp from his bone crushing orgasm. Licking at his tears you moaned, “Good fucking boy.” Bucky was laying on his belly now, panting harshly, sporadically sobbing. He rasped, “Another.” You raised a brow, laughing in surprise.

“Sure thing soldier,” you replied.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #answered asks #pro strap rider: one James Buchanan Barnes #kink bingo

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