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moeitsu · 3 days

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Arthur and Hosea share meaningful conversation after a night of advertising some moonshine. Meanwhile Kate finds herself involved in a dubious mission with John and the boys. She patches up Arthur as the day ends with an air of unspoken desire. Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters TW: Brief mention of suicide, body image issues, eating disorder. Period typical racism. Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady **please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

AN: Another long one, ~8k words. The end had me giggling and kicking my feet. I hope you enjoy! Comments and criticism are always welcome :) Story Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 11 - And Felt The Pulse Beat Fast

Kate and I met this strange young bastard, Beau, and his forbidden love Penelope. Poor kids are just lookin’ for freedom but they’re stuck in some old family feud they ain’t even a part of. We delivered some letters for them, Kate insisted on it. I gave her grief about it at first, but she was determined to go out of her way for these kids. Woman’s got a heart of gold.

Somehow, I ended up marching as a suffragette, the looks of loathing on the face of the locals amused me. I don’t know much about good causes, but I enjoyed my little experience riding alongside them. Kate showed me there’s more than one path, she chose to do the right thing and we still managed to gather some useful information.

She makes my head dizzy sometimes, this woman. Came right out and asked to kiss me again! I choked up bad. She’s always speaking her mind, like she ain’t afraid of nothing. I love that about her. I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn’t. I just can not do that to her. She’s been through too much already, and she deserves a good man.

And I don’t deserve that kinda happiness.

Arthur woke the next morning with a heavy weight on his chest, the remnants of a sleepless night etched into the lines of his weary face. Kate's tender words echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, refusing to fade with the dawn. No one had spoken to him with such honesty and vulnerability in ages, and Arthur couldn't shake the memory of disappointment flickering in Kate's eyes when he couldn't reciprocate her feelings. As much as his heart longed to kiss and hold her again.

As he lay there, Arthur's thoughts drifted back to Mary, the woman he once loved. He recalled the night he proposed to her, the anticipation heavy in the air, only to be met with the sting of rejection. Mary wanted him to leave behind his life of danger, to embrace a quieter existence with her, far from the chaos of the gang. Arthur understood her desire for simplicity, but he couldn't abandon the gang; the family that needed him. He pleaded with Mary to join him, but she refused, unwilling to sever ties with her own family, especially her younger brother.

Now, years later, Arthur felt he had strayed too far down a path of darkness to ever deserve happiness again. The memory of Mary's rejection lingered as a painful reminder of his inability to change, to be the man she needed. He believed himself beyond redemption, resigned to a life devoid of the joy he once craved.

To his surprise, Kate appeared unfazed by Arthur's refusal the previous night. She greeted him in the morning with her usual warmth, as if their conversation had not left a lingering tension between them. They shared breakfast together, engaging in easy conversation that helped ease some of the weight on Arthur's shoulders. Kate mentioned that she had already discussed their findings with Hosea, who wanted to meet with Arthur later that evening regarding a potential job at the Braithwaite estate.

Her calm demeanor brought Arthur a sense of comfort amid his inner turmoil. As they finished their meal, Kate gracefully excused herself to resume her tasks with the other girls. She promised to join him for dinner as usual, maintaining their routine without skipping a beat. Arthur watched her go about her duties with a mixture of admiration and gratitude. Despite his fears of pushing her away, Kate seemed to understand. And didn’t think ill of him for it.

As the day unfolded, Arthur found himself immersed in a job orchestrated by Uncle—an opportunity to stage a simple yet lucrative payroll robbery. He teamed up with Charles and together they executed the heist with precision. The stagecoach robbery went off without a hitch, yielding a substantial sum that brought a brief sense of satisfaction to Arthur, feeling like a proper thief he was raised to be.

As the sun began its descent, Arthur sought out Hosea near the hidden stash of stolen moonshine. He detailed his failed attempt to sell back the stolen moonshine to the Braithwaites. Hosea recounted how they had approached the Braithwaite matriarch with an offer, only to be met with a cold rejection. The old woman haughtily declared that they deserved no reward for returning what she considered rightfully hers. Instead, in a spiteful act of retribution, she offered a meager ten dollars to distribute the moonshine for free at Mr. Gray's saloon.

Arthur was puzzled by the Braithwaite's response. Hosea clarified that it was a calculated move—a means of exacting revenge on the Grays and the town drunks. By turning the intoxicated patrons into even greater fools for the night, the Braithwaites hoped to incite chaos and leave Sheriff Gray to deal with the ensuing fallout.

Amidst the chaos of the moonshine-fueled night at Mr. Gray's saloon, Arthur assumed his familiar role as "Fenton," a persona he had adopted in previous schemes alongside Hosea. The act required him to play the part of Hosea’s younger idiot brother, who also happened to be mute. His only job was keeping glasses filled without uttering a single word. Though Arthur despised the charade, he couldn't suppress a chuckle at the absurdity of their antics—the lengths they would go to for a successful heist.

Draped in the guise of Fenton, Arthur navigated the rowdy patrons, handing out moonshine liberally as the atmosphere inside the saloon grew increasingly raucous. The scene was a stark reminder of earlier days, when he and Hosea were younger and life seemed simpler, despite the risks they took.

As the night wore on, the situation escalated when Sheriff Gray himself appeared, prompting Hosea and Arthur to spring into action. Shots rang out, echoing through the old saloon as lawmen pursued them. With practiced ease, they slipped through the back door, disappearing into the shadows and swiftly making their way to the waiting wagon. In the chaos that ensued, Arthur expertly handled their pursuers while Hosea skillfully guided the reins.

A small shootout erupted as the Grays chased them through the winding back roads and fields leading out of Rhodes. Arthur remained focused, taking down their adversaries while Hosea expertly navigated the terrain. The tension was palpable, the thrill of the night's escapade mingling with the danger of their flight.

Approaching the train tracks, Arthur spotted a train. With precise timing, they crossed just as the locomotive barreled through, cutting off their pursuers. The lawmen were left stranded on the other side, unable to follow.

Once they were safely beyond reach, away from the danger that had pursued them, laughter erupted between Arthur and Hosea. It was a release of pent-up tension, the adrenaline-fueled joy of a successful escape mingling with the shared camaraderie of outlaws.

“Remind me to never take up a career in…what was it? Bartending,” Arthur chuckled, glancing back at the remaining clinking bottles they were unable to distribute.

“I didn’t know they’d throw so much of a fuss over booze, this town is odd,” Hosea answered, shaking his head as he cracked the reins of the wagon.

Arthur furrowed his brow, considering the surplus moonshine. “What should we do with all the shine we still have left?”

Hosea’s expression turned grim. “That miserable Braithewaite woman wants us to burn the Grays' tobacco fields with it, I was hoping you and Sean could handle that tomorrow night.”

“Damn, ain’t that makin’ a bit too much noise? I thought we were tryin’ to lay low in all this. These fellas may be drunks and racists, but they ain’t afraid to kill, you saw them back there,” Arthur expressed his concern.

Hosea sighed, revealing a hint of hesitation. “Dutch thinks there's money in this somewhere. His plan is to get them all riled up on each other and use that as an opportunity to slip in and rob ‘em.”

Arthur fell silent, contemplating the dangerous path they were treading by getting involved in a longstanding blood feud. “Things could get real ugly, Hosea. Do you really think one of these families is sitting on a pile of money?”

“Can’t say. But the cash box is getting full again, Arthur. We’ve been doing well on making money. With just a bit more cash, we’ll be out of here,” Hosea replied, injecting a note of hope into the conversation. Sensing Arthur's unease, he changed the subject. “Kate told me about your adventures yesterday. How are things going between you two?”

As their wagon rattled down the road, illuminated by the soft glow of the full moon, Arthur felt a sense of comfort settle over him. He glanced over at Hosea, his trusted father figure, and knew that he could confide in him about anything. The old man had a way of understanding Arthur's thoughts and feelings without needing them spelled out.

Arthur shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing his palms together nervously, the words weighing heavily on his mind. It wouldn't escape Hosea's notice that Arthur was quite sweet on Kate. After all, it had been Hosea's idea to pair them up for the day, hoping to give Arthur a chance to spend time with her away from the group.

“I kissed her the other night, when she was singin’ a lullaby for Jack,” Arthur began, the words spilling out into the night air like a secret long kept.“She… she wanted to kiss me again today and, I really wanted to, but I had to let her down easy,” He glanced over at Hosea, seeking some semblance of understanding in the old man's eyes.

Hosea raised an eyebrow in surprise, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You kissed her and ditched her? I thought I raised you better, son,” he teased, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

Arthur chuckled, though there was a tinge of self-deprecation in his amusement. “I know, I’m dumber than a bag of rocks.”

Hosea patted Arthur's shoulder reassuringly, his touch grounding. “You may be good at playing an idiot like Fenton,” he remarked, referencing their recent job, “but you’re a smart boy. What harm could come if you just let it happen and see where it takes you?”

With a heavy sigh, Arthur leaned back in the seat, his gaze drifting up to the blinking stars above, memories of Kate’s confession flooding his thoughts. “I just don’t wanna hurt her. And… I don’t wanna feel that kinda hurt again.”

Nodding in understanding, Hosea's expression softened with a paternal concern for the young cowboy. “I’m not gonna live forever, son. I’d just like to see you be happy with someone before I go.”

“I was happy once. I had a woman who loved me, and she left me because I couldn’t change for her.” Arthur admitted, his voice giving away the deep sorrow he still harbored about his young love.

“Mary was a good woman, I did like her. You were both so young and naive, still navigating your own lives,” Hosea mused, his voice carrying the weight of hindsight. His gaze softened with memories. “But I don’t think she was the right one for you. She couldn’t tame that wild heart of yours.”

Arthur listened, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, the wagon jostling over uneven terrain. “Sometimes, I feel like I can’t even tame it myself,” he confessed, his tone tinged with resignation.

Hosea's eyes twinkled with a knowing glint. “That's why you need someone strong enough to stand in the ring with you,” he remarked, his voice brimming with wisdom, “and face down the beast with a heart just as wild.”

Arthur nodded slowly, the words sinking in like stones dropped into a still pond. He mulled over Hosea's advice, feeling the weight of his own heart's desires. The night enveloped them in a cocoon of shared understanding, the stars above bearing witness to their quiet contemplation.

Arthur’s confession hung heavy in the air, his words weighed down by the burden of his past. “Once she knows what I’ve done, I don’t think she can forgive me for it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like a man confessing his sins.

Hosea let out a light scoff, his eyes bright with a hint of amusement. “Son, your bounty has been posted in almost every town in the west,” he remarked wryly. “She knows we’re outlaws, I think she’s probably aware you’ve killed some folk.”

Shaking his head slowly, Arthur gathered his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the horizon ahead. “No, no it ain’t that,” he muttered, his words heavy with hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Kate told me ‘bout her family, how they all passed from accidents or disease. She even had to bury her own daughter. I just…” His voice trailed off, grappling with the weight of his own truth. “I just don’t know how to tell her about my own. About my son, Isaac. Or Eliza.”

Hosea leaned back against the wagon’s seat, his expression thoughtful. “What’s stopping you from telling her? That’s something you two have in common,” he pointed out gently.

“Because I–I can’t tell her I’m the reason they’re dead,” Arthur confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “Family means so much to her, she’d never forgive me for throwing it away.”

The old man regarded Arthur with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “Son, if you’re so worried about her turning the other cheek on you, I think you need to tell her the truth,” Hosea advised, his tone earnest. “She’s going to find out eventually, and you know she’s a smart woman. She understands what you are and still chooses to be by your side. And I’d be surprised if she draws the line at something that happened in the past. You're too hard on yourself, Arthur. What happened to Eliza and Isaac was terrible, but it was not your fault.”

Arthur rarely spoke about his son, Isaac, even with Hosea, his closest confidant. The weight of their deaths bore heavily on his heart, like an anchor dragging him into the depths of guilt and regret. Isaac's passing had transformed Arthur into a different man, one hardened by grief and the burden of responsibility.

Hosea had witnessed the change in Arthur firsthand. Before the tragedy that befell Eliza and Isaac, Arthur was more carefree, with a spark of youthful innocence in his eyes. But as time wore on, a darkness crept into his demeanor, a shadow that never quite lifted. He carried their deaths like a scar, a permanent mark etched upon his soul.

In moments of vulnerability, Arthur would let slip glimpses of his sorrow, revealing the cracks in his stoic facade. He blamed himself for their deaths, convinced that if he had been a better man, a different man, things might have turned out differently. It was a burden he carried alone, tucked away behind layers of bravado and hardened resolve.

Hosea understood the depth of Arthur's pain, but he also recognized the resilience that lay beneath. Arthur's reluctance to share his grief spoke volumes about the depth of his sorrow. It was a wound that time could not heal, a wound that had shaped the man Arthur had become.

As the wagon turned down the familiar winding road that led to their camp, the night's chorus surrounded them with the faint hum of a crackling fire and the warm glow as it cast dancing shadows across the clearing.

Arthur broke the moment of silence, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I should’ve been there for them, Pa," he confessed, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of the trees passing by.

Hosea sighed, the years etched into the lines of his face. "Yes, son, but life has a way of throwing us off course, even when we try our best," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom earned through hardship. "This world can be cruel, as you well know."

"I can’t be a bad man and expect good things like Kate to happen to me. It just don’t work that way," Arthur continued, his words laced with self-doubt.

Hosea placed a reassuring hand on Arthur's shoulder, his touch a welcome comfort. "Kate sees something good in you, son," his tone was gentle yet firm. "Maybe it's time you started seeing it too."

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Kate scrubbed diligently, the soap creating frothy suds as she ran the bar along the stretched cotton over the washboard. She sat on a small stool in the shade beneath a sprawling tree, her trousers dotted with darkened spots from the splashing water. The air was heavy with heat, but the coolness of the water in the small washtub offered a brief respite. With each steady motion, her fingers became slightly more pruned from the repeated immersion.

Beside her, Mary-Beth was busy ringing out the soapy cloth and dipping it into a clean bucket, the rhythmic process mirroring Kate's own. The girls found solace in their shared task, engaged in easy conversation to while away the chore.

“So,” Kate began, a mischievous glint in her eye, “I saw you talking to Kieran the other day. Want to spill the beans on what’s really going on there?” She nudged Mary-Beth playfully with her knee.

The young girl looked down, a faint blush tinting her cheeks as she tried to hide her face from Kate's teasing gaze. “He was just curious about the book I was reading, that’s all,” she admitted bashfully, her voice carrying a hint of embarrassment.

Kate knew Mary-Beth's romantic tendencies well. From the moment they met, it was clear that she had a penchant for love affairs and romantic tales—her nose buried in romance novels and dreams of penning her own someday.

“That’s all?” Kate teased, a playful glint in her eye. “I see you watching him groom those horses every day. Somebody's got eyes for the O’Driscoll boy,” she added, splashing a bit of water in jest.

Mary-Beth retaliated with a laugh, “He ain’t an O’Driscoll!” Her grin gave away any attempt at concealing her feelings. She glanced over towards the horses, and Kate followed her gaze to where Kieran Duffy was tending to the animals. “He’s been talkin’ to me a lot recently. I just think he’s sweet.”

Kate's eyes lingered on the scene, noticing Lenny and Javier saddling their horses nearby, while John caught her gaze as he approached them.

Just as Kate was about to respond, John called out to her, “Kate! You busy right now?”

She looked up, eyes squinting as the sun glowed behind his frame. She gestured with open palms towards the wash bin. “You need somethin’?” she asked.

John tipped his hat to Mary-Beth, who waved politely in return. “We’re heading out to the Braithwaite manor to check out some horses. Thought you might wanna come,” he explained, nodding back to where Lenny and Javier were waiting.

Kate chuckled, her tone lighthearted. “You plan on stealing them or something?”

John crossed his arms casually, “well, you know,” he trailed, “if the opportunity presents itself.” Not bothering to hide their dubious intentions. Kate has to remind herself sometimes that she is running with outlaws. For them, a job doesn't mean checking out the goods, it means stealing goods.

He cleared his throat and explained the situation seriously, “some fella from the Gray family told us he’d pay to have their horses stolen. Also mentioned they go for $1000 a piece.”

Kate raised a brow of suspicion, “and you believe him?”

John only shrugged, “it's worth looking into.”

She waved him off with a touch of concern, “I don’t want no trouble John, I’m sure you boys will manage fine without me.”

John persisted, his voice reassuring. “It won’t be no trouble at all. We’ll be in and out, they won’t even know we’re there,” he said, adding an enticing detail, “word is they got some pretty nice gypsy horses. Real purebreds too.”

Kate found herself caught in the web of temptation. Stealing horses was not something she relished, but the promise of seeing such a purebred up close was alluring. If they pulled it off successfully, she knew the money would help the gang alot. She figured it wouldn't be so bad to help them in one little heist.

As if Mary-Beth could sense her conflicting ideas, she interrupted the silence, "I can finish up here, Kate. You should go. They'll have a better chance of pulling it off with you." She winked knowingly, seeming to support Kate's unspoken decision.

She made up her mind, fixing John with a pointed look. "No trouble," she repeated firmly, more as a command than a question.

"No trouble," John assured her with a nod of understanding.

Kate wiped her damp arms across her shirt, bidding Mary-Beth farewell and promising to catch up with her later. As she approached her midnight mare, the horse whinnied in recognition, sensing the upcoming adventure. Javier and Lenny greeted her from their saddles, both looking ready for action.

Javier tipped his hat with a charming smile. "Nice of you to join us, cariño," he said, his tone warm and inviting.

Kate swiftly mounted her horse, adjusting herself in the saddle. "You boys better hope this goes smoothly," she remarked with a playful smirk, her eyes scanning the group with a hint of caution.

Lenny rode his stallion closer to Kate's, "I gotta say, having you with us doubles our luck, don't you think?" he replied, his tone light-hearted but with an underlying sense of confidence.

She smiled fondly. Together the four of them took off down the lush green path and onto the dirt road. Kate was glad for the invitation, it made her feel good that the gang trusted her enough to include her in such tasks, that they were confident in her ability to work alongside them. She felt a new sense of trust among them, and camaraderie. She felt like she was becoming a real member, and not just some lone traveler like she had been nearly a month ago.

The journey to the Braithwaite manor was uneventful, the cool breeze of the afternoon air was refreshing against their skin as they rode. As they arrived at the manor from the south side, away from the prying gaze of the property guards. The grand estate loomed before them, a testament to the family's wealth and power. They dismounted their horses in a secluded spot, ensuring they wouldn't draw too much attention.

Kate's mind wandered briefly, wondering if Penelope would be out in her gazebo enjoying the afternoon sun.

John's voice interrupted her thoughts, his tone matter-of-fact as he laid out the plan. "Let's keep this nice and easy. No need to rush. We're here on behalf of a buyer, looking to make a significant investment," he explained as they followed him toward the barn.

Outside the stable doors, a worker paused in his tasks, eyeing them with suspicion. "Can I help you fellas?" he asked, his tone wary.

"I hope so," John replied amiably, trying to appear non-threatening. "Heard you got some horses?"

"We always got horses," the man responded gruffly.

"Fine horses, I mean," John clarified.

The worker's expression soured, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the group. "I don't know whatchu’ talkin' 'bout, friend. Why don't you take that hoyden wench, yer greaser buddy, and his darkie friend and get off the property ‘fore I blow your face off," he retorted, spitting at their feet.

Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise at the man's unabashed racism and arrogance toward strangers. Suddenly understanding Tilly’s hesitation about being so far south. Javier quickly raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Whoa, take it easy there, amigo," he interjected, trying to diffuse the tension.

John remained unfazed by the man's hostility. "Come on now, partner. We're just looking to do some business. Inquire about a purchase," he persisted.

The worker let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine, follow me, Scarface," he grumbled, the insults never ceasing.

The ranch hand, ever welcoming, led them into the barn, his voice a steady stream of information about the horses—names, breeds, and abilities. She noticed they were not the purebreds John had heard rumors about. Still beautiful, strong horses nonetheless.

Kate observed John and Javier exchanging a look as they walked deeper into the dimly lit space. When the man paused to pet a horse, John subtly motioned to Javier, who deftly moved behind the unsuspecting worker.

Meanwhile, Lenny smoothly interjected with feigned interest. "Wow, look at the balls on that one," he chuckled, pointing in another direction. The ranch hand followed his gaze, oblivious to the danger lurking behind him.

With his back turned, Javier seized the opportunity, drawing his pistol from his belt. "Greaser, huh?" he muttered bitterly before striking the bottom of the iron against the man's head, knocking him out instantly. John and Javier wasted no time, swiftly moving the unconscious body to a hidden spot while Lenny began unlocking the stable gates.

Kate stood in stunned silence for a moment, her voice barely audible as she tried to suppress her surprise. "What happened to nice and easy?" she muttered.

Her comment elicited a chuckle from Lenny, who had already mounted one of the horses. "Can't get any easier than this. Let’s try to get 'em out of here without drawing too much attention," he replied casually.

Despite her swirling thoughts and unease, Kate pushed her concerns aside and mounted one of the horses. Following the three bandits out of the barn, she joined them as they sped off through the sprawling property, the rush of adrenaline mixing with a sense of trepidation.

The thundering hooves of their stolen horses echoed through the property. Behind them, shouts and the pounding of boots indicated that their presence had been discovered. Several ranch hands emerged from the buildings, brandishing rifles and shouting warnings.

John, Kate, Javier, and Lenny spurred their horses into a full gallop, kicking up dust and dirt as they raced across the open fields. The pursuing ranch hands fired off a few rounds in their direction, but the distance and the speed of their mounts made accurate shooting difficult.

As they reached the fence at the edge of the property, they leapt over the barrier. The group plunged into a dense thicket of trees, the branches clawing at their faces and clothes. The sounds of pursuit faded behind them as the guards were forced to slow down and eventually give up the chase. They whistled loudly, and soon their own horses caught up and began to follow in tow.

Javier led the way as they made their way through the landscape to find the supposed buyers at Clemens Cove.

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The encounter with the buyers proved to be an intriguing yet unsettling experience. They were met by a pair of brothers who seemed to operate in uncanny harmony, sometimes speaking in unison and shrouding their business with secrecy. Details about their clientele and operations were kept hidden, with only a vague promise that one of them would be available for future dealings, if they wished to become business partners.

During the negotiation, one of the brothers made a direct offer to purchase Kate’s prized black Hungarian outright, offering her a substantial sum. However, Kate politely declined without hesitation. Her bond with the mare ran deep, and no amount of money could sway her decision to part with her cherished companion.

The brothers’ offer of 50 cents on the dollar for the stolen horses was not quite what John had anticipated, but it still amounted to a respectable deal given the circumstances.

After concluding their business at Clemens Cove, the posse set off back towards the rolling plains. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm and serene glow over the lush green hills. Their horses trotted steadily along the trail as the landscape unfolded around them, painted in hues of amber and gold, as they made their way back to camp.

"Hoyden wench…" Kate echoed with a chuckle, mimicking the ranch hand's harsh drawl. "I've been called a lot of things, but that sure is a first."

Javier, riding alongside her, piped up from the saddle, his expression puzzled. "What the hell does that mean, anyway?"

Lenny let out an exasperated sigh. " 'Wench' was a term used by slavers for black women. And 'hoyden' means she's too much of a 'tomboy’,'' he explained.

"Well, I can understand the 'tomboy' part, but she's not even—"

"Doesn't matter, amigo," John interjected, his tone matter-of-fact. "If ya skin ain't as white as a baby's bottom, it's all the same to them."

Kate nodded in agreement, her thoughts drifting back to the locals she had observed while running letters with Arthur. Witnessing their prejudice up close and personal was a stark reminder of the challenges faced by Lenny and Tilly in this region. As a woman of Italian descent, her skin carried a honey-brown hue, bronzed by the Lemoyne sun. Even this slight difference posed a threat to the narrow-minded locals, a reality that churned her stomach with discomfort.

"I'm ‘bout ready to get the hell out of dodge," Lenny added, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Speakin’ of racist hillbillies, Javier and I are heading out to Shady Belle. Got a tip there's some raiders sittin’ on guns and ammo. You guys want in?" He turned to John and Kate with a casual invitation.

Kate shook her head, "thanks Lenny, but I think I'll pass this time."

John chimed in with a polite refusal. "As much as I love killing racists, I gotta get back to Abigail for dinner."

Javier and Lenny exchanged nods of understanding. "No worries, compadres," Javier replied. "We'll catch up with you later."

As they bid farewell, Kate and John veered onto the familiar dirt path that led back to Clemens Point.

The gentle melody of song birds and the steady pounding of hooves on the dry soil filled the atmosphere. Before they could approach the camp, John's voice broke the peaceful ambiance.

"Hey, I know I sound stupid for saying this, but thank you for being a friend to Abigail. All of this has been really hard on her," he explained, his tone earnest and reflective. He glanced ahead, his thoughts drifting to his woman back at camp. "I know it may not look like it, but I'm trying—I'm working on being the kind of father she wants me to be and the husband she needs."

Kate gave him a sympathetic look, her eyes softening. “You don't sound stupid, John. This life ain’t easy for nobody, especially when there's a child in the mix.” She was slightly surprised to hear him open up to her.

John sighed, his expression heavy with regret. “Still, I know you and I ain’t all that close, but, I did somethin’ pretty bad. I worry she might never forgive me for it.”

With a sideways glance, Kate nodded reluctantly. “Yeahhh, Abigail already told me ‘bout all that.”

“Shit, she did?” John's eyes widened in surprise.

She couldn't help but chuckle, a hint of mischief in her voice. “Oh yeah, she’s told me everything John.” Abigail didn't babble to Kate just for the sake of gossip; she understood that Abigail needed someone to confide in, someone to listen and truly hear her. She needed to feel seen, heard, and understood. Especially in times like these.

“Well goddamn, now I feel like a proper dumbass.”

“She still loves you, John, and your boy does too. But love doesn’t come for free—it takes a lot of effort. Keep pushin’ to be a better man, she sees your effort. I promise you.” Kate's words were gentle yet firm,

"Thanks, Kate. Say, you’ve been ridin’ with us for a while now. You think you’re stickin’ ‘round for the long haul?” John asked, his tone curious.

Kate shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “I can’t say for certain. But for now, that’s the plan. Never thought I’d be workin’ with outlaws, but I guess it’s sometimes kinda fun,” she replied, hinting at their recent endeavor. Though petty horse theft was one thing, running from the law for murder was another.

“I noticed you and Arthur get along pretty well. He the reason you're stayin’ put?” John probed further. No doubt trying to get a grasp on his brother's affairs.

“Arthur’s a bit of a mystery to me. But we’re just friends, is all,” Kate answered, her tone casual yet guarded. She knew things between her and Arthur were only just beginning, but it was still undoubtedly complicated. The fact that some of the members had taken notice of their relationship sparked a tinge of worry.

“You’re a tough woman to read sometimes,” he smirked, the scar on his cheek crinkled slightly. “Well, whatever the case. Take care of yourself, ya hear?” He expressed a genuine smile as he rode ahead back into camp.

Kate followed behind, the aroma of Pearson’s signature stew filling her lungs with its savory fragrance. She left Lorena to graze peacefully among her own four-legged companions and headed toward the chuck wagon, eager to enjoy a well-earned meal after a day filled with adventure. The camp was alive with the usual sounds—crackling fire, distant chatter, and the occasional whinny of horses—creating a familiar and comforting backdrop to the evening.

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As Arthur returned to camp under the blanket of stars, the world seemed silent except for the faint rustle of night creatures and the distant crackle of a dying fire. He dismounted his mare with practiced quiet, the shadows of night his ally in avoiding unwanted company.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, his frustration palpable in the tight set of his jaw and the weariness etched in his movements. Tonight, he had no patience for idle chatter or bullshit from the guys. Especially the ones awake at this hour.

Burning the tobacco fields with Sean had proven to be no easy task. Though never any job orchestrated by Dutch ever was. It was nights like these where Arthur questioned when all the shooting and robbing would end. What the point of it all was.

Behind his tent, the open end of the wagon served as a makeshift wall. Arthur rummaged through crates, finding what he needed—a needle, thread, alcohol, and cloth. Wincing as he prodded the bullet graze just under his armpit.

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit” he mumbled to himself.

Getting shot had never been part of Arthur's plan on any job. He prided himself on his quick draw and accuracy, always aiming to fire first and hit his mark before danger could strike him. But shooting under cover of night, navigating through a blazing tobacco field while avoiding being burned alive—such challenges could make even the finest gunslinger stumble.

The guards had descended upon them as soon as the smoke rose, but Sean had urged them to press on, insisting they keep pouring the moonshine without hesitation. Arthur couldn't help but worry that the young Irishman's ambition might one day lead him into an early grave.

Surprisingly, the only injury Arthur had sustained was a bullet graze, still needing a few stitches but nothing life-threatening. Meanwhile, Sean had returned unscathed, already regaling their escapade around the campfire with a bottle in hand.

Under the cool night air, Arthur peeled off his sweat-dampened shirt, the chill of the air contrasting sharply with the warmth of his body. The lantern's dim glow cast shadows, highlighting the glistening of sweat on his chest and stomach.

He dipped the cloth into the alcohol, its sharp scent biting into his senses. As he attempted to clean the wound tucked under his arm, frustration crept in. The injury was beyond his line of sight, a challenge exacerbated by his own size.

Placing one arm against the side of the wagon for support, Arthur tried again, unaware of Kate's quiet approach behind him amidst the backdrop of the night's stillness.

“Need some help there, big guy?” Kate's voice was endearing, soft, almost motherly. The tone made Arthur's knees weak and his face grow warm.

Startled, Arthur nearly leapt out of his skin, quickly lowering his arm and stepping back, almost out of the lamplight. The nickname, though used innocently, stirred something akin to shame in his belly.

"What're you doin' up?" Arthur asked, attempting to appear unbothered.

Kate shrugged, her demeanor relaxed. "Couldn’t sleep. I was brushing Lorena when I saw you come in. Figured I’d say hi," she explained. "You want some help with that?" She gestured to where small trickles of blood traced down his side, her eyes lingering slowly over his bare torso.

If it weren’t for the cover of night, Kate would have seen the deep blush that crept up to his ears. "I think I’ll be alright," Arthur managed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Kate took a step closer, her gaze shifting to his shirt hanging from the side of the wagon, a round, deep red stain contrasting against its usual pale blue.

"Well, it sure don't look alright," she noted, her eyes returning to his side. "Tough spot to reach too."

Arthur's breath quickened. "I’m fine, don’t worry 'bout me," he replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone.

Kate only brushed him off with a playful wave of her arm, “oh quit it! You stitched me up before, let me return the favor.” Before Arthur could react she placed a gentle hand on his bicep, “here, turn around.” She said quietly.

He complied, turning his back to her. His body froze when her fingers returned with the wet alcohol cloth. Barely noticing the sting, as her hands alone felt like fire against his cold skin. Her warmth is intoxicating.

A moment's silence embraced them, and Arthur prayed she couldn’t hear the beat of his heart as it raced in his chest.

Her words startled him from his thoughts, “see, ain’t so bad,” her tone soft like she was comforting a child. “Why’d ya hesitate?” A hint of curiosity and concern filled her voice from behind him.

Arthur lowered his head slightly, “I um, well I know I ain’t much to look at.” He mumbled.

Kate continued to clean his wound tenderly, “what do you mean by that?”

He let out a deep sigh, there was no point in being dishonest with her, “I…I just don’t like folk seein’ me without a shirt. I ain’t what I used to be. I’m gettin’ old, gettin’ heavy too.” His hand subconsciously rubbed over his belly.

Arthur's weight was his biggest insecurity, a constant reminder of his struggles and the pain he carried. Years had passed since Eliza and Isaac's deaths, but part of him had withered away back then. The guilt had gnawed at him, devouring his spirit day by day. He sought solace in alcohol, drowning himself in the numbness it offered. His relationship with food became a twisted dance of indulgence and deprivation.

Some days, he ate to fill the emptiness inside, seeking comfort in the fleeting sensation of fullness. Other days, food seemed an enemy, a symbol of his lack of control. He despised his belly, the way it was soft and curved, a stark contrast to the man he once knew in the mirror. His size served as a relentless reminder of his deepest failure, haunting him with each glance.

Each morning he woke, Arthur grappled with the weight of existence. The world, in its merciless ways, kept him breathing, a living monument to his own remorse. He often wondered if the world would be better off without him, a sentiment that lingered like a dark cloud over his soul.

Kate sensed Arthur's tension, the silent turmoil that echoed beneath the pads of her fingers as she tended to his wound. She felt the subtle movement of his muscles, synchronized with the rise and fall of his breath. "You're a strong man, Arthur. Age and scars don't make you any less handsome," she reassured him with genuine honesty, her voice a soothing balm.

With practiced ease, Kate finished cleaning his wound and reached for the needle and thread. She gently maneuvered his arm to rest on the side of the wagon, adjusting her position for a better angle to begin stitching. Arthur's nerves betrayed him, his hand clenching into a tight fist at his side as he tried to compose himself. His head felt dizzy, as if he had been holding his breath all this time.

"I reckon you're just sayin' that to be kind," Arthur finally admitted, his self-doubt palpable in the air.

Kate chuckled softly, the sound carrying warmth and sincerity. "I've met my fair share of ugly bastards in my lifetime, but believe me, you are certainly not one of them," she assured him, her voice like a gentle flame against his skin. Her words were a rare gift, stirring something deep within him that he had long kept hidden. Arthur closed his eyes briefly, letting her words sink in.

"You're a very handsome cowboy, wrinkles, scars, size and all. I think you're a lovely man," Kate affirmed, her words carrying a sincerity that tugged at Arthur's heart. "Besides, I know I'm not the picturesque woman myself. I'm no stranger to the cruel effects of time and livin' rough. Today, I was even called a ‘hoyden wench’ by some bona fide racist ranch hand," she added with a light laugh, as if brushing off the insult.

Kate had a way of making Arthur feel like they had known each other for a lifetime. Since the day she opened up to him about her life, she had been unapologetically honest with him. It was as if she already knew she could trust him with her personal tragedies.

Hosea's words echoed in Arthur's mind, a comforting reminder of the wisdom his old father figure imparted. Hosea simply wanted happiness for him—not wealth in money, but richness in love. He wanted Arthur to find purpose and meaning in life, to share that journey with another soul.

As Kate's needle deftly worked the thread through his skin, Arthur felt a warmth bloom in his chest. Kate's words eased a heavy burden, if only momentarily.

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, summoning the courage to speak. “Well, I’ll say this. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lady who can hold her own,” he began, his voice laced with sincerity. “You’ve got a strength and beauty that’s hard to come by. I think it’s pretty admirable.”

Kate giggled softly, the sound sending a warm flutter through Arthur’s chest. “Thanks, Arthur. First time I’ve heard that in a while,” she replied, her eyes meeting his.

Arthur marveled at how he had summoned the courage to kiss her the other night, feeling as if he could barely face her now. Yet, if she leaned in to kiss him at this moment, he knew he would succumb to his desire, despite what he had told her before. She lit a fire in him.

“S’true. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole damn holler,” Arthur said, unable to hide the light chortle that escaped him.

Kate leaned closer, her breath tickling his neck as she whispered, “You have quite a sweet side, Arthur. I adore that about you,” her hand lightly squeezing his arm.

His heart swelled, and Arthur knew this was the moment. He needed to tell her, despite the nerves that threatened to overpower him. Hosea may have been right; she had stayed by his side despite everything. But as he searched for the words, unsure of how to broach the subject, his nerves got the better of him once again. There was never an easy way to say it. Just the memories of them alone felt like acid in his throat.

Kate took a step back, placing her tools down on the back of the wagon. “I reckon I’m about done stitching this. Try to stay out of the crossfire next time, yeah?” She teased, holding up his bloody shirt with a knowing look as she handed it back to him.

Arthur felt a pang of regret. “Wasn’t my intention to get shot,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. He slipped the shirt over his shoulders, tugging the sleeves down his arms.

“Nobody intends to get shot,” Kate mused, taking a step back to give him space.

Turning to face her, Arthur was struck by the sight of her eyes, a sadness that mirrored his own that evening under the moonlit sky when they kissed. His heart throbbed at the sight. Since the day he met her at Emerald Ranch, she had a welcoming presence that drew him in, along with a deep sorrow that resonated with his own. It was as if she knew him before she even met him.

He looked down, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I appreciate your help, darlin’,” he murmured. Then, letting out a deep breath, he added, “though, I really don’t deserve it.”

Kate brushed off his self-doubt. “Don’t fuss over it, Arthur. I’m here whenever you need a hand,” she assured him. “I think you should get some rest though; from Sean’s stories, it sounds like it’s been a long day.”

Arthur nodded silently, watching as Kate bid him farewell and faded back into the night. His heart silently begged, please don’t go. But she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts under the blanket of stars.

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Kate lay beneath the star-studded sky, her eyes fixed on the milky purple and white swirl above, like celestial clouds in motion. Her heart echoed the rhythm of hooves against her ribs. Thoughts of Arthur filled her mind, his presence vivid in her thoughts.

The image of his body lingered before her, along with the stories he shared about himself. A longing surged within her to reveal how beautiful she found him, to explore him with kisses and her wandering hands.

Patience wavered as a persistent ache in her belly reminded her of the closeness she craved. Intimate moments with Arthur kindled her core, igniting a blaze of desire. Each quiet, vulnerable encounter with him deepened their connection. Funny how his true colors always showed when he was alone with her.

Kate smiled to herself, feeling a rush of desire she hadn't known for what felt like a century. As good as she was on her own. She felt like life had finally granted her an anecdote to her lonely heart.

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AN: Phew, its out there. I know that was pretty dialogue heavy, so I hope I didn't bore you guys. Next chapter is going to be a long one, and may take me awhile. But it will be worth it, I promise!

As always, thanks for all the love!

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hookhausenschips · 1 day

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Nightshade

Word Count: 9.5k (yup she’s a long one)

Summary: In Eastern Europe, Y/N, Blade's daughter, embarks on a harrowing mission to rescue their mentor, Whistler, from vampires. Joined by Oscar, a vampire warrior, they navigate a dangerous alliance to thwart a vampiric threat. Amidst battles and betrayals, Y/N and Oscar form an unlikely bond that tests their loyalty and strength, proving that even in darkness, unity and resolve can prevail.

Warnings: Violence, Gore, Vampirism, Explicit Language, Death, Betrayal, Some Sexual Tones, Use of Weapons?

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A/N:let me know what you guys think! I literally rewatched all three movies while in this Tornado Watch and say fuck it😂

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**Y/N’s POV**

The cold air of Eastern Europe gnawed at my skin as my father, Blade, prepared for our mission under the pale light of the moon. Our objective was clear: locate and rescue Whistler, who had been taken captive by vampires, tortured, and believed to have been turned into one of them. The sense of urgency was palpable, as Whistler was not just a mentor to Blade but had been a surrogate father to me as well, teaching me everything from the mechanics of vampire weaponry to the subtle art of survival.

The warehouse where Whistler was being held loomed large and foreboding as we approached. Blade was silent, his jaw set, his eyes revealing a rare flicker of concern that he usually kept hidden beneath layers of stoicism. I mirrored his intensity, my hands steady despite the roiling emotions within.

Together, we infiltrated the warehouse, dispatching vampire sentries with swift, practiced movements. The air was thick with the smell of decay, a stark reminder of the grim scene we were about to face. When we finally found Whistler, he was chained, his body a canvas of bruises and wounds, barely clinging to life. The relief on Blade's face when we found Whistler alive was short-lived, quickly replaced by a hardened resolve as we carefully transported him back to our compound.

Once back at the safety of our headquarters, the tension did not abate. Scud, Blade’s somewhat cocky and irreverent weapon specialist, watched as we settled Whistler into a makeshift medical area. His approach to the grim situation was jarringly different, carrying a certain irreverence that often grated on me.

As Blade and a medical specialist tended to Whistler, trying to reverse any potential vampiric transformation and heal his physical wounds, Scud leaned over to me, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, if he turns, I’ve got just the thing to put ol’ Whistler down. Quick and painless—well, maybe not painless.”

My response was immediate and icy, my eyes narrowing as I stepped closer to Scud, my presence imposing despite my youth. “Listen, Scud,” I began, my voice low and menacing, “that’s not just some turned vampire you’re talking about. That’s Whistler. He’s family.”

Scud’s smirk faltered under my gaze, the weight of my words cutting through the casual bravado he so often wielded like a shield. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“Words mean things, Scud,” I interrupted sharply. “How you talk about him, it matters. He’s not some target practice. He’s one of us. And we’re going to save him, not joke about ending him.”

Scud nodded, chastened, his usual cockiness deflating under the seriousness of my tone. “Right, Y/N. I got it. I’m sorry.”

I held his gaze for a moment longer, ensuring my point had truly sunk in, then turned back to my father and Whistler. I watched silently as they administered a serum to counteract the vampire enzymes, my heart a mixture of hope and fear.

As Whistler’s condition slowly stabilized, I remained vigilant, my resolve fortified by the ordeal. I had not only reaffirmed my dedication to our cause but also my role as a protector of my unconventional family. Scud’s subsequent demeanor showed a newfound respect not only for Whistler but for me as well, his jokes and quips now tempered with a visible measure of thoughtfulness regarding our dire circumstances.

In those tense, weary hours, I grew not just in the eyes of my allies but also in my own, stepping firmly into my role alongside Blade, ready to face whatever darkness the night would bring next.

As the urban twilight descended upon Prague, cloaking the ancient city in shadows and whispered secrets, a pair of hunters prepared for a rendezvous that would challenge the very essence of our lives. Y/N, daughter of Blade, the notorious Daywalker, was an enigma wrapped in leather and steel. Raised amidst a symphony of combat and survival, I mirrored my father’s deadly skills and unwavering mission to hunt the vampires that plagued mankind.

Tonight was pivotal. Blade had reluctantly agreed to join forces with the Bloodpack, an elite squad of vampire warriors. Our common enemy, the Reapers, posed a threat serious enough to unite the fiercest of foes. As the meeting place—a derelict warehouse that time forgot—loomed ahead, my grip tightened around my weapons, my senses sharpening.

Within the shadowy confines of the warehouse, the Bloodpack awaited. Among them stood Oscar, standing slightly behind, who caught my attention. His demeanor was calm, almost detached from the revelry, his eyes, a piercing shade of brown with hints of green, surveyed the room, pausing momentarily on me with an unreadable expression. In that fleeting exchange, a spark of curiosity ignited.

Blade’s entrance with me and Whistler was met with palpable tension, the air thick with animosity and mutual distrust. “This truce is temporary,” Blade stated unequivocally, his voice a low growl as he scanned the vampires before him. I stood slightly behind, my expression unreadable, my stance defensive yet poised.

As the group’s uneasy introductions circled, Reinhardt, the brash leader of the Bloodpack, made a pointed comment about humans and their frailties. It was Oscar who defused the brewing storm. “Strength often lies where least expected,” he remarked diplomatically, his gaze lingering slightly on me, acknowledging my presence not as a liability but as a formidable ally.

Standing just a few feet from the unfolding confrontation between my father, Blade, and Reinhardt, I felt the tension escalate with every taunt and gesture. The air in the dimly lit room felt heavier, charged with a potent mix of anticipation and hostility.

Hey, me and the guys were wondering…” My father turns, “What?” “Can you blush?” Reinhardt’s whispered question to my father was meant to demean, to unsettle. I knew the intent behind it—the implied weakness, the racial undertone. My hands clenched instinctively, anger flaring within me at the disrespect shown. It was a provocative, dangerous play, aiming to provoke Blade into losing control. But my father wasn't just any opponent; he was Blade, seasoned and ever-strategic.

My reaction was instantaneous. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and a hot rush of anger flooded my veins. The remark was not just a challenge to my father’s composure but a personal insult to my heritage and our shared struggle against the darkness. I took a step forward, eyes blazing, ready to defend my father’s honor with more than just words.

However, before I could act—whether to speak sharply in defense or to let my fists fly—Blade placed a calming hand on my shoulder.

As Blade’s response unfolded, I could feel the shift in the room. He didn’t just address Reinhardt; he threw down a gauntlet. The challenge was clear, and the sarcasm in his tone, "Oh, I get it. I see now. You've been training for two years to take me out. And now, here I am. Ooh, it's so exciting, isn't it? Okay. Here's your chance." was dripping with contempt. He was calling out Reinhardt’s bravado, exposing it as hollow. My heart raced—part pride, part worry—as I watched him handle the escalating situation with calculated aggression.

My father takes out a silver stake, “Come on, what are you waiting for?” He points it at himself, “Here I am. Right here in front of you. Adolf here gets the first shot. Come on.” Reinhardt looks at Nyssa. “Come on, what are you looking at her for? You need permission? Maybe you need a little bit of incentive. Okay, I can help with that.” He swirls the stake then hits Reinhardt with it, visibly agitating him. “What's the matter, you miss that? It's okay, I can do it again.” He does the same thing again.

When Blade reached to hand Reinhardt the stake, my grip tightened around my weapon. The risk was palpable; it was a test, a deadly dance on a knife's edge. Could Reinhardt overcome the urge to strike, or would he give in to the crowd's fervor and his own bruised ego?

The taunts from Verlaine and Chupa in the vampire language added fuel to the fire, voices rising around us like a chorus of the damned urging bloodshed. Despite this, a part of me admired Blade's control and audacity. He was masterful, turning the psychological tables on Reinhardt, making him the center of a spectacle that he had originally aimed to direct at Blade.

Blade insistently says, “Come on. What, do you need a manual?” He hands Reinhardt the stake, “Do it!”

When Reinhardt finally lunged, the tension broke like a snapped wire. My father was ready, swift with his counter. The device he placed on Reinhardt’s head was not just a physical restraint; it was a clear message. This explosive threat, this leash of sorts, was Blade asserting dominance, ensuring compliance through the imminent threat of destruction.

“Now you got an explosive device stuck to the back of your head. Silver nitrate. Rigged to go off if anybody tampers with it. I'll have the detonator with me. And you. If you so much as look at me wrong.”

As my father coolly announced the nature of the explosive device, my respect for his tactical mind deepened. This was the Blade I knew, the warrior who had raised me, who thrived not just on physical prowess but on psychological warfare. He had turned a potentially dangerous insult into a demonstration of power, securing his leadership and our safety.

In that moment, I realized more deeply than ever the layers of warfare we were engaged in—it wasn’t just physical battles against vampires or Reapers. It was also about dominance, respect, and psychological edges. As Reinhardt absorbed the reality of the explosive device attached to him, his face a mixture of fury and fear, I felt a shift in the dynamic of our forced alliance.

Standing there, watching the scene unfold, I knew that this encounter would set the tone for our uneasy collaboration. My father had just solidified his command in the most dramatic of ways, and I felt a surge of both pride and an increased awareness of the dangerous game we were all playing.

As we prepared to leave the room, I caught my father’s eye, an unspoken understanding passing between us. We were in this fight together, and his actions had just drawn a firm line that even our allies dared not cross. This was our reality, our battleground, and we were ready for whatever came next.

**Oscar's POV**

Standing off to the side, I observed the escalating verbal duel between Blade and Reinhardt. I had seen Reinhardt provoke many opponents in the past, but Blade was unlike any we had encountered. When Reinhardt whispered his derogatory question, I felt a twinge of disapproval. Such tactics were beneath them, especially in a situation that demanded cooperation and focus against a common enemy.

As Blade turned the tables on Reinhardt, not just defending himself but taking control of the situation, I was inwardly impressed. The Daywalker's cunning use of psychological warfare, his ability to maintain composure under verbal assault, and his strategic positioning in the volatile situation spoke volumes about his capabilities and experience. This was not merely about maintaining authority; it was a lesson in leadership.

When Blade equipped Reinhardt with the explosive device, making it clear that any wrong move would result in severe consequences, I understood the depth of Blade’s resolve and the seriousness with which he took the threat of internal betrayal. This action, though extreme, effectively cemented Blade’s leadership and set a clear boundary for the entire team.

My reaction was not just one of passive observation. I analyzed and learned from the interaction. This was a pivotal moment that delineated the power dynamics within our uneasy alliance. It showcased Blade’s dominance and strategic mind, elements that my respected and recognized as essential for our survival against the Reapers.

As the tension in the room eased with the resolution of the confrontation, my respect for Blade grew. I saw a leader who could not only fight but also think several steps ahead, qualities that were crucial in the war we were engaged in. My understanding of the necessity of Blade's actions, even if they were severe, shaped his approach to the alliance going forward.

For me, this incident was a clear indication that while our alliance was fragile, it was also under the guidance of someone capable of leading them through the direst of circumstances. This realization might have softened my initial reservations about working with Blade, setting the stage for a more cooperative and respectful interaction as we prepared to face the Reapers together.

**Y/N’s POV**

The night air was thick with the muted throb of distant music as my father, Blade, approached the entrance of the House of Pain, a notorious vampire nightclub hidden beneath the bustling streets of Prague. Tonight, however, our purpose was graver than a typical hunt; we were to meet with the Bloodpack, a formidable group of vampire warriors specially assembled to combat the Reaper threat. This was where alliances would be tested and formed, under the pulse of electronic beats and amidst the throngs of the undead.

As we descended into the club's depths, my senses were on high alert. The crowd was a mix of the dangerous and the decadent, vampires reveling in our nocturnal existence.

The plan was simple: blend in, gather information on the Reapers, and prepare for a coordinated strike. As Blade mingled with Reinhardt to discuss tactics, I found myself paired with Oscar. Our initial exchanges were clipped, each measuring the other's worth and intent. "Stick close," he murmured, leading me deeper into the club. "Reapers could be anywhere, and they won't hold back just because you're Blade's daughter."

I bristled at the comment but followed, my hand never straying far from my weapon. The club was a labyrinth of shadows and light, the perfect hunting ground for creatures like the Reapers, who thrived in the chaos of such environments.

Our first sign of trouble came when a sudden commotion erupted near the bar. A vampire, his features contorted in agony, crashed through the crowd, his body morphing grotesquely. It was a Reaper, its hunger unleashed. The crowd panicked, scattering as the creature attacked indiscriminately.

Myself and Oscar acted instinctively. Fighting back-to-back, We found ourselves an unexpectedly effective team. My human-vampire hybrid abilities combined with his elite vampire warrior training created a symphony of destruction. Each move was perfectly timed, strikes deadly and precise. I drew my sword, slicing through the crowd to get a clear shot at the beast, while Oscar intercepted another Reaper diving towards us from the balcony above.

We fought back-to-back, a rhythm developed between us that was surprising given our mutual suspicion. Each move was calculated, with my blade and Oscar’s strength complementing each other perfectly.

The fight was brutal. As we battled, I found myself thrown against a wall, a Reaper’s clawed hand inches from my face. It was Oscar who saved me, tackling the Reaper at the last second, his fangs bared as he ripped into the creature's neck with his knife. As the last Reaper fell, we finally had a moment to truly see each other.

Oscar was injured, a deep gash across his shoulder where the Reaper had struck.

Breathing heavily, I approached him. "You saved me," I said, my voice a mix of gratitude and surprise.

"It seems we make a good team," Oscar replied, wincing as he touched his wound.

The club was in disarray, the remaining vampires and a few brave humans fled, leaving only the sounds of distant sirens and the heavy breathing of the fighters. I found some cloth and pressed it against Oscar's wound, my touch gentle. "Let's get you patched up," I insisted.

This act of kindness did not go unnoticed by Oscar. He looked at me, his expression softening. "We're not so different, you and I," Oscar said, wiping his blade.

I was ever wary and kept my weapon ready. "Except I hunt your kind," I replied, my voice steady.

"A common enemy makes strange allies," Oscar remarked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As we made our way back to Blade and the others, there was a newfound respect between us. We had saved each other's lives, a bond forged in battle that could not be easily broken. Blade eyed us as we approached, a nod of approval directed at me. He had seen many things in his life, but the sight of his daughter, fierce and proud, allying with a vampire was something new.

As we stood side by side, looking out over the city we had defended together, we realized that our journey was just beginning. In a world shadowed by night and blood, our bond, formed in the heart of conflict, might just be the key to a new understanding, bridging the gap between day and night.

In the shadows of the House of Pain, amidst the echoes of chaos and the rhythm of pulsing music, a daywalker and a vampire had discovered an unlikely alliance. Together, we would face whatever darkness lay ahead, not as enemies, but as comrades. And in a world divided by light and shadow, our newfound trust was a beacon, guiding us through the night.

**Oscar’s POV**

I paused in cleaning my weapon, feeling the weight of the evening's fight still clinging to my muscles. Raindrops pattered softly outside our temporary refuge, mixing with the harsh scent of blood and mud that coated them. Despite the fatigue, my mind remained sharply alert, aware of the ever-present tension between myself and the Bloodpack.

Reinhardt approached, his massive frame blocking the dim light, casting his features into a harsh, menacing silhouette. "Getting cozy with the hunter's daughter isn’t part of the deal, Oscar. She's Blade's kin—same as him, just younger. Don't forget she'll turn on you the first chance she gets," he hissed, his voice barely more than a growl, reflecting the deep-rooted mistrust that had been bred into each of them from the start.

I straightened up, cleaning the last of the blood from my weapon with a deliberate slowness. I met Reinhardt’s intense gaze with a calm that belied his wariness. “She's saved my life, and I've saved hers. In battle, trust is what keeps you alive." My voice was steady, asserting a truth he'd come to believe despite the complexities of our entwined existences. "I haven’t forgotten what she is, but she hasn’t treated me based solely on what I am either.”

Reinhardt snorted, the disdain clear on his face. "Just remember where your loyalties should lie," he spat before turning away, his heavy boots squelching in the muck as he left Oscar to his thoughts.

Alone again, I continued my meticulous cleaning, reflecting on the precarious balance I maintained. Trust was a rare commodity in our world, and while Reinhardt’s warnings were not without merit, I believed in the bonds formed in the heat of battle. her actions had shown me a different perspective, one that suggested coexistence might be possible, however fraught it might be with dangers and misunderstandings. As I stowed his weapon, ready for whatever came next, I felt a firm resolve within me to prove that our alliance could be different, and could be more than just a temporary truce in a world bent on our mutual destruction.

As I meticulously finished stowing my weapon, I felt the tension in the air shift slightly. Nyssa approached her presence almost a calm in the storm that perpetually surrounded the Bloodpack. Her approach was less confrontational than Reinhardt's, her voice carrying a quiet authority that often served as a grounding force within our volatile group.

"Don't mind Reinhardt," she began, her eyes meeting mine with an understanding that seemed to reach beyond the immediate mistrust and suspicion that so often characterized our interactions. "He doesn't understand that sometimes enemies can align under common goals. Use this alliance to our advantage. And who knows, maybe this could be a turning point for a greater understanding between our kinds."

Hearing Nyssa's words, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. It was refreshing and rare to find someone among his own who could appreciate the nuances of our situation. Nyssa's perspective was a stark contrast to the usual cut-and-dry mentality that dictated so much of our lives, and her support was a vital affirmation of his own beliefs.

As Nyssa walked away, her words lingered in my mind, adding a layer of responsibility to his actions. I felt fortified by her understanding and support. It strengthened my resolve to maintain a balance of camaraderie and vigilance with Y/N, pushing me to consider not just the tactical benefits of our alliance, but the broader implications it could have for a future where both our kinds could coexist more peacefully. This interaction marked a subtle yet significant shift in his approach, grounding his next moves in a mix of cautious optimism and strategic foresight.

**Y/N’s POV**

Later, as we planned our next move against the Reapers, Oscar and I stood slightly apart from the group, talking quietly. Our conversation was no longer just about strategies and tactics but about understanding each other's worlds, finding common ground in our shared fight for survival.

As I methodically cleaned my weapons, the familiar rasp of Whistler's voice broke the rhythmic scraping of metal. I looked up to see his figure looming in the dim light of the workshop, his face etched with lines of concern, each scar a stark reminder of the battles he'd fought. The weight of his years in the fight against the undead seemed to pull him down a little more each day.

"Y/N," he began, his voice as gruff as the stubble shadowing his jaw, "I know you've got your father's strength and a good head on your shoulders. But vampires... they're not like us. This alliance, it’s dangerous, and getting close to one of them—even if he's saved your life—might cloud your judgment."

I paused, my hand stopping mid-stroke on the blade I was polishing. Whistler's words weren't new; they echoed the myriad warnings I'd grown up with. But hearing them now, in the context of our uneasy alliance, made me weigh his advice even more heavily. I respected him, not just as my father's friend and ally, but as a mentor. Yet, there was something different about Oscar that I felt needed consideration.

"I know it’s risky, Whistler. But Oscar—he’s different. He’s proven himself in battle, not just to me, but to Blade as well." My voice was firm, trying to convey the conviction I felt about Oscar's actions and his apparent dedication to our cause.

Whistler sighed deeply, the lines on his face softening with a paternal concern that I knew came from a place of deep affection and fear for my well-being. "Just remember what's at stake. And remember who you are and where you come from. Don’t let your guard down completely."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the tension of unspoken fears and unyielded trust. As he walked away, leaving me to my thoughts and my weapons, I felt the solitude of the workshop wrap around me like a cold embrace. Whistler’s advice wasn’t just a caution; it was a reminder of the lineage I carried and the expectations that came with it. I knew I couldn’t afford to let my guard down, yet I also wondered if there was room for trust in a world so riddled with shadows and deceit. It was a delicate balance, one I was still learning to navigate.

The plan was simple yet fraught with danger. We were set to penetrate a notorious Reaper nest deep beneath the city’s crumbling Gothic quarter. As the team dispersed, I found myself teaming up with Oscar.

Making our way through the serpentine catacombs under Prague, the suffocating darkness seemed to pulse with impending threats. My training had sharpened my abilities to navigate silently, but it was Oscar’s heightened vampiric senses that truly complemented my skills, leading us deftly through the most perilous shadows teeming with danger. Suddenly, a swarm of Reapers ambushed us. Our survival hinged on flawless coordination. Positioned back to back, we blended into a fluid dance of combat—my sharp blade slicing through the air while Oscar unleashed his raw, vampiric strength.

As we dispatched the last of the Reapers, we found ourselves momentarily safe, but the respite was brief. Another group, larger than the first, surged towards us. In the heat of battle, a Reaper caught me off guard, its claws nearly fatal as they swiped towards me. In a flash, Oscar was there, his body a shield against the onslaught. With a swift, fierce motion, he dispatched the threat, his eyes never leaving mine.

Our breaths heavy, our bodies pressed close in the narrow passageway, something shifted. The adrenaline of survival faded slightly, and I became acutely aware of Oscar’s presence—his chest rising and falling against mine. He looked into my eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between us. And then, in the dim, flickering light of the catacombs, Oscar leaned in and kissed me. It was a kiss that melded gratitude with passion, sealing our shared ordeal with a promise of something more yet to be explored.

After the kiss, the intensity of the moment lingered between us, a palpable connection that neither of us could ignore. With our breaths still mingling in the cool, damp air of the catacombs, we pulled away slightly, eyes locked. The urgency of our situation returned, reminding us that we weren't out of danger yet. But that brief moment had changed something fundamental in our dynamic.

"We need to keep moving," Oscar whispered, his voice husky with emotion. His hand reached for mine, fingers intertwining as if to affirm that he wasn’t ready to let go. I nodded, and together, we continued deeper into the catacombs, our steps now lighter, buoyed by the newfound bond between us.

As we navigated through the twisting tunnels, we communicated with looks and subtle touches, our senses heightened not just to the lurking dangers around us, but also to each other. Every glance and touch sent a thrill of connection that was as new as it was undeniable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we emerged from the catacombs, blinking in the dim light of dawn that filtered through the city above. We had successfully gathered the intelligence needed to dismantle the Reaper nest, and while our mission was accomplished, it was clear that something new was beginning for us.

Once we regrouped with the team, Oscar and I maintained a professional demeanor, but the glances we exchanged spoke volumes. As we debriefed, our hands brushed under the table, and a smile would tug at the corners of our lips, the memory of our kiss in the dark catacombs lingering in both our minds.

Oscar broke the silence. “You fight like the Daywalker,” he noted, a tinge of respect in his voice. “Trained by the best,” I replied, my guard momentarily down as I assessed the vampire who had fought at my side.

“What made you join the Bloodpack?” I asked, curiosity coloring my tone.

Oscar’s answer was tinged with a darkness akin to regret. “Choices often aren’t choices at all when you’re what we are. But we do what we can to bring honor to our existence.”

The conversation marked the beginning of a fragile respect between us. As we rendezvoused with the rest of the group, we shared a look of mutual understanding. The mission progressed with increased cooperation, and the group dynamics shifted subtly as they observed the pair’s effective partnership.

Following the mission, Blade noticed the change. In the dim light of the debriefing room, he observed me and Oscar conversing with an ease that had been absent before. While part of him wanted to pull me away, to remind me of the line that divided our worlds, another part saw the benefit of this alliance, albeit grudgingly.

Later, as we prepared to part ways, Oscar pulled me aside. "Can I see you tonight?" he asked quietly, the anticipation clear in his voice. I nodded, my heart racing with excitement. "Yes, I'd like that," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

That evening, as Prague lay bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, Oscar and I met again, this time far from the shadows of our battlefield. As we walked through the quiet streets, talking and laughing, the connection we had felt in the catacombs grew deeper, promising the start of something new and thrilling. The perils of the night behind us, we were eager to explore the possibilities of what lay ahead, together.

Blade pulled me aside during another meeting, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that, despite the years, still managed to unnerve me a little. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but the underlying urgency was palpable. "Listen, I’ve seen many things turn sour fast. Oscar may be an ally now, but never forget what he is. Our mission comes first, and our emotions must be second."

I could feel the weight of his words, each one laden with the hard-earned wisdom of countless battles and betrayals. It was a caution that echoed the many lessons he'd drilled into me since childhood—never let your guard down, always have an exit plan. My response came as a soft but firm acknowledgment of his lifelong teachings. "I haven’t forgotten, Dad. I’m careful." Yet, as I spoke, a part of me wrestled with the notion of trust and partnership. Was it really possible to fully put aside emotions in the face of potential betrayal, or was that just the ideal we strived to meet? As Blade nodded and clapped a reassuring, if somewhat heavy, hand on my shoulder, I knew this was yet another moment where I had to navigate the thin line between caution and collaboration.

The stench of decay in the sewer was suffocating, blending with the adrenaline and fear that pulsed through my veins as Oscar and I set up the UV bomb. It was supposed to be a straightforward part of our strategy to eradicate the Reaper threat, a beacon of searing light in the dank darkness of our lair. Yet, as I toggled the lever to activate the bomb, it jammed—resistant and unyielding. A cold knot of dread settled in my stomach as I tried again, a sinking feeling telling me this wasn't just a mechanical failure.

Nothing happened when I pulled the lever.

A spike of adrenaline shot through me as I tried again, urgency twisting in my gut. That’s when Reinhardt’s voice crackled mockingly through the comm in my ear. “Having trouble, princess? Maybe check the manual.”

Anger flared within me, but there was no time to dwell on it. I shoved at the lever, my frustration mounting as it refused to budge—an obvious sabotage. “Oscar, keep sharp,” I barked, my voice tight as my fingers worked frantically over the device. He nodded, his stance protective, scanning the shadows for any hint of a Reaper approaching.

Reinhardt’s laughter echoed in my ear, grating against my nerves. “Tick-tock, Y/N. Wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks, would you?”

Fury flared within me, white-hot and blinding. "Reinhardt, you son of a—" I began but cut myself off. Time was slipping away, and anger wouldn’t help us now. I glanced at Oscar, his eyes wide with realization and alarm. He nodded once, sharply, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing words. We were on our own.

With a growl of effort, I jostled the lever hard. Then finally slamming with all my strength it gave through. My eyes widened hearing the ticking of the timer.

"Let's move!" I shouted, grabbing Oscar by the arm. We raced through the waterlogged corridors, the sound of our splashes sharp in the oppressive silence. The timer on the bomb was ticking down rapidly, too fast. We had moments, maybe less, before the UV light would burst forth, deadly to anyone in its vicinity.

Ahead, I could see Blade, Nyssa, and Asad near an enclave in the tunnel. We were too far, too separated from us by debris and distance to make it to them in time. My mind raced—there was only one option left.

"Into the water, now!" I yelled to Oscar, not slowing my pace. As we neared a deeper section of the flooded tunnel, I didn’t hesitate; I pulled us both into the murky water, pushing Oscar down beneath the surface. The cold enveloped us instantly, a stark contrast to the heat of my raging heartbeat.

Clutching Oscar tightly, I positioned myself above him, ready to shield him with my own body. As we submerged ourselves fully, the faintest glow began to illuminate the water around us, signaling the bomb's activation. The light grew rapidly, a blinding burst that enveloped everything.

The force of the UV explosion rocked through the water, sending painful vibrations through my body. I held Oscar closer, my arms locked around him in a protective embrace, determined to shield him from the worst of it.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the light receded, leaving behind an eerie quiet. We surfaced, gasping for breath in the sudden darkness that seemed even more oppressive than before. I shook my head to clear it, water droplets flinging from my hair.

"Are you okay?" I asked Oscar, my voice rough with concern and lingering anger.

"Yeah, thanks to you," he replied, his voice steadier than I felt.

We regrouped with my father and the others who survived, all of us shaken but alive. The betrayal stung deeply, but it also hardened a resolve within me. Reinhardt’s treachery wouldn’t go unanswered. I stayed close to Oscar, the weight of what we’d just survived bonding us even more firmly.

Nyssa was bleeding and horribly burned despite Asad's sacrifice. Blade crouches next to her when suddenly I hear sparks of electricity before a pain shoots through my neck and everything goes black.

Waking up I noticed that I wasn’t in the sewer anymore. Looking around I see Damaskinos, the weird lawyer, Scud, and Reinhardt in front of me. My father was next to me. While Whistler, and Oscar to the right of us tied up. “Oh, the princess is awake,” Reinhardt spoke. I glared at him, “Fuck you, you burnt gobble-necked bastard.”

Amid the chaos, my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst through my chest. “I thought he'd never leave,” Reinhardt said. Tied down and helpless, I watched in horror as Reinhardt, with a smug grin plastered across his vile face, as he shot my father in his leg and struck Whistler. “The wolf has lain with the sheep long enough.”

My throat burned from screaming, the cords straining as l yelled for them to stop.

Blade, always one step ahead, seemed to have a plan. He took out a detonator, and for a moment, hope flickered. “Reinhardt, you can kiss your ass goodbye.”

Then nothing. Laughing Scud says, “I'm sorry, man. B, you're wasting your time, man. The bomb's a dud. It was never supposed to explode. It was just supposed to make you feel in control.” “Thought you had me on a short leash, didn't you, jefe?” Reinhardt speaks as he removes the bomb and tosses it to Scud, “Much better.”

“See this?” Scud exposes a vampire glyph on the inside of his lower lip, “I'm one of Damaskinos's familiars. They needed my help to bring you here to control Nomak. The old fuck, he was always just bait. I mean, look at him. He's your only real weakness, man. You may be fast, you may be strong, and all that other bullshit. But in the end, B, you're just too human!” He then punches Whistler in the face

The revelation that he was a familiar, a spy, sent a cold shiver down my spine. His betrayal wasn't just a strategic loss; it was personal. The mocking tone he used, the way he claimed to have always loved me—it was nauseating.

The pain intensified when Scud struck Whistler again. I tried to lunge at him, anger boiling over, but Reinhardt grabbed me, his grip iron-tight. My father, despite his own pain, shouted insults at our captors, his spirit unbroken. My threats to Reinhardt and Scud were fueled by a burning desire for vengeance. “I’m going to enjoy killing you both.” Scud’s face showed faux sympathy, “Oh sweetheart don’t act that way, I’ve always loved you.” Reinhardt laughs as Oscar struggles with his restraints when Scud gropes me.

Whistler seethed, “Why, you little shit.”

Scud punches Whistler again, “You think they scoped out my security system? I let them in, asshole! I practically handed them the keys!” He then turns to my father, “You heard cue ball, right. Pretty soon, they're gonna all be daywalkers, man. And when that happens, I'd rather be a pet than cattle. You got me, B? What do you think about that, man?”

Blade smiles, “Two things: One, I've been onto you since they turned you. And, two, it's not a dud.” He activates the detonator. Scud looked down at his hand, “Oh, great.” The detonator explodes, killing Scud and showering the area around it with his remains. I shrink away from the sight. Whistler smiles, “I was just startin' to like him.”

My father and I are dragged into a large, cold, clinical autopsy room, laid out like specimens on metal tables. The vampire guards lay us each on a steel autopsy table. We struggle against them, but Blade’s just too weak from loss of blood. Eventually, my wrists and ankles were clamped down, and the cold steel against my skin was a harsh reminder of our vulnerability.

Back in the Eugenics Chamber

Reinhardt is examining Blade's sword, “I wonder how many vampires he's killed with this thing.” Whistler replies, “Not nearly enough, son.” Reinhardt pulls out his pistol “Keep talking, honky-tonk. It just makes my sending you into the next world all the sweeter.” Oscar rolls his eyes, “As if you’ve got the balls you coward.” Whistler not an ounce afraid, “Been there, done that. Do your worst, chickenshit. We'll settle up after.”

Autopsy Room

Damaskinos enters, followed by Carter Stevens. The guards remain posted at the main entrance of the room. Damaskinos approaches, looking down at Blade and his daughter.

Blade stares back at him, still defiant, but fighting a losing battle. I sneered at Damaskinos. Y/N is dying and she knows it. Her breathing is shallow. It's an effort just to keep her eyes open.

Damaskinos says, “With every century, humans become more repulsive to me. Once, you were souls to be taken, corrupted. But you have disgraced yourselves to being nothing more than blood and meat.”

I flinch as two surgeons snap on surgical gloves. Stevens is enjoying seeing my father and me helpless. Stevens grins, “We're going to harvest you both.” He begins injecting fluid into us. “Bone marrow, organs, everything. Your tissue's too valuable to let go to waste.”

Blade weakly mutters, “Nomak is still out there.” Damaskinos shrugs: “True, but thanks to you, we know his weakness. We can keep him contained. It's just a matter of time before we hunt him down.” I mutter, “Too bad you're out of it.”

Damaskinos is amused by our seeming lack of concern, “And why is that?” He asks. “Revenge. That's what Nomak wanted all along. To pay back the people who created him.” My father answered.

Stevens shakes his head, “You may be right. Fortunately for us, he has no idea where this facility is located.”

I smile, laughing tiredly. My father speaks, his tone even “He does now. He's been watching us since the tunnels. Following us. We led him right to you.”

My father lifts his hand, unfurling his previously closed fist. There is a deep gash in his palms. “Just like a trail of breadcrumbs.” My father muttered. Damaskinos stares at Blade's hand, then looks to the floor. A line of blood droplets lead back to the doors through which he entered.

“FATHER!” Nomak roars. Damaskinos' eyes widen in terror as he stumbles backwards, activating an alarm. The tension in the room skyrocketed as the facility went into lockdown mode, the emergency lights casting eerie shadows.

Nomak's arrival was like something out of a nightmare, his fury palpable as he tore through the security door. It was chaos, and in that chaos, Whistler and Oscar took advantage of the distraction. Whistler folds his legs up under him, working his cuffed hands over his feet. A grate moves up from the floor. Whistler and Oscar emerge, rushing to Y/N and Blade's side. As he starts frantically releasing Blade while Oscar helps Y/N.

Oscar redoubles his efforts. He helps me from the autopsy table. I am sinking, starting to fade. Oscar slaps her face, shaking her. “Come on, Y/N. Talk to me!” “Blood…” I weakly say.

Staggering through corridors, injured and weak, we were barely hanging on. But my father’s resolve never wavered, and neither did mine. As we made our desperate escape to the blood cask, gunfire erupted around us. Each shot that rang out seemed to echo my pounding heart. Whistler and Oscar were hit, their pain evident, but they pushed us onward.

My father, gripping the guard rail for support, dragging me and him along. Reinhardt fires. A shotgun blast hits Blade, grazing him but otherwise missing him. As Reinhardt curses and prepares to fire again --

Blade makes it to the end of the catwalk, pitching us out into open space. Time slows to a crawl as we tumble downward, plummeting into the blood cask below.

We sink from view, disappearing beneath the churning slurry of crimson. A beat passes as Reinhardt and his men draw closer, apprehensive. The moment we plunged into the cask of blood was surreal. Submerged in the thick, crimson liquid, time seemed to slow. Then, an explosion of BLOOD gushes over Reinhardt and the others. When we emerged, it wasn't just as survivors, but as avengers, transformed and empowered. The guards fall backwards, blinded, slipping.

My father and I surface from the cask in morbidly glorious slow motion. Now, only instead of a river of mud, we are covered head-to-toe in crimson. Majestic and glistening. Like primordial gods. My father rears back his head, letting loose a triumphal ROAR. I smile darkly.

Reinhardt's men hesitate. One look at our eyes and they can see we tapped into a well-spring of fury even we never knew we had. My father and I are super-charged and ready for war.

After we killed an entire legion of Damaskinos's security guards there was one person left who should’ve been gone a long time ago just like his scumbag friends.

Reinhardt speaks, “Well…” Then he sets down his shotgun before continuing, “Like my daddy said right before he killed my mom, ‘If ya want somethin' done right, ya gotta do it yourself’. He then unsheathes my father’s sword, “He also said…”

Reinhardt attempts to kill my father with his own sword, only for Blade to grab it. My father leans in close, “Can you blush?” I knocked the sword out of Reinhardt's hands, As I caught the sword and cut him down, a sense of grim justice filled me. We had faced unimaginable horrors, but in this moment, we were not just survivors; we were warriors. Blade's question to Reinhardt, a taunt in the face of his imminent demise, was the perfect punctuation to our victory.

Together, we had turned the tables, not just surviving but asserting our defiance against those who would see us fall.

Nomak could still be heard in the building. My father looked at me and I motioned him to go. He ran towards the commotion after I handed him his sword. I ran to the catwalk upstairs to Whistler and Oscar. “I’m alright kid,” Whistler said as I looked him over. I nodded then moved to Oscar, he was healing already but the wound to his side wasn’t pretty. “You need blood,” I told him. He shook his head at my tone. “I’ll be fine, just do it, please. You’ve saved me enough.” I spoke and I moved my curls away from my neck. Helping guide his face to my neck I shivered feeling his fangs scrape against my skin. I winced feeling him bite into me.

Soon we made our way to find my father. He stands, exhausted. Then he looks to where Nyssa rests. He moves to her side, kneeling beside her. She smiles up at him, bravely, but frightened all the same. Blade inspects the wound on her neck. It's clearly fatal.

Nyssa coughed, “How does it look?” My father said with genuine sadness, “Not good.” Nyssa nods. He has only confirmed her existing fears. “It won't be long now. I can already feel it burning inside me –“ She grips my father’s arm, her eyes welling with tears. “I don't want to become what Nomak was –“ she pauses, her voice straining “I can't. I want to die while I'm still a vampire.” Blade sighs. The burden is all too familiar to him.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks “I want to see the sun rise.” My father, his face is a mask of sad resignation. He lifts Nyssa into his arms. She closes her eyes, resting her head on his chest.

As I watched him carry Nyssa in his arms toward the light of the approaching dawn, my heart ached. It was a poignant reminder of the brutal world we inhabited, where moments of beauty were all too often overshadowed by loss and sacrifice. Inside the safety of the facility, Oscar and I stood by the doorway, our own wounds and exhaustion forgotten in the face of Nyssa's impending farewell.

The shutters over the doors and windows slowly rise. Blade shoulders open the front door, moving across the lawn towards a bluff overlooking the ocean.

The pre-dawn air was chilly, wrapping its cold fingers around me, yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding outside. The sky began to lighten, a canvas of soft blues and pinks stretching wide over the horizon. The ocean’s waves crashed rhythmically below, a natural lullaby to the tragic yet beautiful moment before us.

Nyssa’s face, illuminated by the first light of dawn, was serene yet resigned. Nyssa's eyes widened in expectation, her breath catching. She looks up at Blade, stroking his face, and smiling. “Each day is a little life. Remember?” Blade's response was unspoken, communicated through the tear that escaped his stoic facade. It was a rare glimpse into the depth of his emotions, revealing a vulnerability that he seldom showed.

I felt a lump form in my throat. The simplicity and depth of her words struck a chord, resonating with the harsh truths we’d all come to accept. Life, no matter how fleeting, was a collection of these small moments, each one precious.

The sun, now peeking over the horizon, cast a warm glow that seemed to hold the promise of peace, if only for a moment. They kiss then as the sun rises in full glory, flooding the world with its brilliance.

As the sunlight grew stronger, bathing everything in a golden light, Nyssa's transformation was both tragic and beautiful. The way she clung to my father, seeking comfort in her final moments, was heart-wrenching. I felt Oscar's hand squeeze mine, a silent support in the face of such profound sadness.

When Nyssa finally turned to ash, the sight was devastatingly beautiful. She didn't suffer; it was quick, almost gentle as if the sun itself had reached down to cradle her. Blade’s mourning was palpable, the way he held onto the empty space where she had been, unwilling to let go.

As my father faced the sun, eyes closed and face serene, there was a sense of closure, of acceptance in his posture. It was as if he was allowing the warmth of the sun to fill the void left by Nyssa’s passing, embracing the pain and the peace that came with it.

Standing there, watching my father, I realized that each battle we fought, each loss we endured, was shaping us. Not just as warriors, but as beings capable of profound sorrow and resilience. In that moment, I understood that we weren’t just fighting for survival, but for these small pockets of time where we could feel, love, and remember. Each day, indeed, was a little life, and despite the darkness, there was always a possibility for light.

As my father turned away from the sunrise, his movements slower, weighed down by grief, I felt Oscar tighten his grip on my hand, grounding me. We lingered in the doorway as Whistler walked out to my father, neither of us eager to step away from the raw, emotional tableau we had just witnessed. Oscar finally broke the silence, his voice a low murmur barely audible over the crashing waves. "There's something hauntingly beautiful about saying goodbye like that, isn't there?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on Blade’s retreating back.

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions I felt. "It makes you realize how precious every moment is," I managed to say, my voice thick with emotion.

Oscar turned to look at me, his eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and something else—perhaps a newfound appreciation for the fragility of life. "It does," he agreed. "And it makes me want to make the most of every moment we have."

The weight of his words hung between us, charged with an unspoken promise to face whatever lay ahead together. It was a commitment, not just to battle, but to life itself—to finding those moments of beauty amidst the chaos.

We finally stepped back into the facility, the normalcy of the interior felt starkly contrastive to the profound scene outside. The hum of machinery and the sterile, metallic smells seemed out of place with the natural beauty and emotional intensity we had just experienced.

As we walked down the corridor, the sound of our steps echoing off the walls, I glanced at Oscar. His profile was set, determined, yet there was a softness there that hadn’t been as apparent before. In that moment, I realized how much he had changed, how much we had all changed. We were bound together not just by our mission but by our shared experiences and the losses we had endured.

Oscar’s words, laced with both sorrow and resolve, resonated deeply with me. I could see in his eyes a determination, a shared vision that stretched beyond the current moment of grief and into the many battles we would face together. His commitment was not just to the cause but to us—to our life together amidst the chaos.

As we navigated the corridors of the facility, moving away from the aftermath of the sunrise, a plan began to form in my mind—a plan that involved Oscar not just as a partner in battle but in every aspect of life. I knew the risks, the uncertainties of our existence, but the thought of facing it all without him was unimaginable.

Turning to him, I stopped and took both of his hands in mine. The cold metal of the corridor seemed to drop away as I looked into his eyes. "Oscar," I started, the intensity of my feelings grounding my voice, "these missions, this fight—it's going to continue, maybe for a long time. But whatever happens, I want you there with me. Not just as a fighter, or a tactician, but as my partner. All of it—every fight, every quiet moment, every sunrise. Will you do that? Will you come with me, wherever this leads?"

His response came not just in words but in the gentle squeeze of his hands and the immediate warmth in his eyes. "Yes," he said firmly. "There's no one else I'd rather be with, through all of this and beyond. Wherever you go, I'm with you."

With that affirmation, a weight lifted from my shoulders—a weight I hadn’t fully acknowledged until that moment. Our path wouldn’t be easy; we had seen too much, lost too much to harbor any illusions about the future. But with Oscar’s promise, the journey ahead seemed not just bearable but hopeful.

As we rejoined my father and Whistler, now with a shared purpose shining clear between us, our steps were a bit lighter. We were more than just comrades; we were partners in the fullest sense, ready to face whatever challenges awaited, knowing that together, we could find those precious moments of life amid the battles we fought.

This commitment shaped our future operations and decisions. We planned together, fought together, and in those rare moments of peace, we built a life together—one carefully constructed moment at a time, treasuring each day as if it were both the first and the last. Our partnership became our strength, our beacon through the darkest times.

My father’s reaction to my decision to formally bring Oscar into both my personal and professional life was marked by his typical stoic demeanor, yet beneath his reserved exterior, I sensed a careful assessment taking place. Blade has always been a complex figure, grappling with his own solitude and the responsibilities that come with leading a war against darkness. His approval, therefore, was never going to be overtly enthusiastic or warmly affectionate, but rather conveyed through subtle signs of acceptance and strategic planning.

Initially, my father was quiet, his eyes frequently meeting mine with a discerning look. I could tell he was evaluating not just Oscar’s suitability as a permanent team member, but also how his personal relationship with me might affect our operations. Blade's primary concern has always been the mission and the safety of his team. He watched Oscar and me closely in the days that followed, observing how we interacted during both high-stress situations and downtime.

One evening, after a particularly grueling strategy session, Blade finally addressed the situation in his usual direct manner. "You two seem solid," he remarked casually while cleaning his weaponry, not looking up. "That’s good. Just make sure it stays that way in the field. We can’t afford distractions." This was his way of giving his nod of approval—it wasn't just about personal feelings; it was about maintaining operational integrity. His acknowledgment was a testament to his trust in our judgment and our ability to balance our personal relationship with our professional duties.

My father’s acceptance was also reflected in how he began to include Oscar more frequently in strategic decisions, often deferring to Oscar's expertise in technology and intelligence. This shift was subtle but significant, signaling Blade's recognition of Oscar's value to the team and his trust in my choice of partner.

Whistler’s reaction, on the other hand, was far more straightforward and warmly paternal. Having been a mentor and almost a father figure to me, Whistler always showed a more openly protective concern about my well-being, both on and off the field. When he first realized the depth of my relationship with Oscar, his response was mixed with cautious optimism.

"You sure about this, kid?" Whistler asked me one day, his voice tinged with concern as we worked on repairing some equipment. I affirmed, explaining how Oscar supported me and strengthened our team. Nodding thoughtfully while puffing on his ever-present cigarette, Whistler finally cracked a small, wry smile. "Well, I’ve seen the guy in action, and I gotta say, he’s got guts. Just watch each other's backs, alright?"

Over time, Whistler took it upon himself to offer both practical and personal advice to us, sometimes sharing anecdotes from his own past to illustrate the importance of trust and communication in relationships, especially in our line of work. His stories were often sprinkled with humor and hard-earned wisdom, helping to ease the tension and build camaraderie.

Whistler also became a sort of informal counselor to Oscar, taking him under his wing and guiding him in both the technical and tactical aspects of our operations. This mentorship helped Oscar integrate more smoothly into the team and reassured me that our relationship had the blessing of someone I deeply respected.

Both Blade and Whistler’s reactions, in their own ways, underscored a crucial aspect of our group dynamic—while we were warriors fighting against a dark and powerful enemy, we were also a tight-knit family, looking out for one another and valuing each member's happiness and well-being. Their responses reinforced the balance we strove to maintain between our personal lives and our responsibilities to the team and the mission.

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purpleactuallydoarts · 2 years

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There is Arknights CN spoiler for IS3!!!

More Elite Ops with Reserved Ops stuff cause I can't get enough of them ft. my Doctor

#Arknights #arknights doctor #arknights fanart #arknights elite operator #Elite operators #Sharp #Stormeye #Touch #Tulip #Reserved operator #Eyyyy welcome Tulip and new Reserved Defender!#The first drawing was based on one of Storm's datamined voiceline #And it's cause he's in for dangerous mission #Long post #Ascalon #Pith #digital art #Doctor Sonia #Pith in Victorian clothing cause 👉👈

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kineticallyanywhere · 1 year

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Trying to piece together the miscommunication between Link and Normal where they both think the other doesn't know what they want and I think it's that the level of results they're each looking for is different. Link wants to know what to do from moment to moment and every decision in each moment is backed by "which option gets fewer people hurt or killed." Whereas Normal isn't looking for a moment-to-moment goal, he's looking for a long term goal of helping the Doodler, and so what that looks like from moment to moment isn't always going to look the same.

So like, the moment with the pick. To Link, Normal is the one who doesn't know what to do because Normal doesn't know what to do in that moment to resolve the anchor, while Link takes a quick action. But from Normal's point of view it looks like Link has no idea what he's doing because his actions had no thought towards the ongoing Doodler problem.

#dndads #dndads 2 #dndads spoilers #link liwilson #normal oak #and IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIm kinda on Normal's side here cause Normal is the one who LITERALLY mind melded with the Doodler #so info from him trumps info from Willy EVERY time #even without literally every npc telling them not to trust willy #and as much as I personally admire saving lives as a goal that's not a Goal #its not a direction to move in until Link can answer HOW he's going to do that #and Link straight up said that until he's in that moment he doesn't have an answer #and obviously thats not good enough for Normal because Normal needs to know he can trust Link with something like the anchors #Normal knows EXACTLY what end result he wants for each anchor is even if he doesnt know the circumstances around it yet #Link saying he doesn't know what he'd do #in Normal's eyes #makes him potentially as dangerous as Scary in this mission to help the doodler #also unrelated but it sounds like willy wants to use scary as some kind of manipulatable vessel for the doodlers power and thats sounds #uhBAD #anyway normal and link are both kids and need a solid 10 minutes and an outside mediator to figure this out #without the threat of Scary doing something irreparably stupid #I am lovingly putting Scary in timeout

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abombihoney · 5 months

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What's the deal with Leif in the Venom AU? Is he a modern bug or did he get time travelled some other way?

(also what color is he)

He's a modern bug! He was raised by his grandparents which is why he talks like he's a hundred million years old.

He's married to muse and is a researcher! He studies languages and knows quite a few! He actually knows quite a bit of roach, while not fluent, he is the foremost expert in bugaria.

When Kabbu and Vi go to snakemouth den, instead of getting trapped, they get chased out by the spider. Kabbu knows Leif, and that he's interested in roach stuff and mentioned what they discovered. Leif of course, like any sane person with a special interest, immediately demands that he come on their next incredibly dangerous excursion.

Which of course, is how he gets venomed lol. And yeah, he's red btw. If i made him blue then I'd have to make all of team snakemouth blue.

#bug fables spoilers #venom au #ask #chit chat #tangleslime2 #Leif @ muse: Hey u cool w me going a dangerous explorer mission?#Muse: i thought u hated kina??? and also we can't ask Suze (muse and muze r twins now cause i said so) and Hawk to babysit for that long #Leif then has to explain no #he does not want to accompany his wife and her explorer partner on their next mission #He wants to go with his buddy Kabbu and his partner Vi into the scary cave that kills people cause there is WORDS there #Leif gets to go IF he promises not pick any fights and also if Kina is cool with Muse taking a break for a bit.#Leif didn't pick any fights (he let kabbu and vi pick them and then gleefully participated)#Muse didn't think to tell him not to touch anything weird #He is so careful and delicate with all the artifacts he researches #muse after this mission: Leif i love you but PLEASE do not touch any mystery creatures to “see what happens” ever again #Leif: what if they try to kill me.#muse: then i want you to come back alive or i'll kill you myself.

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hershelwidget · 2 years

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Remember that really old wip I posted a while ago of what looked like a ketchup stain?

I FINISHED IT!!!!!! Finally!!!

Honestly may be my best Drix yet. Might make a matching Ozzy.. Eventually!

#drixenol koldreliff #osmosis jones #ozzy and drix #drix #osmosis jones drix #casually uses more identifying tags than usual cause i'm super proud of this #I MEAN JUST LOOK AT IT I'M SO HAPPY TO HAVE IT FINISHED #also i have a hc visible in here where drix's eyes can glow #and more as an on command thing like if he gets up in the middle of the night #and needs to see without turning any lights on #and another hc in here is that in dangerous situations he gets really nervous #not gonna spoil exactly what situation this one is because i plan on going ham on it #but he's already constantly aware that he can get hurt during missions so the more #dangerous the mission is then the more aware he is of his own mortality #ANYWAYS AUAUAUHGHG I LOVE THIS SO MUCCCCHHHH

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roaringheat · 6 months

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MICAH IS DEAD !!! KILL KILL VIOLENCE

#vark posts #v live blogging #typing this while the credits are rolling lol #took me so long to finish the epilogue cause of life stuff and shit #also was doing a hell of a lot of side quests and exploring #im like in shock that Dutch killed Micah tho like.... holy shit #he definitely knew Micah was the rat then right???#its obvious Dutch has no care for John or Sadie so i doubt he would shoot him because they were in danger #and then he just glares at John and walks off like NO.. I NEED TO DISSECT THIS MAN I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED #and if he found out then how #cause he still thinks John betrayed him #unless that was an act????#idk this is so much to process but also absolutely delicious #also my soul LEFT my body thinking both Charles and Sadie were gonna die oh my god #i think i wouldve needed to go MIA if that happened #maaaan this game...... good lord..........#i better be allowed to finish up my missions after this #im gonna start attacking if i cant cause i really wanna try to 100% the game #im soooo close #i really shouldve looked this up beforehand lmao #also id like it to be known i had John wear Arthur's hat in the mission to kill Micah and it was cathartic as hell

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ellemj · 4 months

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Strawberries

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @cherrywinedarling: fuckboy!Bucky, sex pollen.

Summary: Bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. Will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months?

Warnings: profanity, sex pollen (dubcon), fingering, unprotected sex, fuckboy!Bucky, size kink, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: Special thanks to @cherrywinedarling for submitting such an inspirational (fcking hot) request and coming up with the entire plot of Bucky being unable to get himself off with a random girl, and only being able to get what he needs from reader. Lowkey loved writing this. And thanks as always to @littlemiss-yeehaw for pre-reading and catching some errors.

Twice. No, maybe it was actually three times. Definitely three times. Bucky can remember being exposed to different versions of HYDRA’s sex pollen three times before. Each time was strictly for experimental or torture purposes rather than being done with the intent of breeding super soldiers, but it happened three times, nonetheless. So, this would be number four.

Bucky lets the cool water from the shower faucet splash over his face for a minute before beginning to scrub his skin with a wet, soapy cloth. He tried to tell you that it wasn’t anything to stress over, that he’d keep his distance from the rest of the team on the quinjet and then lock himself in his room once you were all back at the compound, but you insisted on doing things the right way. He didn’t have to take an order from you, but he did. He shot you a frustrated look before making a crude comment and trudging off to the safehouse bathroom to take a shower like you’d told him to.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, don’t keep me waiting too long.” Bucky had said it with a smirk as he stood in the living room of the safehouse and stripped his shirt off with ease. But that smirk was gone the moment he shut himself in the bathroom and turned on the faucet. He’s been through this three times before but it was never enjoyable. It’ll start out as a sort of general discomfort, maybe some body aches and chills as his temperature rises slowly. Then it’ll progress to cardiovascular symptoms: his heart will begin to race, he’ll hear the thumping sound of blood rushing in his ears, his blood pressure will spike. In a normal person, the dangerous spike in blood pressure would be enough to cause a stroke, but Bucky’s vascular system has much more elasticity than a normal person. He’ll be fine. It’s the third stage of the drug’s effects that will really drive him mad. He’ll begin to feel the undeniable urge to fuck.

As you carefully piece together the gun that you’ve just dismantled, cleaned, and oiled, you’re lost in thought. You’ve done enough research over the years to know that HYDRA worked overtime to come up with various chemical compounds that would induce a near primal sexual drive in super soldiers. They wanted a sure way to grow an army of super soldiers over time without having to go through the process of wiping countless minds clean and reprogram them. You almost audibly laugh when you think about the irony of Bucky Barnes being exposed to one of those very sex pollens on your mission today. Bucky Barnes, the man who lately seems to be attempting to catch up on his eighty-something years worth of celibacy, has been exposed to a chemical compound that will make him even more insatiable than he’s already known to be. You have to wonder if he’s secretly thrilled that he has the drug coursing through his veins now.

“You’re not gonna go help your friend out with this?” Sam’s voice rings out from somewhere behind you just as you’re reloading your gun and sliding it into the side holster of your tactical pants. You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you begin packing up the last of your belongings from the kitchen table.

“He’s fucked every girl he’s met since he finished therapy, I think he has a long list of people who can help him out when we get back home.” Though there’s a lighthearted tone behind your words, you’re serious. Bucky’s been a ladies’ man since he stopped seeing Dr. Raynor for mandatory therapy sessions, and not just your average good looking, single bachelor type of ladies’ man. Bucky’s a fuckboy. Sure, he seems to be respectful about it. He doesn’t lead girls on, doesn’t make them think there’s ever a possibility for something more than one or two nights in his bed, and he leaves them all satisfied. But he’s still a fuckboy.

Your words didn’t hurt his feelings. Bucky can’t fault you for being perceptive. He really has fucked almost every girl he’s met in the last couple of months. Hell, he would’ve fucked you too if you’d just given him a chance. That��s how you ended up becoming friends. He tried like hell to get you into his bed shortly after you were assigned to the team and moved into the room next door to his, but you were adamant that you weren’t looking to be a notch on his bedpost. However, instead of telling him to fuck off, you put up with his shit and even seemed to have a good time doing so. So, you ended up being the only female friend of his that hasn’t been tangled up in his bedsheets.

Although your words weren’t necessarily hurtful, Bucky still finds himself a little bothered. He was just about to join you and Sam in packing things up and getting ready to head out when he overheard your conversation and swiftly turned back around, quietly shutting himself in the bathroom once again. You’re right, he does have a long list of people who can help him out when you get back home. God, you’re always right. If he wasn’t so inexplicably drawn to you, he’d probably hate you. But being friends with you is one of the few things that keeps him from comparing his life now to his life eighty years ago. The girl from the bar last week, that’s who he’ll call when he gets home. She was pretty. She had a nice smile, eyes that really drew him in, and she was easy to talk to. She could definitely be the solution to the problem at hand. The more Bucky thinks about her, the more he realizes she sort of reminds him of you. Shit. He’s done that too many times in the past month, brought home girls that seem so familiar but it isn’t until he’s fucked them that he realizes they remind him of you. Why the hell does that keep happening?

---

It’s just an hour later when you’re all arriving back at the compound. Sam excuses himself to go brief Fury and a few other higher-ups on everything that went down during your op, while you and Bucky head for the main tower, each of you ready to unwind in different ways. As you take the elevator up, your eyes wander over to Bucky, who stands to your right. His cheeks are flushed pink, a few stray strands of hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand like it’s sore to the touch. He acted like being exposed to a sex pollen was just another day at work for him, but you know him well enough to know that at the very least, he’s uncomfortable right now.

When the elevator doors slide open to let you both out into the main room of the living quarters, Bucky doesn’t even wait to let you off first like he usually does. He steps in front of you and exits quickly, walking a little faster than usual to get to his room down the hall. Maybe that’s what makes you feel bad for him, or maybe it’s the fact that he feels like he has to pretend like he’s unbothered in front of you and Sam instead of telling you how much it sucks to have such a vile chemical compound wreaking havoc within his body.

“Do you need anything?” You ask softly as you pass Bucky in the hall and near your own door, just a few steps beyond his. The sound of your voice breaks his focus and he drops his keys at his feet. Bucky stoops down to retrieve them and then turns his full body to face you from five feet away. You work on unlocking your own door, but cast a sideways glance in his direction. His usual smirk is notably missing, and a stormy, hard-to-discern look has taken its place.

“If I do, I can call one of the girls I’ve met since I finished therapy.” The words are like ice: cold and jarring, sending a chill down your spine. He overheard you and Sam earlier. You don’t know why you feel like a kid sitting in the principal’s office, not when you’ve teased him over his fuckboy ways for as long as you’ve known him. It shouldn’t have bothered him that much considering it was true. Why do you feel like shit for having said it now? More importantly, why does his response to your question feel like a rejection?

When Bucky steps into his room and shuts the door behind him, you hear him seal himself in with the resounding metal click of a lock. If only he’d known that a deadbolt wouldn’t keep you away.

---

You’ve just finished showering and getting yourself ready for bed when you hear the familiar sound of Bucky’s door opening and closing down the hall, followed by two sets of quiet footsteps heading in the opposite direction. Two sets of footsteps? Bucky must’ve called for one of his late-night guests a little early tonight, to help with his situation. You’ve lived next door to him for a couple of months now and if you’ve learned anything, it’s that the man has stamina. So, for one of his guests to have arrived and left in the short time that it took you to shower and pull on some pajamas, something must’ve gone wrong.

Bucky stands with his back pressed against the cool metal wall of the elevator and his arms crossed over his chest as he mentally kicks his own ass. He couldn’t go through with it. He called the girl from the bar, the one who reminded him of you. He invited her over, took her upstairs to his room, gave her a mind-blowing orgasm with minimal effort, but the moment he heard her cry out his name, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep with her. She sounded nothing like you, not even similar enough that he could’ve imagined she was you.

“Thanks for coming over on such short notice, it was good to see you.” Bucky forces himself to break the silence in the elevator. When his eyes land on the girl standing a few inches to his left, she offers him a genuine smile.

“Of course, I had a good time. I wish you would’ve let me make things even though.” She says, referring to the way Bucky had gotten her off but then briskly offered to walk her back downstairs. He nods slowly, tracing the backs of his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, maybe next time.” There won’t be a next time, not when he’s stuck thinking about how hard it was to imagine the girl being you. A few minutes later, Bucky’s guest is riding off into the night in the car he called for her. He’s left standing in front of the tower, feeling the full effects of the sex pollen as he enters the peak hour of its activity. There it is, that undeniable urge to fuck.

You’re sitting in an armchair by your bedroom window, munching on a bowl of strawberries that you settled on as a late-night snack, when you hear one set of footsteps coming down the hall. It’s the sound of Bucky returning to his room alone. You have to wonder if the sex pollen decreased his stamina. It must have, otherwise his little guest would’ve been here for at least another hour or two. You make a mental note to research that in some of the old HYDRA files tomorrow, out of sheer curiosity. As you sit there in your chair, licking a drop of strawberry juice off of your bottom lip, you can’t help but wonder what the hell Bucky’s doing. By your calculations, he should be experiencing the worst of the sex pollen effects right now, yet he’s alone in his room. You remind yourself that he doesn’t want your help, that he doesn’t need your help. You tell yourself that he probably took care of every urge he had with the girl that he invited over earlier, and then you try to focus on your snack and the TV show you have playing quietly on your TV.

When you hear the distant sound of a pained grunt coming from the other side of your bedroom wall, every muscle in your body goes rigid. You quickly pause your show and set your empty bowl on the small table beside your armchair. Only a few seconds go by before you hear another grunt, followed by the sound of what you surmise is Bucky’s fist colliding with something in his room. Before your mind has a moment to attempt a rational thought process, your feet are carrying you out of your own room and down the hallway to Bucky’s closed door. Your fist is rapping against his door softly at first, knowing he’s awake and you don’t have to be very loud for him to hear you. No answer. You knock again, a little harder this time, hoping he hasn’t stroked out from a spike in his blood pressure. Still, no answer. The third time you knock, you use the side of your fist instead of your knuckles, and you bang on his door so hard that you feel it rattle on its hinges.

Bucky heaves a deep sigh before unlocking the door and pulling it open, knowing you’ll be standing on the other side of it. Just the sight of you has Bucky’s already hard cock twitching in his sweats and he has to avert his gaze, choosing to look over your shoulder instead of right at you.

“I would’ve answered the first time if I wanted to talk to you right now.” Bucky says coldly. A chorus of go away’s play on repeat in his mind as he wishes with every fiber of his being that you’d do just that.

“You didn’t sleep with her, did you?” One look at Bucky’s disheveled state, his messy hair, the sheen of sweat making his chest and abs gleam under the dim lights of the hallway, and the way his breaths are coming in much more shallow than usual, tells you that you’re right. Bucky meets your gaze for a brief second, and his eyes give you the answer his mouth won’t. He didn’t sleep with her. “How bad is it?”

“I’ve been through this before.” Bucky reminds you, running a hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. You’re standing in front of him wearing a pair of gray joggers, a little cropped tank top, and a light cardigan over your shoulders. He knows that tank top well. If the lighting was a little better, he’d be able to see straight through the thin fabric of it. God, he needs you to leave. “Like I said earlier, if I need help, I have people I can call.”

“You called someone and it clearly didn’t help, Bucky.” Just the sound of his name leaving your lips has him biting the inside of his cheek.

“Go to bed.” His tone is authoritative now. But of course, you’d never take an order from him. Especially not when he’s so obviously miserable. Your eyes drift down his torso, taking in the sight of the super soldier that stands before you nearly drowning in a chemically-induced state of arousal. You don’t really know why it pains you to see him like this, why it pains you that he keeps rejecting your help, but you’ve had enough. When you continue to stand in front of Bucky, defying his order for you to go to bed, he drops his hand from his hair and narrows his eyes at you. As you make eye contact with him, an unfamiliar warmth begins to spread along the surface of your skin. Maybe that’s what made you do it, maybe the warmth is what made you start taking your clothes off. You don’t really know what it was, but once you started you knew you wouldn’t stop.

Your fingers begin carefully tugging on the drawstring of your joggers, loosening the tied knot as you look into Bucky’s conflicted blue eyes. You continue watching him as his gaze darts down to the motion of your hands, his eyes widening as he realizes what you’re doing.

“What can I do to help?” You ask the question in a whisper. It’s obvious what you’re offering and it has Bucky’s mind racing. He’s wanted you in his bed since the day he met you, but you never gave in to his chase. He’s sure that you’re only giving in now because you think that he needs you to, because you’re ever the kind, helpful girl next door for him. You’ve finished untying the drawstring of your pants and you’re letting the cardigan slip off of your shoulders, baring even more of your skin to him, when Bucky has to stop you. He reaches out with both hands, catching the soft fabric of your sweater in his hands and pulling it back up to cover your shoulders.

“You can go to bed, that would be really fucking helpful.” Bucky rasps. The fingertips of his flesh hand graze over the skin of your shoulder as he sets your cardigan back in its place, and the contact sends a fresh wave of primal need throughout his body. That wave of need is quickly followed by a horrible ache that forces him to draw his hands back to his sides and clench his fists.

“Bucky, stop rejecting me.” A sudden boldness comes over you and you find yourself placing both palms against his chest and pushing him back into his room. He doesn’t fight you as you take two steps inside and shut the door behind you, letting the room engulf both of you in near-darkness.

“Rejecting you? You’ve rejected me since we met.” Bucky scoffs, falling back to sit on the foot of his bed. He brings his elbows to his knees and lets his head dip down to rest in his hands. He may not be watching you, but he’s listening intently as you strip off your cardigan and drop it in the armchair by his window.

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to sleep with the guy who slept with everyone. But now we’re friends, and I’m not going to sit next door while you suffer through this alone.” Bucky dares to sneak a glance at you through his hands. You’re standing a foot in front of him, now in just your sweats and tank top, with your hands on your hips. God, your hips. He’s imagined holding onto those hips while he fucks you from behind so many times. His eyes flutter closed as he lets out a groan. “Bucky, please.” You saying please in such a circumstance is what breaks him.

When Bucky pushes himself off of the foot of the bed and comes to stand only a few inches in front of you, you take half a second to wonder if you’ve just opened a dangerous can of worms.

“Think about what you’re offering.” Bucky’s voice is shaky, but his gaze is hardened as he looks into your eyes. “This isn’t just some favor between friends.” You stay quiet for a moment as you run through the scenario in your head. You imagine going through with it and having sex with him, fulfilling his needs and lessening the pain that he feels from the sex pollen. You imagine the sun rising in the morning and the two of you pretending like nothing ever happened. Why does that last part make you feel uneasy? The idea of sleeping with him tonight doesn’t seem to bother you in the least, but the idea of going right back to normal tomorrow doesn’t sit so well with you.

“I think it’s better if we don’t think about it.” Without letting another thought through your mind, you grasp the waistband of your joggers and begin pushing them down your thighs. As more and more of your skin is revealed to Bucky, his heart rate picks up and his breath hitches in his throat. When you stand up straight in front of him, with your joggers now lying on his bedroom floor, he has to bite his bottom lip to keep from grabbing you and throwing you down on his bed. You can see the wheels in his mind turning as he overthinks this. It’s the thing he’s wanted since he met you, being offered to him on a silver platter, but he can’t stop thinking about how this could ruin the most real friendship that he’s had since Steve. You do the only thing you can think to do to break him out of his thoughts. You step forward and take both of his hands in yours, guiding them up to your face. When his palms make contact with either side of your jaw, his thumbs are quick to begin caressing your cheeks, as if the gentle touch is instinct for him, as if the two of you have done this countless times before. “I said don’t think about it.”

His blue eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation, but he finds none. So, he takes the leap. Bucky leans in and closes the gap between the two of you, his lips finding yours in the darkness. With the first brush of his lips against yours, your eyes flutter closed and you’re at his mercy. You part your lips to accept him, feeling a rush of heat travel through your body as he sucks on your bottom lip gently. You didn’t expect a kiss from Bucky Barnes to be so gentle. You expected it to be hasty, used as a means to an end rather than for the simple pleasure of kissing. But Bucky kisses like it’s as vital to his being as breathing. His tongue glides along your top lip slowly, feeling his way into your mouth before fully tasting you. As soon as his tongue tangles with yours, he pulls back, his hands still cupping either side of your face.

“You taste like strawberries.” He says, licking his lips as he peers down at you with narrowed eyes. Blush creeps into your cheeks, you can’t tell if he’s saying that as a good thing or a bad thing with the hard-to-read expression on his face. Another lick of his lips and a smile begins to tug on the corners of his mouth. “You taste like strawberries.” He repeats, going back for more. This time, you experience the less gentle kiss that you initially expected from him. He wastes no time in sliding his tongue back into your mouth and letting it work in tandem with yours. As he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his vibranium hand slides down and wraps around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. His flesh hand ghosts over your jawline, along the side of your neck, and then you feel him wrap it around your throat just lightly enough that you notice it. Something about having his hand around your throat sets a fire ablaze inside of you, and before you know it, your hands are flat on his chest. You almost wish he had a shirt on so you could grip onto the fabric and tug him further into you.

Bucky’s losing his mind. He’s losing his goddamn mind because you’re in his bedroom, your pants are on his floor, and you’re kissing him back. You’re kissing him and you taste like strawberries. The longer you let him kiss you like this, with one of his hands wrapped lightly around your throat and the other resting dangerously close to your ass, the more his fuckboy ways start to evaporate right through his skin. Kissing you for thirty seconds makes him rethink his entire lifestyle.

You’re the one to pull back this time, you pull back the moment Bucky shifts his stance and you feel the outline of his fully erect cock pressing against your lower stomach. This time when you part, his gaze is so much softer. As much as you’re enjoying kissing him, you know that’s not what he needs right now. Taking matters into your own hands, you move past Bucky and sit on the foot of his bed. His eyes follow every move you make.

“Are you sure about this?” He has to ask. He has to know that he isn’t taking advantage of you and your friendship before this goes any further. He isn’t so sure he’ll be able to stop once he’s really touched you, so he’s offering you an out now. When you nod, keeping your eyes on Bucky, he lets out a soft sigh of relief. Your eyes follow him as he moves around the bed to the nightstand and pulls open the top drawer. After pulling out a little square packet and dropping it on top of the bed, he looks over at you once more. “You’ll tell me if I’m too rough?”

“I trust you.” You whisper. Bucky’s eyes darken as his pupils dilate even more and he begins walking back to the foot of the bed, coming to stand right in front of you.

“You trust me.” He repeats the words slowly, savoring them. You trust him. He looks down at you with an even mix of lust and admiration, but you only notice the lust. Raising his right hand up, he tucks your hair behind one ear and then traces a line from the point of your jaw to the tip of your chin with his index finger. Bucky curls that finger beneath your chin and tilts your face upward. The way your eyes pierce his, he feels like you’re looking straight into his soul, like you’re seeing every darkened corner within him that he’s tried so hard to hide. Instead of feeling vulnerable, he feels at home under your watchful stare.

Bucky tilts his head to the side and his eyes flit behind you to the expanse of the bed, signaling that he wants you to move back onto it. You do just that, turning over so your back is to him as you crawl further up on the mattress. A soft groan from Bucky lets you know he likes the view already, and you smile to yourself. You always knew he was attracted to you, but having the extra confirmation now really feeds your confidence. You can hear the rustling of fabric behind you and when you turn over once again to lay on your back, holding yourself up on your elbows, you see that Bucky has tossed his sweatpants onto the floor beside yours. Now, you see your friend, standing before you in only a pair of black boxers. Your breath hitches in your throat when your eyes land on the bulge beneath the thin fabric.

“Oh my god, you’re so big.” Your eyes widen and dart back up to meet Bucky’s. Of course, he has a smug smile plastered across his face.

“You couldn’t have guessed that?” He asks, placing one knee on the foot of the bed as he looks you over.

“I never thought about it.” You find yourself staring at it again, but Bucky blocks your view when he starts crawling over your body.

“You don’t have to lie, sweetheart.” Bucky tsks, resting his body weight on you as he leans in and kisses your neck. You find yourself tilting your head to the side to give him more access, loving the way he alternates between licking and sucking your skin. “God, you taste like strawberries, you smell like strawberries.” Bucky grunts against your neck before sitting back on his knees between your legs. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.” He says quietly, analyzing your expression. You study his face for a moment, taking in his flushed cheeks, the way his chest is rapidly rising and falling, and even the way the tips of his ears are turning pink. His blood pressure is spiking.

You push yourself up to a sitting position and without thinking, you tug your tank top over your head, tossing it on the floor and completely baring your chest to Bucky.

“Fuck.” The curse falls from his lips as his eyes devour your nearly naked body. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself and focus. When you start shimmying out of your panties, he moves to stand on the floor beside the bed, squeezing his eyes shut as he takes his own boxers off. He’s worried if he gets one look at you completely naked in his bed, he’ll start cumming and because of the sex pollen, he won’t stop.

“Look at me.” Your voice is too kind, too sweet for someone so willing to be fucked. But Bucky listens, opening his eyes and meeting your gaze. His hand is fisting around his cock within a second, stroking it as he looks not at your body, but into your fucking soul. “You’re supposed to be letting me help you.” You remind him, fighting the urge to look down at where he’s touching himself. Bucky groans again but starts climbing back over you, his hard cock dragging along the skin of your thigh as he situates himself over you but slightly to one side, resting his weight on one elbow.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Bucky presses a kiss to your lips. It’s a kiss he meant to be quick and reassuring, but neither of you could resist deepening it. So, he licks into your mouth once again, loving the way you taste, and you feel his right hand sliding down your stomach. His fingertips ghost lightly over your thigh at first, testing the waters, but you don’t flinch away. He has to make sure you can take him. He knows he’s big, and he has no idea how long it’s been since the last time you were with someone. When his hand ventures between your legs, you spread them without hesitation, continuing to kiss him with a growing desperation. The moment Bucky lets his fingertips glide along your wet folds, he can’t stop himself from rutting against your thigh. “You’re so wet for me, fuck.” A soft hum leaves your lips but it’s quickly transformed into a moan when Bucky applies pressure to your clit and begins to circle the pads of his fingers over it. Sparks of pleasure ignite, urging you to spread your legs even more and break away from his mouth to take in a gasp of air.

“Bucky, you don’t have to—” You’re cut off by your own cry when Bucky abandons your clit and slips two fingers inside of you, sending them only halfway as he watches between your legs. He’s in awe of you. Your back arches off of his mattress and he’s so tempted to kiss and lick all over your breasts, but he can’t ignore the overwhelming ache in his lower stomach and cock for much longer. He curls his fingers against your walls slowly, turning to watch your face this time. He studies you as your eyes scrunch closed and your mouth parts to let a heavy pant past your lips. You look fucking perfect. He knows the longer he delays his own release, the worse he’ll feel physically. He can already hear the blood rushing in his ears and feels the pain throughout his body worsening with every sound you make, but he wants this to be good for you. He needs this to be good for you. So, Bucky begins dragging his fingers out and then pushing them right back in, over and over again. He works you up to being able to take them deeper and deeper until he can’t push them in any more. That’s when he leans into you and leaves light kisses across your right cheek and temple. You find yourself leaning into his touch.

“I can’t wait anymore.” Bucky grunts, as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly one last time. He wants so badly to lick his fingers and taste you, but he knows that if he gets a taste, he won’t ever be able to get over it. He’d spend every day doing whatever the hell he had to do just to get more. Instead, Bucky slides those two wet fingers over the head of his cock, mixing your arousal with his precum and spreading it down the shaft. He gives it a few strokes, letting his head fall against your shoulder as he begins to feel just the slightest bit of relief inside his body. But it isn’t enough. Bucky lets go of his cock and leans over you, reaching across the bed to grab the condom he placed there earlier. When he rolls onto his back and begins tearing the small wrapper open, you take matters into your own hands.

Bucky damn near feels butterflies when you move to straddle him, bracing your hands on his bare chest as you swing a leg over him.

“Just give me a second.” Bucky grunts, his eyes darting between the half open condom wrapper and where you’re lowering yourself down over him. He gets the condom out of the wrapper but freezes when he feels your dripping cunt grind along the shaft of his cock. “Shit, be careful.” He warns you through gritted teeth. You know you really should be careful. Hell, he’s slept with so many girls just in the last month that you should be using any and every form of protection out there. Not to mention the fact that both the super soldier serum and sex pollen really ramped up his reproductive system, increasing his sperm count and motility like crazy. The man could easily save the human race from extinction if he was the last viable male on Earth. But you’re not thinking straight. You’re not thinking straight at all when you begin grinding down and circling your hips against him, reveling in the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your clit. You drag your hips back and forth as Bucky’s hands move to grip you there, with the unwrapped condom still in his right hand. You can feel that little piece of latex between his palm and your hip. The thought crosses your mind so briefly, but once the seed is planted, there’s no going back. Feeling the condom all rolled up between Bucky’s hand and your hip is really what planted the seed. You want to feel him inside you, without a damn thing in between. So, you grind along the length of his cock once more, but when you near the tip, you continue sliding forward on it and grinding down until you feel it against your entrance, and then you grind down a little harder, angling your hips just right so it starts to slide in.

“Oh my god.” You moan out, letting your head fall back as you reach down with one hand and start fully guiding him inside of you. Bucky can only watch, his grip on your hips getting impossibly tighter. You’ve only taken in the head of his cock when you still yourself, trying your best to adjust to his ample size. You feel a mix of stinging pain and pleasure, but he did such a thorough job of preparing you with his fingers that the sting is minimal.

“I’m not wearing a condom.” Bucky pants, scanning your face as you slide down another couple of inches. He’s nearly halfway in now and it’s taking every single ounce of his self-control to keep from pulling your hips down and making you take all of it. Your eyes flutter open and lock onto his.

“I know.” You pair your two little words with the act of forcing yourself to take the rest of his length. Your clit brushes against the base of his cock and for a moment, you actually think he might be too big for you.

“Fuck.” Bucky groans lowly. His eyes scrunch shut even though he so badly wants to keep them wide open and memorize the way you look when you’re being fucking ruined by his cock. His balls feel so full and heavy, even more so than usual with the way the sex pollen is screwing up his reproductive system, and the fact that you’re the one he’s balls deep inside of isn’t helping. You really should’ve let him put on a condom, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stop you now. Bucky releases his hold on your hip with his right hand and lets the unused condom fall from his grasp, watching as it lands on the bed. When he digs his fingers into the skin of your hips once more, the sensation spurs you to attempt moving. You start with slow up and down movements, only fucking half of his cock, unsure if you could manage the whole thing at once. But when you get a look at Bucky’s face, at the way it’s contorted with pleasure yet restrained as if he’s holding himself back, you know you need to give him more. So, you take a deep breath and begin lifting yourself off of his cock. Bucky’s eyes follow, so focused on the way you leave his cock glistening as you pull off of it. When only the head is left inside of you, you breathe out as you sit all the way back down. Fuck, it hurts when he’s all the way in but you don’t want to stop. God, you don’t want to stop for anything. You go again, trying the movement a little faster this time, earning a soft grunt from Bucky and a few bruises on your hips as his hold tightens more.

“Bucky, you’re too big.” You finally say, after sliding down onto his length the third time. You want to ride his dick and do as much of the work for him as you can right now, but there’s just no way. There’s no way you can pick up the pace and set a good rhythm when he’s so fucking thick and long that you feel him in your stomach every time you sit down. You don’t have the time that you’d need to adjust, you don’t want to make him wait for you to be ready for it. So, you need a new position. Bucky understands immediately. As much as he was loving seeing you fuck his cock all by yourself, his insides are screaming at him to take control and do whatever he needs to do to get himself off.

Bucky eases you down onto his full length one more time, simultaneously hating and loving the way you cringe once you’re fully seated. Then, in one quick, smooth movement, he captures your hands in his and tugs you down to his chest, before rolling both of you over so he’s on top.

“We can save that for next time.” Bucky promises, positioning himself so that the majority of his weight rests on his forearms on either side of your head. As soon as the words have left his mouth, you realize what he’s just said, but he doesn’t. He leans down and licks your bottom lip while you’re lying beneath him, with his cock motionless inside you, as you remind yourself that there will never be a next time. Bucky’s a fuckboy through and through, you’ve never known him to sleep with the same girl twice, and you can’t imagine anything about tonight is going to change that. “Are you adjusted?” He asks, pulling back from your face to look into your eyes. You bend your knees a little and take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you focus on your senses. No pain. You nod your head and let your hands ghost along Bucky’s sides.

“Are you always this gentle and thoughtful in bed?” The question sneaks past your lips before you can stop it, but Bucky chuckles as he begins to pull his hips back, sliding his cock out of you inch by inch.

“You think I’m gentle and thoughtful?” Of course he’d take your question as a compliment. Or…maybe not. Bucky shoots you a mischievous look before biting down on his bottom lip and snapping his hips forward, thrusting into you so hard that your back arches off of the bed and your breasts press up against the skin of his bare chest. He took it as a fucking challenge.

“I take it back.” You whine. You dig your nails into the skin of his back hoping to draw a little pain from him, but truthfully, he loves it. He begins slowly dragging his cock back out of you while you’re wondering how the hell he’s still so composed and restrained. “I thought being exposed to a sex pollen would’ve made this a quick, sort of desperate kind of thing.”

“Is that what you wanted?” Another snap of his hips and you’re filled with his cock again.

“I didn’t say that, it’s just what I expected. Does it not make you feel like fucking the shit out of anyone you can get your hands on?” Your fingers dance up his sides until they’re tangled in his messy hair. Another slow drag of his hips and you’re feeling nearly empty.

“It does, but like I said, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me.” He freezes with his cock halfway out of you. Your own eyes widen at your unexpected request. Where the hell did your filter go? You didn’t even mean it the way it sounds, you just meant that you don’t want him to keep holding back for your sake. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Bucky grunts, clearly turned on by the presumed meaning behind your words. He lowers himself down until his body weight feels like a warm, thick blanket covering every inch of your body. He’s giving you what you want. The talking part is over, you realize, as Bucky lets his forehead fall into the crook of your neck and slides his knees beneath your thighs, opening you up for him even more.

Then, he fucks you. He sets a rhythm and pace so desperate and unforgiving that every thrust causes the mattress to bounce you right back up against him. No matter how much he pulls out, you continuously feel the presence of his cock inside you. Every breath he breathes against your neck, every time his lips ghost over your skin, every needy grunt that meets your ears feeds you like a dose of ecstasy. The atmosphere is reduced to the sounds of skin on skin, panting breaths, and obscene curses and moans falling from parted lips. Bucky fucks you more thoroughly than he’s fucked anyone in the last two months. When he hears your moans increase in pitch and your breaths becoming more and more shallow, he drives his cock into you harder and deeper, making sure his name is the only thing on your mind. You give him no warning when your orgasm begins to tear through your body, but you don’t have to. Your cunt grips his cock so tightly that pulling out to thrust into you is damn near painful, so Bucky begins grinding into you, moving his hips in rhythmic circles. When your breaths begin to come a little easier, Bucky’s own release is threatening to spill over, so he starts to slow his hips and pull out of you. He isn’t wearing a condom and he knows this won’t be a small mess by any means.

But you, the girl next door, the girl who tastes like fucking strawberries, you slide your hands down and grab his hips every bit as harshly as he grabbed yours earlier, and you pull him further into you. An orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train. It wasn’t even the sensation of being inside you that sent him over the edge, as heavenly as that was. No, it was the fact that you wouldn’t let him pull out. The fact that you didn’t even let him wear a condom. The fact that you’re you and you’re so desperate for his cum that you’d hold him there and take it like you had a right to. After three seconds, Bucky’s surpassing a normal amount of cum, and both of you are fully aware of it.

“It won’t stop, fuck.” Bucky groans against your neck as he slowly ruts into you, trying to get himself through his orgasm. “There’s so much cum.”

“That’s okay, it’s okay, Bucky.” You whisper, moving your hands back up to his head and carding your fingers through his hair. “I can take it.”

Shit. He might be in love with you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #mcu #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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tarjapearce · 6 months

Text

Dr. Michael Stone

Mad Scientist variant! Miguel O'Hara x Spider!f! Reader

art by @Spiderthingcoo on X

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Smut, Breeding Kink, Mild dub-con, Oral sex (F receiving), possessive behaviors, rough electroplay, Questionable morals, Dark Miguel, manhandling, yandere scientist (I guess?) P in V, isolation, edging, female anatomy, Nipple play, dumbification, Michael Stone is a walking redflag. No proofread, objectification, power play.

Summary: From all the variants of Miguel you could've encountered, you met him.

A|N: Inspired by @Spiderthingcoo and Halloween ✨

Pt. 2

Clink

The sound repetitive and echoing in your hazy mind, luring you out of the slumber you had been forced to. Eyes heavy with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

A sharp inhale gave you enough courage to part your lids enough to reckon your surroundings. Blurry and wet eyesight slowly came into a focus and clear view of where you were. A lab.

How had you ended up here? Where was Miguel? Why wasn't Lyla making fun of your passing?

The explosion, of course.

A weakened groan escaped past dry and chapped lips, while your mind tried to recollect and organize the memories it created before going on a blackout.

The mission was simple, try and track the anomaly. Rhino. But the villian wasn't up for dialogue and had sent you flying against a wall, damaging your watch. Miguel had promised to fix it once you were back at HQ.

But the damage had been severe enough to not only electrocute you, but to cause an explosion within the already open portal. A boom powerful enough to throw you out of the current timeline and swallow you into another one, much to Miguel's distress. And then, nothing.

Pure black darkness.

Pristine white walls elegantly dressed with technology you had never seen before. The machine whirrings and hummings kept your eyes wandering from one extreme to another, trying to find anything that would be out of place. To your dismay, nothing indicated to be in such state.

Except for one thing.

Sitting in a simple chair, was a man clad in white, blending in with his environment. If it wasn't for his titanium rimmed glasses and their reflection, his tan skin and a very familiar looking face, he'd go undetected under your radar.

But your ever trusting spider senses alerted you of his presence. His red eyes bore into you, stalking, awaiting; preying. Impassiveness and stoicism plastered on his beautiful face.

A glacial chill ran down your spine.

"M-Miguel?" You rasped in the admist of your drowsiness

The man's eye glinted, dangerous and curious as he stood. His hair wavy and silky, graciously slicked back, His smirk deepened as he walked right before you, watching you with such marvel it made your breath hitch.

"Michael." The Boss' doppelganger corrected.

A stupor spreaded through your legs. Your arms had gone numb long ago. Another late realization as you looked at your limbs, expanded and trapped in the metal contraption, like a crucifix. Your legs remained separated, toes barely touching the floor and completely bare before him.

Panic rose as he placed a white gloved and immaculate hand on your cheek. Miguel was always speaking about the variants of the villains that he often forgot to mention about his own.

This one in particular was one to be extremely wary of. Dr. Michael Stone, acknowledged son of Tyler Stone, the CEO of Alchemax. A scientist obsessed with the spider DNA his team had recollected many years ago.

"Dr. Michael Stone, Mike for the friends."

He cupped your face and kissed you deeply. Tongue sweeping on your trembling mouth, taking a taste of you. He let you go with an appreciative hum. His thumbs pressed on your now glistening lips to pry them open, taking a glance on your teeth. Your breath fanned his face as he explored your mouth with his thumbs initially.

"Healthy breath and teeth, no fangs, sadly" the doctor mumbled to himself while catching your tongue in between his thumb and index finger, pulling it enough to examinate it's length.

You whimpered at the pain. Saliva escaping your mouth, which he collected quickly in a little glass vial. His fingers typed in the data in a holo-pad that materialized next to him.

His face was deranged, a soft blush crept on his sharp cheeks. He had stumbled upon a gold mine.

The drowsiness had left your body entirely, fear and nausea replacing it. Modesty or shame weren't in Michael's vocabulary. Nipples perked at the cool air that invaded the lab.

He brought a little table with several pieces of something he had been tinkering with.

"Your little contraption seems something too advanced for people in your world. Sadly the damage is too great to salvage something."

He displayed the now burnt pieces of the watch, pieces you supposed were the core of its functioning.

"For how long have you been a mutant?"

"Years." Voice meek, he nodded as he kept typing away, without looking much your direction, too deep in the screen and the data displaying on it.

"Is there any others like me?"

You gulped. Your brief silence had been enough answer for him.

"I see." His grin turned into a devious chuckle, "I suppose there is one of me that is like you, isn't it?"

Upon hearing no answer of you, he pressed a button, where a sudden electricity jolt coursed through your body. Earning him a pained yelp from you.

"I don't appreciate your silence, cariño. Now, when was the last time your period came?"

Your body lingered in unpleasant waves of the shocking aftermath. Soft breaths turned into short and shallow pants, anger rising again.

"I don't remember" You admitted curtly and uncomfortable by the direction the interrogation was taking course.

"Have you had children before?"

The question made you blink stupidly at him while sneered at your reaction and cleared his throat. Keeping at bay the ominous thoughts already forming in his wicked brain.

"N-No." You mumbled and his lips pursed in a wolfish grin it sent an ill feeling through your chest. Your brain's danger alarms flared, begging you to run away as fast as you could. But how such thing would be achieved when you were nearly T qposing, naked, before a man that had everything but good intentions with you.

"There's always a first." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The hidden promise in his words had you struggling against your prison but it stopped as he sent another electric jolt through your body.

You groaned both painfully and annoyed in between raged pants.

"Let me go! " He could only cackle at your waning order.

"But why would I do such thing, cariño?" His fingers tracing the slope of your jaw, "Not when I have found the perfect vessel for my lineage to develop."

Heart thumped wildly on your chest, threatening to escape up your throat.

"P-Please, let me go."

Something dern recoiled in his eyes, pleading was futile, even though he loved the way you pronounced such words.

"Can't do. In fact, I think production should start right away."

He beamed and your heart sunk. Hopefully Miguel caught your signal before the gizmo was broken for good. Attention snapping on a pair of eyes that danced around your body. He licked his lips while loosening his tie. His glasses were removed.

Your chest heaved with anxiety, but he kneeled before you, pushing your outer folds away to reach the forbidden prize he was set in devouring, your clit. It twitched and contracted when his thumb stroked it softly. Michael didn't waste time and sunk himself between your thighs.

"N-No!" You panted while trying to squeeze his head away from your thighs, but his grip was steely. His tongue assaulted your cunt with such intensity it had you clenching your jaw and panting within seconds.

Strong and moist muscle dribbled down your pussy, teasing around your quivering hole. His plump lips captured your little nub of nerves in between them, to then apply pressure within strong sucking motions. Your hips bucked, nearly melting at the powerful sensations the scientist dragged you to.

The slick of your labia increased making his motions smoother, vicious and wet. You could feel him resting his head on your lower belly as his mouth ate you like a starved man. A lap here, a dribbling up and down there and it had your mouth gaping open.

"Fuck" You tried to lurch forward but the upper restrictions on your limbs could only allow much movement. Your head heavy with lust blown and fearful thoughts, making it loll side to side, shaking off the pleasure that crawled all the way up, trying to fog your judgment completely.

The goal however was accomplished when his tongue delved in your hole, fucking it with such expertise it had your breath slurred and blown from your lungs.

His moist muscle curled, coiled and slurped at your cunt. Twirling and gathering your juices in his mouth. As dangerous as he was, Michael seemed a connoisseur of the female anatomy. And he ate like a starved man, like his life and investigation depended on it.

Your head was thrown back, just like your eyes in their sockets. Breaths turned erratic when his hands squeezed the round of your breast. Maneuvering your perky nipples a little too rough. He pinched, pulled and slapped them, matching the merciless pace of his assailant lips.

Teeth ground together, jaw clenched and trapping in the moans he rightfully had earned. Your hands managed to fist in the admist of the numbness they had been subdued to.

His tongue ventured deeper with moist and gulping movements, the tip of his nose buried in your pubic mound, keeping you in place from squirming too much, chasing that relief that would bring you a bit of peace to your tortured cunt. Heat pooled in his mouth, pressure tightening, edging you to an endless and dangerous spiral of tempting corruption.

A strangled whine came off your throat as he stopped and looked up at you. Darkened pupils wide, absorbing the red iris upon the sight of you.

Perfect, beatific even.

You were the perfect vessel for him. Lips flushed in need, exhaling the stimulation out of your system. A rapturous expression on your face, like a virgin that had been worshipped, and he was the chosen one to corrupt such grimace. His tie was removed completely and tossed somewhere.

With a tap of the holo-pad, your restrains were loosened, and you fell on the floor with a thud. A little groan as your body made contact with the cold tiles, blood rushing back to your limbs, leaving a prickling sensation all the way down your hands, awakening them.

As much as you hated to admit that you had enjoyed it, the rational side of you took control again, urging you to an attempt of escape while you crawled on your fours. Your suit had been discarded on one of the trash bins.

A strong hand grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, wobbly and feeble legs trembled at the forced attempt of standing up, only for your torso to be slammed against a nearby metal table. Air knocking out of your lungs with a 'oomph'

"You are going nowhere."

Despite the overall nerd-ish look, he was strong. Strong and big enough to pin your arms effortlessly before you, to then place a pair of metallic hoops on your wrist that instantly adhered at the table. Magnetic handcuffs, of course.

Breast flattened against the metal, unruly strands of hair obscured your sight, his agitated breath fanning over the crook of your neck. Rear was positioned in the perfect pose to expose both your holes. Pussy glistening with a mix of his saliva and your own slick.

"Marvelous. We are about to create the Opus Magna of my investigation. Aren't you excited, bonita?"

Your ears perked ominously at the unbuckling and fumbling of his pants.

"You have no idea how long I've awaited for a chance like this." His flushed tip rubbed between your folds, coating himself before aligning to your drenched hole. He tittered while taking a vice like grip on your hips and with a sudden motion, he buried inch by inch inside your gummy and sticky walls.

"Miguel!" You cried as he sheathed to the hilt, stretching you a bit past your limits. Fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled back with force. Granting him a pathetic yelp from you.

"Michael." He growled into your ear, "I am no bound by weaknesses unlike that defective copy of mines. But don't you worry..."

His tone venomous, "I'll make you learn my name one way or another." He slid a hand around your neck and squeezed a whimper out of you, "You're here to stay after all."

Callous fingers slid back to your hips, groping and grounding himself before he pushed in. A strangled moan came before air was cut short again by his firm and deep thrusting, allowing you to adjust enough to his girth. It was scary how perfect he fit inside, reinforcing his belief you were made specially for him and the explosion had been the catalyst for his plan to build a superior form of being, set in track.

Not only had he been granted a subject he had been chasing for nearly a decade, but now, he couldn't just study you, but also impregnate you. And what a better coincidence when you were reaching your most fertile days. Or so the data had dictated, and data didn't lie.

"With me." A deep cackle erupted from his mouth as an onslaught of merciless thrust were delivered between your supple and plump glutes, making them jiggle at his rutting.

A garbled and shaky moan escaped your lips, eyes wide at the core shaking pace he had settled. Toes curled and your hands fisted against the metallic handcuffs, trying to anchor yourself once more to something as the table creaked violently underneath both. The pressure on your clit increased as his balls slapped it, sending jolts through your body.

Your cunt received him with an obsence slurp, swallowing him whole over and over, hole moulded to his thick shaft, leaving you empty every time he slid out, only to be refilled impossibly deep with a pitiless plow.

You were a mewling and wailing mess underneath his formidable frame. Torso rock hard, just like the throbbing cock inside your snug and drenched pussy.

The room and you were the only witnesses of his borderline animalistic growls and snarls, set into his goal to fill you to the brim the times he saw it fit. After all, no experiment was successful without trial and error.

All you could hear was the rough slapping of your flesh melding together in a rough display of power where he indisputably had the upper hand.

Fire licked at every inch of your skin, tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, blurring your sight with overstimulation. He gave you no time to properly breath, too lost in wrecking your cunt to care, enraptured in the thrill your flesh offered him.

A firm slap on your jiggling ass granted him a choked wail, one of the few indicators you still remained conscious and holding it together. He frowned.

It wasn't enough, he wanted nothing more than your ruin. Having you subdued to him, both in mind and body. Stubborn nature couldn't just leave you fucked physically. The need to possess you in all it's wholeness took over him. You'd be his, and if he had to face his counterpart to keep you by his side, then so be it.

Michael stilled for a moment, giving you precious seconds to catch a much needed breath. He removed the lab coat and shirt, exposing his sweaty and well sculpted torso. Your legs trembled, your brain buzzed with all sort of sensations, the metal fogged with every deep breath you gave against it, if it wasn't for the restrains in your wrist, you'd certainly be on the floor, since your legs were giving up in supporting you.

A little drool streak escaped the corner of your lips, connecting to the space underneath you. Your hair was pulled back with a mild yank, forcing your spine to arch. The Fibonacci sequence would draw perfectly in the curvature of your flexible spine. One of the many perks of being a spiderwoman.

His frame swallowed you once more as he propped your right thigh on the table, granting him more access to delve in deeper into you.

" Ohmygod" you howled at how full and deep your insides were. He smirked at your words, "I can't... I can't-"

"You are more than capable of taking me, pequeña." A deep thrust and he had you sobbing, "Don't disappoint me now."

He rasped in blown inhales.

Your brain was melting just like your body. Instead of unceasing and swift slaps of flesh, steady and rhythmic plunges filled in the void space. Your mouth did nothing but nonsensical gabbling. Occasionally praising him with a coherent lewd curse or a whine.

Eyelids drooped a bit too low as your mouth went completely ajar, exhaling weakly. The weight of his frame pressing against you, slotting perfectly on your back. His hips dug into yours remorselessly, then you felt his arm hooking underneath your lower belly in a possessive embrace, letting the once punished breasts to bounce freely as he pounded relentlessly into you.

The second he skimmed on your tender skin, your body went taut and your brain shut off for a second, overheated by the mind shattering orgasm crashing over you. Only then your body was allowed to go limp on his arms, but that didn't stop him from giving a few more core shaking thrusts before emptying himself inside you. Flooding your womb with his hot load.

"Mi...Michael-" You croaked almost imperceptibly at the canvas he was making out of your insides.

Oh the joy of knowing he'd have a superior offspring made his wicked brain tingle. A malicious laugh escaped him upon admiring your current state. Fucked out and full of him, to the brim like he had promised. Michael Stone was a man of word.

When he had poured the last drop of cum inside, he pulled out to pick himself up. Underwear and pants secured back on his waist. His discarded lab coat covered his upper frame once more, body too heated to keep adding layers of clothing. He released the handcuffs off your wrist and caught you before your body slumped on the floor.

He rewarded your outlasting with a deep yet brief smooch, which you recoiled from. It didn't matter. You'd learn to tolerate his presence soon enough.

His arms carried you like a ragdoll. A doll that somehow still refused to be tamed, adding more dry bones to the raging obsession fire. You struggled from his grip but he didn't budge, a cruel laugh met you instead as he waltzed you to an empty room. Naked with jelly-like legs that didn't cooperate, angry and fearful and powerless.

He tossed you onto the bed and marched back towards the entrance. Proud of your lack of strength to retaliate and cunt full of his cum. His seed would do it's job soon enough. He had waited years, a bit more won't hurt him.

The thought of your belly rounding up with his child made his deep gaze to lock on you over his shoulder for a moment.

"Welcome to my world, querida." His cheeks spreaded in a wicked smirk before disappearing into the light, locking you out from freedom and hope.

Darkness drowned you, like his obsession. Dr. Michael Stone had finally achieved a breakout in his investigation. And he had no intentions of letting you go. Not until you produced the many heirs he had in mind.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Miguelverse #miguel o'hara smut #Spiderman 2099 smut #atsv smut #t writes✨#Michael Stone AU #dark!miguel o'hara

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vanderlesbian · 5 months

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dating simon riley means constant clinginess. large arms wrapped around your waist at any given moment, simon is most comfortable when he's holding you. after being away from a long mission, he'll find you wherever you are in your shared apartment and silently crawl into your arms like a puppy. he'll bury his face into the crook of your neck, slowly inhaling to bask in your scent that he missed more than anything. with an amused chuckle, you'll wrap your arms around his warm torso, gently rubbing his back. "no hello?" you'll tease, to which you always earn a content hum in response, along with simon's hold tightening ever so slightly.

dating simon riley means lots of playful teasing. if you make a typo in a text message, he'll begin spelling the word as your typo for the rest of the day. if you believed in a silly fact, he'd bring it up for the rest of your life. "this is like when you thought our blood was actually blue" he'd snicker, which would cause you to whine for him to stop and swat his arm.

dating simon riley means constantly being cared for. simon is a man who can do everything, or at least tries to. he somehow manages to get to all the chores before you do, which has ended in you reassuring him that you can handle it many, many times. when doing something potentially dangerous like standing on a ladder, handling a knife or using tools, simon will constantly glance in your direction to make sure something won't slip and injure you. like a spidey sense, he's quick to pull you away or come to your rescue if you're in a situation where you're about to hurt yourself. "you alright?" he'll mumble softly, dark eyes laced with worry that is a rare sight to be seen by anyone else.

dating simon riley means you have a second wardrobe. his large clothes are just too comfortable to resist, and he's often left searching the apartment for a shirt that you had placed amongst your own clothes. though, he makes no effort to steal them back from you, as seeing you in his tshirt, his boxers and his hoodie fills him with a loving possessiveness. he'll walk into the kitchen to see you turned away as you wash dishes, wearing one of his shirts as a short dress. managing to silently sneak behind you even with his bulky frame, he'll wrap his arms around you from behind and place a kiss against the nape of your neck. "you look so pretty in my shirt, love." he'll then purr into your ear.

dating simon riley means seeing a side of him that many never do. whether it be physically or personality wise, you see so much of simon that you can't remember the last time you referred to him as ghost. his large pointy nose, his dirty blonde hair that he always forgets to fix in the mornings, and his lopsided smile that appears when you tell the corniest of jokes are all things that many have never seen and never will. he speaks so softly to you; a low tone that you can feel reverberating in his chest when you lay against him. simon is kind, patient and vulnerable with you, and will mutter the words "i love you" against your lips, just loud enough for only you to hear.

dating simon riley means being friends with the rest of the 141. you were the one who wished to host hangouts at your apartment, wanting those closest to simon to like you. despite their intimidating demeanors, you quickly realized just how kind they were. they know just how important you are to simon, which is a rare feat in itself, so they would never treat you in an ill manner. soap will always refer to you as "the missus" when speaking to simon, which never fails to make you giggle when you overhear their conversations.

masterlist

#just a small blurb bc i wanted to write smth #im working on fics i promise!!#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #mw2 #mw3 #modern warfare #fluff #headcanons #x reader #imagine

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hello-eden · 1 month

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Dcxdp idea #2

so I have an idea. Danny ends up in some sort of cloning body in Cadmus. but instead of you know being Amazed by the bunch of Heroes and aliens and such he is terrified. not because they're Heroes and such but because his powers are locked up and they're scrutinizing him. He is confused and disoriented and he is not explained what the Justice League is because to everyone else it is common knowledge and they forget to explain it. So from Danny's point of view he is just being moved to a different facility. I think Danny does not realize he is in a different body for a hot minute because he was disoriented. I imagine Danny going along with whatever people are telling him because his experience with everything isn't exactly good.

Everyone would be so used to everyone automatically going into heroism that Danny wouldn't really get a choice in it. Everyone would be trying to help Danny But they're not helping with the right things. I think Danny would be seen as a natural at heroism and make it seem like it was something he wanted to do. Danny wouldn't try and show off a bunch of his powers because he is trying to have a few tricks up this sleeve. I think that his natural response to being quippy when in danger or scared would be seen as his normal personality and because no one knows him they wouldn't see anything wrong with how he is doing.

I imagine there would be a lot of angst when they realize that Danny doesn't know he can say no. He would get really injured and maybe try and hide it or he would literally get up off of a medical bed or ask about other missions and that is when other people start to realize something is up. I imagine if their telling him to rest then him being like I haven't needed rest before and that's when they realize Danny wasn't not injured , he just didn't think he was allowed to be. I think it would cause angst for the heroes because they then realize Danny did not know he was safe and the friendliest they thought he was exuding was really him just trying to be on his captors good side. especially if they don't know Danny was Danny outside of the clone body.

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #batfam #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc universe #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp #dp crossover

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kentopedia · 5 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss.

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live.

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.”

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.”

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks.

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice.

levi makes his way towards the door.

“levi?”

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t.

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought.

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.”

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting.

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter.

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle.

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess.

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say.

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first.

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red.

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you.

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice.

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness.

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned.

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety.

“how long have you been together?”

“does she actually like you?”

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.”

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.”

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.”

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.”

“five—”

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

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yueebby · 7 months

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hii omg I love ur fics sooo much they're really helping me recover from.. gege. I was wondering if I could request gojo x drunk!reader. like maybe they come back from partying with geto and shoko and are just completely tipsy. but they're reallyyyyy affectionate and flirty and gojo literally goes insane like his heart can't take it . bonus points if reader won't stop peppering him in kisses.

"you're sooooo hot.. and- and strong! ohmigosh are you single?" AND MANS IS JUST BRIGHT RED.

preferably fem-reader thanks ^__^ <333

drunk in love — gojo satoru

contents. fluff, established relationship, alcohol (drunk!reader), gojo being gojo, youre drunk and in love but gojo loves you more

notes. anon your request was so cute i just had to write it TT i kind of got carried away from the original prompt.. but enjoy this as a form of therapy from that one eyed cat!! ps i hate drinking so idek if this is accurate :>

the night had been long, and shoko is starting to regret letting you consume what felt like half your body weight in drinks during your night out in roppongi. impatiently, she checked her phone, hoping for a response from gojo to her text message. huffing in frustration, she turned to geto, “i thought you called him. where is that idio–”

"shoko, who is that?" in your drunken stupor, you shamelessly ogled the stranger approaching the entrance of the bar. shoko facepalmed as she watched your intoxicated heart eyes for the snow-haired man.

"she's all yours now."

gojo chuckled when he saw your inebriated state, "what did they do to you?" he had just returned from a tiring mission, but seeing you was enough to lighten the weight on his shoulders.

you shifted your gaze between shoko and the handsome stranger, causing mental whiplash. a mumbled apology escaped your lips before you left shoko's side to get a closer look at the man.

amusement danced in satoru's eyes as he observed you stumbling toward him. as the loving boyfriend he was, satoru wrapped a strong arm around your waist to prevent you from tripping.

you placed a hand on his chest to steady yourself, and couldn't help but notice the firmness of his physique. "so strong," you hiccuped, running your finger down his chest, "and handsome... are you single?" you blinked up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes.

suguru, watching from the sidelines, struggled to stifle his laughter as he observed his best friend's face growing increasingly red. the way you were looking up at him was driving him crazy. satoru cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to regain his composure though it was hard with the way his heart was beating so erratically.

"do you not remember me, sweetheart? your strong and handsome boyfriend?" satoru's glossy lips turned down in an exaggerated pout, and you gasped, confused on how you'd forgotten a face so beautiful. it was dangerous, how tempting the man in front of you looked.

giving in to your impulsive thoughts, you grabbed his face with one hand, squishing his cheeks together. satoru’s eyes widened as he noticed your intent on his puckered lips.

with an impish grin, you planted a series of quick kisses on his cheeks, then moved to his lips.“how,” kiss. “could i,” another kiss, “forget,” kiss, “such,” kiss, “a handsome face?”.

suguru and shoko watched in mild horror, as you showered gojo with affection. a dopey grin spread across his flushed face as he allowed you to have your way with him. he's afraid he might implode from the how adorable you were.

“i’m the most handsome man in the world, yeah?” he asks you with a grin, encouraging you to answer as he pulls you closer by the waist. satoru couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve this, but he would gladly repeat it tenfold if he could relive this moment once more.

you nod happily. “the most!”

“well aren’t you lucky to have me as your boyfriend.” satoru flashes his cerulean eyes at you above those dark sunglasses of his. just when you think he can’t get any hotter, he proves you wrong.

your friends' silent presence is suddenly shattered by laughter, jolting you back into the awareness of their company. satoru’s grin dissipates into a frown when he sees that your attention is taken off of him.

"'[name] is lucky to date him,' so he says," shoko giggles. "suguru, do you remember that one time satoru pretended to be a waiter at the restaurant [name] was on a date?" shoko not-so-secretly says to geto. "he got all drunk and then started rhapsodizing about how he was going to marry her."

satoru gasps at the memory of his awkward pining days. his attention quickly diverted back to you, anticipating your reaction.

suguru hums, “ah, or that one time he got distracted and nearly got us killed on a mission all because [name] sent a selfie.”

you pull away from satoru’s hold and he swears he feels all the warmth leaving his soul. his hands instinctively reach out to you, but you’re one step ahead, already making your way to the evil pair in front of him.

“really?” you ask the two, eyes shining eagerly.

shoko nods, an evil grin growing on her face, “you seriously never noticed that stupid dazed look he has when he sees you? even yaga has noticed it.”

gojo’s jaw drops at the sound of his best friends’ attempt to embarrass him. in his defense, he was just a man in love! satoru's infamous pout returns, and he’s trying to pull you back into his embrace and away from those traitors. to his dismay, you ignore him. did you even know that he was dying by the second without your affection?

“tell me more!” you gush, entranced with the idea that your boyfriend was just a lovesick puppy.

“is that really necessary?” satoru mumbles under his breath, though the telltale reddening of his ears betrays his indifferent facade.

“toru i didn’t know that you were obsessed with me,” a giggle erupts from you. to show your adoration, you turn back to cup your boyfriend’s face. he leans into your touch immediately.

“i still am y’know,” his gaze softened. your heart melts at the way he lowers his voice.

“i can’t watch this any longer,” the short haired female gags, searching her coat pocket for a much needed cigarette. suguru agrees silently, tearing his eyes away from the cloying display of affection.

you don’t notice your friends leaving while you’re too engrossed doting on satoru.

“baby– heh– we should head home now,” he groans softly, shivering upon your fingers tracing his undercut. if you continue this any longer, satoru's brain will be fried to the point that no reversed curse energy could fix. the effect you had on him was undeniably unjust.

“can you run me a bath when we’re home?” you pleaded, your voice tinged with weariness. after a night of drinking in roppongi, you felt the weight of the celebrations clinging to your skin.

satoru's lips curled into a playful smirk as he recognized the opportunity presented before him. "only if you'll let me hop in~"

a mischievous agreement danced in your eyes as you responded, "hm okay." you leaned in to place a tender kiss on the corner of his lips. satoru, his affection intensifying by the moment, gently gripped the back of your head and guided your lips back to his. gosh, he was so in love.

i was going to post all mine but im currently rewriting it so bear with me please !!!!

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk fluff #gojou x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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mochie85 · 4 months

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Blue Christmas

One-Shots Masterlist | Complete Masterlist | Secret Santa Masterlist

Summary: You ask Loki to give you something special for Christmas. A/N: This is a Secret Santa gift for @divine-knight-hand. I wanted to give you everything you requested, my love, but I already wrote something similar a while ago. For the sake of not sounding repetitive, I altered your request just a little bit. I hope you still like it. However, please check out the other story because it checks off all your points! And is Christmas-themed! Mayari: If You Let Me. Also, sorry for the cringy title. I couldn't think of anything else. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: Over 2.7k Warnings: Explicit. Smut. P in V. Jotunn Loki (yes, cuz he's a whole warning!)

You crossed your legs as the last rays of the sun were trickling down on your body. Your book was discarded on the ground as the condensation from your Pina Colada dripped down onto the side table.

Loki had surprised you and whisked you away to the Fiji Islands for Christmas— no more crowded New York streets. No more dirty ice falling onto you from the splash of an oncoming taxicab. And certainly, no more missions and assignments till the New Year.

It had been an exhaustive nineteen-hour flight. Especially since he didn’t tell you anything he was planning. When you came home to your room earlier that day, you were greeted by Loki with two suitcases on either side of him.

“Merry Yuletide, Darling,” he said as he rolled your luggage over to you and kissed you on your lips in greeting.

“Loki- what?”

“No time to explain, we need to leave now in order to catch our flight,” he said ushering you out the door by patting you on the bum. You jumped up with giddiness, planting a lipstick-stained kiss on his cheek. He was always surprising you with little trinkets and excursions.

“Thank you, sir,” you said in a deep voice.

“Ooh, you dangerous nymph. Go on. I need my wits about me till we get on the plane. I can’t have you distracting me.”

“Then, after?” you asked luring him to a sinful promise.

“After,” he promised in the same breathy tone.

That was two days ago. Loki had kept his promise, and then some- inducting you both into the mile-high club several times over.

Now, here you were in a private villa surrounded by an infinity pool that stretched towards the Pacific, watching your godly boyfriend come out of the water. He ran his hands through his hair, combing the droplets from his tresses. Beads fell down the defined lines of his muscles causing you to heat up in the already balmy weather.

The sight of Loki, wet and in nothing but short swim trunks, was enough to make you convulse. You were sure that if Michelangelo had a model for David, it would’ve been Loki. And knowing Loki, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was him.

He came up to you, lounging on your chair, and shook his wet hair in front of you to tease you. “St-stop!” you laughed as you playfully pushed him before you got completely wet.

“Awe, come on, Darling. I thought you liked me wet?” he charmed as he sat next to you and leaned in for a kiss.

“I have to admit, it is kind of refreshing.” You said as your hands guided themselves around his slick body. “It’s so hot here. I might need something to cool me down,” you tempted.

There was a flash of understanding in his face. Nights of hedonistic pleasure and anticipation of his moods taught you how to read him. If you weren’t so attuned to him- so zealously infatuated with him and his praise over you, you would have missed it. But you didn’t.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing. I just-” he paused for a second, trying to find the right words. “There was a reason why I chose Fiji.”

“You mean, the beautiful waters and sandy beaches weren’t enough of a reason?” you joked.

“It’s in the southern hemisphere. Which means that it’s summer here whilst still cold and winter back home.”

“Why would the season be an issue?”

“Contingency.”

“Contingency, for what?” you asked confused.

“It was about what you wanted for Christmas,” he answered slowly. Confusion still clouding your memory. Little bits and pieces of a long-forgotten conversation nipped at your mind as you tried to piece together what you had asked him to give you.

As if to remind you, Loki raised his hand and cupped your face. As he did so, his fingers turned a beautiful shade of blue. It was fair, yet sharp. It reminded you of the color of blue thistles on a cold afternoon.

As he touched your cheek, a shiver ran down your skin making you shudder for the first time since you arrived. Realization struck you as you remembered the conversation you two had a month ago.

“I think I know what I want for Christmas,” you lured him in. “And what is that, my Darling?” Loki said absentmindedly while looking through his mission briefing. “You." “You already have me,” he scoffed, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I meant…all of you…the other you…” you trailed silently. Loki looked at you bewildered. There were many nights he had dreamt of taking you in his other form, wondering how you would react to him. He’s postponed showing you this long because he was afraid of his feral nature. He would be at the mercy of his urges and base needs. Loki wasn’t quite sure how to ease you into that new situation. Would he be too much for you? Knowing your adventurous spirit, you wouldn’t mind having his beastly side take you. “Why, you little nymph. Now, why would you want to see that side of me, hmm?”

Excitement bubbled up inside you. “Loki, I-” you started, but he quickly put a finger to your lips to quiet you.

“I want this, Darling. And I want it with you. So, if at any point in time, you want to stop, you know our safe word.” You nodded your head enthusiastically and Loki chuckled. “But I should let you know, that…there was a reason why I’ve waited this long to show you. I become somewhat different when I change. Jotunns, in their very nature, are severe. Harsher. They have to be, to live in the climate they do, and survive.”

You sat there, fervently hanging onto every word Loki was saying. “We relied upon each other for strength, for warmth, basic needs…” Loki trailed off, tracing your lower lip with his cold finger. “You can imagine the creativity we had in finding ways to keep our blood warm and stave off the frigid climate.” You nodded solemnly at his words as if they were gospel.

“If we do this, I need you to be in control. Do you understand me, Darling?” he asked, inching closer to you. You felt a shiver run down your body. You focused on his eyes as his lips weaved a spell for you to follow. “I won’t know how much is too much. How rough is too rough.”

Loki grabbed your hips and sat you on his lap. The sudden move made you yelp into his arms. “Sorry, my dear. You see, I’m already too excited. My body is reacting to you.” He ran his nose up and down your neck. His cold hands encircled your back, caging you on top of him. “I’ve wanted to take you like this for so long.” His hands entwined themselves with your hair and pulled as his lips met yours in a crushing kiss.

You held on tightly, with your legs wrapped around his waist, as Loki stood up and walked both of you to the edge of your bed. When he broke the kiss, you heard him moan before he continued to suck a bruise onto your neck.

You felt his body change. The hairs atop your skin began to stand as the temperature began to drop. The once-sweltering heat that prickled your skin was replaced by the cool tingles of his touch. It surrounded you and enveloped you in a cold caress. You finally understood the need for a warmer climate. With a slight force, he released you from him, falling onto the soft mattress below.

That was when you had your first glimpse of his true self. The beautiful shade of blue you had seen earlier spread throughout his body. His form was somehow sharper, more jagged. Yet still soft and giving. He had markings defined by fine lines and grooves. They traced over his muscles and sinew, highlighting the best parts of himself. You followed them with your eyes as it led your stare down to his protruding cock. Your jaw went slack as you noticed how hard he was for you already.

Loki watched you appraise him. Your wanton eyes grew darker, and your breathing got quicker. His senses picked up every reaction that your body was going through. He was prepared to confront your fear or disgust, but he couldn’t see that in your face. Instead, he saw hunger and need. He could smell your desire growing for him and it made him feral. He wrapped his hands around his shaft, stroking himself to the sight of you, ready and waiting on his bed.

Loki felt ravenous as he knelt over you on top of the sheets. He spread your legs apart, seating himself in between the warmth of your thighs. His heavy cock resting atop your wet cunt. His hands eagerly tore up your swimsuit as they explored and venerated your body. His lip’s sole mission was to mark bruises where his hands had trailed, following the chill of his touch.

“…Loki…”

“Shh, Darling. I won’t hurt you. Unless you want me to,” he winked as he nipped the underside of your breast. Too many emotions. Too many thoughts. They were swirling at the forefront of his mind wanting to be said. His desire for you was overwhelming him.

In this form, he felt more primal. His emotions were stronger and almost frightening, but all he felt was fire. Everywhere. An all-consuming heat that wouldn’t dissipate until he had claimed you. His need for you was never as aggressive as it was right now. If he wasn’t careful, he knew he could easily hurt you. He needed you to be in control.

“Don’t stop,” you begged him.

“And what would you have me do my Darling?” he breathed onto your skin. “Tell me, and I will comply.” Loki was giving you the green light. The authority to take over because he wasn’t sure if he could be gentle enough not to harm you.

Oh, but the fire. The fire inside him wouldn’t relent. “Shall I force my cock down your throat till you gag for me to stop?” he suggested with a grin. You bit your lip and moaned as the image took hold in your mind. You moved your hips involuntarily, rubbing against his hefty shaft.

“Maybe I’ll edge you for the rest of our stay. Keep you here tied to our bed, my little slave, until I’ve properly bred you.” Loki seized your lips and held you down on the bed. His cold hands capture your wrist in an icy grip.

“S’cold,” you gritted.

“You can take it. You don’t mind a little bit of frostbite. Don’t you, my love?” He ground his hips as he bit into the soft flesh of your shoulder, leaving teeth marks in their wake. You felt his hard cock rub against your sensitive nub. It elicited the most erotic noise from your lips. Loki fought to keep his composure. With every moan you made, it got harder and harder for him to control his urges.

“I thought this was supposed to be my Christmas present,” you sighed, regaining some form of authority and clarity. You intertwined your fingers with his and signaled him to turn over with your hip. You pushed his shoulders down onto the bed as you straddled his waist.

Loki looked up at you in all your glory. Your beautiful face shining down with love and adoration was enough to heal the worry and anxiety he was feeling. “I want to admire my present,” you pouted as your eyes took all of him in.

His mischievous smile broke through as he raised his arms and placed his hands behind his head. “As you wish,” he hissed as the corded muscles in his biceps swelled.

You traced his beautiful blue markings down from his arms to his pecs. “You’re beautiful,” you whispered absent-mindedly, getting lost in the exploration of his body. Loki blushed at your words. He had never heard that word describe his Jotunn form before and it ignited a warm glow inside of him. Different than the fire, but still heated.

You leaned over him as your study led you to his neck and handsome face. You traced his dark lips as he opened them. His bright ruby eyes concentrated on you. “I love my present,” you whispered before you gently kissed him. “Thank you.”

Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue invading yours, as he wrapped his arms around you once again. His cold touch left a trail of goosebumps as he squeezed and grabbed your ass. He raised you slightly with one hand. And with the other, he guided himself into your entrance. The slick of your arousal coating the tip of his hard cock. “Are you ready for me?” he grunted. You nodded your head, keeping your lips on his, not wanting to break contact.

He thrust deep into your body. His heels held on against the mattress of the bed. He held your hips stable as he continued to drive upwards slowly- savoring how snug you were around him. Every pull of your tight pussy made him moan your name. “…yes…” he whined.

You sat up, holding onto his shoulders for support. “I need you, Loki,” you pleaded. Your nails dug into his dark skin as your hips took over his strokes. “…deeper…faster…”

“Take me then, Darling. Use me.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to do this for you. To be good for you. With each push of your hips, he unraveled each time. Crowning to a tight knot in his abdomen.

You waited patiently for him to open his eyes and see the love and pride you had for him. When he did, you were met with an intense sparkle of carmine. Desire and vulnerability shone through, swirling in his gaze. His brows furrowed with pleasure as he bit his lip. “…oh, fuck…” he cried.

You moved faster. Your swollen clit rubbed against his dark curls adding to the already heightened pleasure you were building. You took his hands from your hips and guided them up your body. You placed them over your bouncing tits and he squeezed- rubbing your hardened nipple with his thumb.

“That’s my good little whore,” he gasped. “You like it rough don’t you?” You squeezed tighter around him in answer and Loki couldn’t stop the wolfish grin on his face.

He swallowed thickly watching you enjoy his touch. “Loki” you screamed. The only indication that you had reached your climax and was about to topple over. You trembled over his body screaming his name over and over as you came down from your bliss.

“Don’t stop, Darling.” He pushed harder into you. “Ride me,” he commanded. Loki watched as you clenched around his hard cock- disappearing into your wet folds. The sight was enough to make him tremble.

God, he was so much bigger in this form. You had to push hard to meet the hilt of his shaft. You raised your hips and dipped back down eliciting the deepest groan fleeing his lips. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered. “Fuckin’ good girl.” His head tilted back and the desire to claim you came back. He had to take you faster. Harder.

He dug his heels back into the mattress and slammed his hips upwards. The gasping air leaving your lungs, the wicked moans filling his ears. All of it coerced him to cum inside you- finally releasing his pent-up yearning. Loki couldn’t stop the moans or praises leaving his lips. Your name peppered in with teasing curses and praises. “You always know how to make me feel good, don’t you, pet?” he prized as he took a deep breath to steady his exhaustion.

“Mmm, yes sir.” You kissed him ardently, taking his breath away from his already spent lungs. You trailed your kisses down to his neck and onto his panting chest. Each kiss made your lips tingle and chilly.

“We should probably get ready for dinner. What say you, my love?”

“Hmm? Maybe in a while…I’m not done playing with my Christmas gift yet.” You responded as your lips traveled further down towards his already hardening cock.

Loki smiled as he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of your warm tongue on his cool skin. “In a while,” he repeated. “Fuck…in a while.”

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