#i am still thinking of the blood dance scene in my head

[bucks-babe]

Virgin Bucky Gets His First Blowjob

Paring: Virgin!Bucky x f!reader

Summary: You give your boyfriend his first blowjob

Word Count: 2,148

Warnings: Established relationship, smut (Oral m!receiving), kind of sub!Bucky, Bucky is a nervous boy and gets a hard on during a movie, Bucky has a praise kink, Virgin!Bucky, No use of Y/N

A/N: Should I make a part 2 where Bucky loses his virginity to reader?

“Okay, doll, I’ve got everything set up. You pick a movie yet?” Bucky settles down next to you in his bed, making sure that there is no space separating the two of you. He wraps his right arm around your shoulder and you snuggle up into his side.

Your laptop is resting on both of your laps, your left thigh and his right thigh hold it in place. “Yes, and it’s one of my favorites!” You bounce in place just a little. “You’re gonna love it, Buck! It’s When Harry Met Sally.” Bucky chuckles at your excitement. Steve has his book of things to catch up with in the 21st century, and Bucky has you. 

“We’ll see, doll. You haven’t let me down yet.” In all honesty, Bucky was thoroughly enjoying the movie, Harry wasn’t the type of guy Bucky thought girls would go for, but most of his enjoyment came from how happy the movie seemed to be making you.

A few times you would catch Bucky staring at you instead of the movie; each time you would look back up at him he would pretend that he was immersed in the movie the whole time and you would nudge his side. It just made him so happy to see how much you were enjoying the movie, going so far as to mouth the lines alone with the actors.

“Yes it is! You are a human affront to all women, and I am a woman.” 

“Hey, I don’t feel great about this, but I don’t hear anyone complaining.”

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky is having the time of his life watching you act out the conversations, his heart never feeling so full in all his life. He truly doesn’t know what he did to deserve you, after all the horrible things he’s done in his life, he gets blessed with the most wonderful and understanding woman to call his.

His doll, his girl, who hasn’t even pressured him into anything. He felt bad at first, when he told you that he wanted to take things slow, thinking that you wouldn’t want to have a boyfriend who had no experience in the sexual realm. Of course, he’s kissed women, having his fair share of dames back in the 40’s, but he was a gentleman. He would take them out dancing, maybe make out in his car a little bit, but he never went farther than that. 

Now, after waking up after 80 some years, the last thing on his mind was having sex. That was until he met you, the minx who has awoken something inside of him, but he’s never acted on any of these feelings, too scared that he would disappoint you.

Ashamed that he was still a virgin, Bucky always stopped you before anything would get too heated, and you respected that. It didn’t make Bucky feel any better when he had to go to the ‘bathroom’ after a make-out session, but you never teased him about it, the both of you pretending that he really did need to go to the bathroom.

What the fuck?! Bucky’s attention is back on the movie when Sally has an ‘orgasm’ in the restaurant. Next to him, you’re giggling while watching her fake an orgasm, but Bucky, he’s not laughing. 

Bucky’s never seen a woman have an orgasm. Back in his day, the most accessible type of porn were dirty magazines that he used to hide under his bed so his ma wouldn’t find them. He tried to watch modern day porn after his not so mini sexual re-awakening, but after seeing some of the video titles, decided that porn was a no go for him, so this was sending all of the blood in his head straight to his dick. If it was over dramatized, he couldn’t tell, but his cock didn’t care. 

He felt it twitching in his sweats and he tried to subtly shift so you wouldn’t be able to see the bulge under the covers. Closing his eyes, Bucky tried to will his erection away; however, the scene seemed to never end and his cock got even harder at the thought of what you would look like when you came, how you would moan his name, how you would feel around him. 

He bets that you would look fucking spectacular spread out on this very bed with his cock burried deep inside of you. How your pussy would look swallowing him as he–

“Bucky, are you okay? You’re moving around a lot.” Shit! Bucky knows that he’s been caught. There is nothing he can do to hide the tent in his sweatpants; he curses himself for even wearing pants with so much give to them. 

“Uh…yeah, I’m good. My back’s a little stiff from the bed is all.” With how red his face and chest are, it’s a surprise that there is enough blood going to his dick to have it be as hard as it is.

“Your back? Are you sure? Cause I think I see the problem.” Double Shit!

“Doll, I’m sorry. It’s just that…” Your giggle cuts him off.

“Bucky, it’s okay. If you want I can give you a minute to sort,” you glance at his crotch, making it twitch in need, “that out.”

Bucky wishes that the bed could swallow him up whole so he wouldn’t have to deal with this. He’s a grown man for God’s sake and he’s popping wood at the first sign of something sexual!

“Or…” You drag on, “I could help you with that.” Bucky gulps, finding his throat to be drier than a desert.

“Doll, y-you don’t have to.” There’s a spark in your eye that you only have when you’re up to no good, like when you set Steve and Sharron up on a blind date after being sick of the pining between the two of them.

“But I want to, Bucky. Only if you’re okay with it.” His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest, but he is so hard, and he trusts you with his body and soul.You know that he’s never done anything; you would be the last person on the planet to make fun of him. 

“O-okay. What do you want me to do, doll?” You close the laptop, effectively ending the movie; Bucky couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to Harry or Sally right now, not when you’re looking at him like he is a full course meal and you're starving.

“Absolutely nothing. I want you to lay right there and let me make you feel good. Can you do that for me, hmm?” Pulling the covers back, you settle between his thick thighs, resting your head on one and looking up at him.

“I-I can do that. Yeah.” He shifts so that his back is against the headboard. Bucky isn’t used to just laying back while someone else does the work, has never been like that, but for you he would do just about anything if you asked.

Your hands go to the waistband of his sweats and boxers while you give small kisses to the outline of his cock through both layers. “Good boy,” you whisper on his cock, chuckling when it jerks under your mouth and he whines. Ooh, he’s a vocal one, you think as you look up at his flush face.

Bucky lifts his hips off the bed when you tug at his waistband, and his cock smacks against his clothed stomach, precum leaking onto his shirt. With his cock and balls on display, Bucky fights the urge to close his legs and cover himself up; no woman, or man, had ever seen him like this, but he wants this so bad. He trusts you; if he wants to stop, you’ll stop, but heaven forbid if you stop now.

He’s fucking big, too. You don’t know if you’re going to be able to fit his entire length in your mouth, but you’re sure as hell gonna try! Starting at his thighs, you give wet, open mouth kisses, leaving beautiful bruises on his skin. Whimpering, Bucky tries to get your mouth on his cock; all of your teasing is only making his balls fuller than he thought was possible and more precum ruin his shirt.

“Please, doll. Suck it.” His toned hips leave the bed in chase of your mouth. He can’t count how many times he’s fucked his fist thinking about how the tight heat of your mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. Even now, with you kissing up and down his length, tracing his most prominent vein, it’s not enough.

“Shh, big boy, I’m getting there. You’re just so pretty I have to paint you.” His cock bounces from the force of its throbbing and another whine leaves his plump lips.

Eventually, you take pity on him and his begging, and you take the tip in your mouth and give it a harsh suck. “Oh Fuck! Do that again, doll!” He throws his head back, making contact with the headboard with a loud thunk. Hands flying to the sheets, and hips chasing your mouth, Bucky damn near chokes on his own spit.Christ, you’ve barely touched him and he’s about to burst.

Loving his reaction, you grab the base of him and spit on his tip, watching it roll down to where your hand rests, only to use your spit as lube to drag your hand up and down, feeling him pulse and throb in your hand. “Come on, doll. Please! I need more.” 

He was fisting the sheets, not wanting to force your head down, but wanting you to take him down your throat at the same time. Deciding not to torture him anymore, you licked your lips before taking as much length in you mouth as possible.

“GOD, FUCK!” His hips flew up to meet your mouth, making you gag. He was trying his hardest to stay in control and not force your pace, but fuck, he wasn’t expecting it to feel this good. You quickly found a steady pace, hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue to lap at his dick. Salavia coated his entire dick and was leaking down to his balls, making your movements that much easier.“What the fuck! Doll, that feels fucking incredible. More, please. Give me more! Shit! That feels so good!” Such a needy little thing.

There were still a few inches of his dick that you couldn’t fit in your mouth, so you used one hand to work the remaining length and the other hand to massage his balls. His cock was leaking precum and you could feel his heavy sack tense up in your hand; you knew he was about to cum, even before he did.

Bucky pulled you off his cock. “Doll! I’m gonna cum!” It took you a second to register why he pulled you off when he was about to cum, but you then realized, he didn’t think you wanted to swallow - How wrong he was.

“If you’re gonna cum, baby, I want you to cum in my mouth.” Not waiting for a response, you took his cock back into your mouth, taking him all the way to the base, letting him fuck your mouth with the little jerks of his hips. The sounds leaving his mouth were almost akin to sobs, making you clench your thighs together to quell the ache between your legs.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!”  His cum shot out in thick streams and you tried to swallow around his cock, but more and more cum would shoot out. You lapped up every single drop of his cum that you could, some of it dripping down to his balls. When his hips tried to jerk away, you pulled off his cock to lick his balls clean and tuck his softening cock back into his pants.

With a dopey look on his face, Bucky gave you the prettiest smile, having experienced the best orgasm of his overextended life. “I really liked the movie, doll.” He laughed after you giggled. After coming back down to reality, Bucky frowned, “doll, I wanna make you cum, too.”

���Oh, Buck, I didn’t do that because I wanted anything in return,” you repositioned yourself next to him in bed, ignoring the throbbing of your pussy, “I did it because I wanted to make you feel good.”

There’s still a pout on his lips, wanting you to feel good as well. “Another day, Bucky. I don’t want to overwhelm you with too much in one day, okay?” Eventually, he agrees, becoming compliant after getting his soul sucked out of his body.

“Next time, doll, you’re gonna teach me how to make you cum.” God, you love this man.

“Oh, I look forward to it.” This man is going to wreck you and you can’t wait.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #sebastian stan x reader #Virgin!bucky #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes drabble

[empresskylo]

ghost doesn’t realize how touch-starved he is until you are bandaging him up. inspired by this beauty and the beast scene

a/n: i am literally so horny for this man. i have never even played cod lmao. the men from the new campaign just started popping up on my tiktok feed and now here i am. so i apologize if this is ooc for ghost… like i said, i have no idea what this game is about. but i can’t get these big boys out of my head… making me go feral fr.

cw: blood

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader

wc: 1.3k

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓

Ghost laid propped against the wall as you dabbed his wound on his thigh with a cold, damp cloth. He hissed, slightly moving his leg away from your grip. “Hold still!”

You could hear him mumble swears under his breath as you continued to work. “For someone so big, you really are such a baby,” you teased lightly under your breath, the adrenaline rush making you a bit more confident with your lieutenant. “I told ya I can wait till we’re back at base,” his deep voice growled, his teeth clearly clenching as your fingers pried through the exposed tissue searching for the bullet lodged in the flesh.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’ll bleed out everywhere and I don’t want to have to clean it up. And if you pass out from the lack of blood, you really think I can carry you back?” You couldn’t see, but Ghost smiled under his mask at your sudden snarky remarks. He hadn’t seen this side of you before.

He grunted in response. Ghost’s eyes studied you, concentration flushing across your face as you worked at the opening in this thigh. You felt the pressure under his intense watch. His eyes traced up to your forehead where your hair was matted with blood. “Your head,” he muttered, his own hand pointing up by his eyebrow.

“Huh?” you asked, tearing your eyes away to look at him. You mirrored him and reached a hand up and grazed your brow then looked back at your fingers. They were red. “Oh. I… Must have hit my head.” Everything had happened so fast, you didn’t even remember getting hurt.

“You should-“ Ghost began before you interrupted.

“I’ll be fine . I need to get the bullet out of you first. So, for the last time, quit moving!”

Ghost chuckled, “Sound like me.” You rolled your eyes, hearing the irony as you repeated the same thing Ghost had said to you earlier: I’ll be fine.

Your hands were covered in Ghost’s blood as you worked to remove the tiny bullet. Ghost sat perfectly still. You glanced up at him, his face stoic under his mask as he observed, still as he could be. Apparently, he did know how to listen.

“Just pull the damn thing out,” he grunted. You finally got ahold of the metal and tore it from his thigh. You held it up in success, a slight smile on your face. 

“I was about to get it out anyways, this has nothing to do with your demands.”

“Mhm,” he mumbled as he adjusted his position.

Your fingers danced along his exposed skin as you began to apply a bandage to his open wound. Ghost could feel goosebumps rise where your fingers trailed. His body focused on the movement of your fingers, he couldn’t even feel the pain he should definitely be feeling right now.

After you finished, you rested your hands on his thigh a few inches above your work and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “ There ,” you said with relief. Ghost’s ears pinked under his mask, your warm touch radiating through his trousers, your hands a little too high up for comfort. You, however, hadn’t noticed the intimacy of your touch.

You shifted your stance and sat facing Ghost. You held out a clean cloth, wanting him to clean the cut that sliced through your forehead. He stared at you. You rolled your eyes. Did you have to explain everything? “I can’t see,” you said, pointing to your forehead. Ghost reluctantly took one of his gloves off and grabbed the wet linen from you. You leaned closer and closed your eyes. Ghost swallowed hard. He slowly brought his hand up to the cut that ran from your hairline and right through your eyebrow. After dabbing away the blood you handed him a bandage and some bandage tape. Ghost huffed. “I’m not your bloody nurse.”

“I’m not yours either but you didn’t see me complaining,” you retorted. Ghost refrained from rolling his eyes and slipped off his other glove than took the supplies from you. He was familiar with treating injuries, at least until the person was able to get seen by a proper medical professional. So why was he suddenly acting flustered?

His hand gently rested on your forehead as he lined the bandage up. He couldn’t avoid touching your skin, his fingers being pulled towards you against his better judgment. Your skin felt like fire beneath his fingertips. Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he touched someone this gently. He took the ripped bits of tape and secured the bandage in place. His fingers lingered, then softly skimmed the side of your face and fluttered through your hair. How he missed the warm feeling he got when he caressed someone so delicately. He was so used to vulgar aggressiveness, he almost forgot that he was capable of such embraces. You kept your eyes shut even though you wanted to open them in surprise at Ghost’s lingering touch. Having been away from everyone in your life for so long made you desperate for someone to squeeze you tight. To hold you close. To just keep your bed warm beside you. You hadn’t even realized how deprived of touch you truly were until Ghost touched you with his calloused hands.

You opened your eyes and Ghost’s own locked on yours, both of your breathing the only sound in the small room. He quickly yanked his hand away, clearly embarrassed. He’d curse his hand out later for having a mind of its own. He flexed his hand, rubbing it with his other. He debated on apologizing but found it hard to speak. Before he could finish his thought, you grabbed his wrist.

He mumbled your name, his accent dripping over his words heavier than usual. His gaze was always so intense, but you didn’t back down.

He froze as he watched you, curious of your next move. You both had understood what happened without even speaking—a sort of silent acknowledgment of the way you both were touch-starved, the only connection with another body prior to this being through violence. 

You scooted closer to him and pulled his arm so it draped around your shoulder. You tentatively leaned against his chest, feeling his breathing deepen. Ghost felt tense underneath you, his body rigid. Feeling bold and empty, you grabbed his hand and laced it with yours, the heat transfer from holding someone skin to skin a feeling you hadn’t experienced in months. It was comforting and relieving. As much as it flustered Ghost, he also felt a huge feeling of relief as your hands warmed against one another. His fingers closed and gripped your hand back. You could feel him slightly relax, his body molding to yours.

He could smell your shampoo as your head sat propped under his chin. When was the last time he held someone like this? He couldn’t quite remember. To be honest, he hadn’t thought about these types of things until now.

After a long pause, you felt Ghosts chest rumble as he spoke. “I think this is the longest you’ve gone without rambling on about somethin’.”

Your lips quirked up in a slight smile. You both knew things were going to be awkward the moment you faced each other and made your way back to base. Ghost was especially concerned with the fact that one of his soldiers would know how weak he had acted.

But with both of your faces out of view from the other, softly intertwined, everything felt… good .

“Mhm, don’t get used to it,” you said quietly. Ghost could hear the sleep in your speech. He pondered a moment. At least you were both safely inside the building having already prowled the area for enemies. Maybe it was okay if he let you rest a minute? And not because Ghost didn’t want to break away from your hold, but because both of you were wounded and he knew better than to push through something like that when he had the time to regain his strength.

Ghost hadn’t realized his thumb began absentmindedly stroking circles against your skin, his grip around you tightening slightly.

part 2

#ghost #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #fluff #angst #ghost angst #cod mw2

[sinukiyo]

I’m sorry but this scene…THIS SCENE…

“Matthias cast an uneasy glance at the guards’ backs, visible through the doorway. “Ignore them,” she said. “Why haven’t you kissed me, Matthias?”

“This isn’t the time—”

“Is it because of what I am? Is it because you still fear me?”

“No.”

She paused, and he could see her struggling with what she wanted to say. “Is it because of the way I behaved on the ship? The way I acted the other night … when I tried to get you to give me the rest of the parem?”

“How can you think that?”

“You’re always calling me shameless. I guess … I guess I’m ashamed.” She shuddered. “It’s like wearing a coat that doesn’t fit.”

“Nina, I gave you my oath.”

“But—”

“Your enemies are my enemies, and I will stand with you against any foe—including this accursed drug.”

She shook her head as if he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t want you to be with me because of an oath, or because you think you need to protect me, or because you think you owe me some stupid blood debt.”

“Nina—” he started, then stopped. “Nina, I am with you because you let me be with you. There is no greater honor than to stand by your side.”

“Honor, duty. I get it.”

Her temper he could bear, but her disappointment was unacceptable. Matthias knew only the language of war. He did not have the words for this. “Meeting you was a disaster.”

She raised a brow. “Thank you.”

Djel, he was terrible at this. He stumbled on, trying to make her understand. “But I am grateful every day for that disaster. I needed a cataclysm to shake me from the life I knew. You were an earthquake, a landslide.”

“I,” she said, planting a hand on her hip, “am a delicate flower.”

“You aren’t a flower, you’re every blossom in the wood blooming at once. You are a tidal wave. You’re a stampede. You are overwhelming.”

“And what would you prefer?” she said, eyes blazing, the slightest quaver to her voice. “A proper Fjerdan girl who wears high collars and dunks herself in cold water whenever she has the urge to do something exciting?”

“That isn’t what I meant!”

She sidled closer to him. Again, his eyes strayed to the guards. Their backs were turned, but Matthias knew they must be listening, no matter what language he and Nina were speaking. “What are you so afraid of?” she challenged. “Don’t look at them, Matthias. Look at me.”

He looked. It was a struggle not to look. He loved seeing her in Fjerdan clothes, the little woolly vest, the full sweep of her skirts. Her green eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, her lips slightly parted. It was too easy to imagine himself kneeling like a penitent before her, letting his hands slide up the white curves of her calves, pushing those skirts higher, past her knees to the warm skin of her thighs. And the worst part was that he knew how good she would feel. Every cell in his body remembered the press of her naked body that first night in the whaling camp. “I … There is no one I want more; there is nothing I want more than to be overwhelmed by you.”

“But you don’t want to kiss me?”

“He inhaled slowly, trying to bring order to his thoughts. This was all wrong.

“In Fjerda—” he began.

“We’re not in Fjerda.”

He needed to make her understand. “In Fjerda,” he persisted, “I would have asked your parents for permission to walk out with you.”

“I haven’t seen my parents since I was a child.”

“We would have been chaperoned. I would have dined with your family at least three times before we were ever left alone together.”

“We’re alone together now, Matthias.”

“I would have brought you gifts.”

Nina tipped her head to one side. “Go on.”

“Winter roses if I could afford them, a silver comb for your hair.”

“I don’t need those things.”

“Apple cakes with sweet cream.”

“I thought drüskelle didn’t eat sweets.”

“They’d all be for you,” he said.

“You have my attention.”

“Our first kiss would be in a sunlit wood or under a starry sky after a village dance, not in a tomb or some dank basement with guards at the door.”

“Let me get this straight,” Nina said. “You haven’t kissed me because the setting isn’t suitably romantic?”

“This isn’t about romance. A proper kiss, a proper courtship. There’s a way these things should be done.”

“For proper thieves?” The corners of her beautiful mouth curled and for a moment he was afraid she would laugh at him, but she simply shook her head and drew even nearer. Her body was the barest breath from his now. The need to close that scrap of distance was maddening.

“The first day you showed up at my house for this proper courtship, I would have cornered you in the pantry,” she said. “But please, tell me more about Fjerdan girls.”

“They speak quietly. They don’t engage in flirtations with every single man they meet.”

“I flirt with the women too.”

“I think you’d flirt with a date palm if it would pay you any attention.”

“If I flirted with a plant, you can bet it would stand up and take notice. Are you jealous?”

“All the time.”

“I’m glad. What are you looking at, Matthias?” The low thrum of her voice vibrated straight through him.

He kept his eyes on the ceiling, whispering softly. “Nothing.”

“Matthias, are you praying?”

“Possibly.”

“For restraint?” she said sweetly.

“You really are a witch.”

“I’m not proper, Matthias.”

“I am aware of this.” Miserably, keenly, hungrily aware.

“And I’m sorry to inform you, but you’re not proper either.”

His gaze dropped to her now. “I—”

“How many rules have you broken since you met me? How many laws? They won’t be the last. Nothing about us will ever be proper,” she said. She tilted her face up to his. So close now it was as if they were already touching. “Not the way we met. Not the life we lead. And not the way we kiss.”

“She went up on tiptoe, and that easily, her mouth was against his. It was barely a kiss—just a quick, startling press of her lips.

Before she could even think of moving away, he had hold of her. He knew he was probably doing everything wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry, because she was in his arms, her lips were parting, her hands were twining around his neck, and sweet Djel, her tongue was in his mouth. No wonder Fjerdans were so cautious about courtship. If Matthias could be kissing Nina, feeling her nip at his lip with her clever teeth, feel her body fitted against his own, hear her release that little sigh in the back of her throat, why would he ever bother doing anything else? Why would anyone?”

#i’m going feral #i’m going to cry #soc nina #soc matthias #six of crows matthias #matthias helvar #helnik #my ships #nina zenik #six of crows #crooked kingdom #six of crows nina

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧

Synopsis: Steve Rogers loves Y/N. There’s no question about it. She’s his calm in the middle of the storm and his sunshine in the middle of the rain. But, when Hydra resurfaces and Y/N's name is suddenly whispered with doubt, Steve is faced with a decision that will test the limits of his love and loyalty. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avengers!Reader

Warnings: Mature scenes and allusions to sex. Description of blood and violence. Minors DNI.

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word Count: 10K

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄 stillness that came with midnight; peaceful darkness that arrived before the chaos fell.

In the depths of midnight, the world danced to its own steady rhythm, a symphony of harmonious notes in the grand orchestra of the universe. And amidst this whirlwind of silent activity, Steve was a steady beacon of calm, not caught up in the tumultuous currents or pulled down by the undertow. He was just a man embracing the stillness that surrounded him. Embracing her.

“Stevie.” His heart fluttered at the whisper of his name, running one mile faster. He tightened his hold on the woman in his arms, eyes shifting from the dark canvas of the night to her brilliant eyes. “Why are you still awake?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice resonated in a low register, a stark contrast to the higher octaves it reached during the day. Even his eyes were a few shades darker, blue-green diluted to a cobalt blue. It was an aftermath of darkness, one that he didn’t hate one bit. 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered, sleep weighing her lashes down. She tilted her head and stared at Steve with a dazed look filled to the brim with the love they had spent the night chasing. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby?” 

His thumb traced the edge of her lips. Goosebumps rose on his skin when her quiet sigh glided across his naked chest. “Thinking about you,” he admitted, absentmindedly pushing her upper lip with his thumb. “When am I not thinking about you?” 

“I feel like this is a trick question.” 

Steve chuckled. “It’s not.” 

“Then can you rephrase it into one I can confidently answer?” 

Do you know how much I love you? he thought of first. Have you got a single clue about how much I want to draw you? Here. With me. In this very moment, and immortalize it for the rest of my life and evermore? But his words always faltered when they traversed the distance between his mind and tongue. In the end, the sight of Y/N's face left him speechless. 

A profound stillness descended upon the moment and a divine feeling that felt too magical to be real set off a burst of fireworks in his body. Steve's hand sought out Y/N's, his fingers delicately tracing the contours of her palm. “Will you promise me to be careful on the mission tomorrow?”

He settled for an easier question, though there was so much emphasis on the unsaid than on the question itself. But Y/N understood. She always did. She lifted herself just the slightest bit. The lavender sheets slid down, exposing the swell of her breasts and the colorful mark Steve’s lips implanted on the walls of her heart. 

Her index finger left a trail across his sternum, neck, and cheek. Steve groaned then, his lungs heavy with the pressure of her love. He closed his eyes, fingers tightening on her exposed back—not enough to leave a bruise yet enough to make his claim. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Stevie.” 

“It’s Hydra, Y/N,” he breathlessly replied. He chewed on his lower lip, partly because of her earlier ministrations and mostly because of the way her lips curled into that tired smile he loved so much. 

“And I’m just Y/N?” 

“No,” Steve refuted. “You’re not just Y/N. But you’re not enhanced either, doll. I hate it when you get involved in dangerous missions, more so the ones I’m not involved in.” 

"Steve, I understand where you're coming from. We've talked about this before. I know I don't have super strength like you and Bucky or any special powers like Bruce and Thor. But that doesn't make me invaluable. If Natasha, Tony, and Clint can do it, then so can I."

The force of her words brought a heavy sigh out of Steve. Y/N was always soft-spoken. Gentle with her words and even more with her voice. And it amazed Steve that even at midnight, when the world was sleeping and the quiet overbearing, Y/N never made an effort to shatter the silence. 

“Natasha did get a version of the serum, and Tony has his Iron Man suit. As for Clint…” 

“He finds himself in the cradle more times than Dr. Cho can count. I know.” Y/N tried to mask her annoyed reaction but couldn’t. 

The crease in the middle of her brows disappeared with a quick kiss left by Steve on her temple, but the pout on her lips remained. Steve took this as an excuse to kiss her properly. His heartbeats matched Y/N’s—his enhanced hearing told him that, and Y/N didn't need the serum to figure out that his heartbeats had been galloping at an inhuman speed. 

“I worry about you. That’s all.” 

“I worry about you too.” She placed her forehead against his, the tips of their noses touching. “But I trust you enough to know that you will do everything in your power to come back to me. And I know I’m just, well, me. But can you trust that—”

The words barely reached the edge before they retreated back into Y/N’s mouth. Pushed by the force of Steve’s tongue. Y/N whimpered as she fell on her back. Steve's hand weaved into her hair, his fingers curling around the strands and pulling gently to reveal the nape of her neck.

“I trust you,” he groaned while placing open mouth kisses on her neck. Y/N moaned without any restraint when Steve licked her collarbone and sucked the skin with his swollen lips. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Her legs subconsciously opened, allowing Steve to settle in between them. As soon as his erection met the bare skin of her pussy, Y/N’s restraints shattered. One hand gripped the bedsheets while the other found refuge in Steve’s blond locks, holding onto him without a single willingness to let go. “I love you so much.” 

He eagerly drew a line from her navel to her hip bone with his hot breath, reveling in the way she squirmed and lifted her hips in search of friction. Teasingly, he let his teeth subtly scrape her skin. Y/N sighed in delight, her own teeth grazing her lower lips as Steve pursued his ministrations. “Why do you love me, doll?” 

She breathed deeply, tugging on his hair to bring him to the surface, but he refused. Steve tutted, tongue exploring her most sensitive area in a slow, sensual dance. "I don't need any reasons to love you, Steve. My heart just knows what it wants."

He smiled, moving down further to kiss those lower lips of hers, showing her exactly how much he loved her too.

Steve and Natasha were losing it. Their jet had barely landed before the two of them rushed across the hangar bay, their hearts overcrowded with anticipation. 

According to FRIDAY, the mission Y/N, Bucky, and Sam were on had gone terribly wrong. The AI had relayed this information while Steve and Natasha had been in Patagonia following a lead on Hydra. 

The base had been infiltrated with disconcerting ease, a fact that didn't sit well with Steve. It was then that the misfortunate news reached their ears. And it seemed like this would be the first checkpoint in a road of unfortunate circumstances because FRIDAY barely had time to explain further when a high-pitched static noise filled the air, drowning out her words. 

Steve and Natasha instinctively clamped their hands over their ears, trying their best to focus despite the sheer force against their skulls. They momentarily closed their eyes—as if this would help soothe the sound. And when they opened them, dozens of Hydra operatives poured into the room with their weapons at the ready. 

Without a word, Steve and Natasha sprang into action, moving in perfect unison as they fought back against their attackers. 

Mind consumed with thoughts of Y/N and her safety, Steve was desperate to get back to her. As if his shield could sense his urgency, it flew from his grip with newfound vigor, striking enemies with a force that seemed almost supernatural. But no matter how hard Steve and Natasha tried to neutralize the enemy as fast as possible, it took them a lot more time and effort than anticipated. 

The two worked together tirelessly, taking down Hydra agents left and right. But when they finally reached the room where the intel they were looking for was supposed to be, it was completely empty.

Now back at the compound, Steve vehemently punched the elevator’s buttons, grabbing Natasha and hastily pulling her inside. The two impatiently waited for the elevator to signal that they’d arrived at the med bay. Once they heard it, they didn’t miss the chance to bolt across the hallway. 

Steve didn’t know the extent of his worry, nor did he understand the severity of his anxious thoughts, until he burst through the sliding doors and found Y/N sitting in the waiting room. Unharmed. Unscathed. Alive.

"Y/N," he whispered, enveloping her in his embrace. She clung onto his combat vest with all her might just as he tightened his hold on her tinier frame. “What happened, babydoll? FRIDAY said the mission was a bust before all communication was cut off. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, Stevie. I’m fine.” 

Her voice was shaky and riddled with anxiety. Maybe it was his own panic that made her voice seem muffled compared to his thunderous thoughts. But she sounded so small at that moment, he couldn’t help but plant a kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the remnants of her orchid perfume. 

"I'm so relieved to see you're unharmed, Y/N. Are Bucky and Sam alright too? Could you tell me what happened, doll?"

Reluctantly, Y/N pulled away from Steve but remained within his grasp. She peered at Natasha, her eyes glassy and sorrowful, enough to tell her that whatever happened wasn’t good.

“Sergeant Wilson is in the cradle while Sergeant Barnes is in a private room," the new voice spoke up, catching Steve and Natasha's attention. Sharon strode towards them, holding a manila folder in her hand. “From what Dr. Cho and her assistants said, they’ll both be okay. But they were significantly hurt. Barnes is heavily sedated at the current moment. Dr. Banner is also trying to figure out a way to fix his vibranium arm.” 

For a second, Natasha’s eyes flashed with worry, her composure faltering under the weight of Sharon’s words. “What happened to his arm?”

“They destabilized it, Nat. I don’t know how,” Y/N answered. 

Natasha nodded grimly. She didn’t say anything else, leaving the three of them to search for her boyfriend. 

“I know this may not be the right time, Cap. But I just got off a call with Mr. Stark. He and Clint are injured too, and their mission was as much a failure as Y/N’s was. They couldn’t find anything. Was your mission at least successful?" 

Steve’s left hand came up to rub his face. He breathed out heavily, the weight of the information bearing down on him. “No, we didn’t find anything either.” 

“I don’t understand.” Y/N shook her head. “SHIELD followed these leads for weeks. How come none of us found anything?” 

Sharon opened the folder in her hand, reading through her notes. Her blue eyes peeled up from under her lashes, focusing on Y/N. “According to your preliminary briefing, you mentioned that there were more than ten Hydra ops. Heavily skilled and highly specialized. Mr. Stark reported the same thing. But why would Hydra station their best men and women at these facilities when there was nothing to guard? Did something stand out to you two?”

Y/N scrunched up her nose, deep in thought as she tried to piece together any relevant details from her trip to Peru.

“We didn’t have the element of surprise.” It wasn’t Y/N that remarked, but her boyfriend that did. “They knew we were coming. As soon as we crossed the threshold, they were there. They disabled FRIDAY and all means of communication at a ten-mile radius. It took us hours before FRIDAY went back online.” 

“Did they do that with you too?” Sharon asked Y/N. 

“No,” she replied. “But they did disable Red Wing and Bucky’s arm now that you mention it.” 

“Different technologies at different facilities?” It was Steve’s turn to inquire. Sharon disagreed. 

“I don’t think so. The Madagascar facility disabled FRIDAY too. And Mr. Stark’s suit malfunctioned.” 

“Then, what do you think it is?” 

“They planted false intel, knew the Avengers were coming, and made a show out of it. And they had the right technology and tools to harm everyone on the team.” Sharon paused, eyes briefly turning to Y/N. “Almost everyone, thankfully.” 

Y/N tapped her foot against the tiles, deep in thought. “What if they’re stalling? Maybe they’re trying to steer us away from the main issue.” 

“No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“I agree with Sharon,” Steve added. “We didn’t have a lead on anything else at the moment. So, they didn’t have to use all those resources.” 

“What are they doing then?” Y/N inquired aloud. 

“Planting a false trail. Trying to deplete our energy so when they do strike, we wouldn’t fully be able to fight them.” 

“Strike,” Sharon repeated. Her thumb went to her mouth, teeth gnawing at the skin—a bad habit Steve had noticed early on when they started working together. “You don’t think we’re facing STRIKE team 2.0, right?” 

Steve felt Y/N bristle next to him. He turned to her, catching a glimpse of her fearful eyes before he turned back to Sharon. “You think Hydra infiltrated SHIELD again?” 

“Maybe. They knew the Avengers were coming, maybe even knew who was coming. Rumlow was once one of Fury’s most trusted agents before he joined Hydra’s ranks, and his entire plans blew up in his face. Literally.” 

Y/N audibly gasped. Steve didn’t need his enhanced hearing to pick up on it. In a swift motion, he whirled around and placed one hand on Y/N’s face and the other on her waist, dutifully scanning her for any physical signs of injuries. She was shaking, hands trembling, and knuckles white from the tightness of her grip on Steve’s biceps. 

“Doll?” 

Y/N hummed. She caught Steve’s fearful gaze, her chest rising in an explicit shudder. “I’m…I—that’s just too much information within such a short time.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have brought all this up now. It wasn’t the right time.” 

“No, Sharon. It’s okay. I’m…I don’t have any physical injuries, so I’ll just go get some rest.”

“I’ll come with you.” 

“No, Steve.” Y/N cleared her throat, trying to even her voice. “Talk to Sharon. I’m not going anywhere; I’ll be here when you’re done.” 

As Y/N left, Steve felt a sinking feeling in his chest that he couldn't shake off.

In the quiet of the night, Steve found solace in Y/N's presence. The pile of paperwork on his desk could wait because nothing was more important than the way her fingers danced through his hair, easing the tension in his neck and shoulders.

“Doll.” He leaned back against his chair. His hands reached out to take hers, the contrast between her delicate fingers and his calloused ones not lost on him. “There’s no need for you to stay awake. You came back from a mission not long ago. Go get some rest.” 

Steve brought her hands to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the back of each palm before holding them close to his chest. Y/N placed her chin on his head, her fingers dancing across the fabric of his shirt. 

“It was only a recon mission. I’m okay.” 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get your rest.” 

“What’s the point of sleeping in our bed when you’re not there with me? I’d rather stay here.”

“Y/N…” Steve began, voice trailing off the more he got lost in her eyes. He couldn’t even think of the next word to complete his sentence. 

Y/N leaned down, her lips merrily caressing his. He smiled, eagerly accepting the love she offered him with every brush of her sweet lips. Steve tugged one of her hands, urging her to walk around his chair and sit in his lap. As soon as she was settled, he let one of his hands effortlessly pull her legs apart and slide tantalizingly over her thigh. 

Even with the dark leather pants covering her legs, Y/N let out a moan, feeding Steve’s ego. He dove into her mouth, tongue brushing against the roof and teeth nipping her lower lip, pulling it away. Prematurely, the pair had to pause as a knock echoed through the door, disrupting their moment.

"Come in," Steve's gravelly voice commanded. Y/N quickly rose from her seat, her fingers instinctively wiping the smudged lipstick from the corner of her mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry to barge in so late.” It was Sharon who had knocked. She walked inside with an apologetic smile. “I just wanted to drop this by. Fury said it’s better you have it as soon as possible.” Steve nodded at her, extending a hand. Just as he was about to open the file she had handed him, she interrupted, “I feel the need to tell you it’s a Level 8.” 

“None of us here are a Level 8.” 

“You’re the Captain, and I personally gathered this intel,” Sharon remarked. She turned to Y/N with sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You know how SHIELD is.” 

Y/N's agreement was evident in the soft smile on her face. “Of course. You should probably discuss this with Steve."

She hadn’t taken less than a half step before Steve grabbed her wrist. Surprised, she turned around, her features softening as his thumb rubbed the edge of her wrist. 

“I’ll look at it later. Stay, doll.” With a subtle bite of her lower lip, Y/N watched as Steve unlocked one of his drawers and slid the file into it. Her eyes never left his hands, tracing his long fingers. “Is it Hydra?” he asked with eyes on Sharon. 

She nodded. “It looks like they’re building a new division across their facilities. The entail I’ve gathered mentions everything. It looks pretty serious.” 

“Scope of intelligence?” 

“Sufficient.” 

“Validity of insights?” 

“Accurate.”

“Level of priority?” 

“Urgent. Fury’s going to set a meeting soon, but he wanted you to have the information right away,” Sharon answered. 

Steve nodded, still caressing Y/N's skin with his thumb. "I appreciate it, Sharon."

As the blonde turned to leave, she suddenly halted and pivoted on her heels. “Captain, there shouldn’t be a need to remind you to be vigilant. We still haven’t ruled out the possibility of a Hydra informant among us.” 

To the naked eye, Y/N's nervousness was imperceptible, but not to Steve's trained senses. With his thumb pressed against her pulse point, he could feel the subtle increase in her heart rate and the slight tremble in her fingers.

“You okay?” 

Y/N tried to steady her breathing, hoping to hide her nerves. She forced a small smile and replied, "I’m fine.” 

Her reply didn't satisfy Steve, but he refrained from pressing the issue any further. Once Sharon left, he drew Y/N closer to him. The Hydra ordeal had him feeling on edge, and he knew it was taking a toll on her too. Nevertheless, Steve remained resolute in his determination to make everything right. 

But what he didn't know was that the only way to make things right was to let them go wrong first.

"What's happening?" 

When Y/N stepped out of the elevator, there was a flurry of activity. Agents littered the floor, talking amongst themselves and pointing at their tablets. While this was a common sight at the compound, there hadn't been any commotion when Y/N went to grab dinner forty minutes ago. Yet now, pandemonium reigned over the place.

“Miss Y/L/N!” Peter's voice boomed in contrast to the tense atmosphere. The teenager skidded to a halt next to her. He had both hands up in the air as if he was debating whether he was allowed to hug her or not. “It’s great to see you okay and in one piece! Not that anyone’s hurt, of course. Everyone is perfectly fine. It was just a tiny breach. Well, not that tiny since Miss FRIDAY was disabled, and Mr. Stark was pretty angry that it took him five whole minutes to get her back online. But the good news is everyone is fine, right?”

"Easy there, Spiderling," Bucky said as he stepped out of the corridor, just as Y/N was processing Peter's words. The gashes on his forehead and cheek were now gone, and Tony had successfully rebooted his vibranium arm. “Y/N obviously doesn’t know what’s happening. Don’t bombard her with all this information.” 

Peter scuffed his shoes against the floor, his gaze dropping to the ground.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bucky.” 

“What’s going on, Pete?” Y/N gave the adolescent a sympathetic look. “Why’s everyone on edge?” 

“There’s been a breach in security, Miss Y/L/N. The cameras went down, and Miss FRIDAY was unresponsive for five whole minutes.” 

“What?" Y/N blinked in confusion. "How did this happen?”

“We’re trying to reboot the cameras to see if we can figure anything out. I think you already know who's the prime suspect.” 

"Hydra," Y/N sighed wearily, her gaze fixed on Bucky. "Did they manage to get hold of any sensitive information or plant any malicious software in our systems?"

Peter, who was typing furiously on his laptop this whole time, perked up. He shook his head vehemently, shoving the device in Y/N and Bucky’s faces. "I'm making some progress here and getting closer to cracking the wall they've built. I'm guessing they infiltrated the cloud network and launched a coordinated attack that deactivated all security protocols at once. That’s amazing! No, wait, not amazing. I mean amazing in a sense that—”

“Peter!” 

“Right. Sorry, Miss Y/L/N. Here's the thing. I'm almost certain this was an inside job. They didn't only bypass Miss FRIDAY; they deactivated her and created their own wall for a full five minutes. I'm not entirely sure what they were up to during that time, but they didn’t weaken our—”

Peter's sentence was left unfinished. At first, Bucky and Y/N thought he managed to restore the camera footage. And he did. Because all of them showed no sign of unusual activity as they replayed the five minutes in question. 

But just as the footage was coming to an end, the entire screen went blank. The three Avengers looked perplexed. The screen suddenly lit up, displaying a single sentence. 

Your time is running out, Bambi.

They each wore a different reaction. Bucky bristled, cobalt eyes trying to break through the screen and strangle Hydra. Peter pursed his lips as he read the sentence again and again. As for Y/N, she was transfixed in place, hands trembling by her side, her knees doing very little to keep her steady. 

“Looks like they meant to send a message,” Bucky remarked. And Y/N prayed his super soldier hearing didn’t pick up on her ragged breath or erratic thoughts. 

To say that he was pissed was an understatement. Steve might as well have been livid. It had been almost two weeks since the security breach and a whole month and a half since they suspected a mole in SHIELD’s ranks. Yet, they couldn’t find anything. 

He spent almost every moment working on the latest Hydra missions they’d received—most of them being a total bust. And alongside Fury and Tony, he was digging deeper into SHIELD’s resource pool, trying to find out who could be a suspect. 

Acknowledging that he was in dire need of a break, he begrudgingly retreated to his apartment. Once he arrived, he swiftly removed the jacket that clung to his body and made his way toward the refuge of his personal quarters. When Steve entered the room, he couldn't help but notice the sight that greeted him. There stood Y/N, basking in the natural light that filtered in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, adorned in nothing but his shirt. At that moment, his features softened, and a sense of warmth flooded through him.

He walked up to her, the distance between them closing until they were almost an inch apart. But just as he was about to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, Y/N spun around with surprising speed and swung a punch straight toward his face.

“Woah, Y/N. It’s me!” Steve said once he caught her clenched fist. She gasped, pulling her hand to her side and cradling it close to her chest. “Doll, what’s wrong? Why are you so tense?” 

“I…I, Steve. I’m so sorry.”

Steve pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. "You don't have to apologize, Y/N. But you need to tell me what's going on. You've been different ever since that Hydra mission almost two months ago."

He tried to pull away from her, just the tiniest bit to see her face, but she clung to him vehemently, nuzzling her face in his shirt. 

"I'm just scared, Steve. I'm scared of what Hydra could do; what they could have done to us," she murmured softly.

Steve stroked her back soothingly. “Doll…” 

"I'm not just worried about myself," Y/N said, pulling away from Steve's embrace. Her tear-filled eyes glistened, making his heart ache. "Everyone was hurt during those missions. Now, they're playing mind games and making threats. Who knows what they're capable of? It's just..." she trailed off, unable to finish her thought.

“Hey, hey, hey. Babydoll, look at me.” 

“Steve,” Y/N sounded, lower lip jutting out. “I’m scared that after all this, I'll lose you."

Steve's voice was gentle as he reassured her, reaching out to touch her cheek. "You won't lose me," he said. "I'll always be here for you, through the calm and the rain. We're a team, Y/N, and we stick together no matter what."

“Through the calm and the rain,” Y/N mimicked. She held him tighter, and Steve didn’t miss her shuddering breaths. 

“Steve? You okay, punk?” 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed from his place at the medical cot. He touched his jaw, his nose scrunching as he touched the multicolored bruise. “Can’t believe this marks another failure. Y/N personally collected this information on her last recon mission.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Steve. Hydra’s winning streak is going to end at some point. Didn’t you say you were switching tactics anyway?” 

Steve hummed in acknowledgment while reaching for his shirt. “Nat and I are trying to find the mole. But every time we’re close, we’re faced with an impasse.” 

Bucky squeezed Steve’s shoulder, the one that wasn’t dislocated at least, giving his friend a terse smile. “Not for long. Nat’s a mastermind at this. She’ll find the bastard, and this charade will end soon enough. You’ll see.” 

Steve could only hope Bucky was right because everyone was getting restless, and they knew this was what Hydra wanted all along. The missions had become borderline brutal, and Steve had taken it upon himself to lead most of them solo—Hydra’s intent at the end wasn’t to kill any of the Avengers. At least not now. They just wanted to weaken their resolve. 

Bucky helped Steve stand up straight. His shoulders deflated when the latter stifled a wince. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Y/N?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Punk, the serum’s too busy fixing your broken rib. If you want to leave the med bay so badly, at least let me call your girlfriend to help you up,” Bucky argued with a disapproving look. Steve wanted to laugh, being reminded of his best friend’s attitude back in the forties. But his ribs were killing him at the moment, and he couldn’t say a word. 

"It's already three in the morning, and other than you and possibly Tony, who's most likely in his lab, everyone else is asleep. I don't want to disturb her sleep."

“She’ll wake up when you walk inside your room, either way. Y/N’s been worried about you all week. I don't want to be on the receiving end of her disappointment when she realizes I knew you were hurt and didn't tell her."

“Buck.” By now, the two super soldiers were nearing the elevator. Steve’s twisted knee made it hard for them to get there faster. “I’m going to sleep in Y/N’s old room. When morning comes, the serum would have healed most, if not all, of my wounds. There's no need to worry her for nothing.”

He could tell Bucky didn’t approve of his choice, but his mind was already made. By the time Steve reached Y/N’s old room, exhaustion had started to weigh him down, and sleep felt like the best idea in the world. 

Lucky for him, Y/N hadn’t moved out all her things when she took permanent residence in his, now their, room. She had kept a few things lying around, spare clothes and toiletries, in case someone ever needed them. 

"Do you remember when Wanda and Pietro arrived?" she asked while sorting through her clothes, pondering which ones to keep and which ones to leave behind. "They had to borrow some clothes from us until Tony could order them some. It just made me think about how nice it would be to have a comfortable space stocked with everything someone might need. Is that silly? I have a lot of things that I don't use, and I just..."

Steve got up from the bed and walked over to Y/N, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. He took the clothes from her hand and helped her fold them. "There's nothing silly about wanting to create a warm and welcoming environment for someone in need," he said reassuringly. "And for the record, this makes me love you even more."

At that time, he had also pitched in, offering to contribute with some clothes and other things that he hadn't yet touched. So, he entered the room and headed towards the closet, grabbing a pair of jogging pants and a loose shirt. Steve moved to the ensuite and carefully placed his clothes on one of the cabinets by the sink. He then crouched down to take the towels out of the basket, his mind already turning to thoughts of the long shower he was going to enjoy. But as he rummaged through the pile, a manila folder suddenly slipped out from inside the longer towel, catching his attention.

Steve eyed the folder curiously, bending down to pick it up. Why would Y/N store a folder in the bathroom out of all places? He really wanted to dismiss the thought, but the fact that the folder was hidden inside the towels made him question the situation even more. 

Curiously, he opened the folder. He had barely laid eyes on the content before he blanched. This was the folder Sharon had delivered him weeks ago. A copy of it, at least. But this couldn’t be possible. Y/N would never steal from his office; she didn’t have the need to infiltrate it or sneak files or data. Everything of his is hers to have. So, why did she possess a monochrome copy of the latest Hydra schematics Sharon had sent him with the notes and strategies he had inscribed out and marked with his ballpen?

As Steve's eyes scanned the pages, his mind raced with questions and doubts. Was Y/N involved with Hydra? Had she been spying on him all along? He couldn't believe it. He knew her too well. But the evidence was right in front of him, and he couldn't ignore it.

He sat down on the marble tiles, his world spinning as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Maybe there was some explanation for all of this, some reason why Y/N had this file. 

The original was kept under lock and key in his office. Now that he thought of it, even Y/N didn’t have a key to that specific drawer. So how could she get it? Steve's mind raced as he held the folder in his hands, wondering how Y/N managed to get her hands on it.

Every word felt like a punch to the gut, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that Hydra was always two steps ahead of them. Steve remembered how nervous Y/N had been lately, especially after the security breach that proved to be a warning than an actual attack. 

The truth was that Y/N walked unharmed from every mission, yet she was the one who was the most nervous out of the team, particularly every time Hydra's informant was mentioned. And now that Steve thought about it, he could see Y/N’s eyes following his movements as he stored the file in his drawer and placed the key in the pocket of his pants, the same pants she took off when they went to their room afterward. 

Steve's mind raced as he recalled all the little details he had overlooked in the past two months. He remembered how Y/N had seemed lost in thought and jumpy, and how she had been the only one out of the compound during the security breach, even though she didn't have any mission.

Steve's hand tightened on the sink as he stood up, refusing to believe what the folder in his hand was suggesting. "No," he muttered to himself. "Y/N wouldn't do it. There has to be an explanation."

With the folder still clutched tightly in his hand, Steve rushed out of the room, his bruises forgotten in his determination to find out the truth. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he ran through the empty hallways, his mind racing with the need to prove that Y/N couldn't possibly be a Hydra agent.

He furiously clicked the elevator buttons again and again when it refused to get to his level fast enough, thinking, who the fuck would be up and about late at night and taking a trip using the elevators? When it took a second too long for it to reach his floor, Steve bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

Though fueled by adrenaline and urgency, his footsteps were light—shoes barely leaving a trail of noise despite every rushed step he took. He was almost at Y/N's door, two steps separating him from finding his answers. And when Steve's hands came in contact with the metal of the doorknob, Y/N's disapproving voice filtered through his ears.

“Are you kidding me?” she whisper-yelled. For a second, Steve thought she was addressing him, but she couldn't have known he was there. He pressed his ear against the door and made out Y/N's voice. She was up, and her shoes were squeaking against the parquet. "Watch your mouth when you talk to me," she spoke again, anger in her tone. "And keep Steve out of this."

Steve's heart pounded in his chest as he strained his ears to listen. Who was Y/N speaking to in the dead of night? He couldn't hear any other voice, despite his efforts to focus and pick up on any additional sounds. His breathing became labored as he desperately tried to discern any other heartbeat or whisper, but all he could hear was Y/N's voice echoing through their room.

“Nobody knows. You think I'm stupid enough to let anyone find out that I’m associated with you in any way, shape, or form?” Y/N's voice was tense, and Steve could tell that she was probably on the phone with someone. “You won’t ruin the trust I’ve built with the Avengers. I don’t know what game you're playing, but… no, Brock! I'm not finished yet!”

The manila folder slipped from Steve's hand, the sound of it hitting the ground barely audible. His heart, on the other hand, crashed to the floor with a resounding thud. Steve stepped back, putting as much space as he could between himself and the door, unwilling to listen to another word from Y/N.

It couldn't be true. Y/N couldn't be talking to Brock Rumlow of all people. He would have known, wouldn't he? Y/N was never discreet with her phone, and he would have noticed any strange behavior.

Steve’s eyes caught the papers that fell out of the folder. The strategies and outlines he considered, the plans he had made, and the ideas he had offered. They mocked him and his blind trust in Y/N. And that phone call was the cherry on top of the cake. 

The sharp edges of his broken heart stabbed at his soul. Steve gritted his teeth and straightened up. He had missed a good chunk of the conversation, but Y/N was still talking, though mindful of her tone. 

He could hear her pacing and then stopping in her tracks to drum her fingers against the table or the wall. Steve prayed that there would be an explanation, that there was a story there, something that would help explain why Y/N would be talking to Brock. But he wasn’t prepared to hear it. 

"You can try to ruin my reputation with the Avengers, but it won't work. We'll meet under my conditions. In five hours, at the alley near Café Epoque. No SHIELD or Hydra. Don’t worry about Steve, he’s on a mission. That's all I'll say. Now leave me be."

Y/N hung up and, most probably, flung the phone on the bed. Steve heard the soft thud followed by Y/N’s harsh breathing. She was pacing the room, mumbling words that were too fast to understand. Then, he heard her halt her pacing. She shuffled close to the door, her heartbeats clearer now. And when she opened the door and walked out, Steve was already halfway across the stairs, thinking about what the hell he was going to do.

As a spy, Y/N had a talent for deception. Earlier that morning, when Sam caught her wearing tights and a hoodie, she smoothly claimed that she was heading out for a run. When he questioned why she hadn't joined him, she had a quick retort ready, saying that she wasn't crazy enough to wake up at five in the morning like he did.

Sam had laughed it off, wishing her a good time. And she wasted not a second longer before rushing out of the compound. She took the usual path Bucky, Sam, and Steve took when they were out running. So if someone deemed her actions suspicious, the security cameras would confirm her going out on a run.

Extreme? Maybe. But the last thing she wanted was to let anyone know that she was meeting Brock. Speaking of the devil, his silhouette lingered by the alley, urging Y/N to step closer. Her stomach churned with every step she took closer. Yet she squared her shoulders and never stopped walking, determined to hide the anxiety slithering through her body. 

“What do you want?” Y/N cut to the chase, enunciating every word. She crept closer to Brock, thinking he might retreat further back into the shadows. Much to her disappointment, he didn’t.

"Well, well, Bambi, aren't you a ray of sunshine," Brock taunted, noticing the flicker of displeasure in Y/N's eyes. "I've been curious about your well-being."

“What do you want?” 

“Ah, I'm relieved to hear that you're doing fine. As I am, in case you were wondering.” 

"I wasn't," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to contain her frustration. "Don't push me to ask for the third time, Brock. Just answer the damn question."

“I just wanted to see how my favorite person in the world was doing.” He outstretched his hand, reaching toward Y/N’s hair. She quickly caught his wrist, using her thumb to put pressure on his pulse point. 

“Hate to burst your bubble, but if you called me here expecting a glimpse of your own glorious self through my eyes, I'm afraid I've always considered you a lost cause. And that was before your face decided to experiment with the art of spontaneous combustion.”

“Lost cause, eh?” Brock smirked, adding to Y/N’s irritation. “That’s not a nice word to describe your brother. Let alone your big brother, Bambi.” 

Despite her composed demeanor, Y/N's fingers subtly twitched at her sides, a telltale sign of her building tension. She averted her gaze, the sight of her brother churning her insides. Her eyes wandered, scanning the narrow confines of the alleyway as if searching for solace in the surrounding walls. Brock’s words lingered in the air, a painful reminder of the blood ties that bound them together. A reminder she despised.

“Stop comparing me to a fawn.” 

“Hmm, maybe I should. You did stop being the prey a long time ago.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Ask Rogers. You’ll know then.” Y/N was quite grateful that she was not endowed with superhuman strength because the grinding of her teeth and tightness of her jaw could have caused quite the collateral damage. Her brother, a term she hated to use when describing the unhinged being facing her, did not seem to care as he continued with his monologue. “When you first wanted to be a spy, I had my doubts. And I do admit that I never believed in your abilities. At least, not until you managed to hide your true identity from your own boyfriend.”

“In case it skipped your notice, Brock. I never asked for your shitty seal of approval.” 

“Language, Y/N. Jesus, I thought being with Captain Righteous might straighten you up a little, but I guess I was wrong.” 

“Rumlow…”

“Right back at you, sis,” he chuckled. Callously on top of it all. 

In times like this, I wish I had Wanda’s powers, Y/N thought. “If you’ve called me at three in the goddamn morning to waste my time, then congratulations, Brock. Mission accomplished.” 

“With your assistance, they all are,” Brock smirked. “Contrary to what you may think, I don’t have an ulterior motive. You’ve been less reachable lately, understandable with the mission you have—”

“You haven’t reached out to me in years!” Y/N countered. 

It might’ve been a trick of the light, but there was a noticeable moment of hesitation in Brock's demeanor. “Not directly, no. You know I can’t do that.” 

“You send subliminal messages instead.” 

“I’ve always had a flair for the dramatics.”

“If you’re waiting for me to deny it, I won’t.” 

Brock's head shook in a subtle motion. Y/N's senses heightened as she observed his hand inching closer to her side, prepared to react swiftly if necessary. But instead of a threatening gesture, his hand landed softly on her shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze. “You know what else I have a flair for? Caring for my little sister. I know the pressure Hydra is putting on both of us is massive, but you’ve been doing better than expected. I’m proud of you. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?” 

Captain? Y/N's face scrunched up in perplexity. Brock had lost it. Not only did that explosion scorch his face and erase half his features, but it must have taken his entire, and relatively small, brain with it. 

"I don't know what kind of twisted game you're playing, Brock. But I warn you, if you don't put an end to this nonsense immediately, I won't hesitate to involve the Avengers."

The uninterested look Brock gave her made Y/N feel uneasy. He withdrew his hand from her shoulder in a slow and deliberate manner. Malice fed the hunger in his eyes the more he kept them on her. “Haven’t you done it already? Why else would your boyfriend be standing behind us?” 

In hindsight, Y/N shouldn't have turned around. Not without calculating her next steps. It’s not that Brock wasn’t right—Steve was indeed standing behind her with features that exuded both sharpness and menace. But Y/N should’ve been smarter. She should’ve known that Brock had been tugging on her hands, forcing her to dig her own grave. 

“Steve?” she squeaked. The super soldier didn’t twitch at the sound even though she knew he picked it up. He remained unmoving, like a tree defying the violent storm, gaze flickering between her and Brock.  

“If you want me to stop treating you like a fawn, then you should stop clinging to that part. You’re right. It doesn’t suit you.” Briefly tearing her eyes away from Steve, Y/N leveled Brock with a nasty glare. And as ironic as it was, her brother’s deformed face held far more emotions than Steve��s maskless one. “You said your boyfriend was on a mission. I didn’t realize I am the mission.” 

“Don’t overestimate your own importance,” Steve finally spoke. His voice carried a menacing undertone akin to a sudden thrust of an unseen knife. The words settled deep within Y/N's bones, leaving a chilling resonance.

“Just as you overestimated my sister’s? That’s right, Cap. Y/N is my sister. But I imagine this revelation isn’t the most shocking information you've learned about her, is it?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Brock?” 

Irritation was quickly thrown out the window in favor of confusion. What the hell was Brock saying? And why was he so composed despite Steve’s looming and threatening presence behind her? 

Brock was setting her up, no doubt about that. But there was something about Steve’s seething character and Brock’s Machiavellian attitude that made the sirens in her head blare. 

Revelation, he had said, on top of pointing out that she was more prey than victim. He didn’t flinch at the sight of Steve, more like welcomed it with open arms. Her mind was racing to find out what he was planning, knowing well that he wanted to drive a wedge between her and Steve. But could being a Rumlow warrant such a treatment? 

Brock pursed his lip as the malicious glint in his eyes intensified. “Drop the act, Bambi,” he said. “Hydra won’t be too pleased with you choosing me as your sacrificial lamb.” 

A surge of anger engulfed Y/N, her frustration boiling over. How could she have been so blind? She turned her back on Brock, fixating her gaze on Steve. At that moment, all her SHIELD training felt futile, discarded in the depths of the alley, as she recklessly diverted her attention away from Brock.

"Steve, please," she pleaded, desperation lacing her voice. "I don't know what brought you here, but you have to believe me. I have no connection to Hydra. I'm not the spy!"

“You’re a Rumlow,” Steve spat, tearing her apart with three words just as he had always built her up with three.

Y/N’s lips trembled, shaking from the cold realization that Steve did not believe her. “I—I’m not. If being a Rumlow means the same as being treacherous and conniving, then I’m not. You know me.” 

“Does he?” 

“Stop talking, Brock!” Y/N shouted, closing her eyes in annoyance. Brock didn’t relent. 

“I'm just offering my observation, sis. Isn't that what you do to add some excitement?”

“Enough.” Steve’s voice came out low, composed, and measured. Yet every hair on Y/N’s skin stood up. The roots he seemed to have planted in place disappeared, and it took him four steps to reach Y/N’s side. “No more talking.” 

Y/N ached to erase the heaviness that laced his words. Those words that were once so calm and gentle, whispered to her before Steve showed her the magnitude of his love and desire, were now an erratic hurricane that swept her off her feet for all the wrong reasons. 

“Steve…” She tried to defend himself, but the green in his eyes was so scarce. It gave her a silent indication that words were truly unwelcome. 

“I don’t trust you, Rumlow.” It burned. “I don’t believe you.” It hurt. “And I may be out of time, but I’m not out of my mind to desperately latch on to any word that comes out of your treacherous mouth.” It scarred. 

Steve’s gaze tormented Y/N. She screamed silently, letting him know that he was making a mistake. She could never be the traitor in their ranks. She would never betray her family—him. But despite his guarded eyes consuming hers, disbelief defiantly lined his irises. 

His fingers wrapped around Y/N’s wrists, causing her to gasp. With a quick tug, he yanked her protectively behind his solid frame. And to her utter disbelief, he threw himself at her brother. 

Brock's belated realization of Steve's assault came crashing down as he collided with the ground, the impact echoing loudly. Steve seized him by the collar, jaw clenched with determination, as he prepared to deliver another blow. Yet, just as he readied his fist, a sharp sound resonated around the alley. Steve’s hand instinctively reached for his wounded shoulder where a bullet had found its mark.

"Steve!" Y/N's voice trembled with panic. In an instant, Steve grabbed her waist, forcefully pinning her against the wall as a barrage of bullets cascaded around them. Brock saw his opportunity amidst the chaos and attempted to flee, but Steve and Y/N were determined not to let him escape. "Natasha?" Y/N urgently called out, activating her Stark watch.

“In pursuit of the Hydra agent.” Natasha’s voice came through. 

Y/N gently pushed against Steve, but he quickly caught on to her intentions. "I'll go after him," he asserted, gripping her hand firmly. She shook her head, her gaze fixed on his injured shoulder. "You're not the only one who called for backup. Bucky is on his trail too."

Y/N hesitantly nodded, understanding the double meaning behind his sentence. She placed her right palm over his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll help, Nat. Not up for debate.” 

Steve relented, and with that, the both of them dispersed. Through her Stark watch, Y/N managed to pin Nat’s exact location. She was moving fast, from one rooftop to another. 

Trusting that Steve and Bucky had her brother covered, Y/N pulled out the concealed gun and sprinted through the streets. The enemy agent must have taken a different route, as Y/N could see her adversary land on the ground right in front of her and recover within seconds. 

Y/N's instincts kicked in, and she swiftly raised her gun, taking aim at the fire hydrant mere steps away from the agent. With a well-aimed shot, she punctured the hydrant, causing a forceful jet of water to erupt toward the agent. The unexpected deluge forced the agent to jump back, momentarily disoriented by the sudden surge of water.

Natasha swiftly comprehended the situation, sprinting across the street to close the distance, while Y/N made a split-second decision to alter her path and intercept the Hydra agent head-on. The sound of Natasha's exertion echoed in Y/N's ears, intensifying the urgency to pick up the pace. Despite Natasha's inherent speed advantage, the task of incapacitating the agile agent proved challenging, as if their adversary had an uncanny ability to anticipate every move.

In a blur, Natasha shattered a storefront window with a gunshot, causing shards of glass to spray near the agent's face, driving them closer to Y/N. She reacted quickly, delivering a swift kick to their face. Their hood fell off, revealing wisps of blonde hair. She didn't have time to look at their face as she was determined to disarm them.

With a growl, Y/N rushed to deliver a blow to the agent’s ribs. She ducked as the woman brought her fist to her face, using the momentum in her favor to hook her ankle around the woman’s own and drive her to the ground. 

As the woman looked at her with a glare, Y/N’s eyes widened. “Sharon?” she whispered in disbelief, and even Natasha, who still hadn’t seen Sharon’s face, bristled. 

Too stunned by the reveal, both Avengers weren't quick enough to intercept Sharon's next moves. She swung her leg to kick Y/N hard across her stomach. Still on the ground, she repositioned her body enough to throw a metal ball at Natasha. It beeped fast, faster than anyone could have anticipated, before dark smoke erupted from it, trapping Natasha in a mirage of darkness. 

“It would’ve been so much easier if he didn’t love you,” Sharon’s voice resonated. From the corner of her bloodshot eyes, Y/N could see her reaching for the gun. Y/N stood up on shaky legs and roared, bulldozing her way into Sharon and knocking her to the ground. 

In the midst of the fierce struggle, knees collided with noses and limbs grappled, each trying to gain the upper hand. The scuffle caused Sharon's gun to be flung out of reach, lost somewhere in the chaotic fray. With a flicker of determination in her eyes, Sharon's gaze darted between Y/N and her immediate surroundings, desperately seeking a potential weapon. And there it was.

Y/N's knife loomed just out of her reach, poking out of a hidden pocket. But before she could grasp it, Sharon's hand darted toward the hilt. With a forceful push, Y/N was knocked down, and the gleaming blade was poised, ready to deliver a lethal strike. 

In that perilous moment, a large hand closed around the knife's metal, halting its deadly trajectory. Blood trickled down Y/N's face, eliciting a gasp of disbelief, but Sharon seemed to bear the brunt of the shock. Gripped by fear, the knife slipped from her grasp. The next instant, Sharon was sent hurtling backward, colliding with the unyielding embrace of Bucky's metal arm. 

Y/N's eyes flickered upward, her mouth agape in astonishment. "Steve?" she stammered, caught between shock and relief.

“Wrapping your hand around the metal of a knife is the opposite of being careful, Steve!” Y/N chastised. Now in the med bay, she was disinfecting Steve’s wound, about to wrap a bandage around it. 

The fight was over and done with after Bucky caught Sharon. She was now being interrogated by Tony and Secretary Ross while Brock was on his merry way to the Raft. 

Y/N, Steve, Natasha, and Bucky were all required to sit in for questioning. It was protocol after what happened, especially given the new information about Y/N’s identity. But Natasha was disoriented from whatever chemical Hydra had developed, and Bucky looked one more word away from reverting to Winter Soldier mode—his worry over Natasha’s well-being overpowering his sense of self-preservation. Not to mention that Steve was bleeding and Y/N was covered in bruises and blood. 

In due time, they made their way to the med bay, reaching a mutual understanding that they would share their accounts and perspectives later.

"What? Were you hoping for that knife to find its place on your collarbone, Y/N? If that's what you desired, you should have mentioned it earlier, and I would have arranged a more suitable scenario."

If his smirk was any indicator, it was clear that he was joking. But even his lighthearted smile didn’t ease the worry on Y/N’s face. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, wrapping the bandage nice and easy. “It was bad enough that a bullet found its target in your shoulder.” 

“I’m a super soldier. I’ll heal by tomorrow. But if that knife came closer to your body—”

“I know,” Y/N sighed disgustingly. Her index finger traced the white bandages with a featherlight touch that made Steve shiver. “Did Natasha tell you I was meeting Brock?” 

Though her voice was low and gentle, it caused a spike of anxiety to travel the length of Steve’s veins. “No.” 

“Then how did you know I was meeting him?” 

“I came back at around three in the morning,” Steve admitted. He caught the sight of the dark veins under Y/N’s eyes, immediately smoothing them with his thumbs. “I didn’t want to wake you up—I may have been injured on that mission. I went to your old room, Y/N. And while I was there, I found a copy of a Hydra mission file I was working on.” 

“In my old room?” 

“In the bathroom of your old room. An odd place to store files, if you ask anybody. Which is why I was shocked when I found the copy. And then, I remembered that you were the only one who was out when Hydra had overridden FRIDAY. And you were the only one of us who barely sustained a scratch on our missions. You were always so anxious at the sheer mention of the double agent, and I…”

“I can’t believe it,” Y/N muttered under her breath. She couldn’t believe the lengths her brother and Sharon went to go frame her. It disgusted her more that she was too busy wallowing in her anxiety to pick up on their actions. 

“I didn’t believe it.” Steve’s hands found their place on her waist and pulled her closer. She could see the tranquil shade of green nestled in his irises, urging her to listen to him and breathe. “I didn’t, Y/N. I know you. I trust you. I went to our room to talk to you, but I heard you on the phone with Rumlow. I froze in place. And before I knew it, I ran back to your old room. It took me a solid ten minutes to gather my thoughts, and by the time I did, I found you talking with Nat.” 

His words were sincere, but there was more than just comfort in his every syllable. They carried a hint of disappointment, a tinge of hurt. And as he whispered the last sentence, Steve's pain was evident.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Y/N whispered. 

Steve gave her a considerate smile. “Even if I were, I have a feeling you wouldn’t have told me.” 

“I wouldn’t have known how,” she confessed with sadness in her pupils. “I knew Brock was up to something, and believe me, I didn’t want to tell Nat everything. But… she understands what it's like being judged for something that’s completely out of your hands. The words, the truth, it all spilled out.” 

"I understand, babydoll. I understand," Steve reassured, the endearing nickname washing over Y/N, bringing a sense of ease. Y/N gently cupped Steve's cheek, allowing their noses to brush against each other.

“What happened then?” she continued to whisper, and Steve found comfort in the calmness of her voice.

“It was clear Natasha wasn’t going to involve anyone else. But I wasn’t going to stand idly while you two dealt with whatever Rumlow had planned. I went to Bucky. And as soon as he knew Natasha was tagging along—”

“He didn’t waste time asking any more questions.” A pause followed Y/N’s statement. She kept her eyes on Steve, her hand absentmindedly running up and down his thigh while his uninjured one kneaded her back. Luckily, she and Bucky sustained no more than a few bruises. It was only Natasha and Steve who were moderately injured. 

Steve’s voice interrupted the silence. “What are you thinking?” 

Y/N chewed on her lower lip, thinking hard. “Did you hate me? The moment you found out I was Brock’s sister?” 

“Never.” Y/N sighed in relief. “I was shocked beyond words. But I understood. I did. We’re more than the names we inherit and the roles we shoulder. I wasn’t going to hate you for something you so clearly despised yourself. If anything, I loved you all the more for your choices.” 

“You loved that I lied?” 

Steve laughed. “I loved how you embraced your mother's surname, showing that you didn't rely on your brother's influence to succeed in SHIELD. I loved your unwavering loyalty to your team, to me, despite sharing blood with Rumlow. But most of all, I loved your instinct to involve someone, even if it wasn't me, the moment you sensed trouble."

“I was going to tell you,” Y/N assured. “One day, I was going to tell you everything. I was just scared.” 

“Then don’t be,” Steve said. His fingers laced through Y/N’s locks, tenderly stroking the back of her head. “I love you, Y/N. I trust you. No matter the fears you have, share them with me. I’ll never run just because you have something to say that I might not like. I’m always with you.” 

Love blossomed within Y/N's heart, its warmth spreading across her face in a radiant smile. Her eyes shimmered with unwavering devotion as she whispered, "Through the calm and the rain?" In response, Steve's lips seamlessly melded with hers, a gentle dance that spoke volumes of their affection and tenderness. Their embrace was a testament to the deep bond they shared, a connection that could weather any tempest that came their way.

At last, Steve pulled away. His silence was a soothing reminder of the peace that could never be snatched away from either of them no matter the circumstances. With one deep sigh, he whispered, “Through the calm and the rain, my Y/N.” 

And so it was, amidst the serenity and the downpour, that Y/N and Steve stood firm, their love resolute and unyielding. They were intertwined, like ancient oaks with roots that ran deep, unshakable in their commitment to one another.

So excited to announce that I will now be writing for Steve Rogers too! I know this is a long one, but I couldn't help myself. Hope you liked it!

Don't forget to send in your Marvel/Harry Potter requests!

Can't wait to share more!!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers

[cryingisnecessaryfanfics]

Tartaglia x reader nsfw 💦

fatui! reader,,, gender neutral until **** afab afterwards. might make an amab version tho. Not spell-checked or anything, this took me months to write lmao.

(this was written to satisfy my own blood kink, in no way am I implying this would happen irl or that I support this irl)

TW/CW: Wounds, blood, stitches, blood kink, pain kink, sadomasochism, dom/sub-themes, bottom(switch?) Tartaglia, blow/hand job, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, Childe cries, praise kink, sliiiiight degradation, overstim, use of the word pussy, uh reader cuts him >.>, multiple orgasms... I think that's it?

summary: Reader gets put with childe to babysit him and gets turned on when he gets hurt lmao. Then smut.

Words: 3,985

The bustling of Liyue harbor fades into the distance as you walk side by side with the 11th fatui harbinger, Tartaglia. Or Childe, as you were supposed to call him in public. The man wasn't like anything you’d heard about him. There was nothing cold or ruthless about him, and in the time you’d been accompanying him, he’d been nothing but gleeful and cheery. If anything at this point you were starting to think he was more of a nuisance than a threat.

Nonetheless, you continued to supervise this man-child of a harbinger, there was a promise of compensation waiting for you at the end of the two weeks you would be together and you’d be dammed if you’d give up a job like that.

But sometimes you really consider throwing it all out the window and decking that son of a bitch right in the face.

“Comrade~!” A blob of orange crosses in front of your vision and you roll your eyes before focusing on the face now inches from your own. “You’d better pay attention or you’ll walk right into that hoard of hilichurls.” He points to the left and you follow his hand over to a mob of hilichurls bunched together and dancing about.

“Oh.” Is all you say and he laughs.

“Are you feeling well, comrade? It seems like your head's not in the game.” He lifts an eyebrow at you and continues before you can respond. “Don’t worry, you can sit here and rest while I defeat them.”

“Yeah like you can take 20 hilichurls at once,” you respond with a roll of your eyes, “I’ll help you, dumbass.” And you start to pull your sword out from where it sits at your side.

But Childe stops you with a hand and speaks again. “I don’t like that you underestimate me, comrade. I’ll handle it and you watch so you can learn a thing or two about how to take on a large number of enemies.”

“Whatever,” You sigh, “just don’t come crying to me when you get trampled.” And with that, he smirks and runs over to the mob of enemies.

Watching him fight is interesting, to say the least. For one, instead of trying anything with that bow he carries about, he goes straight for his hydro daggers and starts slashing this and that like a madman. He takes down three hilichurls at once with one calculated slash and laughs manically as blood splatters his clothes.

His dry cleaning must suck, you think before focusing on his movements once again. The hilichurls start to circle around him and close in and he kicks one to the side before putting his daggers together. In the process, a brave hilichurl reaches out and slashes his torso with one of its claws. Childe yells out in pain and for a moment, perhaps only a second or two, you see his jaw tighten and a glaze pass over his eyes. You’re awestruck with the image of his pain written on his face still in your mind long after he pours elemental energy into his weapon and takes out the whole lot of enemies in one move.

His cry of pain replays in your mind again and before you realize it your eyes have widened and your face has gone red. Childe, now standing in the murder scene, starts to turn towards you and you rush to fix your face and calm your racing heart before he can see you ogling.

When you see his face again he’s panting and out of breath, a smug smile still there despite his exhaustion. Your eyebrows furrow as you lock your eyes on the gash in his side, trying your hardest to push out the desire that floods into your mind as you study its severity.

“Learn anything?” He says as walks towards you again, and you make sure to note the strain in his voice for… medical reasons, before responding.

“Yeah, how to get yourself hurt while being reckless.” And you take one of his arms to pull over your shoulder.

“Don’t- be a prick,” He says despite the little breath of pain he lets out in the middle. It goes straight to your stomach and you look away while walking back onto the path.

“Shut up.” You say and an awkward silence settles between the two of you. The only sound filling up the lack of words is Childe’s ragged and unsteady breathing, which not only makes your heartbeat quicken but also feeds into the growing lump in your throat.

It takes a while before anyone speaks again, and this time it’s when the medical practice is in sight.

“You don’t have to do this you know,” Childe speaks quietly, a little hiss falling from his mouth when you startle from his words. “I’ve had worse wounds.”

You roll your eyes, “trust me I’m holding back from dropping you on the ground and leaving you there. I, however, have a conscience that would be a bitch to handle if I left you to rot.”

He laughs at that, a rough and breathy sound you’d never heard from him before. Something that made your annoyance with him soften in the slightest bit. He breathes in as if he’s about to say something but a nurse gasps and runs over to take him from you before you can hear it.

-

By the time you see Childe again, he’s back to his usual self, you know because the nurse is flirting with him as she hands him off to you and he’s looking at her with his signature grin. She tells you to clean his wounds before and after bed before flashing Childe one more smile and retreating back into the clinic.

“She was nice,” You say sarcastically and start walking towards Childe’s expensive house.

“Not gonna help me walk this time?” Childe pouts and you send him a glare. He seems to get the message because he starts to ramble about something while you walk to his place.

Luckily the walk to his house is short and you make it there just as the sun starts to slip out of sight. When he lets you in you take off your shoes at the door and follow him through the house.

It’s a bit awkward watching him walk into his bedroom fully expecting you to follow, even more awkward when he pulls off his shirt and throws it onto the queen-sized bed.

“Wanna get the first aid kit, comrade?” He says, and you stare blankly at him. “It's in the bathroom through that door.” You nod and walk over to the door, pushing it open and flicking on the light.

The bathroom is as expensive looking as the rest of the house, a huge bathtub and a shower with glass doors sit on one side of the room. A toilet and sink on the other. You head over to the bathroom counter with expensive-looking marble and sort through the drawers until you find the first aid kit.

When you walk back into the bedroom Childe is sitting on the edge of his bed, unwrapping the bandages on his torso. You take a moment to study him, the way his arms and back are filled with all sorts of scars. It makes something click in your mind. Makes your stomach flip over and your grip tighten around the first aid kit in your hands.

“Going to stand there all day?” He doesn’t even look up as he speaks. His fingers, now gloveless, run over the bandages on his stomach, he pulls the last of them off and looks up at you with a quirked eyebrow.

You are pulled from your daze when his sapphire eyes meet yours. You blink once before averting your eyes and crossing the room to get to him. You sigh as you realize the awkward situation to come, only praying the man in front of you doesn’t notice the redness at the tips of your ears as you kneel before him.

The process is wordless, you don’t dare glance up at Childe’s face, nor does he remark about your flushed state. You open the first aid kit and take out the antiseptic wipes, holding your breath as you reach up to touch his stomach. The wound is long and red, stretching from one side of his chest all the way down to the waistline of his pants, where the very end disappears under his clothes. You work carefully around the stitches, trying not to pay too much attention to the way his muscles twitch when you get a little too close. You shift positions, placing one hand on his thigh to stabilize yourself. His leg flinches slightly in response causing your hand to slip against his wound.

“Sorry,” You say and instinctively look up at his face for signs of pain. He sucks in a breath and when you see his face your stomach drops. He’s red, biting his lip and blushing furiously under half-lidded eyes.

“It’s fine,” He mutters through his teeth and you gulp as a pang of desire goes straight through you.

“Tartaglia,” You murmur, the hand on his thigh subconsciously squeezing as your lust grows.

“Fuck,” he breathes and it’s nothing like anything you’d heard him say before. Your eyes dart down to the slight bulge in his pants and then back up as if you couldn’t look for too long.

You set down the wipe in your hand and bravely reach up to touch his neck. He looks at you again, wide-eyed, with a whisper of your name on his lips.

“Can I…?” You trail off, not sure of what you’re asking for before he nods and you’re pulling him down for a kiss. Your lips meet in a rush, unsure at first before Childe grows restless and deepens the kiss while taking your face in his hands and tilting his head. It sparks electricity within your stomach and you reciprocate with just as much need.

When your tongue brushes against his lips, he opens his mouth almost instantly, eagerly accepting your tongue as it tangles with his. While your mouths dance together, you let the hand at the back of Childe’s neck trail down to his chest and run your fingers over his skin. He groans into the kiss while you roam your way around his body, eventually finding what you had been looking for.

It only takes the slight brush of your thumb against the tie of one of his stitches for him to moan in pain. He breaks away from the kiss to sigh into your mouth, the kind of exhale that shakes and begs for another breath right after.

“Does my pain amuse you,” He says against your lips, delight in his voice despite the lack of smile on his face.

“It's not amusement,” You reply with a harsh swipe of your finger against his wound. You savor the way he cries out before finishing your response. “It’s lust.”

“Sadist,” He accuses with a grin and you smile back at him, your hand falling from his injury down to the desire pressing hard against his pants.

“Masochist,” You tease back, pushing your hand down gently on his crotch.

“Hah-“ His head falls to your shoulder, his hands clutching the fabric of your shirt. “I guess I’ve been found out.”

He pulls you into another desperate kiss before you can respond and you happily accept it. You push down on his crotch again and his hips buck into your hand. You hear him whine when you pull your hand away. His lips part from yours, his eyes lazily pleading with you to touch him again.

“Aw, look at that, you’ve pulled your stitches,” You coo and he hisses in pain when you gather the blood leaking from him on your finger. You’re entranced at the sight of his blood on your hand, the crimson liquid staining your skin.

“You look beautiful when you’re bleeding you know.” His eyes widen at your statement, following your hand as you reach for the spare dagger strapped to his thigh. You pull it from its sheath and tap it against his skin.

He breathes your name again, a hand coming down to touch himself.

“Ah-ah,” you tut, pressing the knife harder against him. “I’ll help you with that later. If you bleed for me.” He closes his eyes and furrows his brows as if debating whether he could wait that long.

“Fuck, fine, just hur-” you interrupt him with a pull of his dagger, watching his face contort as you drag it across his torso.

His breath catches and you savor the way it sounds while your eyes dart back down to watch the red liquid fill the shallow cut you had made.

“That's not so bad is it?” You give the wound a little kiss and he tenses under the touch of your lips, the feeling of your chest pressed against his desire making him restless.

“I- cant take it,” He pauses, “I need you so bad, god, please.”

You sigh and while you had wanted to draw more blood from him, the sound of his plead led you to comply. “When you ask like that how can I refuse?” You mumble, putting his knife back in its rightful place before making your hands busy on his belt.

His own hands fumble to help you while murmuring his thanks. When his belt is tossed to the side somewhere in his massive room, you unzip his pants and take his length out of its confinements. He moans when he feels your skin against his own, almost sobbing when you close your hand around him and roughly jerk upwards.

“So good, so so good.” He’s whispering as you start to find a satisfying rhythm. His hands fist the bed sheets and he starts to rock his hips with the pull of your hand.

“Ah- just like that,” He gasps out and you take the opportunity to overwhelm him. You lean towards him, kissing the tip of his member before opening your mouth and licking his slit.

He lets out the most elicit moan you’ve heard so far and opens his previously shut eyes to stare down at you. There’s a glaze over his eyes and he twitches at the sight of your mouth on him.

He breaks when you suck on his tip and his pleasure pours into your mouth in thick ropes. You don’t take the time to let it sit on your tongue before you’re swallowing and releasing him from your mouth with a pop. You move to stand in front of him, tilting his head to look up at you with his hazy blue eyes.

**** afab reader ****

“I helped you out so now you’re going to help me too, yeah?” You smirk as his eyes widen and then narrow again. “It's only fair after all.” You watch the haze leave his eyes and the desire pour in.

“Gladly.” He murmurs before slipping his hands under your shirt and sliding it up. It's stripped off you in seconds, his hands tracing your waist up your chest, and then down your shoulders. You shiver at the touch of his warm hands on your skin, the softness of his fingers, and the way he glides down your body like flowing water. You let out a shaky breath as he reaches the waistband of your pants, his fingertips slip under and all too quickly he's pulled them down and you’re entirely bare in a matter of seconds. He pulls you down to sit on his lap your privates just inches away from his.

You share a breath together for a moment gripping his shoulders as you settle into a new and heated position. Your thighs are pressed against Childe's, his chest pressed against yours. You're both bare and vulnerable, exposed for the other to see.

And then his fingers find their way to your clit, a small gasp escaping you as he starts to rub it in circles. It's sensitive at first but soon pleasure starts to rush up your stomach and down your legs.

“Did seeing me in pain make you this wet?” He teases and you have to choke back a moan when he gathers a bit of slick from your hole.

“Shut up and do what you’re told harbinger,” You mumble, hand coming up to grip the hair at the back of his head. But he just grins in response and slips one of his fingers into your heat. Your grip tightens with the sudden invasion sending a burst of pleasure down your thighs. A moan rips its way through your throat.

"Fuck- Tartaglia," you can't help but whisper as his finger curls inside you. Your head falls back, lips parting as you soak in the pleasure. He seems to hit all the right spots making your head spin and your vision blurry.

"Is this good enough for you sweetheart?" He says and you can't help but groan in annoyance.

"Don't- be a tease," your voice comes out shaky but you take the opportunity to tug his hair harshly.

He whines in response and another finger finds its way into your heat.

"Good boy." You praise and his fingers start to pick up the pace. You lean into his frame as the pressure building up in your stomach gets more intense.

"God, don't stop." You moan out, mind far too lost in the feeling of his fingers inside of you to care what you say. Your release is getting closer and closer as his fingers hit all the right spots. All it takes is the rub of his thumb against your clit and you're seeing stars.

Your thighs squeeze together and a chill runs through your whole body. Faintly, in the back of your mind, you're aware that you've clamped down on childe's fingers, which now struggle to move inside you.

When you're finally able to see straight you look at childe's blue eyes and lazily smile at him.

He grins back, "That feel good, baby?" He murmurs and you huff a little laugh in response.

"Better than good," you pant out and rest your head on his shoulder.

"God you looked so hot like that." He mumbles almost as if to himself. That's when you notice the pressure against your thigh and the fact that he's painfully hard again.

You place a hand on his chest and whisper, "Lay down, I want more." You don't fail to notice the way his lower part practically jumps at your words or the way he quietly groans at the thought.

Nonetheless, he grabs you by the hips and pulls you closer to him before he leans back as you had told him to do.

You grin at him while you straddle his hips and hover above him. Childe moans when your body makes contact with him, watching the way you slowly take him into yourself. When you finally bottom out Childe's hands fly to your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises. He let out a sort of choked noise, his eyes closed and mouth open. He was truly the picture of sex, hair messy and cheeks flushed, his muscles all tensed with need.

"Don't move." He chokes out and it's raspy and strained, undeniably attractive. So much so your stomach drops and you clench around him.

The moan he lets out from your action is louder than any of his others. "Don't!" He cries and takes multiple deep breaths, trying his best to calm down and get used to the sensation of being inside of you.

"Awh is my pussy too much for this big strong harbinger?" You tease and he grits his teeth. "Relax baby, you can come as many times as you want inside me."

He just groans in response too lost in the bliss of you all around him, invading his senses.

Naturally, you long to see him completely fucked out and start to move despite his words. Slowly raising yourself up with your legs and dropping back down onto him, hitting just the right spot every time.

"Fuck, I- I'm gonna cum if you do that." He's barely able to think clearly as he rushes to say what he can.

"Go on then." You start to pick up your pace, "Fill me up real good, pretty boy." Your voice is strained by now, but the slap of your skin and the wet sounds that fill the room drown you out anyway. Besides, you both are a moaning mess, desperate to reach as many highs as you can take.

Just as he warned Childe reaches his climax quickly and he's so fucked out, he uses his strength to slam you down and hold you there while he pours all he's got into your pussy.

He cums hard, squeezing his eyes shut and arching his back while he digs his nails into your skin. The pain is a nice mix with the throbbing of your heat and the warmth flooding into your body.

You watch in awe as he rides it out, little tears and gasps escaping him when you move even slightly. You know he's done when his hands fall from your hips and he relaxes into the bed with newfound exhaustion.

"Don't tell me you're already spent?" You murmur, leaning forward to move his hair sticking to his forehead, his sapphire eyes blinking open and wincing with the shift of your hips.

"C'mon baby, I know you've got more in you." You whisper against his lips, eyes half-lidded staring into his, as you start to roll your hips.

He inhales sharply and his hands move to grip the bedsheets. "Too much, fuck, too much too much." He whines it out, his face contorting in pain.

"Awh does it hurt baby boy?" And you fake a little pout to hide the grin that threatens to spread on your face.

"Yes!" He chokes out between moans eyes brimming with tears. "More, hah, please."

You let go of the smile, sitting back up and roughly bouncing up and down on him.

It's painful at first to take him so roughly so suddenly but you push through it knowing pleasure was on the other side. And after the pain numbs the pleasure comes cascading over your body. It's overwhelming just how much floods your senses. The way your hips become desperate and wild, the way all your muscles tense in anticipation.

And then it all crashes. You cry out as you hit your high falling onto Childe's chest and clenching down on his length. Your vision goes white, and you gasp and gasp for air while your body trembles and shakes. And though you're too lost to notice, Childe cums right after you hugging you against him while you both come down from the high.

When you can finally breathe you manage to separate your body from his and fall to the side of him. Instantly relaxing into his expensive and comfortable bed.

You both lay there for a moment just breathing next to each other and processing what just happened.

"Holy shit." Is all Childe says, and the tension snaps, laughter falling from your lips despite your soreness. Childe soon joins you with his own soft chuckles, taking your hand in his.

The night ends in a fit of giggles and shaky legs as you clean up each other. Finally re-bandaging the wound that started it all, and the bonus one next to it.

You fall asleep on Childe's big comfy bed together, savoring the way he feels in your arms. (and the way his big ass bed is probably memory foam and so damn soft)

****

hope you enjoyed :3

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #childe x you #childe imagines #sub genshin #sub childe #sub tartaglia #childe x y/n #tartaglia genshin impact #childe tartaglia ajax #s and m #masochist sub #sadist reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #genshin #afab reader

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Fundamental Differing

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nav | chapter XXI | masterlist | playlist | pin board

Chapter XXII: Blood Sugar Sex Magik

tags/warnings (spoilers below the cut!): MDNI 18+ ONLY! angst, drama, confession, tension, ALL YOUR FAVORITES! rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, afab!gnc!reader, mentions of reader being bisexual. dual pov

a/n: buckle up people it’s a doozy. i think you’ll like it though.

cw: unprotected p in v, oral (afab receiving), graphic content not meant for people under 18. MDNI, NSFW.

a/n: haha. hey. hi guys. sorry for all that waiting… i hope it was worth it. This chapter is a little different, no prologue flashback, one scene instead of multiple. Decided this deserved its own chapter. a nice lil mindless sex scene for your reading pleasure. thanks SO SO MUCH for reading, and for your patience!

Disclaimer: i do not give permission to repost my work, please let me know if you see my writing posted anywhere else. reblogs welcome and encouraged to support the author!

—

Your POV

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You were drunk, but not too drunk to forget what you’d said last night.

The sunlight streams through the blinds, giving the room an orange glow. It’s early, but the bed next to you is empty. Understandably. Shit! You sit up, groaning as the movement makes your head throb. You’re in your underwear, and the shirt you’d worn to the bar last night. You can feel the underwire of your bra digging into your flesh. There was absolutely no reason to go that crazy last night, not if this is the aftermath.

As you’re gaining the courage to stand, the door swings open, and you catch Eddie’s eyes for a millisecond before he looks to the floor, face beet red, breakfast burrito clenched in his grip.

“Sorry, shit, I thought you would have left by now.” Eddie tries to leave the room, but you stop him before you know what you’re doing.

“Wait! Wait,” He stops, slowly stepping back into the room. “Eddie, I am so sorry.” You blurt the words out before you can chicken out. “That was so unfair to you. I was so wasted and I was celebrating, and I wanted to tell you about it but I-”

“Y/n,” Eddie’s voice is calm, firm. “Slow down.”

You take a deep breath, centering yourself. Your head has stopped spinning since Eddie’s appearance in front of you, but you try not to make too much of that. He’s dressed in his usual attire, a pair of black ripped jeans, beat up sneakers, and a well worn band t-shirt. Today’s choice just so happens to be the homemade, one of a kind Death Dance Approximately shirt you’d given to Eddie a lifetime ago. He’s since cropped it right above his navel, exposing his midriff, including a tattoo you’d forgotten existed: Your initials on his hip bone.

Shit!

“Okay,” You start, unsure of how you’re gonna dig yourself out of this one.”I want to apologize.”

Eddie’s face contorts, confusion carved into his features. He leans against the wall, still so far away from you.

“What for?”

You gesture loosely to the air. “Well, you know, everything. Last night.”

“Everything, huh?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he sounds hurt.

“It wasn’t fair. I was drunk, I shouldn’t have barged in here, put you in that position.” You trip over yourself, feeling your throat tighten. Do not fucking cry right now.

“Well,” Eddie draws the word out slowly as he pushes off the wall and towards you. “I can only accept that apology under a certain condition.” He looms over where you sit on the edge of the bed, surrounding you. He smells freshly like cigarettes and mint, clouding your brain as he fills your senses.

“And what would that condition be?” You try to sound unbothered, but your words come out meek, nervous.

“If you mean it or not.”

You gape at him, unblinking, waiting for him to crack, to say “Nah, I'm just kiddin’! We don’t have to get into this right now!” But he doesn’t. He takes another bite of his breakfast instead before tossing it on the dresser, completely unfazed by your silence.

“Do I mean that I'm sorry?” You’re playing very, very dumb right now.

Eddie isn’t willing to drop it, though. “Sweetheart, c’mon. We’re adults. I thought we were over this tiptoeing shit.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes rolling.

“I-” You huff, flustered with the way his neck flexes.. “Look. I didn’t want it to happen like that.” You look at him, determined to get through this without actually admitting anything. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Why not?” Eddie shrugs, like this is no big fucking deal.

–

Eddie’s POV

He really hopes you can’t tell he’s sweating. He can feel his heart in his throat, choking him with every breath. He keeps his eyes on you to focus. He can’t let you go again. Not after those words have left your mouth.

“Why not?!” You shake your head at him, frustration practically bursting out of your ears. Good, he thinks, you deserve to squirm a little. “How about, because this is what happened the first time? We moved too fast, we didn’t think, and look how that ended up! Or, how about, you’re supposed to be getting well, and the last fucking thing you need is me distracting you. Or, because if this doesn’t go well, we still have another month on the road together! And the fans, what are they gonna say when-”

“Stop.” Eddie shakes his head, kneeling on the floor in front of you. He should be pissed, but he can’t bring himself to be even a little upset. He has the upperhand now, and all he wants is to hear you say it again. Sober, this time. “Please, just tell me if you mean it.”

–

Your POV

I should lie to him. It’s not a good idea to tell him, not right now. You could take it back, this is your chance to make everything go back to that uncomfortable, tension riddled “normal” you’ve become so used to with Eddie. Things would be so much easier if you could just lie to him. But the way he’s looking at you, with a hopeful discretion, chocolate eyes wet with unfallen tears. makes every rational thought slide out of your brain, only leaving room for the way he’s pleading with you, wordlessly, as his hands grip yours tightly, hopefully.

“I mean it. Of course I fucking mean it, Eddie.” You barely get the words out before he’s climbing on top of you, hands letting go of yours to find purchase on the mattress either side of you, and you let yours fly to his hair, tangling your fingers through it like it’s second nature. You are quickly overwhelmed by him, your space completely infiltrated. The walls you’d been reinforcing to keep him out now crumble without a second thought, and he’s the one behind the wrecking ball.

“Thank fucking god.” He mumbles against your lips, and you smile into the kiss as he lays you down on the mattress.

“Eddie, wait,” You come to your senses, one final time as his mouth detaches from yours. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Eddie has moved his mouth to your jaw, and you feel him chuckle against your skin as he kisses down your throat. “Even after all these years, you still doubt that I want this? That I want you?” You can feel his hand slide up your shirt, his skin lighting yours on fire. “You are all I want. All I could ever want. In fact,” He pulls himself away from your neck to look at your face. He’s serious suddenly, all traces of sweet teasing gone. “I should be the one asking if you want this.” He moves to get off of you, but you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him down. You’re tired of pretending not to want him, of avoiding how you feel because it’s easier. “I do. I really, really do.”

Eddie groans as you pull him back to your lips, letting the kiss say everything you’ve wanted to this whole tour. You hold his face in your hands, afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. His hand finds your skin again, sliding up your back to where your bra is still clasped. You’re nodding before he can even get the question out, and you feel the relief as he unhooks the fabric. He tugs your shirt off swiftly, and you let the straps of your bra slide down your shoulders.

–

Eddie’s POV

He separates from you then, getting up to kneel in front of where you lay on the bed, mostly exposed, save for your modest pair of black cotton panties. “Fuck,” The word comes out in a heavy breath as he takes in the sight before him. Your torso is littered with tattoos he’s never seen before, including one nestled between your tits. And speaking of, he can’t help but let his eyes land on your chest, admiring how your nipples have pebbled even before he’s really touched you.

“Still beautiful as ever.” He’s mostly talking to himself, but you smile up at him, eyes crinkling around the edges, and he feels his dick throb in his too-tight pants.

“I can’t be the only one exposed here!” You exclaim through giggles, and he obliges without argument, yanking his shirt over his head before moving back towards you.

–

Your POV

He’s been shirtless in front of you a few times over the past month, but not in this context. You watch, delighted as his abdomen tightens when you run your fingers down his stomach, along his happy trail to the waistband of his pants. You rake your fingernails over his skin, trace the new ink you hadn’t yet seen up close, listening to his breath hitch when you unbutton his jeans. Before you can yank his pants down, though, Eddie grips your hand in his, moving it back to the mattress. “We’ll get to that. Let me taste you first.” If you weren’t so eager, the words would have knocked you out, but you nod again as Eddie climbs clumsily off the bed to kneel back on the floor. He takes hold of your ankles, swiftly pulling you to the end of the mattress. You feel those pesky bats in your stomach for the first time in what feels like forever, heat rushing to your face as Eddie moves further in between your legs.

He’s in no rush as he moves up your body, lingering to place soft kisses in the crevices of your knees, the plush of your thighs, the peaks of your hips. He ghosts over your clothed heat, nose grazing your mound as he watches you writhe and plead above him. He’s amused by your eagerness, you know him well enough, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You want him, need him, and you’re tired of pretending you don’t.

Eddie is about to yank your last shred of clothing from your body when there’s a knock on the door.

—

Eddie’s POV

You have got to be fucking kidding. “What?!” He shouts, irritated, relaxing only slightly when he feels you giggling underneath him.

“Have you seen Y/n?” It’s Steve, taking his morning roll call. Eddie looks to you for the answer, but you only shrug, face getting redder by the second.

He moves to get off of you, but you follow him like attracting magnets, attaching your lips to his neck as he tries to answer his friend, causing his words to get lost in the fog, only letting out a strangled “Uhh…”

“Ed?” Steve twists the doorknob, out of habit probably. You flinch, and he feels his heart crack. “Wha- yeah! Sorry, I'm a little busy right now!” He clenches his teeth to keep from moaning as you lick a stripe up the column of his throat.

“Busy? You wanna know busy?!” Eddie can picture Steve behind the door, leaning into the peephole, one hand on his hip the other gesturing wildly. As pretty as Steve may be, the image is killing Eddie’s hard-on right now.

You’re not about to let that happen, though. “Steve, go away.” A command. He shifts, dick twitching in his pants again like a fuckin’ teenager.

“I-,” Pause. “Y/n?”

“Yeah.”

Silence. Then the fading of his footsteps down the hall. Eddie wills himself to look at you again, and is rewarded with your shit eating grin. “You are such a brat.” He scoffs, no actual effort behind the insult.

You have the gall to pout at him, like you’re an innocent bystander.

“Does this mean you don’t want to fuck me anymore?”

He gapes at your question, blinking rapidly as he digests it.

—

Your POV

You’d meant it to lighten the mood, but you’ve caught him off guard. Instead of his answer, you’re greeted with another interruption beyond the door. “Hey, love birds! Steve sent me over here because it is far too awkward for him to talk to you in this position, but I, frankly, am happy to relay the information.” While Robin is talking at you, Eddie is making his way closer, lowering to the floor while you bite back laughter at the mess you've gotten yourself into.

”We check out in two hours. If you plan to live out your honeymoon a little longer, it will be on your own dime!” Eddie kisses up your leg, grazing your skin with his nose, sending chills up your spine. Robin is seemingly unaware of your state, or she genuinely does not care. “We’re all going out for dinner tonight before everyone goes home, and both of you better not skip it to cuddle up in bed, you can do that for as long as you want, starting tomorrow. Also,” Eddie’s yanking at your waistband, his body shaking with giggles that you echo despite the knot in your stomach tightening with his touch. “Why are you laughing? What are you guys even doing in there? I know you’re not still asleep.”

”Robin!” Eddie calls, voice strained against his laughter. “I’m trying to eat!”

You drop your jaw, sending a backhanded slap to his shoulder.

”Did you guys get room service? Got any extra-,”

You cut her off with an involuntary moan, caused by Eddie slipping a finger past the damp cotton barricade of your underwear to slide teasingly between your folds. You smack a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. There’s no way she didn’t hear that.

“Are you okay in th-“ It clicks. Finally. “Oh my god. Oh my god! Are you guys fucking?!” No regard for her fellow guests, or her best friend, Robin is cackling on the other side of the door. You’re in crisis, and she’s laughing!

”We’re trying!” You shriek back, feeling the frustration build as Eddie’s finger circles around your clit, causing you to grind against his hand.

“Oh my god. Wait. Is this first time?! Am I interrupting? Holy shit, I am so sorry-“

”Robin!” Eddie shouts again, this time sternly, losing his patience.

“Yeah?”

”Leave.”

”Yup, yup. See ya!” And finally, the fading of her footsteps, scurrying down the hall.

Eddie turns his face back to your center, littering kisses on your thigh as he wiggles your underwear away from your body.

You can’t help but get in one last dig. “You think she’s going to tell Gareth?”

His smile drops from his face completely, jaw tightly clenched. “I have no problem ignoring him yelling at me on the other side of that door. I think at this point he knows I don’t listen to him. And, he’d probably be relieved to find out I grew a pair.”

You scoff, ready with a wise ass remark when he shuts you up with a slow, wet lick between your folds. He glides your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and you don’t miss him pocketing them before moving his hands back to your thighs.

“Fuck,” you whine, desperately clawing at the sheets as Eddie’s tongue latches to your clit, tracing eager patterns across the bud. You drop your head back to the mattress, willing your brain to turn off. Eddie groans into your pussy, rutting against the mattress as he slips a single ringed digit into your hole. You buck your hips, aching for more and blinded by how good it all feels, how familiar. You’d had your fair share of one night stands since leaving Eddie, enough to get used to the normalcy of bad sex. Now, you’re blinded by how Eddie reads your body, like you’re written in a language only he can understand.

His tongue moves in circles over your clit, fingers curling steadily inside of you. The sounds he causes you to make are wet and absolutely filthy, but you can’t bring yourself to feel any shame. It’s Eddie, after all. You can feel your desire ripple through you, the coil in your stomach tightening with each swipe of his tongue, every stroke of his finger. He doesn’t relent, keeping an agonizing pace while you grind your pussy against his face, desperate for release. In response to your begging, Eddie groans into your core, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure up your spine, and your vision goes white.

“Eddie, I’m gonna, fuck I’m gonna come!” It doesn’t take you long to feel your resolve snap, sending your legs shaking on either side of Eddie’s head. He holds you in place, still lapping at your juices as he claws at your hips, a response to the desperate praise you sing for him, an unintelligible string of curses and his name through breathy sighs as you attempt to slow your heart down. Eddie only pulls away when you tap the top of his head lightly, signaling your overstimulation. He releases his mouth from your core with a wet pop, and you can see his lips and chin are shiny with your arousal.

“Good as you remember?” He hovers over you, teasing smirk on his swollen lips as you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Even better, somehow.” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his body flush against yours. Your breathing is still ragged, heart still skipping around in your chest as he closes the gap between you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You take his distracted state as an opportunity, tightening your grip around him, flipping him onto the mattress, landing on top of him a little less gracefully than you’d have liked, causing Eddie to burst into laughter. You’re quick to shut him up, grinding your sensitive cunt over his clothed cock, feeling it kick up at the contact. “You wanna help me get these off?” You ask sweetly, toying with the button of his jeans.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart.” His head falls against the mass of pillows, head foggy with the heat between his legs. “Keep doin’ that and I won’t even get the tip in.” Eddie grips your hips harshly, willing you to be still. Touching you doesn’t help in centering himself, though.

“What a shame that would be,” You tease, unclasping his belt as you speak. “Guess I’ll have to move quickly.” Eddie gets the hint, tucking his thumbs into the waistband to assist in getting his stupidly tight jeans off. He’ll curse himself about it another time, though. Right now, he’s solely focused on you, yanking his pants and underwear from his body, and tossing them to the floor carelessly before straddling him again.

You’ve always been a tease, and even all of this time apart hasn’t changed that, Eddie notices. You move slowly, sliding the length of his cock between your wet folds, head lolled to the side as you close your eyes, as if focusing into the feeling between your body and his. Eddie bites back a groan as he watches your performance, awestruck by the closeness. You infiltrate his senses, and he wills himself not to close his eyes from the pleasure.

Finally, after what feels like eternity, his swollen tip catches on your entrance, jolting him into action. He takes his cock in his hand, preparing to line up to your center the way he must have hundreds of times before. Even after these years apart, the distance both emotionally and physically between you, it is a second nature to him. You’re about an inch away when he has a moment of clarity.

“Wait,”

You huff in complaint. “Seriously?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

–

Your POV

That has never stopped him before, and you can feel the panic in your throat as you ask the question. “Have you ben fucking other people?”

He stutters, “Well, I-”

“Wait. Don’t answer that. Did you wear one when you were fucking other people?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m on the pill, you’re being safe.” You shrug. Nonchalant. Not desperate at all.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When you fuck other people, do they… ?”

“I just said I’m on the pill.”

“Yeah, okay, but you don’t know who these guys are, what diseases-”

“Okay, Eddie, stop. First of all, how do you know what genetalia the people I’m fucking have?”

That shuts him up. “Yeah. Also, if you must know, I have made all the people with penises wear a rubber. Feel better?”

Eddie is silent, and you let your brain run with your panic again. The mood is dead, Eddie is over the spontaneous, passionate confession and he’s never going to speak to you again.

“Okay.” He shrugs, and before you can respond he grips your hips, guiding you down onto his cock as you roll your hips forward, taking him deeper. Without much effort, you take his entire length, reveling in the familiar stretch of your walls. He lets you set the pace at first, a vice grip on your hips as you gain your strength, bouncing on his cock as he bucks his hips into you. You feel him growing impatient though, his thrusts growing eager, hands migrating up to grab your tits. Though you would love to draw this out, make him beg you for it, you find you’re just as desperate, watching him beneath you, mouth slack and eyes glossy, a picture you’ve missed for so long.

He finally sits up, and you let him wrap an arm around your waist, flipping you onto the mattress. Effortlessly, Eddie gains control, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him even deeper inside of you. The new sensation draws a guttural moan from you, unabashed and absolutely filthy.

“Fuck, I missed that sound,” Eddie speaks between grunts, seemingly hypnotized by the way his movements cause your boobs to bounce. He continues snapping his hips, prodding that spot deep inside, that only he’s ever been able to reach. “Thought about ‘em all the time. Couldn’t let myself forget those pretty noises.” All the while, you can’t form a single coherent thought, brain foggy from the heat, coil in your stomach tightening again. He looks so beautiful above you, curly bangs stuck to his face with perspiration, eyes blown out with desire.

Eddie babbles on, ever the talker. “Missed these beauties,” He holds himself up with one hand, the other squeezing your tit again teasingly, and you giggle. “And this pussy too, so much.” the same hand travels down, ghosting over your skin until he reaches between your bodies, rubbing sweet circles on your clit. “Best I ever had, only one I ever wanted. Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good.”

“I missed you too, Eddie. You make me feel so good.” It’s a whisper, all you really have the strength for. He’s panting, resting his sweaty forehead against your own as you breathe into each other’s mouths, and his smile widens with your admission. His rhythm stutters slightly, but he doesn’t relent. “Need you to say it again, baby. Wanna hear you tell me again.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. Through your haze, you can barely get the words out, but you muster enough from the way he’s looking at you. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie groans at your words, throwing his head into the crook of your neck, like he’s embarrassed by his sensitivity “Fuck, I love you too. I love you so much, y/n. So. Fucking. Much.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, bringing you to peak.

And he’s right behind you. “Where should I-” He lifts his head up, and he looks at you with wide, frightened eyes.

“Inside, Eddie, please come inside me.” Your breathing is ragged, legs twitching rapidly as you cry out, white knuckles gripping the mattress.

“Shit, baby, fuck!” Eddie keeps his pace until you can’t hold on, the tether finally snapping as your walls tighten around him. You throw your arms around Eddie’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his cock twitches. He comes with you, spilling inside of you as a shiver runs through his body. You bring your mouth to his, swallowing his whines as you both ride out your orgasms, skin sticking to skin with sweat and spit.

Reluctantly, Eddie slips himself out of you, causing you to whine at the loss. Before you can say anything, he’s rolling out of bed and into the bathroom.

—

Eddie’s POV

He needs a minute. Maybe an hour. Realistically he’s gonna need a month. Shit. Regret isn’t the right word. Ashamed, maybe, of his lack of resolve when the subject comes to you. He’s vulnerable, exposed. He tries to shake the intrusive voice from his brain yelling in his ear that he doesn’t deserve to be loved, especially not by you.

“Eds?” Your voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he takes a deep, heavy breath before returning to you with a wet cloth.

“Sorry, got a little lost.” He chuckles, suddenly unsure how to approach this. Post sex for Eddie lately had consisted of a brief wave and a paid cab at most. Something tells him that isn’t the correct approach this time.

“Where’d you go?” You tilt your head, lending your ear like nothing’s changed since yesterday.

Eddie shakes his head. He won’t let himself ruin this again. “Nowhere more important than here.” He slips the cloth between your legs, gently wiping your inner thighs as he speaks. “Just had to pinch myself a few times.”

When you smile at him, he forgets everything he’s supposed to be worried about. He can only smile back, briefly before he kisses you again. He makes a point to be gentle, to show you he means it. Nothing is more important than here, now, with you. When your hands lace into his hair again he can’t help but sigh, as if relieved to be in your arms again.

He can’t fully shake the tension, though, and you seem to sense that. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We can talk after dinner. Just float here with me a little longer.” Your soft hand caresses his stubbled cheek, tickling him slightly as he reads your features. There is so much love in your eyes, it causes his heart to race.

Eddie nods, leaning his cheek further into your palm. You lean in again, kissing him gently as if sealing your word. He pulls you into his lap, holding you as closely as he physically can. You stay like that for awhile, before migrating to the balcony, lazily draped in t shirts as you smoke your cigarettes, enjoying each other’s presence. For now, Eddie can relax. Even for a few minutes, he is grateful for the silence.

—

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @potatobeanpies @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc @veemoon | send a message to be added🫶

#eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #smut #angst #fluff #fd #afab!reader #gnc!reader #90s au #slow burn #mutual pining #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #strangerthingscentral #st4

[llondonfog]

twst (horror) tober — day 1 (listen)

and we're back for round 2!! to keep my sanity this year, i'm going to do my best to keep prompts to ~500 words. if some go longer, then more delight for us all, but this is to keep my expectations manageable and who knows? perhaps i might come back to some of these prompts the way that i still am so very fond of 2022's twstober drabbles :) anyways, i do hope you enjoy the first day's piece! (fun fact: this is a snippet from a fic idea i have buried away....) and of course, these will eventually go up on ao3 when i have the time<3

➤ Day 1: Listen | "Listen to me!"

Sebek is haunted.

Not in the way that his family and friends and neighbors who pass him by on the street and cast him pitying, sorrowful glances think— but oh, how he wishes that he was.

He hears their whispers and murmured commiseration, the hushed voices that speak of a lonely boy lost to the clutches of the unforgiving woods. They shake their heads weighed with grief like the cattails by the river, unable to imagine the gruesome sight that one of their own had stumbled upon— ah, but it was the nature of the world they bargained to live in. A true shame, a tragic reminder, that the youngest Zigvolt was fated to learn such realities from the death of his dearest friend.

Sebek does not correct them.

It is better to let them believe that his drained expression was on account of having found Silver's body mauled in the woods by the animals they are familiar with, rather than the true ones that lurk deep within those ancient glades. It is better to let them cling to their ignorance, to think that the madness of paranoia scratching at his spine is only too understandable by having to discover one's best friend at the scene of his death and the ensuring nightmares that would follow— not that he doesn't have nightmares, that is to say, only that the contents contain horrific figures very much among the living.

Either way, his family knows no better when they find him tangled within his bedsheets, trembling and choking on Silver's name.

No, Sebek is haunted by a presence far too real than the ghost of memory, and his unnerved fingers twitch in the curtains of his bedroom window as his sleep-deprived gaze blinks out to the forest's edge where he can see them.

Three figures where there had once been only two, weaving in and out of the tree line like fish in the stream beneath the call of the moonlight. If he squints, he can make out the lethal curl of dark ivory spouting from the top of one of the figures, and the way that the smaller of the trio does not touch the ground as it tugs their newest member along in a macabre vision of a dance that Sebek cannot pull his gaze away from no matter how hard he tries. There is no mistaking the gleam of familiar silver hair in the beguiling welcome of the night— and even from a mile away, Sebek can all too clearly hear the words that smiling, laughing mouth is speaking, as if Silver himself stood directly behind him in the stillness of his bedroom.

(He wonders if he turns to look, if the boy will surely be there as Sebek remembers him last; blood-stained and smiling so sweetly even in death as Sebek had found him, reaching in the dirt as if to take the hand of one who had led him to his doom.)

"Malleus begs of you to join us, he misses you terribly," Silver's voice all but sings against his strained thoughts, tremors anew bursting down his spine like shrapnel. "Please, Sebek— don't you remember the promises we made? Father came back for me, just as he said he would."

That thing is NOT your father, Sebek wishes to shout and scream in spite of how it would wake his entire family to the horrors lurking outside, the entities cursed to wander the woods and tempt those desperate enough to find solace in their gleaming smiles. But Silver is right, as he often is; Sebek does remember— he remembers a childhood of playing in the woods with Silver, an orphan his family had come to foster and adore. He remembers two imaginary friends who could breathe fire and fly, who could coax butterflies to dance along the breeze and flowers to bloom into the prettiest of crowns. He remembers how much Silver would cling to the affections of a figure with burning crimson eyes, and how much he would the same for a being that smiled down at him with crinkled emeralds older than time itself.

As he had grown older, such strange fantasies had become just that: the result of lonely and imaginative children left to their own devices, spinning stories in the fertile soil of an enchanting landscape. Sebek did not question the time Silver continued to spend within the shadowed trees, for the other boy always did have a unique aptitude for the local wildlife, nor did he find himself with time to spare to wonder about the dreamy smile Silver would often return with, or the odd snatches of unfamiliar songs he'd hear the boy humming tunelessly to himself.

In hindsight, he'd have grabbed a torch and burnt the whole fucking forest down.

Sebek's fingers force themselves to move with a herculean effort that he did not know himself to possess, yanking the curtains shut and blocking out the terrifying sight as Silver's voice rises and fades like radio static, a nauseating sickness pitching forward in his stomach.

"We're supposed to be a family now, Sebek, aren't you listening? Can you not hear them call for you too? I won't let them leave here without you, I promise we'll stay and wait—"

They'd already waited forty-five days. Sebek rocks forward on his heels, squeezing his eyes shut and swallows a hoarse, empty sob.

How many more remained until he found himself walking out to join them?

#lettie writes #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #malleus draconia #twst malleus #diasomnia #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #i am EXCITED HAPPY HALLOWEENNNN #i'm just going to have a lot of fun with these when i can #literally writing these the day of ok forgive any mistakes please #twstober is so special to me; i had a lot of fun last year reconnecting with my love for writing #and i'm hoping to do the same this year #just have fun and see where the prompts take us on this delightfully awful ride!!

[aloysiavirgata]

Dancing that ISNT the PMP scene. Fucking love you gorgeous. ❤️❤️❤️

3 AM finds him waking up stiff and disoriented in the vinyl chair of her hospital room, his feet propped on an upside-down plastic wastebasket. His tie is hanging from the IV pole.

Mulder tests his joints, grimaces at the left shoulder. He’d overstretched it at the pool, shredding 2000 meters in under 30 minutes. He’s been lifting more, been running until he vomits. He doesn’t know if he’s punishing his body for being fit or trying to radiate so much health she’ll absorb it.

Perhaps if it’s the second he’ll need to feed it something other than coffee, Diet Coke, and sunflower seeds. Must be the first.

He examines her narrow form in the bruised light. Scully’s breath snuffles a bit at the cannula and he scans for blood at it but sees none. Her cheekbones curve resolutely past her patrician nose, down to her full, dry lips. There is a small tin of Smith’s Rosebud Salve on the fake wood nightstand. He resists the urge to rub a layer over them. He resists the urge to kiss her beautiful, cracked mouth.

Mulder sighs a bit, runs a finger around the back of his collar. She looks warm to him, looks safe and cared for and utterly beyond his ability to be of use. But he stays anyway, like one of those dogs that sleeps at the grave of its master.

He roams past the nurse’s station, where Jane and Esther give him sympathetic looks. They aren’t supposed to let him sleep in Scully’s room, but Esther is from Yorkshire and calls him lamb and duck and love, and he’s pretty sure he could get the lithe Jane in bed if he wanted to.

He’s drowned his sorrows in lanky brunettes before though, and it never quite took. Turns out he’s a man for dainty gingers.

The radio at the nurse’s station plays “Carolina In My Mind” and he hums along softly, making a styrofoam cup of tea. His father was happy in Raleigh. He was too, as much as he was happy anywhere. He thinks he might move down when Scully goes into the ground, a truth he can only admit at 3 AM. At all other times he will save her.

“Nah then, duck,” Esther says. “Tea from the machine, yer daft ‘apeth, when I’ve a proper kettle ‘ere? ‘Ow’s thy lass?”

He shrugs, smiles vaguely. Jane smiles back. Vaguely.

Mulder presses his head to the faded green wall as his tea steeps. It’ll be terrible, but strong. That’s good enough for him.

He hears a soft shuffling and looks up.

Scully in her spotless white robe and soft slippers, Scully like a Willow Ptarmigan approaching winter. The skin around her eyes is the delicate color of sublimated iodine.

“Scully,” he says, at a loss. She is beautiful in the way of alabaster vases, of all things that can shatter.

She yawns, lips shiny with the salve. Her hands are very thin when she covers her mouth. “Wonderful Tonight” begins on the radio now.

Esther smiles, looks away. Jane checks her watch and walks down the opposite corridor.

“Tea?” Scully says. “That’s more my brand. Why are you still here?”

He gulps the bitter brew. Winces. “I fell asleep,” he says, which is an answer but no answer at all.

“Mmm,” Scully says. She prepares herself some tea as well. Her white hands on the cup, her lower lip snagged between her teeth.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Mulder says.

“You didn’t. I just woke up. I do that a lot. My circadian rhythm…”

They don’t talk about her suprachiasmatic nucleus of the hypothalamus deep within her brain. Of what it might mean if it’s off kilter.

“I was noisy,” Mulder lies, looking at her nose again. He moves like a cat in her room. Like a thief in the night. “Banged into the bed.”

Scully smiles serenely. “It’s all right.”

Jane stalking the perimeter, Jane frowning at her clipboard.

The moon out the window like a scythe in the dark.

He loves her, does she know? Does he know what he would do to save her and how he’d do it and that he’d swim through blood and blood and blood for her, 2000 meters and back again in a heartbeat?

Scully puts her tea down, Scully looks at him with her late summer eyes in this month of her birth. Scully is dying.

On the radio, The Beatles begin “Let It Be,” and what the fuck, he draws her in, her tousled hair and fluffy robe and her rattan ribs.

“Mulder,” she says, peering up. She clutches his left hand with the pale garden spider of her right.

He twirls her beneath the fluorescent lights. He kisses her her forehead because if he kisses her mouth like he wants to she will die.

Jane does another lap and Esther pretends to read a chart and Scully murmurs along with Paul McCartney.

Mulder watches the flat light bounce off her hair, watches her sway, watches her smile for a moment. She tucks her head against his chest as the song ends, doesn’t withdraw.

“Angel Is A Centerfold” begins, which is hardly the mood he wanted, but they both laugh and the scythe of a moon fades away as they sing Na-na, na-na-na-na, Na-na-na, na-na-na-na in something like harmony.

He doesn’t know what song is next, but he holds her through it and the next one and a few more and Esther and Jane are replaced and the sun begins to burn the blackness away and Scully is warm and awake and alive in his arms for at least another day.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #msr #prompt #cancer arc #memento mori

[uchihaharlot]

FOR THE LIFE OF ME COULD NOT GET THIS TO LET ME EDIT IT??!!!! wtf tumblr!

Ok what the hell, this is so gosh darn wholesome and sweet. I am such an old soul (like seriously sorry these songs are so damn old). I included potential songs they would dance to below. Though I am more partial to Billie Holiday’s ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ — ‘I don’t want to set the world on fire’ by The Ink Spots is really on par for an Uchiha. I know you said party, but this is now the festival of romance. Lol.

N/SFW(?? Super suggestive); pining; down bad simpy boy Shisui who can’t keep his eyes or hands off you.

• Ok so, my king. Shisui, is such a suave guy. Hears this girl laughing out with some friends at the spring Festival of Romance. He’s not entirely new to the scene, but the night has been overwhelming. Lots of grabby girls trying to capture one of Konoha’s most eligible bachelors. He’d really only came for the food and drinks.

• Target acquired, oops. Red spun pearls dial in when he hears this girl laugh before he actually sees her — it didn’t help that she was drop dead gorgeous either. It wasn’t even her looks that caught his attention first, it was the sweet little melodic wisp of her laugh/hum.

• Super down bad from the go. Basically is sharingan fucking her from a distance, respectfully, secretly. The man just likes what he sees, and he wants a before and after image of their first encounter. Sike, he’s just that shameless.

• Has no issue walking right up to her group of friends to address his desires. Shisui would say something extremely corny while still making it sound good, ‘You know what you'd look beautiful in? My arms.’

• Doesn’t even wait for the silly oneliner to register before he swoops her up to the dance floor, lol. Poor girl is just like system crash.exe.

• Doesn’t even need to try, this girl is besotted and honestly, a little caught off guard by his advances. Shisui normally thinks rationally, so he’ll apologize for stealing her so abruptly from her friends but, like, ‘If you let me borrow a kiss, I promise I'll give it right back.’

• 🫣🫠 She doesn’t even know how to respond to that, he is just so bold. Will turn her cheek shyly which just has Shisui smiling the full width of his mouth. She’s in just as deep as he is.

• But when she looks back up at him, oh man. His lips are a hairsbreadth away, and that’s when she is caught in his vision. Inoperable, he won’t coerce her, consent is king but if she closes her eyes.

• Shisui will feather his lips to hers and reel her a little closer. The music sounds muffled over the sound of her capillaries expanding and rushing blood through her ears. Ah fuck, when did his hand end up at that small of her back. He won’t overtly take advantage of the situation, but part of him really is tempted to.

• Shisui lovingly places his hands in all the right spots, appropriate for public, inappropriate for strangers. Wholly hot and scandalous.

• There are a plethora of people surrounding them, so Shisui will bring her closer than close, basically his mouth to her ear as she guides them across the dance floor. She’s incredibly sweet but quiet when they whisper between one another. They’ll end up spending majority of the night out dancing — probably the last people to leave. With her head on his shoulder, Shisui is blissed out by her presence.

• Shisui is a gentleman, he’ll offer to ‘walk’ her home. Surprise Shunshin before he even considers if she has a sensitive stomach. It will catch her off guard and surprisingly makes her curse, ‘fuck me’ out of exasperation under her breath.

• To which Shisui would quip, ‘don’t mind if I do.’

#shisui headcanons #shisui uchiha #uchiha shisui #i miss shisui #shisui is a babe #he’s my blorbo #Spotify

[thelov3lybookworm]

When Shadows Ward Off The Darkness (Prologue)

Summary: The mermaid has a secret mission, and she is nervous.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: sooooooo....... I AM YOUR SECRET SANTa MY LOVELY @bibliophiliaxvignette !!!!! siiiikeeeee!!!

im hoping me pretending to not be your santa worked and i hoped i was successful in fooling you lol

hehe im so excited aaahhhhh

i hope you like it 😉🤭❣

(also, this prologue happens after a few parts, towards the end, ya know? it only really exists to get your interest piqued 🤭)

anyways, enjoy!

@acotargiftexchange

•○🌑○•

The sun beat down on Gwyneth, and she turned her head towards the light, savouring the feeling of it on her skin.

It was not everyday that she got to feel the feeling of the air in her lungs and in her hair, the sun and wind caressing her skin, what with her being holed up underwater by her mother.

But being able to come up to the human lands wasn't fun either when you had an agenda behind your visit.

Gwyn sighed, glancing to where she could see the silouhette of the homes the humans lived in, before she dived into the water, moving her lithe body in the way that her mind knew how to before her body did, the way that had been embedded in her blood before she was even born, before she even knew of her heritage.

As she swam her way towards her destination, she observed the fishes that swam alongside her, the way the light from the fading sun danced on their colourful scales.

Thinking about how beautiful the scene under the water looked was better than thinking about what she had been tasked to do.

Before she knew it, she had already reached the place where she always met him, and she took in a deep gulp of oxygen from the water using the gills on her neck, and let herself surface, hoping that he would not be there.

Of course, fate had begun being cruel to Gwyn recently, and she found him reclined on a fallen tree, one of his leg propped up and the other stretched out, looking as carefree as ever.

He didn't notice her at first, whistling softly as he leaned back on an elbow, staring up at the birds circling near the still standing trees, and her being in no hurry to have his full attention on her, simply studied him. It was already difficult enough thinking about what her mother had tasked her to do, and she knew if he gave her his signature charming grin, she would crumble.

At that moment, the force of how unready she was hit her, and her gills fluttered, trying to do the job her lungs were failing at.

To no avail, as the moment she tried to draw in a breath, he glanced towards the waters, and a beautiful smile split his face.

"Gwyneth."

FUCK.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

#gwyn x azriel #gwynriel #gwynriel fluff #gwyn berdara #gwyn acosf #gwyneth berdara #pro gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyneth x azriel #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #acotar series #acowar #a court of silver flames #acotar headcanon #mating bond #a court of thorns and roses #acotar writing #sarah j maas #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar fandom #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar gift exchange

[ozarkthedog]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

summary: Steven fucks you with one of his batons after you watch him fight.

warnings: 18+ only. minors dni. pwp. brief fight scene. brief mention of bruises and blood. sex in an alleyway. sex with an inanimate object. dirty talk. dominate!steven. no beta, only myself to blame.

word count: 1250

author’s note: first time writing for the moon knight fandom. i know steven is ooc and this is a mess but idc. 💙 inspiration from this ask via @budcooper​.

                   ☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☾

The night air was cool but everything felt on fire as you watched Steven fight off 3 of Harrow's followers. He danced around the men in his dashing white suit, striking each one with expert blows and kicks. 

"You lot don't know when to give up, do ya?" Steve quips at the  men circling him. Their faces are bruised and bleeding but they keep fighting.

Steven shakes his head with a sigh before roundhouse kicking one of the men, sending him to the ground with a heavy thud. 

"Now I'm warnin' ya, if ya don't stop," His hands disappear behind his back for a moment before and reappearing with two thick, golden batons. "Things'll get much worse."

His threat made your nerves sizzle. 

In a flurry of chaos, one of the men snarls like a bull and races towards Steven who easily jumps over the man and smacks him in the skull with one of the batons causing the henchman to hit the ground like a sack of bricks.

Steven cocks his head and eyes down the last thug through his faceless mask. "So what's it gonna be mate?" Steven asks, spinning the pipes skillfully in his hands, "You gonna join your sleepy friends or run on home to Harrow?"

The thug weighs his options, shifting his eyes from the masked vigilante and the bright alleyway of escape. Steven dances back and forth excitedly ready for the man to strike but when the brute spins and runs off in the opposite direction, Steven's baton clad hands fall to his side disappointedly. 

"Steven!" You scream, once the follower was out of sight, from your spot in the alley.

His head whips in your direction. "Love! You alright?!" He shouts as he runs over to you, his tone full of worry.

You take a step back and lean against the brick wall as he approaches, fully decked from head to toe. The suit and faceless mask made him extremely intimidating. He looked so broad and so fucking powerful. The commanding energy that radiated from him was intoxicating.

A tender whine falls from your lips at the sight of him wielding one of the batons as he steps even closer.

"What's the matter? Are you injured?" His mask disappears in a flash. He looks so distraught, it hurts.

"No! I'm ok, I swear." You hastily reply.

He clasps his chest, still holding one of the batons, "Oh thank god."

You couldn't help but eye the cylindrical object that he just wielded in combat. It looked heavy and perfectly thick. You wondered what it'd be like to feel the smooth metal kiss your cunt.

"What's gotten into ya, Love?" He asks, noticing the way your eyes had glossed over while staring at the club. He grins wickedly as he holds it up into the light. A lone street lamp shines off the bronze metal, showcasing how silky and dense it was.

"You like this, huh?"

Your eyes go wide at being caught red handed fawning over his weaponry. Your chest bubbles with a nervous chuckle and you shake your head dismissively but Steven knows you better than that.

"Oh, I think you do. I think my little poles were making you think naughty thoughts." He presses the cold baton under your chin and quirks a brow. "Am I wrong?"

A sharp intake of breath is all he needed to hear. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

You plant your hands on his suited chest and dig your nails into the soft material when he drags the heavy pipe down your neck. "You must've really enjoyed the show. I can smell how wet you are."

You unconsciously nod, in awe of the dominance radiating from the normally quiet man. Your thighs rub together to try to quell the ache that throbs incessantly under his stare.

His eyes travel down your body as he hums to himself. He traces the club down your chest and over the curve of your rib cage. Your hips shift towards one of his legs, needy for any kind of friction.

"Oh, that poor little pussy must be absolutely drippin'." His mocking tone causes your core to clench hard. "I bet you're aching to be filled. Weepin' and willin' to fuck anythin' that'll stretch you open, yeah?"

Your eyes clamp shut and you shamelessly whimper from the profane words that spilled from his lips. You've never seen this side of Steven before and you were close to breaking.

"Hows'a bout we see how this fits?" Steven suggests as he rubs the hefty baton over the gusset of your panties. He slowly drags the length back and forth across the thin material, "Wonder how much you can take? How much this greedy cunt swallow before it's full up?"

You huff a broken sob into his chest as he fingers your panties to the side and slides the crisp metal between your drenched folds. The contrast between your searing cunt and the cool rod makes you gasp and jolt in his hold. 

"Shh, you're alright. Just gonna fuck you a bit to take the edge off until I can get you home and make you come on my cock."

You mewl in agreement, desperately wanting him to curb the frantic throbbing in your cunt anyway he could.

Steven teasingly slid the tip of the substantial baton into your cunt, anxiously watching your face scrunch from the stretch and the chill of the metal weapon. Your jaw drops open with a sinful moan as he pushes the rod in, inch by agonizing inch until you feel it hit your cervix with a painful kiss.

Your fingers go numb from how hard you're holding onto this shoulders as he slowly fucks the baton into you. "Lookit' you fuckin' my club. Such a dirty girl."

With each push and shove of his wrist the metal slides and curves against your silky walls, forming your cunt for around the weapon.   

The thought that not more than 5 minutes ago he had used this object to beat someone with had your mind spinning. Your ears ring at how obscenely wet your cunt sounds as he fucks you with steady strokes forcing you to the edge with the weighty piece of metal. 

"Can feel your cum drippin' down my wrist, Love. What a fuckin' mess you're makin'." He savors your pathetic mewls and teary sobs as he forces the rod faster into your soaked cunt. You moans rise in volume when he angles it just right and nudges that sweet spot just behind your clit.

“That’s my girl. You gonna cream all over my baton. Wonder if it’ll smell like you the next time I use it.”

A gasp tears through you as he keeps hitting that spot that always makes your body writhe and convulse. 

"Gonna have to tell Marc about how naughty you were tonight. Wonder what he'll do about it." The simple threat pushed you over the edge. Your body locks tight and you clamp down hard on the sodden baton, riding out your bliss as Steven hushes your cries with a searing kiss.

He eases the metal from your core as you catch your breath, only to have it stolen as he licks the rod clean and basks in your taste. "Steven, no. Please, I can't take anymore." You beg as he laves the cum drenched pole until it's clean.

"What?" He shrugs, "I had to clean it somehow. What better way than with my tongue."

#steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight #steve grant smut #steven grant fanfiction #moon knight fanfiction #oscar isaac #steven grant

[darkk-academic]

Writer

[Part I] [Part II]

[Five Hargreeves x Reader]

Summary : You find out Five's real profession.

Warning : Angst?

Note : Thank-you @whydoesmyphoneautocorrectdick this part's for you!

It hadn't been intentional.

Five had one rule just one—for you, anyway—always knock before entering his room unless his door is open, in which case it's alright to walk in.

You had just finished your final draft and you were over the moon. You'd wanted to share it with Five, but he didn't come all day.

So, of course, you decided to visit him yourself.

You wish you hadn't.

He was home, but his door was locked. And you were just so impatient that despite his request to wait, you barged in.

You wish you hadn't.

Five was startled at your entrance.

Funnily enough, so were you, at his appearance.

Because under the bright glow of the light, he stood drenched in blood. White shirt that might as well be considered red, a splatter of it on his face.

•••

"Five? Oh my lord! What happened?" You scrambled after him, concern seeping into your bones. "How did you get so injured?" You shot questions after question. "Where are you injured?" Eyes scanning his body, searching for the wound.

"Amore mio," he sighed. Jaw clenching, his eyes closed for a split second before settling on you again. "You shouldn't have come inside."

"Five, this isn't the time to act tough," you admonished. "I need to see—"

"There's no wound." His face had shuttered, going blank.

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

"The blood isn't mine."

"I—I don't understand."

"Yes, you do."

"No…" You gasped. "No, no, no, no."

But yes, the resigned look in his eyes all but yelled it.

"I… I am a gun for hire," he confessed.

Blood rushed in your head. Heart pounding in your ears. "Were you…" Your voice was faint to your ears. "When…did you—were you going—going to tell me?"

"No." He exhaled. "No, I wasn't."

Letting your gaze stray away from him, you tried to center yourself. It was at that inopportune moment that you remembered your conversation from a week before.

"Getting to do my assignment gave me an opportunity."

You swayed on your feet. "The mur—murder scene…" you choked, feeling light-headed as black spots danced in front of your eyes.

He enacted those…on his—on his victims.

Oh lord…

"Amore mio," he whispered, still so tender, ever caring. You shivered in repulsion. "Amore mio, please." He stepped forward, hand reaching towards you.

"Don't touch me!" You snapped. Taking several steps back, maintaining distance. Ignoring the hurt in his eyes.

You took a fortifying breath. "Did you—" you had to know. "Did you… my—my scenes?"

Please. Please say no. Please. Plea—

Five's answer was a simple, a brutal, "Yes."

A sob escaped your throat.

With tears blurring your eyes, you ran.

•••

You sit in your bathtub, the water from the shower raining down on you.

Curling your hands around your knees, you try to soothe the ache blooming in your heart. Rocking back and forth, you breathe with your mouth.

Blurred eyes stay locked on the bathroom door, which you'd secured to the best of your abilities.

"I help people relocate."

A broken sob echoes. Another. Another. Each with more intensity, they soon turn ceaseless.

"Five," you breathe, "Five, I love you."

So, many times you could have known it if only you'd barged in. Saved those people. Saved your heart.

"I don't help everyone relocate. Just the difficult ones."

"Why did you—" your voice cracks.

You know what you wrote.

You know how barbaric those scenes were.

He—he did it to—

Because of your writing.

Because of you.

"No, please don't do this to me," you plead. Breathing fast, heartbeat picking up.

Phantom screams of unknown people rings in your ears.

"Please, please, please, please…"

Your head spins, darkness shrouding your vision.

His fond smile. His comforting embrace. His piercing eyes. His warm laugh. Him. Him. Him.

You collapse with a whisper of—

"Five…"

………………………………………………………………………

A/N :

What do you guys think? Were the emotions and Reader's reaction good?

Once again, thankyou to @whydoesmyphoneautocorrectdick for asking me to write this scenario.

Hope you guys enjoyed this!

Thankyou! ❤️

#five hargreeves #tua five #number five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five x reader

[thesixthplaneteer]

Here is my entry for the Masquerade Breach zine!! I have been hitting that word limit like a brick wall for the past month, and I am too excited to keep it to myself! My piece is titled Hell-O-Ween! A Masquerade Breach Story because we like cheesy horror in this house. Thank you for reading!

It’s the late 1980s in Las Vegas, Nythanel, and Noa are attending a Halloween party being put on by Don Jacob Rothstein. Held in a mansion in the desert far away from the city, so the more illicit activities don't fall under unwanted scrutiny, and only those in the know are supposed to be there. One person slipped past security, an ancient enemy of the Giovanni whose true motives are unknown, but their eyes are set on Noa tonight. What can a neonate necromancer and waterblooded sorcerer do when things really start to go bump in the night?

The green makeup of his Audrey Two costume hid the redness but Nythanel still felt the warmth of embarrassment and anger on his face. Fighting back tears he side stepped between costumed guests, tray toting servers, and did his best to fight the urge to bull them over as he went back to the ballroom. Don Jacob Rothstein's Halloween party was in full swing. The dance floor was lively, the bar was packed, and the live band seemed like they could go all night long.

He wanted to make his problem everyone else’s problem but held onto his senses, making a scene at the head of Clan Giovanni’s party wouldn’t make his night better. Noa’s bright red hooded dress and silver devil mask were easy to spot, but seeing her didn’t bring the ease to his mind he wanted. A tall figure in an elaborate red Venetian masquerade costume with a matching laughing mask loomed over her, holding her wrist.

The party-goers near them shuffled away and gawked. No doubt they thought some crass couple brought their backroom fun to the front. A wall of bodies formed to watch, but over their shoulders Nyth could see another masked person grab Noa from behind. Nythanel shoved over a woman in a peacock dress and jammed his elbows into the sides of two clowns to get through.

Noa struggled to get out of their grasp, but Red Mask jerked her arm the other direction. The snap was audible over the music, a pained scream erupted from Noa, a jagged peak shot up from under the sleeve of her dress. The crowd around them gasped, some retched, some clapped for what they thought was some Halloween entertainment, some quickly fled, others watched on unsure what to make of the display.

Nythanel burst free of the crowd and charged them, seeing that the second assailant's costume was also Venetian - though far less elaborate and the color beige. Red Mask noticed his approach and abandoned Noa with a leap backward as Nythanel slammed into the tussle, bringing them all down to the floor hard. Noa’s silver mask clattered to the ground while Beige’s mask was knocked askew but stayed on their face. The thin fabric of their costume tore as Nythanel gathered a fistful of it and pulled, the other fist delivering a hard blow to the back of their head, forcing them to surrender Noa in order to defend themselves.

The surrounding crowd was now comprised mostly of individuals thinking this was simply a show for the party. Some clapped, some cheered for who they picked as their favorite, while a few pulled their partners away.

Moving with trained agility, Nythanel threw his leg over Beige, pushing them onto their back, gaining control of the situation. Flesh exposed itself, the torn collar of the costume revealing their throat. Nythanel gazed at the sight for a moment. He had no Beast. There was no voice demanding he feed, no inner monster begging to kill. This desire was all his. He opened wide and lurched forward, his fangs breaking skin. Any scream to come was cut short by the crushing of their windpipe beneath teeth. Fresh warm blood cascaded into his mouth. Mortal, musky, the sting of alcohol, and a wine-like sweet finish. Sanguine he thought to himself as it empowered his own weak vitae.

Nythanel didn’t see where the sawed-off shotgun came from, nor notice how Beige was able to pull the concealed weapon, he only heard the deafening bang that brought him back to reality. A shower of blood and bone poured from a bystander’s face. Screams of terror erupted from the crowd, they slammed into each other in their mad scramble, going toward the back of the manor to get away from the no longer entertaining brawl. The band abruptly stopped, the gunshot ending the revelry. Not wanting to risk Noa or himself being the target of the next round he twisted and wrenched, flesh and inner tissue tore until he ripped free the section of throat seized by his vicious teeth.

More yells of fearful confusion came from the guests, the handful of them brave or drunk enough to think they could stop a gunman turned and ran as Nythanel spit the chunk of meat onto the floor. Suddenly, he felt pressure build in his ear drums, his heart became heavy with dread despite the flood of passion from the blood. He'd felt this before, when Noa had shown off her necromantic powers in their rare moments of being able to be alone together since arriving in Las Vegas. Nythanel had thought he’d become accustomed to it, or at least shouldn’t be caught off guard by it. Still it numbed the hot anger and hatred he felt. A curtain of wispy, incorporeal figures began to fall from the ceiling. They manifested into the material world like shadows cast into the air itself as they drank in the light, only allowing a dim glow to illuminate the room. Recognizably human, yet completely otherworldly. One such shadow fell over the victim of the beige thug’s gunshot. The body began to twitch and jerk, a sickening gurgle came out of its throat as the air pushed out of its lungs. Nythanel reeled back from the corpse shambling back to its feet, and turned to see Red Mask holding a black stone.

Noa moved to stand, and for a moment she was awestruck at the blatant display of Oblivion's power. Her already dark eyes turned black like a starless night. She wiped her palm across Nythanel’s chin, wetting her hand with the blood of his victim. Willing forth her vitae through the protruding wound in her arm, she let it drip down and mix with the cooling blood before taking hold of the locket around her neck. The air around her became humid and cold. A shiver went through Nythanel as he felt an icy touch trace his spine. The rose on his lapel wilted, and the few mortals that tried running past them collapsed, their eyes went dull, skin turned pale. Sapped of life. She waved her hand out in front of her and took measured steps forward, like a priest performing a sanctifying prayer, and the wispy shadows began to retreat.

The sound of wet choking reminded Nyth of the reanimated corpse, and as his head turned back, he saw it rush past him. His body at first couldn't move as a deep and primal terror seized him. It was walking death, but not his kind of death. True death, the kind even the undead feared. He didn't want to go near that thing, but as it closed the distance between itself and Noa, he knew he had to act or he would lose her. Grabbing hold of his dying lapel rose, he squeezed hard along its thorny stem to draw blood, calling upon the sanguine power within him. He mumbled the incantation and the rose revived in his hand, more vibrant than ever.

Nythanel willed the rejuvenated plant to grow, attempting to whip it towards the corpse to stop it in its tracks. With perhaps more luck than skill, the branch wrapped around the creature's throat, barbs digging into dead flesh. Nyth pulled hard, managing to stop it mere inches from Noa, yet the body remained upright as it struggled to fulfill its goal of reaching her.

Noa didn’t waver at all, either completely confident Nythanel would help her, or far too focused on taking control of the descending wraiths.The room was a thunderous cacophony of horrified cries and screams of dismay, the shattering of glass on the ground, the panicked stampeding of a mob with no direction to go in. Those who had witnessed Nythanel's attack and the arisen corpse tried to run away, but those who hadn't seen pushed back to try and reach the front exit. Spirits accosted various bystanders, forcing themselves into unwilling bodies to inflict more fear onto those surrounding them. Poltergeists scattered plates and knocked over chairs, some managing to even drop a large chandelier on top of the crowd. In the confusion, they didn't care who was trampled. The guests desperately lashed out at anything impeding their own escapes. Jewelry, costume accessories, blood, and bodies all dropped to the floor and were stomped on without a second thought. The wraiths were erratic, but Noa fought, countering the incantations of Red Mask as the shadows ebbed and flowed around them like a turbulent ocean. To an unknowing observer, the two appeared to be simply standing in place and muttering strangely, but Nythanel knew they both were manipulating the thin fabric separating the land of death from the land of the living.

The rose Nythanel turned into a weapon was also being sapped of its life and desperately it drank from him to stay alive. He shifted his weight and pulled as hard as he could to try and bring the corpse to the ground. There was little hope in killing something that was already dead. He forced his will onto the rose once more, allowing it to drink even more of his vitae. It expanded rapidly in response, sprouting more branches that ensnared the body and sawed into its skin with mutated spikes. Despite it being controlled by a spirit, it was still limited to the strength of the muscles it still possessed, or so Noa had previously explained. The writhing and wriggling vines continued to tear, severing the veins and nerves and rendering the wretched thing immobile for good.

His vision started to blur, his head swimming as his vitae was near exhausted. The rose had taken root in his arm and now it threatened to drink him dry. With nearly all he had left, he willed the passing of seasons on the flower, advancing its life cycle to the point it began to wither and decay until it too became immobile and dead.

The two necromancers were still locked in their strange duel, fighting for control of the spirit current that flooded the manor. Nythanel knew he had to help Noa, something better than running headfirst into a death dealer but his options were limited. His eyes went to the floor for answers, and sure enough there was: shotgun. Hurriedly he picked it up and aimed, hoping it had the promised second shot, though the room spun in his hungry near-delirium. With a squeeze of the trigger the weapon thundered, sending its payload into the shoulder of the Red Mask. Crimson exploded from their wound as they stumbled back, their concentration breaking enough for Noa to gain the upper hand. Her good arm raised higher, and the undulating ceiling seemed to calm as the wraiths obeyed her. The shadow over the ballroom lifted slowly as she brought them to heel.

The Red Mask despite all of the trouble and their fresh injury seemed to have accepted their defeat. With only a glance to Noa and a dramatic throw of their cape, a cold silence surrounded them as they simply walked away. Despite the chaos of the still frightened crowd, they were swallowed within the mob as if they had not even been there. Nythanel at first made a move to follow, but stopped himself as Noa began to buckle. Good riddance, he thought sheepishly as he turned to her, relieved the death dealer decided to just leave. She was more important to him, anyway.

As the full brightness of the lights returned and the pressure lifted from his ears, the distinct sound of Italian leather stomped across the floor towards them from behind. A ham-handed man took hold of his collar and jerked him into the air, the shotgun crashing loudly onto the marble.

"You're gonna wish you were fuckin' dead when I'm through with you, Warlock." Growled Adolfo Puttanesca, right hand of the Don.

#vtm #vampire the maquerade #my writing #world of darkness #nyth #nythanel #noa #noa hidalgo #thinblood #clan giovanni #clan hecata #masquerade breach #vtm oc #harbinger of skulls #wilted roses

[tavyliasin]

Tricks and Treats in the House of Hope - An ATG Side Story, Halloween Special

Haarlep hosts a party with a number of surprises...

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin/Tav/Haarlep/Raphael SPICE Rating: 6/5 Content Warnings: Sex, Bondage, Double Penetration, Oral Sex, Biting, Blood, Vampire Bite, Aphrodisiac (consenting), Costumes, Brat Taming, Orgy,  Collar/Mild Pet Play,   

Spoilers Act 3 House of Hope (Mild) Canon Compliance Not in the slightest this was purely for fun. Other Notes What was meant to be a short Halloween special turned into 5k words of a very hot orgy scene which I had far too much fun with! Mood/Music The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience, ORION, Linda XO "Orgiastic dances, Nymphs in trances, Yeah, we'll be the envy of the gods above. I'm feeling devious You're looking glamorous Let's get mischievious And polyamorous Wine and women and wonderful vices Welcome to the cult of Dionysus"

----- FULL CHAPTER BELOW THE CUT -----

Raphael moaned beneath the white sheet. By all accounts this was completely ridiculous, it barely even counted as a costume, but Haarlep had insisted ...

He had been made to keep his human form, brown eyes just visible through the roughly cut holes in the white cotton, the hint of his expression somewhere caught between pleading and anger. "You're not even-" he shuddered, keeping a tenuous hold on his composure, "in a costume, Harlot. "

"Of course I am, Archduke , do I usually carry a pitchfork?"  The incubus let a sinister grin form upon their lips, with a hint of sharp teeth. They were in their usual harness, which had been embellished with a few ribbons and charms to count as being different . Their tail flickered swiftly, striking the "ghost" on the behind. "Good," they drawled seductively, "do keep *moaning* like that and I might give you a treat when we're home."

Beneath the "outfit" that covered him, Raphael was, of course, entirely naked. Well, except for the cruelly twisted ropes, and the various little devices that Haarlep had attached. The incubus made a slight motion with their hand and the intensity of the toy increased, drawing a prolonged groan from deep within the cambion.

"Oh this is such fun~ We should do this far more often." Haarlep grinned wickedly, tying the ornate masquerade mask over their face before pushing open the door to the ballroom. "Now, shall we have you greet your guests?" ---

“This isn’t…do we have to?” Tav looked over her shoulder, the muscular elf holding the other end of the chain attached to her collar. It was very…secure.

“You wished to attend the party, my heart, don’t you think you should dress the part?” He tugged the chain slightly, just enough so she could feel the pressure on her throat. “It’s not like I have a particularly comfortable outfit either, though. I would question Astarion’s taste, but he made quite the offer.” He pulled the chain wrapped around his other chain, earning a small moan from Tav’s left.

“Well,” the pale elf just about choked out, “perhaps I’m having some second thoughts about that.”

The three of them were making their way out to the House of Hope, the invitation was one they couldn’t really refuse. Halsin was dressed head to toe in fine silks, a gold edged mask secured over his eyes and forehead, adorned with sparkling jewels and feathers. The fine cloth was struggling to contain his large form, and he was clearly railing against the ruffled collar at his neck every time he moved. He channeled his irritation towards his partners, however, and had to cast mending on his lower clothing all too often as their reactions continued to rile him up.

Astarion was dressed like a cat, tail protruding from a hole in some rather short and tight leather leggings, leaving most of his legs exposed to the cool breeze. His upper body was still permitted a silk shirt, to cover his back, but the front was left far more open than usual. A little…overexcitement had torn it open when getting dressed, the slight mark of a bear claw on his chest. His collar, a little joke from the druid, read “Meowstarion”.

Tav, on the other hand, was dressed in what might have been called servant’s attire, if said servant worked exclusively for Haarlep. She was almost certain that this was who had sent the outfits for her and the vampire beside her. The collar was sturdy but covered in frills, her top revealing her entire bosom and a hint of the leather straps of the harness underneath. She fussed with the hem of her skirt, desperately wishing for it to at least reach the top of the stockings that rose up to her mid thigh.

“Oakfather preserve me, my heart, I believe I made myself clear already.” Halsin yanked her back to him, wrapping his arm around her throat and growling dangerously in her ear. “Your outfit will remain as it is. I want to feast upon you with my eyes, and if you are very lucky…” He left the sentence unfinished, instead running his tongue along the edge of her ear. “Now, behave. ”

Tav whimpered, the heat rising within her to an unbearable degree as she felt the druid’s outfit straining once more with the effort of keeping his excitement contained. She couldn’t resist the temptation. She rose up on her toes and rolled her hips to grind against him, relishing the gasp of heated breath against the back of her neck.

“Do not tempt me.” He warned, suddenly pushing her forwards again. “We do not want to be late.”

---

Haarlep grinned as they looked around at their soiree. It was hellishly divine, they had truly outdone themselves this year with the gifts they had sent out. Even the gith and the half elf were dancing together seductively, neither of their outfits leaving much to the imagination. When the doors opened next, they felt the frustration rise from the cambion “ghost” next to them. They manipulated their little toys again, pinching just a bit harder… “Did you have to invite all of them?” Raphael snarled through gritted teeth.

“Was I meant to leave your favourite client at home? Take a good look at her, Archduke , don’t you want to greet her?” Haarlep’s tail slid up the cambion’s leg, lighting up his nerves with fresh desires. “I can’t have them-” he gasped, the tip of Haarlep’s tail now threatening to join the toy that already filled him, “seeing me like this!” The incubus leaned in close to where his ear should be beneath the white sheet. “But they can’t see a single thing, not with this sheet here. Just keep up your ghostly moans, it’s very in character~” They laughed, an edge of cruelty in their voice as they withdrew their tail once more. The little whine of disappointment was the cherry on top of the delicious treat they were savouring. ---

“Is Haarlep even trying? I thought they’d come up with something inventive… And…Good gods is that Raphael in a sheet?!” Astarion could barely hold back the laugh, stopped only by Halsin looping a finger through his collar and growling in his ear. “We are guests here, Astarion, so remember to be a good pet or you will be taken out into the alley.” He punctuated the threat with a hand at the base of the “tail”, giving it just a little push and drinking in the moan like wine. Astarion didn’t seem to baulk at the threat in the slightest. Instead he leaned back, seductively reclining against the druid’s broad chest and tilting his head back to nibble along the edge of Halsin’s jaw. “If you want to take me outside, darling, all you need do is ask. I can think of plenty that we can do in a nice quiet spot-” “Control yourself,” Halsin groaned, finding it ever more difficult to follow his own order, “or you will be spending the night alone.” He gave the other man a short shove, quickly casting Mending on straining seams once again.

Tav felt a little jealous, or she did until Astarion collided with her back. His theatrical act of holding on to her to steady himself was fooling nobody, least of all Tav, but she let him anyway. She ached for the touch, and the firm grip on soft curves was almost as arousing as the whisper against her neck. “Keep riling him up, darling, and we will have quite the evening ahead of us. I do hope you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight. Or doing anything tomorrow.” He chuckled, taking just the smallest bite just beneath where her dress exposed her shoulder, quickly covering it up again to hide it from their lover. The incubus approached them, a swagger in their step and a grin on their face a mile wide. “I’m so very glad you could all make it, and don’t you look delicious ~” They were assessing each of the three in turn, sampling the flavours of arousal that were emanating from them even at several paces distance. “There will be time for the grand tour later, but perhaps you should get something to drink first? You do look so terribly thirsty.” Their look was more pointed than the claws they gestured with, a table laden with fine glasses waiting to be taken. Astarion gave the fare a sideways glance, before looking back at Haarlep. “That’s not some kind of rotten trickery again is it? I am dying - again - for a good wine right now.” Haarlep summoned a servant, ironically wearing more than the outfit that was barely covering Tav, who brought a tray of drinks across to them. “No devil trickery here, you are all more than valued guests tonight.” They took a glass and passed it to the almost silent spirit beside them. “Here, even your most gracious host will take a drink, right in front of you.” “Wait,” Tav butted in, calculating several different equations in her head to find the angle they were taking here. “I’ll choose the glass he drinks from, that way we know you haven’t planted one safe one amongst the others.” “Feeling bold today, are we?~” Haarlep crooned, laughing at the audacity of their guests. “That’s fine by me, each of these are the same. Although having you choose the Archduke’s fate, what an interesting thought.” Unseen behind cloth, they upped their wicked game again, giving a brief moment of further stimulation to the cambion. Raphael struggled to prevent his legs from quivering. If it weren’t for the tight ring at his base, the cotton sheet would need to be replaced already. He looked towards Haarlep, eyes almost watering. “The sheet.” He tried to keep the tough edge in his voice. “The costume ,” Haarlep corrected, “of course, I forgot to leave a hole for your mouth. How careless.” They pressed the fabric to the skin of his face and neck, one clawed hand gripping his chin and pulling the cotton tighter. Their other hand traced a lazy line to find the edge of his lips. “Ah, here you are.”

Raphael silently cursed under his breath as the incubus did exactly what they wanted, like they always did. Their claw cut a slit in the cotton in a smooth little line, just enough pressure to drag across his lip but not quite enough to draw blood. They brought their face closer, gazing deep into his eyes like a twisted mirror of all his darkest desire. He could smell the hot cinnamon and perfume, the soap he had massaged into their hair just hours earlier… When those infernal lips came just close enough to his own to feel the heat, yet still denying him the slightest physical touch, he nearly broke his veneer of calm to take the kiss he craved. Haarlep drew back, very satisfied with the helpless look in the eyes of the so-called “Master of the House”, lifting the glass to the newly torn hole. “Drink up, Archduke , taste the fruits of your labour, the treat that the Little Mouse chose just for you. ” He knew it wasn’t poison. That would be pointless, you don’t sacrifice the pieces from your own side of the board without very good reason and something much better to gain. But he also knew Haarlep was not playing idle games. No, the bitch was playing for keeps and loving every second. He caught the Little Mouse’s eyes, and drained the wine without pause. The temperature was both cooling and warming, and that hint of familiar flavour lingering on his lips confirmed his suspicions. It is going to be a long night, Little Mouse, you should have been more careful whose den you walked into.

Tav watched Raphael, or at least the sheet she assumed contained him, drink the wine in one leisurely motion as Haarlep poured it into his mouth. It was almost impossible to make out his expression, but he didn’t keel over. It would be difficult to know if he were simply immune to a poison that would kill her, but she couldn’t seem to find a reason why it might be dangerous. “The ghost isn’t dead,” Astarion said simply, stepping past her to take a glass from the tray, “so if the wine is safe for one undead then it’s safe enough for another. ” Despite his bold words, his first sip was tentative. “Wait.” Halsin commanded. “Like a cat, if you please, Meowstarion.” He tugged the vampire’s chain, encouraging him to face him again. “Meow~” Astarion returned Halsin’s intense gaze and began to lap at the wine, first almost comically with his tongue dipping in and out of the glass, but after a good few sips his motions became slower. Purposefully seductive. The heat was rising in him once again, and it showed both in the provocative way he drank the wine, and in the pink colour rising from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Tav was captivated momentarily, watching the indecent display. Her focus was broken by a clawed hand on her shoulder, the other reaching around her holding two glasses. Haarlep was close enough to feel their heat on her back, but did not touch her beyond the fingers just pressing on her shoulder enough to feel. “You should both have some too, you know. Slake your thirst, there’s plenty of time to enjoy the party.” The way they spoke should’ve been ringing alarm bells in her mind, but even just watching the way her partners were riling each other up was making her skimpy outfit feel like far too much clothing. Haarlep was not blind to any of this either, subtly inhaling the scent of arousal from the hint of sweat beading on her bare skin. They slid around her depositing the glasses in her hand almost without her noticing.

“Come.” Halsin commanded, almost too effectively as he gestured to Tav. She curled herself into his outstretched arm, leaning against his chest and cursing the layers of silks keeping her from the warmth of his bare body. He took the second glass from her hand, inviting her to watch their lover seduce them both now. Tav took a sip of her own drink, finding the flavour pleasantly fruity, with a slight hint of cinnamon and clove that would likely make some overpaid journalist write a full page about ages and barrels. “This is…good…” She muttered cautiously, feeling the delightful warmth seeping through her body, blossoming and spreading into- Oh, shit. She realised too late what the trick was. She could feel Halsin breathing more heavily behind her now, too, the effects of the incubus’s saliva disguised in the wine taking hold of all of them. She looked back at Raphael, wondering if she was imagining the sheet shivering…

Haarlep spread their wings, stretching out and allowing themselves a pleased little flutter. All around the ballroom, glasses were being drained. Even Tav, who had clearly worked out the ruse, continued to drink. I knew I liked you for a reason, Little Mouse, you step into my trap and continue to take the cheese. 

—

The soiree had been decorated and laid out to Haarlep’s very specific instructions. Heavy velvet curtains had been hung strategically, disguising the entrances to side rooms laden with cushions, beds, and even…tools… One by one they began to fill, the curtains drawing closed, except from those who preferred an audience. Shadowheart and Lae’zel looked as if they were fighting as they disappeared through a curtain themselves, though it was anyone’s guess as to what methods they were like to use or who was likely to “win”. Haarlep enjoyed listening out to that one particularly, it was…unexpected. Somewhere in a dark corner, a tall human dressed in an intimidating outfit that barely tried to hide a tapestry of scars lead an elf with a white raven into a room which had been laid out with their very specific complement of instruments. That one was Haarlep’s very favourite little friend, and they could tell the man with tentacle tattoos around his eyes would be the perfect playmate for him. The music they would make… They could dance to it all night. Other couples and groups slowly left the ballroom, aside from one pair who were simply dancing. Haarlep wondered if they should intervene, encourage them to drink if they hadn’t yet, but seeing the fiery Tiefling dance with the horned gentleman was in its own way endearing. They were enraptured with each other, in a way the incubus no longer wished to interrupt. They had enough of a banquet already. 

They turned back to their…plate? They had picked out their morsels with care, and seasoned them just perfectly. “Why don’t we all make ourselves more comfortable, follow me~” 

—

Halsin dragged his two lovers behind him, admittedly curious about the incubus and feeling a desperate need that perhaps even two hot bodies would not be enough to sate. His nails dug into his palms as he gripped the chains, the seams in his clothes finally forgotten and coming undone as he marched them into the room behind the devil and the ghost. Raphael walked alongside Haarlep, just half a step behind them, struggling to walk straight. It was maddening, his home, even his body being used by the bastard strutting without a single care in the world. But he was too lust-drunk to protest, and he knew he would end the night satisfied one way or another. In some ways that was worse, knowing that Haarlep was right and usually were, too. Tav stared in wonder, the room was positively decadent, and yet there were so many hidden secrets. It wasn’t Haarlep and Raphael’s usual bedchamber, this place was…different. A pool still sat behind screens on the far side of the room, healing was clearly considered a necessity. Remembering her prior experiences, that was almost a relief. Haarlep gestured to the bed, winking to Halsin. “Make yourself at home, I just have one last loose end to tie up .” Raphael moaned as the gag was pressed against his lips. His arms had been bound beneath the sheet the entire time, he was completely unable to resist, not that he had any intention. He wouldn’t admit it, but he craved this. He needed it. The incubus was extremely good at everything they did. He gave them just one crumb of recognition, a hissed whisper before he bit down on the leather bar. “Fine, Haarlep, do as you wish.”  “Oh, I planned to, Raphael.” The dropping of insulting pet names was as close to a declaration of affection as the two would ever get. There was no kindness in clawed red fingers that scraped against heated skin, drawing down the hooks from above and carefully securing them through tiny cuts made in the fabric. 

Halsin wasn’t sure where to look. He stood on the opposite side of the bed to where the incubus was beginning to make the moaning ghost float in the air, suspended by carefully placed rope, the cotton sheet just barely revealing what was beneath as the spirit was fixed facing the bed. In Between them, however, were his two personal pets, crawling onto the sheets as he tugged their chains to direct them. Astarion’s bare chest looked delicious, and Tav…the blush on every area of her skin was just as enticing. With a quiet rip, more seams were obliterated silks giving way to tense muscles and tenser-

Halsin didn’t notice. He didn’t care. He only wanted one thing. Well, three things, if he was honest. The two lovers on the bed, and the incubus who turned to watch them with a smile, their tail flicking upwards to make the ghost moan once more.

“Drink.”

The command from the druid’s lips reached Astarion’s pointed ears like a drug more intoxicating than the aphrodisiac-spiked wine. He didn’t need a second word.

Tav leaned back automatically, reclining against the soft pillows and tilting her head to expose her neck. Astarion approached her on all fours, crawling as cat-like as he could, swishing his hips to move the tail behind him. He could feel the eyes on him, and he was ready to put on a show. He nuzzled into Tav’s neck, the bell on his collar jingling next to the tag, and ran his tongue slowly along the line of her veins. The noise caught in her throat was almost enough to drive him to a frenzy, and he bit hard, relishing the latest sound to spill from her lips as heated blood poured into his own.

Halsin frowned, the vampire might go too far if he did not remember to rein in his lust-parched thirst. Haarlep caught his eye and simply winked, an unspoken thought passing between the two.

Astarion broke his connection to Tav’s neck as the fiend’s tail curled around his forehead and eyes pulling him back and taking his vision. Behind him, he felt the tail of his costume moving, quickening his breath as the weight of the druid settled on the bed behind him.

“He told you to drink, little kitten, not to kill. The Rat is not to be emptied like your last meal.” Haarlep growled a slight warning, while stroking the elf’s silvered hair.

“I was fine,” Tav gasped, longing for the fangs to return with their incredible heat and the edge of pain that drove her wild every time, “I can handle being a little drained.”

“You will need your energy, Rat. You are dressed as a servant, perhaps it is time for you to serve.” Haarlep looked her in the eye, the searing gaze of the flames carrying several levels of meaning. “Druid, handle your animal.”

Halsin wrapped a strong arm around Astarion’s chest, holding him tight but firm as he pulled him down the bed, stopping as the vampire’s shoulders were just below Tav’s hips. “This time, drink nicely. Just like you did with the wine earlier.”

Astarion thought for a moment about disobeying, but the druid’s hand was already at his “tail” again, stirring it in a way that made him moan loudly even as he began to dip his tongue with swift flickering motions, tasting Tav like she was indeed his favourite drink. Which wouldn’t even be an inaccurate sentiment…

Meanwhile, Haarlep had mounted Tav’s chest, their knees pinning her shoulders and arms to her sides. They licked their finger and held it to her lips. “Show me. You can handle a little more, Rat, I know what you’re capable of.”

The feeling of her lover’s tongue made her mouth open anyway, her breath seeking a quicker exit from her body as her nerves lit up. Tav obeyed the incubus above her, wrapping her lips around their finger, savouring the slight heat and cinnamon, relishing in the feeling of the aphrodisiac effect heating her entire body like a hundred fires lit within her all at once. Still…the look on their face…it was too self-satisfied. She bit down on their knuckle, drawing just the smallest drop of blood that tasted like molten iron.

Haarlep laughed. Somewhere behind them, Raphael rolled his eyes. He knew that sound, he knew it all too well. The Mouse was pushing her luck…but at least this time, it would work in his favour. His own finger still felt warm, the slight edge of pain carrying across through Haarlep’s connection. Using his form like this…it was exciting.

Halsin watched his pet go to work on his other love, not caring much about what the incubus was doing. As long as neither of his hearts signalled their wish to stop, he would continue to indulge all of them. And he was so very intrigued by the huge red wings spread out before him and the long tail curling of its own accord.

Astarion wiggled his hips, an invitation to the man behind him, knowing his usual…preferences. He moaned a little, letting the vibrations of his voice move his tongue more as he continued to savour Tav’s warmth and the way she would writhe beneath him.

The invitation was clear to Halsin, but he hadn’t decided exactly what he wanted… The tail was clearly still stimulating, so that toy could remain in place, but he needed something… The idea sparked in his mind as he saw the incubus sliding their harness to one side. The druid shuffled, glad of the huge bed space they had, and rolled onto his back. He pulled himself up the bed so he was right beneath Astarion’s hips, and tore away all the clothing in the way of his prize with his teeth.

The vampire yelped, almost stopping his work, but a swift grip on his rear put him back to work. Halsin did not waste time either, taking the entire length between his lips and working his tongue in maddening patterns across every sensitive inch.

Tav was in a similar situation, faced with the perfect copy of Raphael’s cambion form. She grabbed Haarlep’s harness and pulled them close, almost choking as she took them too deep into her throat too fast. The sensation, however, was intense. She stubbornly kept going, delighting in the words of praise that rained down from above her, encouraging her to keep going. She was almost certain she heard a spirit whining pitifully somewhere off to the side, too, but her mind - and mouth - were too full to give it a second thought.

—

Raphael hung in the air, eyes fixed on the scene before him. All four of them were ravenous, insatiable, and Haarlep was feasting on their desire as well as his own. They looked at him again, a wicked smile curling across their features, and finally gave the quiet permission for him to transform.

Red wings wanted to spread behind him, but Haarlep had planned ahead. Slack rope that had sat around his shoulders was now taut around the wings, preventing them from doing anything more but helplessly struggle. The rest of the bindings had just enough give to account for the growth of his body, and the only thing left free was his tail. He flicked it in the air below him, the end the only part sticking out from beneath the sheet. He knew Haarlep would have no time for him, so he curled the tail up between his own legs and took a grip to mirror what the Little Mouse’s lips were doing, eyes fixed on her every motion.

—

Mouths, lips, tongues, they all danced in the night’s soiree. Haarlep conducted the infernal orchestra, feeling an intense power flooding through them as their favourite Rat and her Vampire were both overcome by the waves of intense pleasure. They held back from their own precipice though, denying Raphael his own for now. No, that would be too easy.

Besides, the most interesting participant at the end of the bed had been too busy giving to receive. Haarlep sensed his would be the most delectable climax to sample, the sheer lust emanating from him was palpable even to those without the incubus’s senses.

Tav gasped for air, partly from having her mouth full for some time, and partly from the orgasm that had just ripped through her body without mercy. Haarlep moved off her now, kneeling to one side and waiting patiently for the other two elves to finish, drinking in the sight of the larger man taking every last drop from his pale lover.

“Do any of you wish to stop?” Haarlep looked over with a smirk, knowing the answer even as the others still licked the moisture from their lips.

“More.” Halsin nodded.

“Now.” Astarion gasped.

“Please.” Tav whined.

Somewhere above them, the "ghost" whimpered his agreement.

It took only a few minutes for Haarlep to reorganise things to their satisfaction. They lay on their back for once, arms behind their head, looking towards the three before them. “Rat, you should be prepared.”

Tav swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. But she was nothing if not determined. The incubus saliva had certainly helped. Behind her, Halsin and Astarion were readying themselves with scented lotion and careful fingers, and in front of her the incubus was licking their hand once again.

“Not for your mouth, this time, Rat. No, this will make things…easier.” They caressed her hip with one hand, whilst plunging their prepared fingers deep within her core.

Tav wasn’t sure she needed the extra lubrication, she was already a mess, but she soon felt the other effect of their saliva. Tense and heated muscles began to relax a little around his fingers, allowing for more to slip inside, stretching carefully. The groan from behind her told her that the situation there was hardly any different. The desire within her to be completely filled was becoming insatiable. The incubus merely smirked at her.

“You are so very delicious~” They whispered, so only she might hear. The words alone had her voice mingling with her heavy breaths, not forming any language but that of pure lust.

It wasn’t long before Astarion’s hands were caressing her back, his lips coming to meet her shoulders and kissing lines of affection up to her ear. “Are you ready, darling? For us?”

She nodded, understanding the meaning in his words. Haarlep guided her hips to above them, lowering her down carefully, slowly, so she could feel the friction of every ridge. Flush to their body, they were not done.

“Closer, Rat.” They pulled her body forward, leaving her exposed to the lover behind her.

She was grateful for the incubus’s ministrations now, as Astarion carefully lined up and gradually entered her, groaning himself as he felt the incubus against him.

—

Raphael watched on, almost impressed as well as overwhelmed by the phantom tight feelings gripping him harder than his own tail did, as the last of the four manoeuvred on his knees, entering the pale elf with a gentle care and delicacy. The “tail” had long since been discarded, but most of the clothes remained on. Well, except for the druid’s. Muscles, and more, had long since turned the fine outfit into little more than rags, only the ruffled collar and cuffs remaining in one piece.

It was an utterly debauched sight. He strained at all of the ropes, desperate to feel more, to be where Haarlep was, where any of them were. He was not entirely immune to Haarlep’s abilities, and it had been hours since the toys had been set to their dastardly work on his body. He needed more, wanted more, he tried to cry out around the gag loud enough for the others to hear but their own lewd sounds were drowning him out.

—

Haarlep glanced over at their captive, deeply satisfied with how needy he looked. They grinned wickedly as they licked the tip of their tail, curling it around beneath them. They were delighted with their work, seeing their favourite toy filled with not one but two of them, moving in tandem and making her feel every single nerve and muscle as she rode out wave after wave of pleasure from their motion.

The druid on the other side of the complex equation was adding to it all, matching the pace that the incubus set at every turn, taking his cues from them and savouring the pleasure of both of his lovers. Haarlep wondered, perhaps, what the man might be like on his own, but that didn’t matter now. They considered this a test of his worth, to see which would outlast the other. Perhaps not a fair test, as the elf only had one partner clenched around him, whilst Haarlep not only filled Tav but ground against Astarion inside her, their own tail teasing within them at the same time just to add to Raphael’s torture.

Indeed, Haarlep was almost completely overwhelmed. Every room in their halls was filled with a similar scene, pleasure echoing off the walls, seeping into every stone, heating the hells themselves far beyond their usual searing flame. For once, it became hard for them to hold back. This was their finest hour, their masterpiece, the culmination of multiple carefully laid plan coming to one excruciatingly delicious climax. — The ghost was the first to lose the game, spilling forth across the floor from where he remained hanging, breathless, helpless, and utterly satisfied. Tav had lost count of the amount of peaks her pleasure had reached, but when she felt the shuddering climax of Astarion throbbing inside her, her head damn near burst. The white hot pleasure was followed not long after by the incubus adding to it, pulsing through the aftershock and leaving her entire body weak. It would have been impossible to say who won between the incubus and the druid, as Halsin roared like a wild beast the moment he felt his lover tighten around him with his own release. He held on tight to Astarion’s chest, soothing him through the intensity, pressing loving kisses across his shoulders and neck even as he was overcome by his own mind shattering climax. 

— They almost collapsed in the aftermath, sprawling out across the bed, unable to form words, just sounds, the odd giggle as the intense pleasure subsided. Halsin gathered his lovers into his arms, one either side, and lay holding them close, soothing them and caressing them with gentle hands. Haarlep glanced down at the trio as they went to release Raphael from his bindings, even indulging him by carrying him over to the pool when his legs refused to stay upright. It took a while before the lovers on the sheets were ready to move to the healing waters, Halsin supporting them both with his arms around their waists, their own arms linking behind his back. Haarlep noted, with some approval, that the man didn’t even seem fully satisfied. They guessed he might well be able to continue far longer, had his partners had any ability to move at all. This would be something to consider later… They spent a long time resting, tending to each other, gradually coming down from the dizzying heights they had ascended to in Haarlep’s little game. By morning, a lot of exhausted but satisfied bodies were leaving through the portals, and barely any still had the clothes they arrived in. Fresh outfits had been laid out in each room, almost in anticipation of this very outcome. The sight of so many walking home might have been described by some as a Mass Exodus of Shame, but there was no room for shame in Haarlep’s domain. They smiled and waved, knowing their delightful little trick meant they wouldn’t need to feed again for weeks. Although, they wouldn’t mind a little treat …

----------- ----------- ENDING NOTES ----------- -----------

If you're wondering "where in the hells was Gale for all this", honestly? He might've been accidentally left at camp. He got a one shot and a side story sequel later so I consider that I have made it up to him now.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #haarlep #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #a tav's guide #astarion #halsin #halsin x astarion x tav x haarlep x raphael

[chantsdemarins]

🎄Customer Service Kink (Tom/Loki X Female Reader)

Okay, this might qualify as another Winter Warmer but it might also be too late to add more to that collection! @lokisgoodgirl you tell me!!

So you can just take this as a stand-alone! This is a Tom/Loki mashup fanfic! This is also my first drabble-ish piece. I hope someone out there likes it! Ugh! Nervous.

It's EXPLICIT 🥵 so if you are too young for this please don't read it. Also since it's a Tom/Loki mashup I will go ahead and say...of course, I made this all up! This is not the real Tom Hiddleston, just the Tom of my imagination...sigh.

NOTE: For my non-American readers (just in case you don't have this ridiculous tradition), according to Wikipedia a white elephant party is "...a party game where amusing and impractical gifts are exchanged during festivities. The goal of a white elephant gift exchange is to entertain party-goers rather than to gain a genuinely valuable or highly sought-after item."

Summary: This year’s white elephant party gift is a little better than last year's DIY slushie cup…

🎄Customer Service Kink

December 2018

You opened the door, and he turned around, leaving the girl he was apparently fucking up against the wall-visibly distraught…to say the least.

“Hey!” she growled, pulling down her tight body con dress bashfully, and trying to fix her hair.

“That was incredibly rude to just stop like that,” she said, glaring at you both while storming off.

He had just been 100% involved with her. Now he was 100% staring in your direction. What was happening here? Fast words spilled out of your mouth.

“Oh god, sorry, I was actually just trying to find where the drinks were. I am going to leave now….” You began to back out of the room, but you knew who he was right away.

You couldn’t believe he would be someplace like this. His reputation for being such a "nice guy" seemed to be crumbling second by second as the scene you found yourself in unfolded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said coldly, with a flat countenance that was unnerving. Prickly even.

He was right. You were not privy to Hollywood parties like this. You were here by accident, by chance. You were not dressed for the occasion either.

To start with, you still had your clothes still on.

You glanced nervously around the room you had haphazardly walked into. You had been separated from your friend earlier while trying to walk through a full-on naked EDM dance party.

Continuing to wander through the big mansion for what felt like hours, growing more and more alarmed at the activities going on had led you to this moment.

This room you’d stumbled upon was decorated in black, barely lit candles adorned side tables, smells of alcohol, cigarettes, and other illicit things filled the space so densely you could scarcely breathe.

You could barely think.

You could also smell his cologne as he closed the space between you. It smelled of blood oranges and his fancy car's leather interior.

These were the only things on his person, he was naked except for his rather expensive-looking blue cardigan you were certain was cashmere.

Why did he care that you had come into the room when he was fucking that girl? Everyone in this tiny room was fucking…everyone at this party was fucking or just about to-so why didn’t he just let you leave?

You were rattled. Where had your friend gone?

You looked around the room again, trying to shake his eye contact. You poked your head outside the room, looking for Emily, but she was still nowhere to be found. There were only the rapturous bodies around you, full of sweat and moans, which seemed stereotypical of what you’d guessed a Hollywood sex party would be like.

You laughed a little at the thought of how predictable humans could be. Except for this one staring you down. He didn't add up.

You finally spoke, defending yourself.

“I was invited,” you lied.

You weren’t invited. You and Emily had been gifted invites last night at your company's white elephant holiday party. In retrospect that now seemed like a sick joke. Whichever co-worker was behind this, was truly twisted!

He continued talking as you shifted on your heels.

“No, you were most certainly not invited, I would know. This is my friend’s party. It’s by invitation only,” he countered with a sharp inhalation that narrowed his already chiseled face.

You held your breath. Was he threatening you? Mr. Internet boyfriend? Mr. God of Chaos and kindness? You’d been wrestling with these Hollywood people for years, but their nerve never ceased to amaze you. You certainly could not tell him you got these invites at a white elephant party. He might not even know what that was, being British.

“Where’s your friend then?” he continued, running his long fingers across the outline of his sharp jaw.

“Perhaps somewhere else spying on celebrities too?”

Now he was just being an entitled asshole. That was enough.

“You know, for someone with a reputation for being “the nicest guy in Hollywood” you seem like a dick.” The irony was not lost on you that his huge, gorgeous dick was right in front of you. Maybe it was a slip-up that you called him a dick in your nervousness. He noticed you were looking at him. All of him. Your eyes hadn’t moved from him in fact. Shit. Shit. Shit.

His eyes now traveled up your body, holding every ounce of you. He stepped back some, perhaps to take even more of you in. His eyes narrowed.

“Something caught your eye?” he mumbled, biting his lip a little, changing his interrogation into something...else.

“I wasn’t looking at you!” you declared, feigning decency.

If you only had your goddamn phone, you could text Emily and get out of here, but it was locked away in some weird makeshift cloakroom manned by people who looked like they would have been more comfortable serving drinks on the lounge of a spaceship…

Maybe this was one of those weird moments that parallel the animal kingdom. You were just a random female who got in the way of this British bastard's mating ritual, and now since his first chick apparently slinked off, he was going to have you! Dear lord.

He didn’t wait for you to answer him or make any other decisions.

Suddenly he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to the balcony. Using his free hand to unlatch the glass door and push you through with the other. He seemed to pirouette, gracefully maneuvering through bodies and the decomposing refuse of the evening. Discarded bras, boxer shorts, sex toys, lube, and fishnet stockings rolled up in little balls, all obstacles along his path, cleared with ease.  

“Wait, wait, what are you doing??” You were frantic. Was he throwing you off the third floor into the LA night? His fiendish stare was growing more and more laced with intent.

“I think you talk too much,” he said once you were on the balcony. The chill of the night coursed over his primarily naked form. The tactile juxtaposition of his hard body with the soft cashmere of his cardigan was not lost on you. It was a mood.

The holiday decorations on the balcony flickered on and off. There was a goddamn Christmas tree out there too. Strands of silver tinsel were blowing in the wind that whipped through the ridiculous hills. But you could not take your eyes off his body, even as you tried to orient yourself to the scene.

Lithe and wiry yet entirely carnal. It was like he’d lived in his skin for a thousand years. Every moment a graceful execution of awareness and now seemingly an invitation…to know him.

“You are, um, masterful with your body, um….” you tried to compliment him in the middle of this chaos. You were scared, but there were worse things than being on a balcony of a mansion in the middle of the Hollywood hills trapped by this man. You’d been in similar sketchy situations, but none quite like this.

As if he was reading your mind, he breathily said, “This is what celebrities are. We are for public consumption. We are here for you.”

“You are?” you said, maybe a little confused.  Was he mocking you, or was this perhaps some kind of kink?

Then you thought about it. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but maybe this "at your service" was his thing? Possibly he had a little customer service kink?

If that was the case, could you play the part of the customer?

A million thoughts raced through your head again. You dealt with stressful things all day, you could think your way out of this. You did take acting classes in college, after all...

You decided it was his kink. He was an actor. He sold his art for a living, so why not his body? This was it. You'd figured him out.

You tried to remember your college class, you got into a part by mostly letting go and focusing on every detail around you. So, you stilled your heart which was threatening to leave your chest, and breathed, accepting the invitation he was extending.

You fixed your gaze on him, and spoke, praying you got this right.

“I paid good money for this tonight, sir. 5,000 dollars better give me something extraordinary, this is my Christmas present after all.”

Maybe it was a stupid thing for you to say. Perhaps you’d read him wrong, but then he pulled you to him.

Bingo.

“I don’t have dissatisfied customers. Especially during the peak holiday shopping season,” he purred.

“What does the lady like?”

Good lord. You swallowed audibly. So, you two were on. This was happening.

Being honest wasn’t easy for you. Especially under pressure, but if you were ever going to get better at telling anyone-let alone a kinky impromptu celebrity lover, you better try.

The following things that unraveled out of your mouth next were a fever dream at best.

You stood up tall and commanding. The customer is always right.

“I want you to stop fucking around and stroke that big fat cock of yours,” you tried to keep from smiling as you demanded he comply with your orders.

His 'good guy' was showing slightly as he considered your request. A slight smile threatened to inch across his face.

He took a few breaths and then moved his large hands over his cock, stroking it lightly. Your eyes were glued to the veins in his hands. Were they popping out? They were, goddamn it. They were.

The careful way his fingers held his cock, he was savoring every touch.

Touching himself turned him on.

Christ. One of your kinks was his kink too. Your luck this evening was astounding.

You could remember no more words from him after that—just his immediate, unfettered approach. You both began to hurriedly undress you. He plopped you up on the railing. You looked over out into the night, was that a coyote you heard howling? It was so dark out there…

Noticing you were a little nervous about falling, he steadied you with one hand, while he removed your pants with the other. This was definitely not his first rodeo.

He moved closer, his free hand grasped your breasts, tugging. He was kissing you now, his lips on your neck. Sucking. Pulling your hair back to make sure he could kiss your ear, nipping on your lobes, his tongue moving inside. His lips found yours, and as his passion seemed to grow, his teeth clanked against yours. Clumsy but earnest.

He pulled your lower lip with his mouth, biting. Your eyes must have been closed because once you opened them, you saw he’d finally removed the cardigan sweater he was wearing.

He was completely naked now.

You weren’t fully undressed, but it seemed he didn’t want to waste more time before his face was between your legs. Panties pushed aside and his mouth molded to your sex in such a precise way you immediately wondered if this man did do this professionally.

His wild tongue now lapped at your core relentlessly. Your hands folded through his curls, pulling, hanging on for your life. One leg hitched on his shoulder while your bottom barely held its place on the rail.

Then without warning, he took both of his large hands and held your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth. You were not able to keep your balance. He knew this. This cunning fuck. He knew what he was doing.

You collapsed on his body, and you both fell to the ground. You arched backward and prayed to God Emily had found some other random invitee to talk to. You prayed she had not come looking for you. His eyes, the most cerulean blue you’d ever seen, almost seemed filled with tears. Was he crying? Should you check in? Jesus. Why are rich people so complicated?

You thought about saying something but didn’t. You were already in this. You were going to keep going.

Sliding back from his wanting mouth, you dragged your obscenely wet sex along his obnoxiously taut stomach until you were close enough to grab his cock with your right hand. You lifted yourself up, maybe with a slight twinge of caution-you proceeded to rub the tip through your folds. The slip was insane, and it would only take a flick of your wrist until he was entirely sheathed. He perhaps felt your momentary caution, so he placed his hand over yours-guiding himself in. Christ!

You made a slight moan and a slight quiver as you shimmied down on him. His eyes were watching your every move.

This was his thing, rapt attention to detail. It was unnerving and very erotic, maybe the most erotic thing you’d ever experienced.

His eyes watched his cock disappear inside you. Once fully there, he didn’t seem able to keep up the bad boy act. He fully smiled, almost as if to say, “Are you going to be able to handle this?” He knew what he had.

You weren’t entirely sure. There was no room. He filled you completely. If you were leading the rest of this dance, you’d forgotten the steps, so he instinctively placed both of his hands on your hips.

“Move slowly. I have you,” he said, still watching.

Your face was blushing. A crimson hue spread and decorated your chest. This was too much. Did you sign an NDA? Were there going to be legal ramifications?

But you remembered what to do.

You remembered to breathe and feel. You fought another smile emerging as his hands moved from your hips to your hands. His fingers laced through yours, and his hips arched up, sending his cock deeper. Waves of sensation were threatening to overwhelm you. You could feel every part of him. You were tracking your shared euphoria as it grew. You both intensified your pace, and when he almost went too hard, he pulled himself back, slowing down-savoring you. Every move of his body was attentive and intelligent. He grabbed your breasts and brought them to his mouth, taking each nipple in delicate worship. Maybe he didn’t want this to end. You didn’t want this to end. Not tonight. Not this month. Not ever. Oh no, what was happening?

You suddenly felt something like...jealousy. You suddenly didn’t want to imagine him moving on to the next woman, man, or anyone.

He could tell you were somewhere else as you continued to move your hips, lost in your feelings. This time the tears were in your eyes. You were not part of the elite. Therefore, you didn’t go to sex parties. This wasn’t like you. You didn’t do casual so well.

“Hey…,” he whispered.

“Come back to me,” his hands found yours again, fingers intertwined again. He brought one of them to his lips and kissed it.

“Are you okay?” This time he stopped moving beneath you. He gently pulled you off him and sat you both up.

“I get it,” he said a little awkwardly.

“You might not,” you replied, trying to remain strong and reminding yourself you could have lovers. You had lovers. He was just such a good lover.

You put your hair behind your ear and looked at him as you sat inside his mammoth legs, staring at him. Passion still swirling in your body. The chilly wind found you both. He looked around, and with a long reach, he found his sweater and placed it around your shoulders. You smelled his cologne again. Blood oranges and leather interiors.

“I’m sorry. Did I just ruin everything?” you said, not looking at him.

“I did not expect to get emotional.”

He leaned in closer, making sure you were paying attention, holding your chin with one of his large hands.

“Me either,” he said.

“What, you are feeling emotional too?”

“I thought you saw me crying earlier?” he said coyly.

“Those were tears?”

“Jesus. Woman, yes, those were tears! Look, I’m not some callous fuck with no emotions. This was very emotional for me too.”

“But when I walked in the room, you were fucking someone else…so I assumed.”

"Yes, oh, that. I know. God. Why are things always like this?"

He rubbed his shoulders with his hands nervously as he tried to explain himself.  

"You go to these events, or at least someone like me goes to these events because I can, and I leave half of myself back in my hotel room. You turn off so much, and I just couldn’t with you. Maybe because I haven’t had sex with a normie in a long time..."

"Wait, did you just call me a normie?"

“Well, aren’t you?”

"What is your definition of "normie"-If working a 9-5 job makes me a normie and not having a trust fund, then I guess I am." 

Looking slightly offended, he countered, "That’s not what I meant!"

What came out of your mouth next surprised you both. A surge of clarity came over you.

"Maybe we should stop talking and just finish what we started."

He seemed to recognize that more discussion would likely lead you both into philosophical territory neither of you wanted to trek across at the moment. He looked at you. Eyes wide and beaming.

“I am still quite hard for you, my little normie darling.”

You aimed one of your balled fists, intending to hit him, but he intercepted and pulled your wrist sideways and down. He launched his body over yours, pinning both arms over your head. Stradling you now, with his cock on your stomach.

“As I said, I am determined to deliver 100% customer satisfaction.”

You sighed. Why not let him? It’s just an orgasm. It’s just another ten minutes or so with one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen, let alone had inside you.

"Okay."

"Okay, what, darling?" he teased, still holding your arms above your head.

"Okay, satisfy me," you relented.

"Satisfy you with what exactly, pet?"

"Your huge cock," you said, knowing this was likely also his kink. So why not oblige?

"My pleasure," he said, loosening one of your hands long enough to guide himself back inside you. You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit it was one of the most glorious feelings you’ve ever had.

You repeated a mantra in your head, “Just go with it. Just enjoy it. It’s Christmas.” He grabbed both of your hands again, this time pinning them harder. Once more, almost on cue, as if reading your mind, he said, "You’ve been a good girl."

You might have rolled your eyes a little as he proceeded to ruthlessly fuck you, his cock so expertly aligned for pleasure. He swirled his thumb across your clit. He pushed your legs up further along with your arms.

You were going to come hard, and he knew it. So was he. The vulnerability returned as you saw him getting closer. His movements become erratic. His pace in ruins. He didn’t pull out. He simply came inside you, sweet and resonant, filling you. You came shortly after, gasping for air, finally wringing your arms free so you could wrap them around him. Both out of breath, you exchanged glances. You were both too smart for role-playing, but it worked this time.

He looked like he was thinking something over, as you slowly moved to get dressed, understanding your time was running short either the party would consume him again or Emily would find you-both of those things hastened your final descent away from his warm body.

"How did you end up here normie?" he finally asked you.

"I don't think you'd believe me."

"Try me."

"White elephant gift. My stupid colleague put this under the tree at our holiday party. We didn't know what it was until we got here and surrendered our phones in that weird cloakroom. I think whoever gifted us the invites was trying to piss someone off here...you know two outsiders show up, throw off the scene...it's a classic."

"Well, it worked didn't it?" he laughed pulling his sweater over his naked body, which must be freezing by now.

"Yeah and no phones, so there's no way I'll ever be able to contact you, I can't possibly remember a British phone number anyway, arent' they like a hundred numbers or something?"

"You don't even know my name either, so no looking me up on Instagram mister," you laughed a little sadness punctuating your candor again. He was good. Really good. Probably at everything he did. Not just fucking normies.

"I have a pretty good memory if you want to try me, what's your name? Might as well tell me, since you were contraband tonight anyway. I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time earlier." he laughed and once again bore his eyes into your soul.

There seemed no harm in telling him, it's not like you would actually see him again.

"My name is Y/N," you squeaked out as you pulled your boots back on.

He smiled and opened the glass balcony doors for you both, leading you back into the chaos. He quickly put on his clothes while you tried not to look around.

"You aren't staying?" you wondered aloud.

"Right, I don't think so actually"

He was about to say something else when Emily walked into the room, cutting him off, and looking slightly horrified.

"Y/N where have you been! We need to get out of here!"

Emily then looked at him and then back at you, and looked at him again.

"You are...you are Tom Hiddleston...Loki," Emily mumbled barely able to make out words.

"Thanks for blowing my cover," his stern face returned momentarily.

"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry!" Emily looked even more horrified and looked around wondering if anyone heard her.

"Just kidding!" Tom said, smacking her arm lightly.

"Everyone knows everyone here, all good."

Emily looked at you again, then Tom again. Questions tumbled in her head.

"Do you two know one another?"

Tom looked at you, his blue eyes visible even in the dim sex party lights.

"We do," he said, smiling ear to ear.

#Tom Hiddleston smut #Tom Hiddleston fanfic #Tom Hiddleston #loki #Loki god of mischief #Loki fanart #Tom Hiddleston fanart #christmas smut #tom Hiddleston x reader #Tom Hiddleston x you #Tom Hiddleston/Loki

[indigosunsetao3]

You're so good at writing angst, I am here to request more please! I'd like to request a spin on the "it's the things we love most that destroy us" scene from mockingjay - where Peeta returns to Katniss completely broken💔

One of the 141 (I think Alex/Gaz/Soap would work really well here but you can choose!) has been taken captive by the enemy and been MIA for so long but the team manages to bring him back.

Reader is overjoyed at the return of her lover but noone knows that part of the torture he faced was him being conditioned against her. Maybe he thinks that they could never make him hate her, that's his bby and death couldn’t stop him from loving her, but now its something worse than hate. It's a love that is warped, vicious and twisted, with fangs and claws that want nothing more than to sink into her. He wants to break her, hurt her, hear her cry.

This could be dark😈 or pure angst or hurt/comfort with a happy ending, do whatever speaks to you most! :)

Ooh I love this! I debated on who to write this for. I ran down a few scenes in my head with a “blank face” for the guy then tried to see who I thought fit best. I settled on Gaz 💙 I hope it’s what you’re looking for.

This was also written solely on my phone so grammar/spelling hasn’t been totally proofread. I’ll do a clean up in a few days as needed.

Warnings: torture, gore, violence, blood, lots of angst, dark, hurt no comfort (this is bolded for a reason. Please read at your own discretion.)

Not a happy ending exactly but parts are left open for interpretation.

Female reader perspective

You had been preparing for Kyle to get home, humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counter. You’d been cooking and baking for days. All of his favorites; lemon tarts, minced pies, premade potato dumplings to fry, banana bread and millionaires shortbread.

Cooking had never been your thing but you had learned just for him. You loved the satisfied smile he gave you after each meal and when he was home you’d cook together. It was something you looked forward to now; a glass of wine, loud music playing from the kitchen speakers and while you danced and sang along.

So when a car pulled in the drive late that afternoon, you nearly fell over your own feet in your haste to get to the door. The roast in the oven was almost ready so the timing couldn’t have been better. After a quick stop at the hallway mirror to check your hair you wrenched the door open. But the smile plastered on your face quickly fell as you saw Price standing there.

“No,” you said quickly stepping back into the house. “No, no,” you were in denial, your hand gripped the door handle ready to shut it in his face. If he didn’t say it, it wasn’t real. Price held the door through, kept it open as you let go and stepped further into the house.

“I need you to listen,” Price said. His voice was grave, tired, and you noted the still relatively fresh cut on his cheek. “You need to sit.”

“Where is he John?” You asked, “take me to him right now. He’s hurt isn’t he?” Death was not an option, not even in the panic could you let that idea cross your mind. “I don’t have time to sit, take me to him.”

Price shut the door behind him and your knees buckled at the look on his face. It was regret and pain. You reached for something to hold as the room spun but there was nothing there. You fell to the floor hard and Price bent down to help you up. But you clung to him unmoving as you sobbed, staring at Gaz’s winter coat still hanging on the coat rack.

“He’s alive,” Price said after a moment and you froze, pushing away to look at his face.

“I don’t, what? Then where is he? Why isn’t he home?” You asked and Price shut his eyes tight for a moment before sighing.

“Last we knew he was alive,” Price amended and the look of shock on your face seemed to have physically wounded him. “The mission was an ambush, we barely got out. Soap’s laid up in the hospital still,” he explained as if he were trying to get your sympathy, to get you to understand what a disaster it all was. “They grabbed him. He was laying down cover for us to get out, goddamn fool,” Price growled before shaking his head. “Didn’t listen to me, said we needed to get Soap out before he bled to death on the street. Wasn’t wrong but it cost him. They surrounded him and we couldn’t get to him in time.”

“Who has him? Where do they have them?” You asked as you wiped furiously at your eyes. The oven timer was beeping it was done but you ignored it. “Go get him then, go now. You can’t leave him out there. He’s there because of you,” you shoved Price hard in the chest and he just took it. “Go fucking get him!” You screamed hitting John again as he just looked at you.

“We don’t know where. We’re trying but we don’t know.” Price had answered and you scrambled away from him. “As soon as we find him we will get him, but it could take time. If we ever,” he started but you cut him off.

“Find him. You owe him. You know he’d never stop looking for you. He’d tear this world in fucking half for you. For all of you, and you left him!” The last words had been a scream of pain that tore at your throat before you dissolved into sobs again.

That was five months ago.

The guys had all checked in on you. Ghost had been the most frequent of the visitors, Soap laid up in the hospital for a few weeks. Price barely came by, the guilt of your pain and his failure ate at him too much. But Ghost endured. He listened to your screaming rants, your hot anger, took the hits as you fell to the floor and he scooped you back up.

He didn’t protest as you slammed the door in his face, always appeared when you needed help, and even did the paperwork for you so you’d get the benefits Gaz had left for you. You refused to do it, signing that document was too final; gave up hope. So he forged your signature and cashed the checks. Paid the bills, made you horribly cooked meals. Then and after growing tired of you never leaving the bed he bodily dumped you in the shower; clothes and all. He admonished you that Kyle wouldn’t want this and you fought him but eventually too tired to fight anymore gave in.

So this was your life now. Five months of being babysat. Five months of not knowing. Five long months of self torture for all of you.

Then the call came. You hadn’t seen any of the 141 in a few days. It wasn’t unusual, they had to get back to work and you knew life had to churn forward. You were sat in the garden staring at the flowers finally starting to bloom as your cellphone buzzed on the table. You nearly dove for it, even after all these weeks every call gave you a jolt of hope followed by the dive of despair.

“We’ve found him,” came a woman’s voice and you sat up straight. Your heart hammering in your chest and blood rushing in your ears, you almost miss the rest of it. “The team is extracting him now. No guarantees but Price wants you here. Get to the airport, British airways. Give them your name and they’ll have your ticket.” Laswell hangs up and you fly in the house.

You didn’t ask where you were going but you didn’t care. You threw a few pieces of clothes in your bag and drove so fast to the airport it was a wonder you didn’t get a ticket or cause an accident. The flight made you jittery and when you landed there was a message on your phone to get a taxi to the British embassy there.

“Where?” You ask as you bust through the front door of the building like you owned it and spotted Laswell. She seemed a bit pressed and held her hand up to the security guard that was about to drag you out for bypassing the metal detectors and scans.

“He’s upstairs,” she begins and you push to go past her but she stops you with a strong grip on your arm. “He’s rough,” she says as you glare at her for holding you back. “They really did a number on him. I’m not going to sugarcoat it or make it easy. You need to prepare yourself for what you’re about to see.”

“He’s alive and that’s all that matters,” you respond and she just sighs before gesturing you forward.

Laswell leads you up to the third floor of the dilapidated building. The paint is peeling and chipped, the rugs work down so far there was no fibers left in spots. You glance at Laswell unsure about why you were here of all places. If he was this rough why wasn’t he in a hospital? She doesn’t say a word before pushing open a door and letting you walk past here.

The room is small and as you walk in Price rises a bit from his seat. You glance at him before looking at the glass that almost takes up the whole wall. You see him then and rush toward the glass with a sob. He’s sitting in a large chair, overstuffed and literally bursting at the seams in some places.

He’s thin, impossibly thin. His eyes look a bit sunken and his breathing is too quick, too nervous. You can see Soap talking, his mouth moving, but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Gaz glances at Soap and nods as he looks at him. You whine at the dark bruises that poke up from under his t-shirt, the pink puckered scars that litter his skin. His knuckles are battered and split in places and you can see where his pinky doesn’t sit right.

“What happened to him?” You ask whirling on the group. “Who did this?”

“We don’t know for sure everything that happened. We found him in a holding cell deep underground,” Ghost explains. “He didn’t speak for hours,” he continues, “just sat vacant, as if he didn’t recognize us.” He hesitates as you brace yourself on the sill of the window, afraid you were going to faint. “Soap finally got him talking. Hasn’t told us anything yet, just asked about us, what we have been doing.”

“We thought bringing you in may help,” Price says as you cut your eyes over to him. “Nothing we’ve done has been able to bring him around. The doctors have cleared him. He has,” he paused, “signs of torture. Prolonged torture, and scarring but he’s otherwise medically healthy.”

“How long have you had him?” You ask accusingly before glancing over you shoulder and nearly jumping as Gaz’s eyes bore into you. It’s a one way glass yet it seems like he knows right where you are. It’s him, but he seems different, hollow.

“Few days. We needed to make sure he was stable, try to find out what happened,” Price says glancing at Laswell now. “We didn’t want to tell you we were going for him, to give you potential false hope.”

“Let me talk to him then,” you say, sliding the backpack, his backpack, off your shoulders and dropping it to the floor. “Please,” you add as the three look at one another. When Price nods you go for the door that leads into the next room and wrench it open quickly.

The lights in the room are soft and you glance at Soap who is sitting in a hardback chair. He gives you a small smile before glancing at Gaz who had gone ramrod straight in his chair at the sight of you. You hesitate, shutting the door behind you before taking a step towards Gaz.

He looks even more gaunt as you get close, and you feel the tears again. Tears of relief that he was alive but also pain at the state he’s in. They had brutalized him, he was pale and his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. He flexed his hands on the armchair and you saw where a few nails were missing a you bit your cheek to keep it together.

“Kyle?” You breathe out, twisting your hands. You didn’t know what to do. Could you touch him? Price has said he was medically okay. You step closer and he smiles at you, a real one, though it doesn’t meet his eyes like it used to. They seem dead.

“Hey lovey,” he says and extends a hand to you. Your nickname has to be a good sign right? His hand shakes a bit and he fidgets as he looks to Soap and you do the same. As if asking him if it were alright because you had no idea what you were doing. Soap merely shrugs a bit. “Come here,” Gaz coaxes and his voice is silky smooth, almost too smooth for what the situation called for. But you go to him. You need to feel him, touch him, confirm this was true and real.

His hand closes around your wrist when you come within reaching distance and he pulls you to him. You go willingly, smiling as he spreads his legs out and tugs you in. You hear Soap shift, the squeak of his boots as he stands up and heads to the door. He’s giving you some semblance of privacy despite the two way glass. You reach your hands up to cup Kyle’s face, your thumbs gentle over the swell of one cheekbone.

“I,” you start not sure what to say. “Kyle I’ve missed you, I thought you were,” you cut off. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you move to hug him, to slide your hands around his neck and tug him close. But he stops you, his hands grabbing your forearms. You freeze unsure if you’ve pushed him too far too fast.

“Are you?” He asks, his tone still like silk. When you cock your head confused he continues, his hands slide up to grab your hands and pull them from his face. “Are you glad I’m okay?”

“What?” You ask stunned as he grips your wrists tight, painfully tight. “Of course I am?” Your tone confused and a bit hurt at the accusation. “I’ve been a fucking wreck worried, I thought I’d never see you again.” Your eyes search his, as if beseeching him but the cold glare he’s giving you doesn’t waver. “Kyle it’s me,” you try, thinking he may be struggling with his memory. His fingers dig into your wrist bones and you gasp a bit as he twists them. “Stop Kyle,” you say trying to pull back but he holds tight.

“I know,” he says, dropping the false niceties. “I know what you did,” his voice shakes, maybe from anger or fear, you aren’t sure. “You sold me out to them. Told them how to get me, how to,” he snarls and yanks you hard toward him so you stumble. “How to hurt me. You’re one of them. Always have been, you fucking bitch. You wanted me dead, wanted me hurt. You want all of us dead!”

You shriek as he pounces on you, knocking you back hard into the ground. Your head cracks on the hard floor, hard enough it bounces and you see stars as you struggle to get away. His face is a livid twist, the feral killer you knew that lurked underneath shining through. He scrambles for your throat, pinning you with his knee to your chest.

He doesn’t get far, someone bolts into the room and knocks him away. It’s a hard hit and you cry out in fear for Gaz as he hits the sheetrock wall hard enough it cracks. But it doesn’t slow him down. He gets back up and tries to get to you again as Ghost pins him by the throat with his forearm bellowing for Soap to get you out.

“Don’t trust her!” Kyle screams as he fights at Ghost’s grip. Under normal circumstances it would have been an even match, Ghost’s bulk verses Kyle’s nimble body. But he’s so emaciated and crazed Ghost keeps him locked against the wall. “She knows! She did this! The lying bitch!”

You sit in silent tears as you watch the team try to talk Kyle down once you are out of the room. He paces like a caged animal, always looking at the glass. He babbles on about how you were one of them. You had been the one to hurt him, to almost kill them. This was all your fault and he’d see that you paid for it. One way or another.

Soap had managed to wrangle Kyle to lay down, slipping a sleep aid in his drink. In his slumber he looked peaceful, hurt, but at least not so terrified he was crazed from anger. You insist you’re fine when Price wants to take you to the hospital to be looked over. You weren’t leaving Kyle, not alone not after this. He had to be confused, the torture and prolonged isolation underground must have messed with his psyche. You aren’t giving up on him that easily, and you were staying put.

The rest of the group sit with Gaz, talking with him to bring him around. It’s slow going, painfully slow, but after almost two weeks progress is made. Kyle starts asking for you, asking how you are, if they had helped you while he was gone. It was as if he didn’t even remember seeing you in the first place. He looked heartbroken when Ghost talked about everything you had gone through while he had been missing, his hands gripping at the back of head as he leaned forward listening.

“Let me try again,” you finally say after Kyle breaks down as Price explained what he did when you arrived. How he lured you in then attacked you and blamed you for what happened. Gaz asked to be left alone, had curled up in the makeshift bed and fell apart at the horrible realization as the memory clicked into place.

Price still didn’t trust that all was well, mentioning that the Russian’s liked to play the long game and mess with minds. But you don’t care, the Kyle in that room is the one you know. The light in his eyes, the ease of a laugh as Soap tells him a ridiculous joke, even the simple mumbling of when he’s falling asleep. It’s him. And he’s begging to see you.

“Not alone,” Price finally concedes. He joins you in the room, taking up a folding chair in the back just watching. You’re tentative as you walk in, your hands fisted at your sides as you will yourself to not be afraid. When Kyle looks over at you this time his face falls, not with fear but guilt for knowing what he did to you. Price shifts, moving to the edge of his seat ready to intervene

“Kyle?” You ask timidly, trying to not show your nerves as he leans back in the chair, a sign of submission. “Sweetheart, it’s me,” you say and you see him flinch, just a bit, as if out of guilt from a flashback. “I’m okay,” you say getting closer and extend a hand out to him. “I promise, I know you were just scared and confused and,” you start crying at the look of pure self-loathing on his face, but he takes your hand. It’s gentle. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles and stares at you in a bit of wonder.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, “what I did. Said,” he sighs pulling you to him and you go willingly. Dropping to your knees before him you pull him tight to you and sigh constantly as he wraps you up in his arms. His hands grip your back as he cries and you cry with him, not caring about the fact everyone was watching on edge. You knew you were safe, he was safe, and you’d both get through this.

The next few weeks at home are a little rough. He wakes up multiple times a night with flashbacks and night terrors. On more than one occasion you find him holed up in the tub with his back pressed to the wall muttering and holding his hands over his ears. It usually takes one of the guys to get him out of it, the times you try usually resulted in screaming and on more than on occasion he had shoved you hard away. The feral look on his face coming back as one of the men talked him down.

It seems therapy is working, it’s helping him talk about and remember what happened. He doesn’t share it with you, though, not all of it anyway. He says it’s too much, too horrible. The more he talks about it, the better he becomes. The haunted look behind his eyes is fading and he seems generally more cheery.

The bouts of night terrors and flashbacks start to get fewer and longer in between as well. After much insistence, and push back, you finally get the rest of the team out of your house. Price had demanded someone stay there with you both just to be safe. It has been a smart move in the beginning but now it felt like you were living with a bunch of overprotective roommates.

What you don’t tell them is not everything was back to how it was. There was something else. You caught Kyle watching you sometimes. Not Kyle, the predator underneath. The dead look back in his eyes as he glared at you from across the living room when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his hands itched toward the knives when you cooked dinner together. Hell even when he slid his hand around your throat in the few moments you were able to get alone in the bedroom seemed more sinister than the usual rough sex you both enjoyed.

You wrote it off. Things were getting better and you could live with this while he worked through whatever it was. You wanted your old life back and it was almost there, you wouldn’t set it back again. Even if you felt like you were living with a dangerous stranger sometimes.

“Kyle,” you breathe out as his hands find you in the semidarkness of the bedroom. You had seen the feral look in his eye when you got out of the shower. And not the kind that sent a thrill of fear, but excitement through you. You had carefully only pulled on a t-shirt, one of his, because you knew he liked seeing you in his things.

“Love,” Kyle answers as he rolls you under him on the bed, his hands sliding down your sides. He grips the shirt hem and tugs it up, his fingers ghosting up your stomach and chest as you slip the shirt over your head with a smile. “You enjoy teasing me don’t you?” He asks quietly as he kisses at your collarbone, his hand sliding up your sternum. “Wearing my clothes, prancing around with those long legs,” he grins then moves to nip at your ear as his hand grips at your throat now.

“I like how you look at me. Touch me,” you sigh as he bites at your earlobe. But something doesn’t feel quite right as the pressure in his hand becomes tighter. You whine a bit. “Kyle,” you try squirming some, his fingertips digging in. “Maybe not so,” you splutter, his grip not letting up. “Not so tight,” you say, a bit of panic sinking in. You see the flash in his eyes; the change.

“You think I don’t know?” Gaz asks as he pushes up to sit above you. He adjusts to pin you under his legs as he straddles you and you start fighting back now. Your hands grabbing at his forearms as he glares at you. “How you all have been working together?” He slides his hand up and tilts your jaw far back, pressing you painfully into the pillow. “Always together with them, planning,” he snarls as he shakes you a bit as you gasp for air. “Finding the right time to finish me like the monster you are.”

“Kyle stop!” You fight twisting to get him off of you. “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re hurting me!” The fear has fully set in and you flinch as he leans down to get right in your face and he laughs at the panic.

“You did this to yourself,” he answers, “when you sold me out. I’m going to make you pay,” he reaches over to grab into his nightstand and you try to buck him off before gasping as he twists your head hard to the side, enough you hear a pop.

He finds what he’s looking for and the lamp light glints off the blade. You scream but there’s no one else around to hear you. You sent your saviors away, Kyle had been waiting and biding his time. Not Kyle. This wasn’t Kyle, this was someone else. A broken murderous man.

“You first, then the rest. I’ve had to wait, build back my strength,” he explains, twisting his SAS dagger in his fingers, staring at the blade before looking at you. “Get you to trust I was back to the docile little man you tricked before.” He flips the knife and presses it hard against your side, eyes never leaving yours. “Before I could do what needs to be done.”

The first slice in your side stung and you kicked and screamed, begging for him to stop. But he didn’t. He relished in the pain, told you to fucking take it like he had. Told you he was going to make you feel every single pain he did. Then he would go for Ghost next, muttering about how you two had been secretly together behind his back. How he’d peel Soap’s skin off piece by piece before finally taking out Price.

You didn’t have much fight in you after almost two hours. The bed was stained red with blood, soaked through from your sweat and tears as Kyle continued. He whispered horrendous things in your ear as he smeared your blood with his fingers over your stomach. Carved the words “traitor” into your bicep.

“Please just end it,” you beg as he toys the knife down your cheek, digging the tip into the corner of your lips. “I can’t do,” you hiccup, the taste of blood in your mouth. “Kyle I love you and I’m sorry for what…what you think,” you sob in fear as the knife gets to your neck, the flat side pressing against your pulse. The knife nicked your neck and you whine as you feel the trickle of blood slide to mix with the rest already spilled.

“You aren’t sorry for me,” Kyle says quietly. “You’re just sorry I figured it out. That you couldn’t finish what you started.” He guides the knife down to your side and he hesitates, just for a moment, before pushing in.

The slip of the blade between your ribs was the final straw for your body. You arch up at the pain before your vision turns fuzzy. Kyle hovers above you; his head cocked to the side as he watches you fade before pulling the blade back out slowly, as if savoring the way the blood poured out. His fingers toy with the hot liquid, letting it side down his hand and pool in his palm.

The hand you had gripped on Kyle’s thigh falls loose to the bed and you sigh out a soft breath and close your eyes. It’s finally over. The pain fading away as everything goes quiet and you let the darkness embrace you.

But then the pain in your side is back as someone yells. The voice loud and jolting as hands grab at your side and you cry out. Or is it just a moan? No, no you can’t keep doing this. Just let it end. You feebly move your hand to fight back but the grip is hard on your mutilated skin.

“Get up,” the voice begs and you crack open an eye and attempt to push away. Kyle is over you, his fingers shaking as he presses his shirt into your side. “What have I done, fuck what have I done,” his voice is panicked and you cry for him to let go, leave you. He did what he wanted just let you go now.

“Love, sweetheart, please,” he’s begging, the tears on his face clear the splatters of blood, your blood, that coat his skin. “I don’t...fuck please stay awake,” he pulls you up into his arms and you feel yourself loll back.

Another voice joins the jumbled mess in your ears. Hands, so many hands, are pulling at you. Kyle screams in a panic as you’re set down on something hard and you hear the telltale sound of a bone on bone crunch. There’s grappling and you try to open your eyes to see two sets of boots struggling for control near your head.

“Fuck,” a voice, Soap’s. “She’s lost too much blood.” Another grunt of pain and Kyle’s face comes into view on the floor as he’s pinned next to you. He’s struggling, fighting to get to you. It’s him, you can see it. Can see the fear, the panic and pain etched all over his face. You stretch a hand to his and grab his cheek. He leans hard into the touch.

“Kyle,” you try to say, your voice is strained and it feels like you’re drowning, your mouth full of liquid. “It’s okay,” you say but it’s a gurgled mess that only you can understand.

“No, no, no,” Kyle whines as he fights against Ghost harder and he gets a hand free to grab your fingers. “This should be me, I don’t, I couldn’t stop. Lovey, please,” his tone is begging, and perhaps asking for forgiveness.

“Shut the fuck up,” comes Ghost’s harsh voice as he digs his knee harder into Gaz’s back and he complies. Kyle’s eyes lock on yours as your vision wavers, the black rolling in and out of your sight.

“Ambulance is here,” Soap says and you can hear the faint sound of sirens. “Police” he tacks on as you sigh and shut your eyes. You can’t keep awake anymore, you’re tired. So tired. Someone shakes you but you don’t move again, unable to even lift a finger.

An anguished wail from Kyle meets your ears as you’re loaded onto the stretcher, body limp. It’s almost enough to pull you back from the brink. Almost.

The brainwashing Kyle had endured was experimental. Turn the source of your love into your greatest fear, knowing there was a fine line between love and hate. They had picked the consummate soldier, the one that was loyal and followed orders no matter the cost. They had twisted him, broken him and sent him back to his life with the monster lingering just under the skin.

When he thought he had succeeded in killing you, the thin tether snapped. The fog they had put him in clearing as he stared at your lifeless body on the bed. His love for you finally won out, but it was too late. He tried to save you, frantically begged you to stay as he felt you slipping while he called for help.

He would have to live with what he had done for the rest of his life. Left alone to rot in a prison cell with just his thoughts for company. Watch what he did to you every time he closed his eyes; the torture never ending despite being free from the enemy.

When his captors saw the news, the story spread far and wide, they knew they had been successful. There were things to alter, to adjust and fine tune, but the overall method worked. They just needed the effects of hate and fear to last a little longer. Figure out how to not let the reality and guilt of their actions release the sleeper cells from their hold.

They set their eyes on their next target, the one that would be more lethal and be able to take out the rest of the 141. Ghost.

#asks #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #my fic #cod #Au #hunger games inspiration #x female reader #call of duty x reader #gaz x reader #dark #torture #18+ only