#anything at all if you ever give me that look
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Does It Hurt? : Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Sex Pollen Fic
Summary: Bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that HYDRA was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. When you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. Anything.
Warnings: angst, sex pollen, unprotected sex, fingering, restraints, abduction, violence (b/c Bucky is protective as fuck), profanity, voyeurism/exhibitionism (if you look hard enough), no use of y/n, only pet name use is random mentions of princess (facetiously)/baby/sweetheart, mention of SA of unknown characters from an old HYDRA experiment, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!
Word Count: 24.3k
A/N: This is very lengthy, I know, but I thought you all deserved one long post that you could read at once (or at your own pace) vs. me committing to and failing at maintaining a posting schedule for a multi-part series. I hope at least a few of you find it to be an interesting read.
You lived in the tower for two months before you ever formally met Bucky Barnes. Once you’d met him, you knew you didn’t want to work with him. You were sure that he was good at his job, you could tell that just from the fact that Sam was his partner. But it wasn’t about that. It was the way he looked at you with such an unsettling gaze, the way the hair on the back of your neck would stand up as soon as he was in the same room as you, even if you hadn’t yet laid eyes on him. Everything about him kept you on edge. So, instead of being sent on missions with Sam and Bucky, you did a lot of solo missions. It’s as if Fury sensed your apprehension about working with them and decided to give you a reprieve.
After three months of living in the tower, you ended up on the same training schedule as Bucky. You found yourself frequenting the gym at the same times as the steely, unreadable super soldier. When you were sparring in the ring, he’d be just a few meters away, lifting weights like he was worried the serum would one day dissipate from his system. When you were stretching on the mats after a long run, he would be doing an ungodly number of pull-ups. Of course, this meant that you’d be hitting the showers around the same time as well. At first, Bucky made a valiant effort to be a gentleman. You always beat him to the gym showers and he felt it would be disrespectful for him to use them at the same time, even though each shower is afforded plenty of privacy behind a locked stall-style door. So, he would sit around and wait in the gym until you left, leaving a vanilla-scented trail in your wake. It wasn’t until you’d been on the same schedule for a week straight that you finally spoke to him.
“You know there are multiple showers in there, right?” You’d asked as you walked past him one day, smelling of something sweet and looking perfectly refreshed after a shower. Bucky cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at you, and you took that as a sign that he didn’t quite catch your lighthearted tone. He didn’t say anything in response, which is why you were so surprised to hear the locker room door swing open and then click shut as you showered the next day. From then on, you and Bucky showered at the same time, just a few stalls apart, after every early morning in the gym.
It was three weeks after that when you ended up on the radar of an organization that never should’ve caught sight of you. Bucky likes to blame himself for that. They were watching him, after all, and if he hadn’t taken that one assignment that night, if he hadn’t answered that one call from Fury, HYDRA never would’ve profiled you. HYDRA never would’ve looked into you and found out that you were the perfect candidate for their operation.
Both you and Bucky can recall that one mission perfectly, though you each have very different perspectives on it. It was a solo mission for you, one that should’ve been fairly low risk and easy to handle without any backup. There was virtually no danger, not a single red flag came up during your recon in the days prior to the mission. That’s why you were caught so off guard when you started to get an uneasy feeling around midnight. That was when you realized just how persistent your target was, just how set he was on getting everything he wanted from you. You had only needed to get close to him for a few minutes, but somehow you ended up in a private room with him. As the scent of your perfume soaked into his button-up shirt and your lip gloss left a trail of glitter down the side of his neck, you knew you weren’t going to get out of this one easily. When his hands started kneading the curve of your ass, slipping beneath the hem of your short black dress to get a good feel of your skin, you knew you needed help. So, as you kissed and sucked on the skin of your target’s neck, you used one hand to press the panic button on your necklace. You had no idea that Bucky Barnes would be the one sent to save you.
Bucky was wide awake before he ever got the call from Fury that night. He’d always had trouble sleeping, but lately the trouble seemed worse than usual. He never once pieced together that his struggles with insomnia were worsened on the nights that he didn’t hear you across the hall. When he got the call from Fury, he was on his feet and headed downstairs to his bike in less than thirty seconds. By the time he was on his bike, his thoughts had already veered into dangerously homicidal territory. As he sped down the darkened highway, skillfully weaving in and out of Friday night traffic, he could hear Dr. Raynor’s rule echoing in the back of his mind. No one gets hurt. In that particular instance, Bucky chose to apply the rule to you, rather than to the piece of shit that had you feeling unsafe enough to press a panic button.
After that night, Bucky’s gaze never felt unsettling to you again. Though a shiver might still run down your spine when he was in your vicinity, you found that you liked having his eyes on you. He was watchful in a way that made you feel safe and seen. Maybe it was the way he tried to be civil when he first showed up at the club that night. He acted as if he’d merely stumbled into the private room accidentally, profusely apologizing as the door swung shut behind him and he ran a hand through his slightly messy brown hair. For a man that hadn’t been drunk in at least eighty years, he sure as hell was good at pretending that he was.
“I was looking for the men’s room, but I guess this probably isn’t it.” He said, slurring his words slightly and shifting his eyes back and forth between you and the man you were straddling on the couch. The man’s hands remained firmly on your ass, which had Bucky ready to put a bullet right between his eyes. He probably would’ve done it too if you weren’t right there on his fucking lap. He’s a good shot, but it was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.
“It’s the second door on the right, down the hall.” Your voice was unexpectedly soft and gentle for a girl who’d just finished putting on a show for some of the city’s most questionable men.
“Second door on the right.” Bucky repeated, mumbling the words as he took a couple of unsteady steps further into the dimly lit room. “You work a pretty dangerous job, don’t you?” He focused his blue eyes on you. One thing about making eye contact with Bucky Barnes is that it’s simultaneously intoxicating and sobering.
“She told you where the men’s room was, now you have five seconds to get there.” The man between your legs said coldly, letting his hands slide away from your ass to rest on your thighs. Bucky chuckled lowly, in a way that had goosebumps rising on your skin and anticipation building in your gut. He took another step closer to the couch, but this time it was clearly steady and purposeful. You swallowed hard, suddenly a bit worried that you were the only thing between the two men.
“I know you were being generous with the five seconds but…” Bucky began calmly, reaching into the back of his waistband and pulling out his firearm. You felt the man’s muscles stiffen beneath you instantly. “I’m going to give you exactly one to get your hands off of her.”
From then on, things were different. Though you still didn’t work together on anything directly, Bucky always seemed to know what missions you were on. You learned that his timing is impeccable, that he’s always the first one the show up when you put out a call for help, and he shows up faster than should be possible. You learned that he has rules, rules that he doesn’t follow but that he seems to cling to anyway, as if they give him some kind of comfort. The most important rule is that no one gets hurt. He broke that one when he pistol-whipped your target in the club that night. You also learned that he has a dark past, the kind that keeps him in constant danger. If you’d known that his past would introduce you to that same kind of danger, you might’ve done things differently.
Bucky likes to think that he would’ve done things differently, that he would’ve turned down Fury’s call to be your backup that night, that he would’ve let someone else save you if he’d known. If he’d known that HYDRA was still breathing down his fucking neck, watching his every move outside of the tower, waiting for the right time to get their bloodstained hands on the Winter Soldier once more. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have put you in harms way. He might’ve saved you from one handsy lowlife, but he sealed your fate when he pushed your hair away from your face and pulled his helmet over your head that same night. That was the exact moment that HYDRA got a glimpse of you.
As fucked up as it is, HYDRA could see the connection between the two of you long before you or Bucky ever could. That’s why they chose you.
That’s why, unbeknownst to you, you’re currently less than twenty-four hours away from falling right into their hands.
The soft pattering sound that raindrops make when they fall onto the roof of a parked car has always been one of your favorite melodies. It’s what’s lulling you into such a sleepy state right now as you try to make it through hour five of your solo stakeout. Glancing over at the screen in the center of the dashboard, you see that your target is doing exactly what he’s been doing since you first arrived outside of his building a few hours ago. Through the view of a heat-signature camera, you see his tall, lanky form hunched over at his desk. You never thought you’d wish for someone to break the law, but god, here you are now, wishing he’d do something, anything, to warrant you bringing in a strike team to bust down his door and drag his ass out. You’re just so damn bored. Maybe that’s why your mind starts wondering into territory it doesn’t belong in.
Bucky Barnes. The man who lives across the hall from you, the man who showers just two stalls away from you in the gym every morning, the man who saved your ass in such an attractive way that you haven’t been able to get him out of your head since. You hate that he always seems to have that indecipherable look on his face. You hate that half the time you can’t even tell if he even cares that you exist. You really hate that you find him so fucking fascinating. You like to tell yourself that if he was more open, more extroverted, you wouldn’t give him a second thought. It’s the fact that he’s so quiet and mysterious, that’s what draws you to him. You can’t help but want to figure him out, him and his dark, brooding ways.
A few minutes pass before you take another look at your target on the screen, noting that he’s still right there at his desk. You let out a soft sigh as you type out a quick message to Fury.
You: No movement for the past 5 hours, ready to get out of here. Send in a surveillance team for the rest of the night.
Fury’s quick to respond, letting you know that a surveillance van is being dispatched and that you can leave when it arrives.
So many things could’ve been done differently to prevent what would happen next. Fury could’ve given you a clear description of the van, he could’ve given you an exact ETA, he could’ve told you that the van would signal you with their lights when they arrived. You could’ve been a little less stubborn and let him assign you a partner so you weren’t sitting in such a remote part of the city all by yourself.
When a large black van starts approaching your car just ten minutes later, you get an uneasy feeling. You watch in your rearview mirror as it approaches from behind, driving slowly, with the headlights off. You should’ve known the surveillance team couldn’t have arrived on scene so quickly considering the area you were in.
It all happened too fast. It happened too fast and you don’t remember any of it. You don’t remember how hard you fought against them. You don’t remember hitting the panic button on your necklace before it was ripped from your neck and left in the street. You don’t remember taking out three men before the fourth one put a bag over your head and gave you an injection that put you into the deepest sleep you’ve had in years. You don’t remember a damn thing.
Bucky remembers it all as if he was there. He watched the footage of your attack and capture so many times that it’s burned in his brain. He should’ve been there. That’s why he’s doing what he’s doing now, losing sleep what little sleep he might’ve gotten over the last three nights and putting all of his energy into finding you. It’s why the second he found out it was HYDRA who put their hands on you, he became a version of himself that he swore was dead.
One-hundred and twenty hours. One-hundred and twenty fucking hours since Bucky last heard the sound of your door closing softly across the hall, since he last heard the sound of your triumphant laugh as you get a good hit in on your sparring partner, since he last heard the sound of your voice. Your voice. A sound he didn’t know was giving him life ever since it first graced his ears. Bucky throws another solid punch at the bag that hangs in front of him in the gym, not in the least bit surprised when the chain suspending it from the ceiling snaps and the bag goes flying into a wall at least twenty feet away.
“I’ve only ever seen one other person do that to a punching bag.” Fury’s voice rings out, interrupting the silence surrounding Bucky and breaking through the thick fog in his mind. “And he was going through some shit too.”
“I’m fine.” Bucky lies straight through his teeth as he hangs another bag, barely giving Fury a sideways glance as he approaches from the shadows.
“Oh, you’re fine? And here I thought you might be at least a little upset that your across-the-hall neighbor was taken by the same people who ruined your life. Or do super soldiers not have feelings?” Bucky shoots Fury an annoyed look before throwing a few light punches at the new bag.
“Isn’t that what people want when they create super soldiers? Mindless soldiers who take orders and feel nothing?”
“You feel nothing?” Fury leans against the wall next to the previously airborne punching bag, glancing down at it with a look of familiarity. “Do you feel nothing for her?” Bucky’s fist collides with the bag almost hard enough to snap the chain, and though Fury is standing in the danger zone, he doesn’t flinch.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know why this is affecting you so much. Is it who was taken or is it who did the taking?”
“Does it matter?” Bucky’s tone conveys every bit of his exasperation as he steadies the punching bag with both hands and raises a furrowed brow at the director.
“It does.” Bucky could lie. He could lie or he could just refuse to answer. He never signed any contracts saying he had to be forthcoming with Fury at all times, he never so much as promised that he’d be honest with him. But for some reason, he tells the truth.
“Both.”
“What lengths would you go to to save her?”
Bucky’s hands remain on either side of the punching bag, squeezing it hard enough to leave imprints in the tough canvas fabric. Images of you being taken in such a violent way swirl around in his mind, playing on repeat with Fury’s last question as the soundtrack.
“Lengths I haven’t been to since my arm had a fucking star on it.”
Your life has been reduced to brief moments of consciousness and flashes of things that your drugged mind is trying so hard to piece together. You remember the flash of a butterfly needle piercing your left arm and the cool sensation of saline entering your circulation from an IV drip. You remember someone swiping at your forehead with a wet cloth, leaving a stinging pain right above your left eyebrow and around your bottom lip. You remember harsh Russian words being spoken over you as you lost your grip on reality and went tumbling into the oblivion of a heavily sedated sleep. You remember waking up a second time and seeing nothing but gray concrete walls all around you. The air was stagnant and chilly, making you wish you had more than what felt like a small paper gown covering your skin. The sound of a metal door creaking on its hinges and a gruff voice barking orders at someone in Russian was the last thing you heard before your eyes closed and your head fell back once again. The third time you awoke from your medically-induced slumber was this morning, when the drugs were finally clearing your system. You found yourself still in that small concrete room, strapped to some kind of exam table, covered from your toes to your shoulders by a thin white sheet. Not a single thing has happened since then. You’ve laid on that exam table for hours, alternating between staring up at the dim light hanging from the ceiling above and staring at any one of the four gray walls around you. There’s a rusted metal door immediately to your left, but you found your neck too sore to turn and stare at that for very long.
You can’t seem to remember how you got here, or much less where the fuck here is. You’ve wracked your brain repeatedly, trying to piece it together, but the only thing you remember is your last interaction with Bucky Barnes.
You don’t usually wash your hair in the gym shower. You remember that on the morning of the day you were taken, you spent an extra two minutes in the shower washing your hair. It’s how you ended up in front of the mirror, with your towel wrapped tightly around your body, working the tangles out of your hair with your bare hands. It’s why Bucky took one step out of his shower, with his own towel slung low on his hips, and froze. You caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, the reflection perfectly capturing every detail of him. Drops of water clung to his tan skin, rolling down the ridges and valleys of his toned abs. The curve of his right shoulder could’ve been crafted by a master potter, sloping down to a defined bicep and forearm, accentuated by apparent veins holding such a steady balance of blood and super soldier serum. But his left shoulder? Your eyes were drawn to what was left of it. The skin there looked so painfully marred and fused to his black and gold vibranium arm. You stared a moment too long before you realized you were the one who messed up, you were usually gone by now. Bucky never would’ve stepped out of his shower if he knew you were there, right there in nothing more than a small white towel that was threatening to reveal where your thighs curve upward into your ass.
“My hair…” You had said softly, your voice coming out timid and gentle. Bucky remained frozen, watching as your eyes slowly moved away from his scars and settled on the dog tags that hung around his neck. When you finally looked him in the eye in the reflection of the mirror, you seemed to find your voice again. “My hair got tangled.” Bucky only nodded, giving you an unreadable look as he took a slow step forward to head to the locker room for his clothes. You don’t know why you didn’t leave it at that.
Bucky doesn’t know why you didn’t leave it at that either, but everything that happened after that is exactly why he’s taking your disappearance so fucking hard.
“Does it hurt?” You asked so quietly that Bucky thought he might’ve imagined it. He was a mere foot behind you when the question left your lips. You felt your cheeks blushing pink as his feet stilled and he met your gaze in the mirror once more.
“Does what hurt?” You could’ve just said it. You could have just fucking said it, you didn’t have to do what you did. You turned around slowly, letting your fingers slip out of your hair before reaching a hand out and letting your fingertips ghost over where skin meets vibranium on Bucky’s left shoulder.
Bucky couldn’t fucking breathe. As your soft fingers traced his scars, he drew in a deep breath and seemingly forgot how to exhale. You didn’t notice the way his eyes closed as you studied his skin beneath your touch, you didn’t even notice the way his chest stopped rising and falling. Your touch was so light and gentle, so innocent and yet it changed something in the atmosphere. The air in the room grew so thick that Bucky felt as though he might suffocate, you felt it too, but you didn’t withdraw your hand. It was the contrast between his rough scars and your soft fingers, combined with the warm, steamy air, and the water droplets rolling down Bucky’s back that had him growing overstimulated. When he opened his eyes and looked down at you, he watched as the towel clinging to your chest had begun to lose its grip, slipping down an inch to reveal a little too much skin while simultaneously not revealing damn near enough. He didn’t even realize what he had done until he had your wrist clamped in his flesh hand and your palm was flat against his scarred shoulder. You were looking up at him, and though he expected to find fear or apprehension in your eyes, he found nothing of the sort.
“You’re not wearing your necklace.” He said matter-of-factly, narrowing his eyes at you, but keeping his grip on your wrist, preventing you from taking your hand away from his shoulder.
“Should I be?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Bucky shrugged, the action moving your hand slightly but still, he held it in place.
“You’re standing here in nothing but a towel with a guy you barely know and you don’t think you should have your panic button around?”
“Every time I press it, you show up.” You pointed out. Bucky dropped your wrist and you pulled your hand back to your side slowly, but didn’t take a step away from him.
“I’m starting to think you only press it when you want to see me.” His tone was taunting, almost playful, and you picked up on the smirk that was threatening to take over his features.
“What happens if I press it one night when I’m not on a mission?” Your boldness came out of nowhere. Bucky cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, wondering to himself if you were just playing along with his little game or if the entire exchange had a hint of something real in it.
“Press it sometime and we’ll find out.”
As you lie on the uncomfortable exam table with restraint straps digging into your arms, legs, and torso, you have to wonder if you pressed your panic button the night you were taken. You can’t seem to remember a single thing about that day after the tense moment in the shower room with Bucky, everything after that is simply gone. Surely you didn’t get the chance to press the button, because if you did, you have no doubt that Bucky would’ve shown up. He might not have been close enough to show up before you were taken but you’re sure he would’ve showed up to the scene, found evidence that you were taken, and he would’ve been able to track and follow whoever took you. Wouldn’t he? He always shows up.
But if Bucky Barnes always shows up, then why are you here now? Why are you alone, in unknown territory, surrounded by thick concrete walls and the sinking feeling that no one is coming for you?
Bucky has gotten himself into some deep shit. He’s fully aware of that as he tilts his head back and rests it on the hard metal behind him. It’s the only part of his body that he can move with the restraint system that HYDRA has him in right now. It’s the same type of reinforced glass-walled system that has once held Loki, the Hulk, and even Bucky when the threat of descending into the Winter Soldier still loomed. HYDRA’s afraid of him when he’s in control of his own mind, so he’s here, locked away and feeling fucking helpless.
Bucky getting taken in by HYDRA was part of the plan to rescue you. You’re in a concrete bunker so deep underground that any attempts to infiltrate it and extract you would’ve only endangered both yours and countless other lives. There were too many unknowns. Truthfully, it was unknown if you were even in this bunker, when SHIELD found out that HYDRA has at least three within this state alone. The only reason they were able to narrow it down to this bunker was because of one double agent on the inside. They took a chance on his intel. They took a chance, allowed Bucky to fall into HYDRA’s hands, and now everything is stalled. Until he lays eyes on you and figures out where they’re holding you and what kind of shape you’re in, nothing else can happen. You’re both sitting ducks at HYDRA’s mercy.
He thought you were taken because of him. Bucky thought you had been targeted by HYDRA because they found out you were connected somehow, because they thought that taking you would be an affront to him. It made sense, if what they wanted was their hands on the Winter Soldier, then all they needed to do was touch something, someone, that he cared about. They knew it would drag him out into the open and give them a shot at having their prized possession back under wraps. Bucky was only partially right. They did indeed use you to draw him out, but you most definitely were never meant to be a simple means to an end.
They chose you because of what they saw that night when you climbed onto the back of Bucky’s bike. They chose you because every interaction they observed after that night was charged with indescribable tension, an obvious chemistry that was palpable even through surveillance cameras and monitors. They knew that you were the key to everything they were planning. So now here you are, sitting up on the side of the exam table, feeling weak and honestly, ready to accept death. As gloved hands move carefully against your upper back, removing a few stitches from a wound there, you wish that you’d died in the scuffle of your kidnapping. The sedation and drugs have fully cleared from your system and you’re trying hard to ignore the aches and pains raging beneath your skin and the dark thoughts clouding your mind. You clutch the white sheet over your bare chest and grit your teeth as the gloved hands tug on a particularly tight stitch in your back.
“I can’t give you any pain medication today.” The man behind you says in a hushed tone, noticing the way your muscles tense every time he touches you. “It would interfere with tonight’s test.” He continues working on your wound as you sit in silence, refusing to engage with him. Tonight’s test. Questions start swirling through your mind at warp speed, begging to be asked, but you press your lips together tightly. “You don’t know it yet, but I’m the only friend you have in here.” His confession comes as a hurried whisper.
The man finishes up removing your stitches and then takes a few steps around the side of the exam table, coming to stand in front of you. Finally meeting his gaze, you see a tall, thin man, probably a few years older than you, with warm brown eyes. He doesn’t offer a reassuring smile or anything of the sort, but something in his eyes makes you feel like there might be some truth to his claim.
“Lie back, I need to see your ribs and your left hip.” You don’t really know why you do as he says, but you listen. You lie back on the exam table, thankful that he doesn’t move to use the restraints, and you shift the white sheet so it covers your breasts but allows him to view your ribcage. You cast your eyes downward, taking in the sight of the blue and purple bruises decorating your left side. That must be why it hurts so fucking much to take a deep breath. What the hell did they do to you? “I did x-rays when you first got here, you have a couple of hairline rib fractures, but nothing major.” He runs his cold gloved fingertips over the bruises, palpating lightly and listening for the sounds of any crepitus, which would indicate much more than just a little hairline fracture or two. He hears nothing, and skims his fingers down to your left hip. It’s the worst of what you’ve seen so far. The bruising there is much darker and more expansive than the bruising over your ribs. Even just his featherlight touches there elicit a pain that has your eyes screwing shut and your teeth clenching. “It’s not broken.” He tells you, as if that’ll suddenly resolve your pain. As soon as he retracts his hand, you’re covering yourself with the sheet once more and moving to sit back up on the side of the table. Your bodily movements are slow and careful, to avoid aggravating all of these injuries that you didn’t know you had.
“How long have I been here?” You almost choke on the words as they slip past your lips, the dryness in your throat making it painful to speak. Your voice is so raspy that you barely recognize it as being your own. Maybe you should’ve started with asking for a sip of water.
“Today is your seventh day here.” The man answers in his softest whisper yet, as if he isn’t supposed to tell you. Seven days? Seven fucking days you’ve been lying on this exam table, sedated to the point of losing nearly a week of consciousness? Your nails dig into the side of the exam table as rage begins to course through your veins. “Don’t do anything stupid.” You look up to find the man standing still before you, his eyes darting from your white knuckles and then to your face. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you will yourself to calm the fuck down and focus.
“Where is here?” You ask shakily, your rage spilling over into your raspy tone.
“That doesn’t matter. There’s something else we need to talk about, but it’s not the right time yet.” Suddenly, you hear what sounds like footsteps and a bit of commotion somewhere outside the rusted metal door of your concrete room. It’s not yet very close, but you can tell whatever it is, it’s getting closer to you. The man’s expression grows nervous and he quickly begins cleaning up the tray table beside him, wrapping his mess of old stitches and bloody gauze up in a small plastic sheet. “I’ll be back here tonight, but someone will be with me. They’re going to make me give you an injection. Don’t fight it, please. It will wear off by the time morning comes.”
“What’s in it?” You ask, matching his hurried tone and low volume. He’s moving to the door in an instant, with sweat beading along his hairline and his cheeks flushing pink. “What’s in the injection?”
“Something that won’t kill you, but you’ll wish it would.”
He’s going to snap every piece of metal and shatter every fucking inch of glass that’s holding him in place right now. Bucky’s seething, his face flushed and his chest heaving as he calculates how many concrete walls stand between him and wherever the fuck you’re being tortured right now. Another pained scream reverberates through the bunker and it reaches Bucky’s straining ears, making his blood boil. It’s you. He’s sure it’s you. Though he’s never heard you scream before, he has no doubt that it’s you. Bucky’s curling his fingers into fists and scrunching his eyes shut when he hears the electronic lock to the room that he’s in beep a few times and then click. The door slides open quickly, revealing a handful of guards and a pair of electronic handcuffs.
“Are you ready to see your little girlfriend?” One of the guards spits the words out as if they’re venom, his thick Russian accent clinging to each word. “I think she needs you.”
What the fuck is this? Bucky’s mind is reeling as he tries to keep his cool, refusing to blow the entire op by losing his temper and bashing a few heads in. As long as they’re really taking him to you, he won’t kill anyone — not yet anyway. He stays silent as the guards get into formation around the entrance of the chamber he’s in. He doesn’t breathe a word as the head guard places the electronic cuffs around his wrists and presses a few buttons to release the full body restraints that he’s been in for hours. He thinks about how he could easily kill every single waste-of-breath in this tiny concrete room, even with the handcuffs on, but when another scream rings out, and much louder this time with both the chamber and room door being open, Bucky’s only thinking about one thing: getting to you.
“You recognize her screams, don’t you? Is that how she sounds when you fuck her?” Bucky starts counting down in his head.
Three. He’ll give the man exactly three seconds to shut the fuck up.
“I bet her pussy is as pretty as her moans, yeah?”
Two.
“Maybe I’ll find out for myself, she wouldn’t be able to fight me off when she’s restrained.”
One. The sound of the man’s skull cracking as Bucky effortlessly knocks him to the concrete floor is sickening. Before any of the other guards have a chance to save him, his head is between Bucky’s tactical boot and the ground. A second cracking sound echoes in the room and the man is dead. Truthfully, he sealed his fate the moment he had a single untoward thought about you. None of the other guards make a move. They’re all frozen, staring at Bucky with mixes of fear, anger, and uncertainty. They don’t know what to do without their fearless fucking leader.
“Take me to her or I will kill every single one of you without lifting a fucking finger.”
He showed up. Bucky Barnes showed up. With the amount of pain flooding your nerve endings and making you see stars, your first thought is that he isn’t real. The tall, broad-shouldered man standing before you, with his black and gold arm reflecting the dim light that hangs from the ceiling, can’t be real.
Bucky stares at you from across the small concrete room. You’re sitting in the farthest corner, with your back against the rough wall and your knees pulled up tight to your chest, wearing what looks to be a tattered hospital gown. It’s fucking heartbreaking. The way your eyes flit up to his, looking at him as if he’s a figment of your imagination, it shifts something within him. A shudder racks through your body and a torturous moan leaves your lips. Bucky’s feet are carrying him forward in an instant, closer to you. You’re dropping your head to your knees and biting down on your forearm, refusing to let yourself watch as he grows closer. He isn’t real. This isn’t real, you tell yourself. The pain is making you hallucinate.
Cold, smooth metal ghosts along the side of your face, pushing your hair behind your ear and then following the curve of your jaw down toward your chin. Bucky’s clenching his teeth together as you let him lift your head, as you lift your eyes to meet his.
“You showed up.” Your voice breaks him. It breaks him into a million little tiny flesh and vibranium pieces. It breaks him in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever been broken before. When you lean into his touch, he wants nothing more than to pick you up and draw you into his lap, to cradle you against his chest and tell you that he’s going to get you out of this hellhole. But he doesn’t.
“I showed up.” He says softly, brushing his thumb over a bruise on your cheek. “What have they done to you?” His eyes part from yours as he takes in the full sight of you. His fingers move up to trace the healing cut above your eyebrow, then down to graze along the cut at the corner of your mouth.
“I’ve been sedated until today. They gave me something not long ago, an injection.” Your muscles tighten involuntarily as another wave of pain surges through you, forcing you to drop your head to your knees again as the room spins around you. The scream that erupts from you, that rips through your chest, is enough to rattle the metal tray table across the room. By the time the surge begins to pass, you’re shivering. You let your head fall back against the concrete wall behind you and find Bucky staring at you, his brows pinched together in concern and a sheen of sweat forming across his forehead. You don’t have the strength to fight when he grabs your hands and tugs you to your feet, lifting you into his arms with ease and carrying you bridal-style to the exam table in the middle of the room. He lays you on it carefully, but your thin gown shifts to reveal your heavily bruised hip and he feels a fresh serving of rage filling him up.
“What the fuck did they do to you?” He demands to know, pushing your gown a little further to reveal the entirety of the deep purple and blue bruise. “Torture?”
“No, I think this is the first round of torture.” You groan, trying to roll onto your side so you can curl back up into a ball. Bucky places his flesh hand on your lower stomach and his vibranium one on your thigh, holding you still. “They said it isn’t broken.”
“And you believe them?” He questions. His mistake comes when he finally touches your skin with his flesh hand. When he presses his warm palm flat against your bared hip, you suck in a sharp inhale and your eyes open wide. “Does this hurt?” He asks, but you don’t respond. You don’t say anything because it doesn’t hurt. It feels like stretching your muscles after a long nap, like laying in the summer sun to dry after swimming for hours. He notices the look of relief taking over your face, so he keeps his hand right where it is. “This doesn’t hurt.” He says incredulously, narrowing his eyes as he looks down at the swollen, angry skin. Leaning into his touch again, you take another deep breath. “What did they give you?”
“I don’t know. It was a liquid in a syringe, looked like about ten milliliters of something cloudy and white.” Another twinge of pain shoots through your body but it feels muted this time, just a fraction of its previous intensity. Bucky knows what they gave you. His breaths come in quicker, the slight hyperventilation making him a little lightheaded as HYDRA’s plan begins to unfold before him. He doesn’t remove his hand from your bruised hip, but begins to curl his fingertips against your skin instead. His eyes study your face, watching how it contorts, but not in pain. It contorts with the faintest promise of pleasure. He unfurls his fingers and begins sliding his hand upward, dragging his palm and fingers flat as he nears your waist. A soft whimper escapes your lips and he halts his movements. Your eyes flutter open and you meet his gaze with a furrowed brow as pain lingers in your nerve endings. The further up he moves his hand, the less relief you feel. After giving each other a charged look, he continues his upward movement. He's trying to confirm that this is what he thinks it is, while simultaneously checking you for any other bruises. He’s tallying them up in his head. Each bruise he finds is one more of HYDRA’s men that will be dying a slow, painful death at his hands. He uses his vibranium hand to push your gown further to the side, revealing the dark bruises along your ribcage just before his hand glides over them.
“Just hairline fractures.” You whisper, speaking the words through a shaky exhale. He’s going to kill someone. Probably more than one someone. It’s already settled, the certainty of that fact taking up residence in his bones. He will kill anyone who laid a finger on you. Actually, he’ll kill anyone who has so much as looked in your direction with ill intent over the last seven days. As soon as he gets you out of this damn concrete bunker and back to safety, he’s going on a fucking rampage. “Bucky…” His name falls from your lips in a way that has his body physically reacting. He feels sick over it, over feeling even the tiniest bit of pleasure when you’re in such a state.
“It felt better when I was touching your hip.” He already knows. You nod in response. Slowly, you reach down with your left hand, watching him cautiously as your hand comes to rest over the top of his that’s still lingering over your bruised ribs. He lets you guide his hand down your skin, inching closer and closer to your hip as your face relaxes and your eyes fall closed once more. “You don’t know what this is?”
“Just tell me.” You plead, scrunching your nose up when another muted surge of pain pulses down the back of your spine, shooting down to your fingers and toes like lightning. Still, with Bucky’s touch, it’s so much more bearable.
“It’s a chemical compound that HYDRA designed when they realized that recreating the serum from a super soldier’s DNA would take years. They wanted to shift into researching super soldier stem cells instead.” As soon as the words stem cells leave Bucky’s mouth, you know where this is going. A sheen of sweat is glistening across your forehead now, and you wipe at it with the back of your hand as Bucky continues to drag his palm in circles over your hip bone, trying to keep the worst of your pain at bay.
“What does the chemical do, Bucky?” Exasperation is evident in your tone, but it doesn’t even register in Bucky’s mind. He zeroes in on the way his name sounds rolling off of your tongue, trying his best to ignore the tent forming in his tactical pants. This is not the fucking time nor the place. He grits his teeth for a second and his hand stills on your hip, which earns him a displeased whimper from you and another noticeable hardening twinge in his cock. He’s quick to start rubbing circles against the skin of your hip again.
“It does a lot of things…causes pain that gets worse and worse over the course of about eight hours, makes you wish you were dead.”
“Yeah, I got that part.” You groan, considering curling into a fetal position. “But what’s the purpose of using it on someone? Why are they doing this?” There’s a long pause after your question, and you study the side of Bucky’s face as he watches his hand moving over your bruised hip. “Bucky?” Would it be wrong of him to tell you to stop saying his fucking name? He’s considering it.
“They used to inject super soldiers with it and then lock them in rooms with women. It enhances all of this reproductive shit, sends their sex drive into overdrive, all they can think about it getting off.” It’s crude, the way he describes it, but its effective in giving you a clear mental image of HYDRA’s depravity. Your heart is beating out of your chest as things start to make sense in your mind, as you realize the true gravity of the precarious situation that you’re in right now.
“Why haven’t I heard about this before?” You have to ask, but you’re sure you won’t like the answer. Bucky hesitates for a moment, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth and biting down, avoiding your gaze.
“It wasn’t effective.”
“Why not?” His hand pauses again, and this time, he withdraws his touch completely, taking a step back from the exam table you lie on.
“The women never survived.” A sinking feeling settles deep in the pit of your stomach, almost overwhelming the cramping pain you already feel there. He isn’t saying the women didn’t survive the dose of the drug. That’s not what he’s saying at all. He’s saying they didn’t survive being fucked by feral super soldiers. He’s saying these women were violated and then discarded like single-use plastic, all as part of HYDRA’s attempt to have at least one of them end up pregnant so they could harvest potentially super soldier serum-laden stem cells. Bucky can see the wheels in your head turning, he can see the panic rising up inside you before it’s even reached the surface. He doesn’t reach out to touch you, but god, he wants to. He wants to reassure you. “Something about this is different though. As far as I know, they never gave the women a dose of the drug. Only the men.” You take a few deep breaths, the mixture of sheer panic and an oncoming wave of pain quickly growing to be too much for you to handle.
“Touch me.” You choke out, just as another bolt of what feels like supercharged electricity shoots down your spine and raises your body temperature. You cry out in agony as you tremble on the exam table, barely noticing when Bucky steps forward and rests his hand on your hip again. You need more than that, so much more than that, and you both know it. When the wave of pain subsides and your breaths begin to come in slower, you peel your eyes open and find Bucky already focused on your face, concern, worry, and a good bit of rage etched into his features. “Why would they give this to me and not you?”
“I don’t…” His voice trails off as his eyes roam over the small bits of exposed skin, as he takes in the tattered hospital gown and the bruises and cuts littered across the expanse of your body. He knows why. He was going to lie to you, to tell you he doesn’t know. But what’s the point? “They know I wouldn’t lay a finger on you just to save myself.”
There it is. They’re dosing you to force his hand. He wouldn’t act on the torture if it was aimed at his body alone. He would suffer through the pain or die before he would touch a woman against her will, before he’d ever even think to ask that of someone. But when it’s you? He’d do whatever you ask of him, and somehow HYDRA found that out. HYDRA found that out long before even you did, and they’re using it against you both now.
“He said…the man who’s been treating my wounds, who gave me the injection earlier, he said tonight would be a test.” You whisper, your eyes roving over to the small camera mounted in the far upper corner of the ceiling. Bucky follows your gaze and thinks about ripping the camera right out of the fucking concrete.
Bucky’s trying hard to keep his composure. You’re the one weakness he didn’t even know he had until it was being exploited. What did he do to lead HYDRA right to you? Where did he go wrong? How the hell did everything go to shit so quickly?
He spends the next three hours doing everything he can to ease your pain and suffering without taking it too far. The camera captures everything. It captures the shift in the room when the drug really started to ruin you, when you turned into a moaning, trembling mess on the exam table. It captures Bucky trying to soothe you by running his single flesh hand along your thigh, your lower stomach, and at times even sitting you up to rub deep circles into your lower back. You still needed more. It’s not the first time that Bucky’s resented his vibranium arm, but it’s the first time he’s resented it for a reason totally unrelated to his own trauma. The only thing that’s offering you any relief right now is the feel of his skin against yours, and he can only give you 50% of what anyone else could, because he only has one fucking hand. After half an hour, your pain worsened to an unbearable degree and Bucky took matters into his own hands. That’s when the camera captured Bucky stripping the clothing from his upper body. It was a single cry that you tried to stifle that did it. His top was crumpled on the floor within seconds, his arms wrapping around your quaking body and lifting you from the table. Instead of carrying you bridal style this time, he guided your legs around his waist and let you collapse on his shoulder.
He took you right back to that corner of the room, the corner he first found you in. This time, he sat on the floor with his bare back pressing against the concrete wall. He turned you around in his lap as if you weighed nothing, twisting you until your back was to his chest and you were seated on the floor between his legs, and untied your gown to fully bare your back to him. The moment he placed his hands on your forearms and pulled you flush against him was the moment you knew you were fucked. It felt like coming up for air after tumbling around beneath crashing waves. When he slipped both arms under the fabric of the gown, wrapping them around your stomach and keeping you pressed against him, you felt relief and yet you only wanted – no, needed – more.
“Bucky, it’s not enough.” You whimpered, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder.
“I know, baby, I know. I’m so sorry.” The sweet name hung in the air like smoke, swirling around in the corner of that concrete room. You felt a fire begin to build low in your stomach, replacing the agonizing ache you’d previously been feeling there. Bucky noticed the way your shoulders relaxed a little and the way a serene look briefly took over your features when he slipped up and called you that name. He doesn’t even know where the fuck it came from, but he’ll sure as hell keep using it if it’s doing you any good.
An hour later, the camera captured your thighs squeezing together as you continued to lean back into the super soldier behind you. It captured the internal struggle written all over his face as you fought the desire to straddle him right there on the floor and grind yourself against the sizable bulge in the front of his pants. He knew you needed it, but until you asked, until you vocalized it, he’d hold out. Though you didn’t know it, he was completely at your mercy.
When you started slipping in and out of consciousness, your heart beat rising to a dangerous rate, sustained well over two-hundred beats per minute, HYDRA watched on through their monitors as Bucky started to drag his lips over the skin of your neck. He pressed his lips to your pulse point, seeming to count the beats with the tip of his tongue as your eyes fluttered closed and a broken moan fell from your open mouth.
“What can I do? Tell me what I can do, please.” His plea registered in your mind but the ramifications of your response didn’t. There wasn’t a thought in your head when you reached beneath the gown and gripped his flesh hand, not a single damn thought when you guided his hand down between your legs.
The camera didn’t faze either of you. Though it was a consideration in the back of Bucky’s mind, his fingertips had already felt the wet fabric of the black panties you were sporting beneath the gown and his hand took it upon itself to do anything and everything you needed. With his vibranium hand holding your thighs apart and skilled flesh fingers pulling your panties to the side, Bucky was dipping two digits into your dripping cunt almost as soon as you’d spread your legs for him.
Bucky Barnes used nothing more than one hand and a few words of praise to draw two orgasms out of you, singlehandedly ending your suffering and lulling you into a state of semi-consciousness. He himself was in a daze when a team of guards swept into the room suddenly, four of them aiming their guns at his head as two of them pulled your limp body from his embrace and laid you back on the exam table in the center of the room. Bucky was left sitting in the corner, with sweat glistening along his exposed chest and abs, his dog tags sticking to his skin, and his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes were fixated on his fingers, the two that were seated deep inside you just moments ago. The two fingers that worked your pussy until Bucky’s name was falling freely from your lips, until you wrapped your soft hand around his wrist and dug your nails in, leaving little half-moon shaped bruises in his skin. Until the power of your second orgasm took away almost all of the pain you’d been suffering through for the last three hours, and you went slack against Bucky’s chest. He left those two fingers buried in your cunt until the guards tugged you away from him, taking a piece of his already shattered soul with your weak body.
As the guards place Bucky back in electronic cuffs, not even bothering to have him put his shirt back on, he feels something rising up inside of him. It’s a part of him that he worked so hard to bury, to crush down into nothing more than dust and ash, never to see the light of day again. He feels a type of uncontrollable rage that he hasn’t quite felt since a time when he didn’t even know his own name.
Bucky feels the Winter Soldier clawing its way to the surface, scratching at the layers of his skin, begging to be set free. The only differences this time being who he’d be killing for and whether or not he’d be doing it willingly.
You. He’d be killing for you. And he would kill so fucking willingly.
Bucky is no stranger to nightmares. He’s no stranger to waking up in a cold sweat, his heart nearly beating out of his chest as he struggles to ground himself and remember that it isn’t real. He’s no stranger to being haunted during his waking hours, plagued by memories of what he’s done, or of what’s been done to him. What he is a stranger to is being haunted by you.
The little pants and gasps that fell from your lips so freely at the skilled work of his hand are engrained in his mind. They taunt him with every draft of filtered air that wafts around the chamber. He can still feel your back pressed against his chest, your thighs spread and leaning into his own, the soft tresses of your hair brushing against the side of his neck as you let your head fall back on his shoulder. He’s so fucking thankful that you let your head fall back that way. His control would’ve been in danger of slipping if you’d chosen to look down between your legs and watch as he slid his fingers in and out of you. Hell, his control was teetering on the fucking edge regardless. He hates that he knows how it feels to have your cunt gripping his fingers, your body begging him not to pull away, how it feels to have you relying solely on him for your release. He hates even more that he only has HYDRA to thank for it.
Bucky lets his head rest back and his eyes close tightly as a memory makes its way to the forefront of his thoughts.
“I’m not wearing your jacket.” You said defiantly, shaking your pretty little head and crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky was such a gentleman, keeping his gaze averted instead of taking in the way your stance was accentuating the shape of your breasts. Your breasts that were already threatening to spill over the black dress clinging to your curves. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to stop picturing your soft skin marred with road rash. He didn’t know you very well, but he knew that if you said you wouldn’t wear his jacket, then you damn sure wouldn’t be wearing it.
“Then you’re wearing my helmet.” He said coldly, turning to face you with his black helmet gripped in his flesh hand. “Or you can go back inside and leave a little more glitter on one of New York’s most upstanding men.” The hesitation that flashed across your face only frustrated him more, as if you were really thinking about going back into that damn shithole. “It’ll keep the wind from messing up your hair, princess.”
You stepped forward suddenly, coming close enough that your arms almost brushed against Bucky’s chest as your eyes narrowed in disdain. You looked up at him through your lashes in a way that had him feeling like he was on the edge of a rocky cliff, seconds from falling.
"Put it on for me then, soldier.” You said softly, your voice barely above the whistling of the wind. A low chuckle rumbled past his lips as he shifted the helmet to his vibranium hand and did something so unexpected. He reached up with his flesh hand and gently, so fucking gently, pushed a perfectly placed stray lock of hair behind your ear. The helmet was on two seconds later, and he only had to fasten the strap beneath your chin before you’d be ready to ride.
“Look up for me.” His tone was even, unwavering, even when his words were suggestive. The energy between you was electric. It felt like the sharp, crackling atmosphere you’d feel right before lightning strikes right at your feet. A chill spread throughout your body, and because of how close Bucky was standing and how focused you were on everything he was doing, you didn’t stop to think that the chill was really your sixth sense kicking in. You were being watched. You were being chosen by HYDRA as Bucky fastened the strap under your chin and met your gaze for a moment too long. Your fate was being sealed.
The electronic lock outside of Bucky’s concrete room beeps, dragging him out of his head and back to the present. His head snaps forward as the door slides open and a slew of guards pour into the room, followed by a tall, thin man with gray hair and dark, empty eyes. His skin looks as if it would slough off and turn to dust if a strong breeze hit him just right.
“The girl made it through the night, thanks to you.” The man says, keeping his eyes cast downward at an illuminated tablet in his hands. Bucky narrows his eyes, refusing to let relief cloud his focus. “She’s had almost twenty-four hours to recover so she’s about to get her second injection now.” Bucky’s muscles tense within the restraint system, but he maintains his composure, biting down on the inside of his cheek nearly hard enough to draw blood. “We need to go over some ground rules before tonight’s session begins. Are you going to cooperate with me?” The old man looks up now, his hollow eyes meeting Bucky’s without fear.
“I’m listening.” He spits the words out like venom.
“Based on the conversation the two of you had last night, you already know why we’re doing this. You were pretty spot on, really, I was impressed.” The man pauses, waiting for Bucky to respond. Bucky bites down a little harder on the inside of his cheek before inhaling deeply.
“What are the ground rules?” He asks tensely, growing more and more impatient with every passing millisecond.
“She stays in restraints. If you so much as look like you’re going to remove them, we’ll find another super soldier to pair her with.” Just the thought of any other man being near you after the injection they’re giving you right now has Bucky clenching his teeth. “You finish inside of her. If you don’t, you’ll have a front row seat to watch someone else do it next time.”
Finish inside of her.
Bucky knew what they were plotting, but it’s only hitting him now that he’s hearing it said aloud. Some part of him was assuming the team would’ve swooped in and staged a rescue before things got this far, before anything really happened. That part of him is sweating now.
“Consider this your one chance to get what you want from her.” The man taunts, turning on his heel and heading for the door. He stops right before reaching the exit, looking back over his shoulder at Bucky. “She might feel something for you but she never would’ve given you a chance in the real world. You’re a cold-blooded killer, a ruthless assassin with a dark past. She would’ve only ever feared you.”
Something’s different about the man with the warm brown eyes, the man who gave you the first injection. He seems almost as uneasy as you are about being here. He doesn’t quite belong.
“This will burn at first, just like last time.” He says quietly, flicking the tip of his gloved finger against the side of a syringe in an attempt to pop the air bubbles inside of it. You stare at the ten milliliters of white cloudy liquid with disdain. You remember what it did to you last night. Memories of searing pain mingle with memories of a familiar face. Bucky Barnes showed up. He came to your rescue and gave you exactly what you needed to survive the torture HYDRA chose to inflict on you. “Tonight is going to be different.”
“How so?” You ask, forcing your mind to abandon all thoughts of the man whose fingers were curled inside of you less than a day ago. You can’t think about that right now.
“There will be expectations, and if they aren’t met, things will get very bad for you very fast.” The man’s warning makes your blood run cold. You tense up as he runs an alcohol swab over the skin of your upper arm.
“Things aren’t already bad?” You ask sarcastically, glancing around the concrete holding cell you’ve lived in for days now.
“They want you pregnant. Whether that’s by your friend or not is up to the two of you.”
“Oh, we get choices now? Does HYDRA have a catalog of captive super soldiers that I get to choose from?” The man shoots you a callous look as he sinks the needle into your arm and pushes the plunger down, administering the drug quickly. You feel the burning sensation all around the injection site as he retracts the needle and drops it on the metal tray table beside him.
“Do you trust me?” He asks, turning away from you and peeling his gloves off. You watch him closely as he begins to clean up the various items on the tray table.
“Fuck no.”
“That’s fair, you don’t know me. But I know you. I know that you have all of SHIELD and a few other big-name agencies scrambling to rescue you. I know that you won’t be here for very long, and that Bucky Barnes being here was part of the plan to bring you home. I know that when I tell you I’m on your side, you won’t believe me for one second.”
His claims catch you off-guard. You’re frozen, sitting on the side of the exam table with your knuckles turning white as your grip on the edge of it tightens. The man doesn’t spare you a glance as he finishes wrapping up his trash from the tray table and places it in a small plastic bag at his feet.
“He killed a guard yesterday.” You process his words quickly, your eyes following his every move as he lifts the bag and heads for the door.
“Why?” You ask quickly, keeping your tone low. You’re tempted to look over your shoulder and see if the camera is on, but if it is, you don’t want to draw attention to the fact that this man is giving you information you shouldn’t be getting.
“Because apparently, you’re worth killing for.”
“He wouldn’t have done it just for me, there would’ve been a reason.”
“The guard was talking about fucking you.”
An unfamiliar feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as the implication of the man’s words sink in. Bucky killed someone for you?
Bucky killed someone for you.
Bucky could reduce the metal restraints around him to fragmented pieces on the floor. He could shatter the walls of this damn chamber with a single punch, without even using his vibranium arm. He’s envisioning himself kicking down the door to the room violently, ripping the electronic keypad lock from the wall, and shoving it up any one of the guards’ asses. Sweat is beading across his forehead and dripping down his hairline as he struggles to hold onto reality. He can see you when he closes his eyes. He can feel your head against his shoulder and the soft skin of your thigh against his palm. You’re so unreachable, locked in your own cell with multiple concrete walls and a few hundred meters between you and Bucky, and yet, it’s as if you’re right in front of him. The image of you is taunting him, daring him to lose control.
He doesn’t know how his touch soothed you in any way last night, not when the drug is wreaking this level of havoc on his own body. He can’t imagine finding relief in anything. He’s a trembling mess when a large team of guards descend upon the chamber. He doesn’t put up a fight as they remove him from the chamber restraints and place electronic cuffs around his wrists. The only thing that stops him from killing every single one of the men in the room right now is the fact that he’s sure they’re taking him to you.
His brain is fuzzy, his thoughts jumbled and hard to sort through by the time he’s positioned in front of another metal door with an electronic lock. He has a brief moment of clarity when he sees one of the guards key in the code: 0371. Even with the swarm of bees buzzing around in his head, he commits the number to memory, just in case he needs it later.
Bucky’s shoved forward into the room as soon as the door slides open, but with the lights low and his eyes not yet adjusted, he can’t see shit. He feels one of the guards moving to stand in front of him, removing his electronic cuffs, and then moving away. There’s a rush of cool air against his bare back as the door whooshes shut behind him. They never gave him his fucking shirt back.
You see Bucky before he ever sees you. As you lie on your back, with your hands restrained out to the sides, you let your eyes roam over his disheveled body. His hair is messy and his scruff is a little more grown out than you’re used to seeing. Sweat glistens across his bare torso and forehead. His eyes are narrowed as he searches the dark room for any sign of you. You’re about to call out to him when the room is suddenly cast in a pale, dim glow, and his eyes land on you, lighting your skin on fire. You feel vulnerable as his blue eyes rake over your body, taking in the sight of you restrained and only partially covered by a thin white sheet. They let you wear a black sports bra and pair of black underwear beneath the sheet, but that does little to make you feel any more covered.
A sharp pain starts to build in your lower stomach, spreading quickly down to your thighs and causing you to tense up beneath the sheet, bending your knees upward and letting out a soft groan. Bucky’s moving forward within a second, reaching the side of the bed and resting one knee on the mattress as he reaches for your restraints.
“Don’t.” You choke the word out, shooting him a warning glance. Your eyes fall to the right, looking just past him, and he turns his head to follow your gaze. The wall behind him is made entirely of mirror, a two-way mirror, presumably. Fuck HYDRA for that. He can hear those fucking ground rules replaying in his head like a broken record as he turns to look at you once more, as his eyes take in the ropes tied tightly around your already bruising wrists. He knows what’ll happen if he touches those restraints.
Bucky pulls his hand away from the restraints but leaves his knee propped on the side of the bed, looking down at you with concern as your face contorts with pain. He reaches down with his flesh hand, letting his fingertips ghost along your jawline, watching as your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. He can’t stand seeing you this way for the second night in a row. Fury and the rest of the team should’ve had you out of here by now. What the hell are they waiting on now that they have Bucky on the inside?
“Bucky…” His name is a near whimper when it leaves your lips. Hearing you say it in such a way has him pulling his hand back and retreating from the bed quickly, like you have something he doesn’t want to catch. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to get out of this.”
You watch as Bucky’s eyes scrunch shut and his flesh hand moves to wipe a bit of sweat away from his forehead. You take a moment to let your eyes rake over the entirety of him. They definitely gave him the injection. You can tell by the way his pulse is visible in his neck even from a few feet away, by the way his chest rises and falls so much quicker than usual, and by the slight tent forming in the front of his tactical pants. You don’t let your gaze linger for long, not when you feel your pain and restlessness increasing just at the sight of him. You want him. You want him bad, and you’re afraid if you weren’t in restraints right now, you’d already be all over him. It’s fucking shameful.
When Bucky lets his eyes focus back on you after taking a minute to gather himself, he finds you staring up at the ceiling, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to leave an indentation of your teeth. The bulge that’s already straining against the fabric of his pants only grows, and he wants to bang his head against the concrete wall for that. He can only hope you haven’t noticed it yet, but he’s sure you have.
“What are our options here?” You ask, a slight rasp breaking through your normally smooth tone. Bucky can only assume it’s from all of the screaming you did the night before. He casts another glare in the direction of the two-way mirror wall, trying his best to look anywhere but at you.
“I don’t think we really have options here.” He answers honestly, rubbing the palm of his flesh hand against the back of his neck. His eyes are coasting over the concrete wall behind the bed now, still avoiding you. He feels a dull ache throbbing at the base of his skull and slowly spreading down his spine the longer he remains standing.
“I think we have a few.” Bucky raises an eyebrow at your statement, finally looking back at you. “We could refuse to do anything and see how long it takes for them to come in here and kill me.” Bucky narrows his eyes at your stupid suggestion, shaking his head slightly. You might think they’d just come in and kill you for refusing to cooperate but Bucky knows what they’d do. They’d take him out of the equation and bring in some other super soldier who wouldn’t think twice about taking everything from you. “We could do what they want, suffer through it, and pretend it never happened when we get out of here.”
Suffer through it. Bucky feels physically ill just from hearing you describe it that way. You think you’d suffer through sex with him. And almost worse than that, you seem to think he’d suffer through sex with you. He’s ready to bring the concrete bunker to the ground with just a few punches in order to get you out of here so you don’t have to suffer through a damn thing.
“Or we…” The words die on your lips as you watch Bucky’s muscles tensing and rippling with whatever pain or emotion he’s currently feeling. He looks pissed, honestly, and you’re not sure if that’s because of the situation you’re both in or because of something you said. You swallow hard, audibly enough that Bucky can hear it from across the room. “Or we could fuck.”
You’re not thinking straight, you can’t possibly be thinking straight. If you were, you wouldn’t have said that to Bucky just now, he’s sure of it. He’s holding his breath and keeping his brow furrowed as he stares at you, at the mouth that just said something to unhinged it sent heat flooding through his body. He’s staring at the mouth that he wants so badly to feel against his own, and for some reason, he can’t think of a damn thing to say to you. You shift under his gaze, repositioning your wrists so the ropes don’t pull as hard on your already bruised skin.
“Say something.” You press, hating the silence that’s weighing heavy on your shoulders.
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
“I gave you three options.” A distant pain rumbles through your body, making your bones tremble.
“And you want me to just pick one?” Bucky asks, sounding more and more on edge with every word. You inhale deeply and let out a sigh, choosing to stare up at the ceiling instead of staring at him any longer.
“What the hell even are those options? The first one, refusing to do what they want, that won’t end like you think it will. The second option just makes me feel…” Bucky starts pacing at the foot of the bed, letting the dim lights highlight his toned body perfectly with every jarring step he takes. “The second option makes me feel like shit. Suffer through it?” He casts you a sideways glance that makes you feel bad for the way you worded things just a moment ago. “You’ve been suffering since the night you got here and I’m not going to have a hand in adding to that. But the third option? What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it might be the only thing under our control.” You say softly, the meekness of your voice freezing Bucky mid-step. He’s at the center of the foot of the bed, slowly turning to face you head-on. He looks like a god from this angle and it makes you want to draw your knees up to your chest and close your eyes like a cowering child. He should look like shit. He should look as bad as you probably look right now after being held captive for so many days.
“What do you mean?”
“Not only are they behind that mirror watching us right now, but you know they’re recording every second of this.” Bucky’s blue eyes flit over to the mirror wall on his left and he scowls at it, as if he can see the horde of despicable men gathered behind it, just waiting for a glimpse of some action. “I don’t want there to be some video floating around one day where I’m just lying here beneath you in this bed, looking helpless while you just...I’ll be damned if I die down here and a video like that is the last anyone sees of me.”
Bucky wants to reassure you, to tell you that there’s no way in hell he’d let that be the last people see of you. But he knows reassurance isn’t what you need right now. You need to feel like you have some semblance of control over your situation. He can see how that third option you listed is the only way you can fathom feeling like you have that control. Fuck. Is this really what it’s come to?
“So, you want me to just…” His voice trails off, as if he’s scared to finish his sentence. The only thing you can think about is the way the fear doesn’t reach his eyes at all. There’s something else behind his blue irises, rimming his dark pupils as he stares back at you. It’s something so real that it causes a chill to spread along the surface of your skin, threatening to erupt into a tremble if you don’t tamp it down.
“Fuck me.” You say, your voice a little shaky but still sure. “Fuck me like it’s something you actually want to do, like it’s something you wanted to do long before we ended up here.”
Oh, you have no idea. You have no idea that it really is something he wanted to do long before you ended up here. You don’t have a fucking clue that Bucky has laid in bed more than one night in a row, listening across the hall as you get ready for bed. He’s waited until you’ve fallen asleep more times than he can count, before replaying a few key interactions with you in his head, letting his hand drift lower and lower down the front of his sweats until he wakes up the next morning full of shame. He looks you over carefully, from head to toe this time. His eyes rake over the shape of your body outlined beneath the white sheet, taking in every dip and curve in your form.
With the way he’s looking at you, studying you, it feels like the concrete bunker has suddenly warmed up by fifteen degrees. Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip nervously as you await some kind of response from the man that you just practically begged to fuck you. Bucky’s eyes track the small movement, and he finds himself wanting to feel your tongue against his own. God, he’s going to feel so ashamed after this, isn’t he?
“You want me to fuck you.” He says slowly, bending forward at the waist until his hands come to rest on either side of your covered feet at the end of the bed. Your heart is beating out of your chest as he holds that position and looks into your eyes. He didn’t phrase it as a question, but it’s obvious he’s waiting for you to confirm it again. He isn’t going to a damn thing without confirmation. You nod quickly, swallowing hard and trying to look more sure of yourself than you’ve ever been. Bucky moves forward again, this time lifting one knee and placing it on the bed. Then the other, then the first leg moves again. He’s crawling over you in a way that has the entire atmosphere changing around you. It feels like the room is spinning, like the air is thinning out and the oxygen percentage is dropping dangerously low with every inch between you that’s lost.
“I need to hear you say it.” He speaks lowly as he hovers above you, dropping his head down so his nose brushes against your jawline while one of his knees moves between yours gently, nudging them apart just enough for him to fit comfortably against you.
“I want you to fuck me.” You answer breathlessly, letting your eyes flutter closed as his lips begin to ghost over your neck, moving closer and closer to your ear.
“Again.” He rasps, taking your earlobe between his teeth like he’s done it a million times before and knows it’ll get a reaction out of you. Your back arches in the slightest as he bites down on your earlobe softly, causing your covered chest to brush against his bare torso.
“I want you to fuck me, please.”
“That’s it.” The words rumble in his chest and you feel the vibration against your skin. Suddenly you resent the sheet that’s acting as a barrier between the two of you. “Just keep reminding me.” Bucky’s pressing his lips against the skin of your neck, right over the spot where he used his lips to check your heartbeat just one day ago. In one swift move, he’s tugging the sheet down and to the side, slipping himself beneath it letting the skin of his upper body collide with everywhere that yours is exposed. Instant relief floods through his body at the simple feeling of your warm skin against his. Whatever pain he was feeling is suddenly gone, diminished almost entirely. You’re all he needed. He positions one knee between your legs again, but a little higher this time, nearly letting it press against the fabric of your black panties.
“I want this.” You whisper, your tone laced with need. He drags his lips from your neck, over the curve of your jaw, and along your cheek until he’s hovering right over your mouth. He wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you more than he’s ever wanted anything, but he won’t. He decides that now, as he’s staring down at your lips, wishing he knew what it felt like to bite down on one of them, what it felt like to slip his tongue between them. If he kisses you, he won’t ever be able to listen to you speak again, to watch the way you tug that bottom lip between your teeth when you’re thinking hard. He won’t be able to look at you without wanting your lips all fucking over his own every second of every damn day. So, he won’t kiss you.
You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. As he hovers above you, his mouth just an inch away from yours, you’re expecting it. You’re a little disappointed when he dips his head to the side instead, dropping his forehead down toward your shoulder and nipping on the exposed skin there. But every trace of disappointment flees when he positions himself fully between your legs and grinds down, pressing the hardened front of his tactical pants against your clothed cunt with just the right amount of pressure.
“You want this?” He asks, scraping his teeth along your shoulder as he grinds against you in small circles. A tortured moan escapes you and you tug against the restraints, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and pull him even closer. Your knees bend on either side of him but you resist the urge to entrap him with your legs around his waist. You won’t let yourself seem that desperate, that starved for his touch.
“Bucky.” His name leaves your lips as a sultry moan, and he stills instantly. Though he doesn’t pull away from you, he stops grinding entirely. He bites down on your shoulder, a little too hard, leaving a little red mark in the shape of his perfect teeth.
“You can’t do that.” He groans. He’s speaking so quietly that you doubt the cameras in the room will be able to pick up a word. You kind of like thinking that his words are only for you to hear. “You can’t say my name like that, not when they put this shit in my veins. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” You don’t really know why you’re so sure, but you are. He won’t hurt you.
“But I could.” He reminds you, slowly starting to grind his hips again. You can tell that your thin black panties are already soaked through with arousal. Can he feel it through his tactical pants? Can he smell how wet you are for him?
“But you won’t.” You say again. Bucky reaches beneath the sheet with his right hand and slides it under your bent knee, moving your leg out to the side to spread you even more and give himself a better angle. Another moan falls from your mouth and he feels his body temperature rising to a dangerous degree. You’re right, he won’t hurt you. He’d never, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t fear that not-so-distant part of him that was always so capable of inflicting bodily harm. Especially this week, with everything that’s happened. That part of him is so much closer to the surface than usual. He fears that any little thing could make him snap and the Winter Soldier will take over before he has a chance to force it back down to the depths he keeps it locked away in. “Look at me.” Your command is soft but stern, easily earning you Bucky’s attention. He stills his hips against yours and lifts his head from your shoulder, doing exactly what you want when he looks into your eyes. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t, not with this.” He argues, fighting the urge to drag the hardened length of his cock against your damp panties again. He’s starting to itch to get his tactical pants off, to remove some of the layers keeping him from fully feeling you.
“I do, and you can’t really change that. I trust you to do this.” He almost growls at your words, hating the power you’re giving him. It’s only making things harder for him, in more ways than one. “What’s so wrong about me saying that I trust you to fuck me?”
“Everything.” He’s grinding into you again, but more fervently this time. Your head presses back into the firm pillow behind you and the soft sigh you let out has Bucky’s cock twitching in its confines. “Everything’s wrong. You’re tied to a fucking bed, covered in bruises and cuts, with a chemical influencing every thought in your mind right now, and you’re telling me that you trust me to fuck you. Shit…” His voice trails off for a moment as he hitches one of your legs around his hips and drives down against you a little harder, needing so much more of you than he’s taking right now. “That same chemical is influencing me and you think I can control myself? Enough to keep from hurting you?”
Bucky lets his flesh hand slide up your waist beneath the covers, skipping over the curve of your breasts in an attempt to be respectful before traveling up the side of your neck. He grips your chin in that hand, holding your face still and forcing you to look at him.
“What makes you so sure I won’t hurt you?” He has to know. When you search his blue eyes, you find so many things. Need, lust, desperation. But you also find fear, apprehension, and doubt. He needs to be sure that you’re really and truly okay with this or he’ll never be able to live with himself after it’s done. That much, you’re sure of.
“Is this the first time you’ve ever thought about touching me?” Your question comes out as a whisper against his lips. His hips falter, but you aren’t going to let him stop this time. Keeping your leg hitched over his hip, you start grinding your hips upward, maintaining the pace he’d been setting. He narrows his eyes at you, his grip on your chin tightening for the quickest second before releasing. That same hand slides across your cheek, moves between your head and the pillow, and tangles tenderly in your hair.
“No.”
“Every other time you thought about it, did you ever imagine hurting me?”
“Not once.”
“If I told you that you were hurting me, would you stop?”
“Yes.” He breathes the word out with ease. He doesn't even need to think about it.
“Do you trust me to tell you if you’re hurting me?” The pause that ensues is loaded and the tension is almost crackling in the air around the bed. Bucky nods slowly, his eyes still narrowed and his hips still unmoving as you grind up against him yourself. “Then why do I feel like I have to beg for this right now?” A playful smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth and you know you’ve gotten through to him.
“You would beg?” He asks, the smirk taking full form now. He leans down and takes your earlobe in between his teeth just like he did moments ago, but instead of biting down, he sucks on it gently. He releases it from his mouth after a second and starts dragging the tip of his tongue up the shell of your ear.
“Is that what you want?” A tremble shakes your body as he lowers his full weight onto you.
“I’d love to hear it.” He admits, whispering his answer so only you catch the words. “But if you do that in front of the men behind that glass, I’ll cut their ears off and shove them down their fucking throats before I kill them. I try not to do shit like that anymore, so don’t force my hand.”
You’re reminded of the possibility that he might’ve killed someone for you last night, for talking inappropriately about you. You were unsure of it at first, but hearing Bucky talk this way makes it so much more believable. You’re stuck in your head when he rolls off of you, breaking the physical contact and leaving you both yearning for more. He’s lying beside you, tugging his tactical pants down and off in one swift move beneath the sheet, trying to figure how the hell he’s going to make it through this.
Nerves are bubbling up in your stomach as you start to question everything. This is all just the influence of the chemical coursing through your veins, like Bucky said. But if that’s true, why does it feel so real? He’s back on top of you in an instant, now with only his boxers and your panties creating space between the two of you.
“You get to have some control here too.” Bucky promises, sinking between your legs and placing his forearms on the bed on either side of your head. “If you want something, need something, tell me.” You nod just as he’s lowering his head down and attaching his lips to the column of your throat. The sweet combination of him kissing, licking, and sucking on your skin like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted has your back arching off the bed and your wrists fighting the restraints. What makes it even worse is the way his scruff combats the soothing actions of his mouth, leaving a light burn everywhere his face travels. You wish you could kiss him back the same way and show him how damn near insufferable it is to be the helpless one. “Are you sore from last night?” He asks as his flesh hand begins ghosting down your side. He traces the waistband of your panties with the tips of his fingers, back and forth slowly, teasing you as he waits for an answer.
“A little.” You rasp, your throat feeling dry and tight with the building anticipation. You swear he almost smirks at your answer. His hand slides beneath your waistband and you’re having flashbacks to the night before. The pain was worse than anything you’d ever felt but Bucky’s hands between your thighs was the perfect antidote. Just as a new wave of pain is beginning to shoot down your spine, Bucky drags his fingertips along your wet folds, teasing just outside of your entrance, before dragging them up to your clit and applying a firm pressure there. You gasp, pushing down into his hand as much as the restraints will allow as the pain in your back instantly subsides.
“That’s it.” He coos, taking in the way your pupils dilate at his touch. Your cheeks are flushed pink beneath him, and though he knows it’s mostly from the drug in your system, he can’t help the tiny bit of pride that swells in his chest. Bucky starts rubbing slow, steady circles against your clit, staying focused on your face the entire time. “There you go, just like last night.” He dips his middle and ring fingers downward until they’re threatening to slide inside of you, and you want nothing more than to buck against them, but you fight against the urge. Bucky notices your resistance and chuckles lowly, sliding his two fingers in to the first knuckle. “You wanted control, so take it. Don’t hold back on me.” He encourages, with his lips lowered down to your ear again.
With his words echoing in your head, you let your eyes fall closed and your head press back into the firm pillow as he starts slowly dragging his fingers in and out of you. In and out, in and out. He peppers your neck with kisses before sliding his fingers in as deep as he can, and then curling them against your walls on the way out, coaxing a sultry moan from you with ease. With every pretty sound Bucky earns from you, he’s one step closer to losing his shit. He hates that his resolve crumbles more and more every time you so much as take a breath beneath him. He hates even more that there’s probably a room full of men that get to hear and see you this way, that it’s not just for him.
Bucky can feel the effects of the drug growing stronger, sending repetitive pangs down his back and throughout his bones. He knows you must be feeling it too. It hasn’t reached its peak yet and he can only hope that what he’s about to do will be enough to keep that peak at bay for a while. His flesh hand continues on between your legs, with his middle and ring fingers thrusting in and out of you at a steady rhythm and his palm applying pressure to your clit. He rolls slightly to his side and uses his vibranium hand to start tugging his boxers down. He’s pushing all thoughts out of his mind when you’re on the brink of your first orgasm. When it’s tearing through you, bringing stars into your vision and a rush of heat where his hand is connected to your clit, he’s watching as you bite down on your bottom lip and lose touch with reality. You look painstakingly beautiful this way, so fucked out and vulnerable in a way that should be reserved for his eyes only.
“Say my name.” He whispers, as your orgasm ravages your body. Before you even have a moment to think, his name is rolling off of your tongue and filling the concrete room. He feels like some kind of two-pump chump now, having to bite the inside of his cheek and damn near draw blood just to hold off his own orgasm. Precum coats the tip of his hard cock, threatening to drip onto your bare thigh if he doesn’t hurry up and do something about it. As your orgasm tapers off and aftershocks begin to work through your muscles, Bucky draws his flesh hand out from between your legs and hooks his index finger in the wet fabric covering your pussy. You’re barely recovered from the first orgasm when you feel him tugging your panties to the side and pressing the shaft of his cock against your wet cunt.
“Shit, Bucky, let me catch my breath.” You pant, but the feel of his hard length gliding back and forth between your legs already has you wanting more. It has you wanting everything.
“Catch it.” He encourages you, pressing his lips against your cheek in a chaste kiss. “But there isn’t really much sense in that when you’re just going to lose it again as soon as I start fucking you.” He has a point. You focus in on the way he’s grinding against you, dragging himself against your arousal-slickened clit from balls to tip repeatedly, but slowly. You don’t have to see him to know he’s well-endowed, and that scares you a little.
“It’s…it might not fit.” You whisper. Concern is etched in your features as you blink your eyes at meet his gaze head-on.
“It’ll fit.” He assures you. With another drag of his hips, the tip of his cock is brushing against your entrance before sliding right back up to your clit. He’s teasing you, teasing himself.
“It’s been a long time for me.” You admit. A soft blush colors your cheeks as he slows his hips to a stop and drops his head to your shoulder. You feel him sigh against the bare skin there and for a second, you fear you’ve said something wrong. Should you not have told him that? Does it make you seem weak? Afraid?
Bucky’s really struggling to hold himself back. He wants to grab the backs of your thighs, push your knees up toward your chest, and sheath himself within you so fucking hard and fast that you don’t remember what it’s like not to have all of him inside you. And now knowing that you haven’t been with another man in so long? It almost makes him giddy. He almost wishes you’d said you’d never been with another man, but that’s unrealistic, considering you’ve probably had a greater number of men begging at your heels than the number of men he’s killed over the years.
“What’s your favorite color?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. Bucky reaches down between your bodies with his flesh hand and wraps it around his shaft, stroking up and down slowly and carefully as he kisses your shoulder. God, even your skin tastes good.
“It changes all the time.” You answer, just as he’s using his hand to line himself up at your entrance. Your eyes scrunch closed in anticipation, knowing his size is going to be more than enough to cause a bit of pain.
“When I get you out of here, what’s the first thing you want to eat?” He drops more of his weight onto you, letting the head of his cock press much more firmly against your entrance. You feel it slide in just barely, so slowly that you’re unsure if it’s even moving forward.
“Whatever I can get my hands on.” You can’t think straight enough to come up with any specific answers, but he doesn’t care. He’s just trying to distract you enough so that you don’t focus completely on the stretch of him sliding inside you for the first time. He pushes his hips in a little more, feeling your cunt start to draw him in. So fucking tight. He groans lowly, needily, and nips at your shoulder.
“Do you remember that solo op you had in the club?” Bucky shouldn’t be getting so real, but as he sinks his cock into you inch-by-inch, his mind is drifting into dangerous territory. He’s starting to feel a little too animalistic with the way your cunt is practically weeping for him, begging him to go further. Bucky feels you nod and he pulls back from your shoulder, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head again. He peers down at you just as his cock is reaching the halfway point within you. A loud moan escapes you as the stretch grows to be a little too much to bear. “I couldn’t stand to see that guy with his hands all over your ass.” He confesses. Suddenly, the burning pain his cock is causing you dampens significantly. You’re staring up at him, your lips parted as panting breaths fall from them, as his hands slide over the pillow to smooth out your hair.
“You barely even knew me.”
“I still barely know you.” He points out, giving you another inch, breeching that halfway point. Though your cunt is greedily pulling him in, he still feels the resistance within your tight walls. You weren’t lying when you said it had been a while for you. “But that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t like him touching you.”
“Bend one of my knees up, around your hip like you did before.” You whimper the request as he nearly bottoms out inside you. You know that angle will make it a little easier to take such an impressively sized cock. Bucky’s quick to comply, gripping your left thigh and crooking your leg over his hip. He holds it there with his flesh palm pressed flat against your skin and his fingertips digging into the back of your knee. There it is. With one gentle thrust, he’s balls deep inside of you and frozen in place.
Bucky imagines that this is what it would feel like if he had the privilege of going to heaven. Hell, just being buried inside of you like this, feeling your chest heaving beneath him and your back slightly arching off the bed is enough to kill him and send him there right now. He holds himself still, wanting to give you a chance to adjust while also giving himself time to calm down so he doesn’t start filling you up before he’s even really fucked you. It’s a feat, trying not to blow his load so soon with the way your pussy is gripping the entirety of his length. He feels your breathing slow and after one deep inhale, you relax beneath him.
“Good girl.” The pet name rolls off of his tongue the moment he feels you relax. Suddenly, you’re tense again, and one moan from you has him dragging his hips backward and pulling his cock halfway out. You scream his name as your wrists tug hard on the restraints, threatening to break the ropes. He hated hearing you scream last night, but this is different. Hearing you scream his name this way makes him fucking feral. He snaps his hips forward, thrusting into you so hard that all you can do is cry his name out over and over. “And you didn’t think you could take me.” He says lowly. He starts to set a steady rhythm with his thrusts, in and out, in and out. He alternates between pulling his length halfway out and occasionally pulling it almost completely out before slamming it back into you a little harder each time. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours beneath the sheets fills the room, echoing off of the concrete walls and surely reaching whatever audio recording devices are around.
“This shouldn’t feel so good.” You groan, bending your right knee and hooking it around Bucky’s hip to match your other one. The new angle gives him access to go even deeper and with every thrust, you feel yourself dripping all over him and the sheets beneath.
“Yeah? It feels good, huh?” He punctuates his question with a particularly deep thrust and you cry out again, struggling against the restraints. “If you weren’t tied up like this I’d have you on all fours right now.” That’s it, the drug has to be peaking for him to be talking like that. You have no doubt. “I’d be watching you take every fucking inch of me over and over.”
“Stop saying shit like that.” You need him to stop talking, because if he doesn’t, HYDRA is going to have one fucking loud sex tape on their hands. Dirty talk is a weakness of yours, and every time Bucky speaks your moans are growing louder and even more filthy sounding.
“Just keep taking my cock.” Bucky groans out, as if you have much of a choice in the matter. You know you do, but with the way you’re feeling, your body wouldn’t give you one. You think your body might actually implode if you stopped taking his cock right now. “You’re doing so good for me.” He reaches that specific spot inside you, one that men have rarely reached before, and it has your toes curling and your lungs gasping for air.
“Right there, oh my god, right there.” You whimper, straining just to get the words out whole. If he didn’t already know how pretty you sound when you’re close to an orgasm, he’d be scared he was hurting you. The tension in your voice, the gasping breaths you keep taking when he bottoms out inside you, and the way you keep trying to twist out of those damn restraints could easily be mistaken as the actions of a girl in pain. But Bucky knows you. You’re going to cum on his cock.
“If you’re ready to…fuck, baby.” Bucky grunts, fisting a hand in the hair at the back of your head and driving his cock into you impossibly harder. “If you’re ready to cum, just let go.”
“You first.” You say through gritted teeth. He chuckles, though you can tell his resolve is steadily slipping.
“Oh no, sweetheart, that’s not how this works.” His tone is almost condescending and if he wasn’t giving you greater pleasure than you’ve ever known right now, you might tell him to fuck off. “You’re going to cum on my cock, and I’m going to fuck you through your orgasm.”
“What happened to you get to have some control here too?” You ask, repeating his earlier words back to him as he continues rutting into you at a devilish pace and depth.
“I found out how good it feels to have you wrapped around my cock and I got greedy.” He responds, looking and sounding wholly serious. The most pathetic sounding whimper erupts from your chest as he pulls all the way out and slams back into you, almost too roughly for you to handle, but it feels so damn good. It’s like he somehow knows exactly how much you can take, and he pushes that limit just enough to blow your mind. “I’m going to do that one more time, and you’re going to cum on my cock.” It’s not a question. It’s a command. Knowing this is a fight you won’t be winning, you nod desperately and tighten your legs around his waist. He pulls fully out of you one more time, leans down and presses a kiss right at the corner of your mouth, and then snaps his hips forward. He buries himself to the hilt and starts grinding his hips into yours in circles, gifting you a type of pleasure that you’ve never felt in your life. As your orgasm washes over you and your pussy clamps down on his cock, threatening to hold it hostage inside of you indefinitely, you can’t help but feel a little sad. Your back arches off the bed and his fingers curl against the back of your scalp as a needy growl climbs up his throat, as he tries hard to fuck your unrelentingly tight pussy. Your heart aches with the thought that you won’t ever get to feel this again, that he’s just ruined you for every other man out there. Fuck him.
Fuck Bucky Barnes.
Bucky’s a mess in more ways than one as he presses his forehead against yours and his thrusts grow sloppy and lose rhythm. With one final deep thrust, his balls are flush against your ass and he’s cumming so deep inside you that he fears he’ll be giving HYDRA exactly what they want. He only feels a fleeting moment of relief before a sickening feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. He only got to have you this way, to experience you like this, at the hand of the organization that ruined his life. As much as he enjoyed it, and he thoroughly enjoyed it, it feels like it’s tainted. Shaking the negativity from his mind, he slowly starts to pull out of you, watching your face with concern as you wince.
“Did I hurt you?” He questions softly, peering beneath the sheet. He doesn’t see any blood on his cock, thankfully. He never would’ve forgiven himself if he drew blood from your sweet little cunt. You murmur a nearly silent no as his eyes fall on the white stream of his cum dripping out of you. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. She’s had enough.
Bucky slips two fingers between your folds, gently circling your clit twice before dragging them down and scooping up his cum. He fucks it back into you as tenderly as he can, with his brows pinched together in concentration. You lay there and take the moment in. It feels possessive. Though you’re sure everything that just went down only happened because HYDRA mandated it, something about the way he’s looking at you and making sure even a single drop of his cum isn’t wasted on the bedsheets has you biting down on your bottom lip. This right here feels like it’s real, like it’s just you and Bucky. You decide to cling to that feeling to keep from descending into a pit of shame and sadness.
“Should we take him back to his cell now?” One of the guards asks. He stands tall beside the two-way mirror with his hands on his hips as he stares at the scene before him. He studies the super soldier, who looks so normal and humane lying next to you in bed. It’s difficult to look at him and imagine the Winter Soldier that the guard has heard so much about over the years. This man seems so different than the gory tales. As Bucky brushes your hair away from your face and rolls over to the side, the guard wonders just how far removed this man is from the legendary assassin.
“No, leave them together. The drug will peak again in a couple of hours, I want to see how they handle it a second time.”
“But we were told that—”
“I said leave them together.”
You wake suddenly, disoriented and in a cold sweat. Your shoulders ache something fierce and when you try to roll over onto your side to figure out where the hell you are and why it’s so dark, you find your wrists tied to the corners of the bed. Shit. You know exactly where you are now. When did the lights get turned off? When did you even fall asleep? God, it’s just like last night, when Bucky fingered you to two orgasms and then you woke up hours later with no recollection of the events that occurred after the last bit of pleasure you felt. The soreness between your thighs and wetness seeping into the fabric of your panties is the only reminder you need of what happened earlier.
You had sex with Bucky Barnes. Panic begins to set in and you start tugging against the restraints hard enough to break your skin, hard enough to draw blood. You don’t even realize that Bucky’s in bed next to you until you feel the mattress shift beneath you and hear his raspy voice break through the thoughts swirling around your head.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He speaks to you softly, but sits up quickly and places both of his hands against the skin of your shoulders. You focus in on the contrast between his cool vibranium hand and warm flesh palm. “Just breathe.”
Even in the dark of night, Bucky can see the thin trail of blood dripping down your arms, threatening to stain the white sheets beneath you. He thinks quickly, refusing to sacrifice the only piece of material fully covering you from HYDRA’s view. Bucky slides his flesh hand behind your head, curling his fingers in your hair and lifting up slightly so he can tug the pillow out from under you. Within two seconds, he has the pillow back under your head and is using the pillowcase to soak up the blood on each of your forearms. She stays in restraints. Bucky can hear the rule repeating in his mind, even as his fingers trail over rope cutting into the skin of your left wrist. If he squints, he can make out the bruises that have already formed from how tight they are and how hard you’ve been fighting against them tonight. He follows the length of the rope with his index finger, noting where it’s attached near the upper corner of the bed, to a metal loop bolted into the concrete wall. Fuck HYDRA. With one solid tug, the metal loop is flying out of the now cracked concrete wall. Relief takes over your features and your breathing begins to slow as Bucky grabs your wrist and moves your arm to your chest. He does the same thing to the metal loop on the other side, and then brings that sore arm in closer to your body as well.
He stays close to your side, hovering over you protectively, waiting to see if anyone is going to burst through the door and whisk him away for breaking a rule. A few silent seconds pass and he starts to relax. When he focuses on your face again, you’re looking up at him, studying him closely.
“What?” He asks, watching as you alternate between rubbing each of your wrists. Bucky lets himself fall back into bed beside you, switching to staring up at the ceiling instead of at your face. The drug hasn’t worn off yet and when he looks into your eyes, he’s reminded of what he did to you just a short time ago. It makes his dick throb in the worst way. He reaches down beneath the sheet and adjusts himself in his boxers, letting out a frustrated sigh.
“I don’t think you were supposed to do that.” You whisper back. You maneuver the lengths of rope around so that they’re in a pile beside you on the edge of the bed. You wish you had a way to cut them off entirely, but still, this is so much better than how it was before.
“I’ve done a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to do tonight.” The guilt is evident in his tone and it feels like a literal punch to the gut when you hear it. You want to reach over and grab his hand, to tell him that he did what had to be done and you don’t resent him for it, but you stay still. You can feel his body heat radiating and seeping into your exposed skin with how close the two of you are.
“I’m sorry.” Why the hell are you sorry? None of this is your fault, yet you’re apologizing. Anger flares in Bucky’s chest and he sits up abruptly, turning away from you and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He assumes a sitting position, with his hands gripping the edge of the mattress and his head hanging low.
“Don’t do that.” He says through gritted teeth. When he glances up, he sees his reflection in the mirrored wall. He can see his own heaving chest, his rippling abs, and his tensed flesh bicep, all of those things coming together to give off a vibe that says fuck off.
“Do what?” You ask apprehensively, moving to sit up in bed as well. You keep the sheet draped over your lap but turn your body to peer over Bucky’s shoulder, catching his gaze in the mirror. His stare burns you up, and you quickly avert your line of sight, choosing to stare at the tense muscles of his bare back instead.
“Apologize.” Bucky responds stiffly, screwing his eyes shut and inhaling deeply. He doesn’t want to risk seeing you in the reflection, not when the drug seems to be gearing up for a round two within his bloodstream. The room is starting to feel too small and too hot around him. “You know you didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t apologize.”
“I feel like I did something wrong.” He doesn’t like hearing you so unsure, it doesn’t suit you. “I shouldn’t have asked you to fuck me like that earlier, I should’ve just—”
“Should’ve what? Said no and waited around for them to bring in someone who wouldn’t care if you wanted it or not?” He can hear the sound of his vibranium arm whirring as he squeezes down on the mattress a little harder just at the thought of you with someone else, specifically with someone who doesn’t give a shit about you. “You needed to feel like you had control over the situation, so you asked me to do it and…” His voice trails off, the rest of his sentence lost in the dark room.
“Right, I asked you to do it.” You repeat his phrasing slowly. “So, why does it seem like you feel guilty?”
“Because I do.” He grumbles, dropping his chin down to his chest again and breaking the staring contest he was having with himself in the mirror.
“Why?” You press on, needing some kind of explanation. What could he possibly have to feel guilty for? He did what you asked, and only what you asked of him. He didn’t take it too far, he didn’t take advantage of you in any way. Bucky doesn’t answer. How does he even begin to explain why he feels guilty? Should he say that he feels guilty because it’s his fault that HYDRA targeted you in the first place? Should he say that it’s because he should’ve found a way to get you out of here long before they ever tied you to a bed and made him touch you?
You watch the toned muscles of his back tense more and more in the dark. You notice the way his flesh bicep flexes and his vibranium one whirs louder with each passing second. You were the one panicking a moment ago, floundering in the dark before Bucky reached out and comforted you. Now it’s your turn to comfort him. You reach out a cautious hand, watching as the rope drags along the bed. When your palm collides with the skin of Bucky’s back, you feel him tense even more and freeze, as if he’s holding in a breath. You peek over his shoulder into the mirror as you push your hand firmly against him and start to drag it down toward his lower back. He doesn’t so much as lift his eyes to meet your gaze, and you take that as good sign. You shuffle forward on your knees, moving to sit right behind him with your thighs on either side of his hips and your chest close to his back.
“What are you doing?” He asks lowly, keeping his head and eyes cast downward but sensing your movements. You continue to drag your right hand down until it’s nearing the waistband of his boxers. You’re trying not to think as you then turn your hand and slide your palm around his side and start feeling over the ridges of his abs. Your front is pressed flush against his back now and instead of pulling away, you swear you feel him lean into you the tiniest bit.
“Stop talking.” You whisper back, moving your left hand beneath his vibranium arm and around his torso to meet your right hand over his abs. When Bucky feels your hands still and your chin pressing down on his right shoulder, he finally tilts his head up and steals a glance at your collective reflection. Shit. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his cock just from the way you’re wrapped around him and looking into his eyes.
Bucky starts peeling your hands away from his skin slowly, moving them away from his torso before pushing off the bed and rising to his feet. Rejection stings. You stay right where you are, resting on your knees with your legs slightly spread, facing the mirror. You watch the man before you as he runs a hand through his already tussled hair and turns around to look at you.
He can’t stand it. When he sees you sitting like that, looking up at him with such a gentle expression on your face, his cock twitches within the confines of his boxers.
“Shit.” He groans, quickly turning away from you and scrunching his eyes shut. “You have to stop looking at me like that.” Realization dawns on you as your eyes land on the bulge behind the black fabric of the only item of clothing he has on.
“Bucky—”
“Don’t.” He’s speaking through gritted teeth again, and with your current view of his side profile you can see the muscle of his jaw ticking. “Don’t say my name.”
“You liked hearing me say it earlier.” His eyes are back on you in an instant as a playful smirk threatens to spread across your lips. There’s a flashing image of those same lips gracing the shaft of his cock, but he shakes it out of his head as suddenly as it appeared. “What’s different now?”
“They only needed us to fuck once.” Bucky points out, continuing to stare at the concrete wall. “We don’t have to do this a second time. You let your eyes roam over his body, taking in every detail you can make out in the dark room. It’s not over for him. The drug hasn’t cleared his system, and if anything, it looks as if it’s having an even stronger effect on him than before. Yet, for you, it’s dampened. You’re a little warm and you feel a bit of an adrenaline rush, but no waves of pain or agony are ripping through you right now. Your suspicion is confirmed when Bucky reaches up and grips his flesh shoulder with his vibranium hand, squeezing it as though his trapezius muscle is cramping up.
“You’re in pain.” You say quietly, analyzing the way he reacts to your observation. He drops his hand from his shoulder and takes in a shaky breath before turning his head to make eye contact with you.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not a very good liar.” He scoffs at your insult, reaching up to rub his shoulder again. You’re right. His shoulders are starting to feel like he’s been holding two-ton weights for hours and his back has been aching ever since he stood up from the bed and refused your touch. “Let me help you.”
“You really want another round on camera for HYDRA? The first one wasn’t enough?” He spits the words out like venom, like you chose to give the enemy a sex tape. Anger surges within you and you cross your arms over your chest. Bucky’s eyes flit down, settling on your suddenly accentuated breasts as they threaten to spill over the top of your sports bra.
“You’d rather them have footage of you cowering in the corner with a hard-on? Looking like a beaten down puppy?” He scowls, lifting his eyes from your chest to focus on your face.
“I’d rather not take advantage of you twice.” His expression is serious as he speaks.
“You didn’t take advantage the first time.” You argue. He stares at you with narrowed eyes and a fiery look behind his eyes. You can’t tell who he hates more right now, you or himself. “Stop looking at me like you want to kill me.” Your demand causes him to falter momentarily, his stern look and narrowed eyes shifting to a confused expression. Kill you? He wants nothing more than to either fuck you six ways to Sunday or get as far away from you as possible, he’d take either option right now. But killing you? It’s almost laughable that you’d think that’s what’s going through his head right now.
“If I wanted to kill you—”
“I’d already be dead, right? Save the tough guy shit for someone else, that line is really overused.” You’re dismissive now, moving to sit with your legs crisscrossed in front of you, still facing a very on-edge Bucky Barnes. His eyes glaze over as he takes in the sight of your legs against the white sheets. He knows exactly what those legs feel like in his hands, hooked around his hips, wrapped around his lower half. Fuck.
You watch as a million thoughts seem to be running rampant through Bucky’s mind. Seeing the way his eyes dart around and his tongue sticks out to wet his bottom lip makes it seem like he might actually be hearing voices or something. He clenches his fists and then unclenches them. He turns away from you and the bed, choosing to stare at the concrete wall for a few seconds before turning to the mirror and contemplating shattering it with the flick of his wrist. He turns away from the mirror and faces the only door in the room. There isn’t even a handle or keypad on the inside, there’s no way out of it unless he punches through the fucking concrete wall. He could do that, probably with even less effort that he imagines, but what would that get him? He might end up back in his own concrete cell, which is what he really needs right now, but what would happen to you? They’d find someone else to do what Bucky’s currently refusing to do. He clenches his teeth so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if he heard every single one of his molars crack under the pressure.
“Does it hurt?” It’s as if a time machine has suddenly appeared and is sucking Bucky into a swirling vortex, dragging him back in time. The trigger being the question that’s just left your lips in such a soft whisper. You asked it just like you did the first time, the first time in the gym showers when you caught Bucky so off-guard that he thought about you for days.
“Does what hurt?” He asks, remembering every single moment of that little conversation as if it was a script. Him remembering and repeating his line in such a slow, hushed way is what has warmth spreading beneath the surface of your skin. He listens to the rustling of the bedsheets as you push yourself off the mattress. He listens to the sounds of your ropes dragging across the floor as you make your way across the room, drawing nearer and nearer to him and effectively sucking all of the air out of his lungs as you do so. Your fingertips, so gentle and soft, dance across the scars where his vibranium arm meets his flesh. His eyes close tightly as you drag those fingertips down over his shoulder blade, and then further over to the right to trace his spine. Down, down, down you drag those fingertips, until he’s shuddering beneath your touch and all he wants to do it turn around and face you. Your fingers still right above the waistband of his boxers, and that’s when he decides to make a move.
Bucky turns around as your hand falls away from him, and he finds himself only a couple of inches away from you. His mind is screaming at him to close the gap, to wrap his arms around you and eliminate the space between your bodies. But the memory of that night in the gym showers tugs at him even more than that resonating mental scream. A shiver runs down your spine as Bucky lifts his flesh hand to your face. He traces the curve of your jaw, from your right earlobe down to your chin with his index finger. His touch is so light and careful, so calculated and thoughtful as he meets your burning gaze. Your breath hitches in your throat when he starts trailing that same finger down, over the front of your neck and straight to the notch between your collarbones. His eyes follow the movement of his finger, setting your skin on fire with the combination of his touch and his watchful scrutiny.
“You’re not wearing your necklace”. That’s what he said next that night, when he didn’t want to answer your question about his scars. It’s true again now. As his eyes settle on your chest, that little necklace with the built-in panic button is notably absent. Though you know that you could keep carrying on the little charade, that you could keep reading off of the script that you both seem to have memorized, your gaze falls to his chest. You study the silver chain hanging from his neck, following it down until you zero in on the two metal plates resting over his sternum. He lets his hand fall away from your neck as you reach up and hook a finger around the chain of his dog tags.
“Give me yours.”
There’s no more hesitation or apprehension when Bucky rushes forward, letting both of his hands capture the sides of your face and guide you in to meet him. He wasn’t planning on kissing you. In fact, he was specifically avoiding doing exactly that. He feels every nerve, every sensory receptor in his body firing at once when his lips press against yours. It’s like the fourth of fucking July beneath his skin as you part your lips to let his tongue delve into your mouth. You’re stumbling backward in an instant as Bucky begins taking steps forward, moving you in the general direction of the bed. He kisses you harder and harder with every step he takes, surely leaving your lips pink and your nose a rosy shade of red. You don’t even get a chance to break for breath until you feel the edge of the mattress hitting the backs of your knees. Your hands move to his abs and you push against the firm muscles there, fighting for balance so you won’t go crashing onto the bed.
As Bucky pulls back, keeping his hands on the sides of your face and his gaze trained on your widened eyes, he realizes that he’s been fighting a losing battle not only with the drug coursing through his veins, but with you as well. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re having the same realization. He’s tugging the dog tags from his neck without giving the action a second thought. When he stands before you, with the silver chain clutched in his flesh fist and the two metal tags suspended in the air, it feels as though all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.
“If I let you wear these…” Bucky takes a deep breath in and shifts his gaze to the decades-old dog tags in his hand. “You don’t take them off until you have your necklace back.” He looks to your face, waiting for any sort of confirmation. You nod slowly, not even thinking about his request. You’ll do it. You’d do anything he asked of you right now with the way he’s looking at you, with the way he just kissed you. He slips the cool chain over your head gently, ensuring it doesn’t get tangled in your hair as he settles it around your neck.
Seeing his name around your neck awakens something feral, something so fucking primal inside of him. Bucky bites down on his bottom lip as you reach up with your right hand and grasp the tags, running a thumb over the indentation of his name.
“Bucky.” Your voice is always a little different when it’s his name being spoken. He can’t quite describe in what way it’s different, but it always does something to him. He bites down on his bottom lip a little harder and lets his hands move to your waist, smoothing over your skin and tugging you forward against him. “Let me take advantage of you.” Every single muscle in his body stops working, all except for his heart. He can’t even fucking swallow as his heart beats against his ribcage like it’s gone into overdrive. He’s sure even you can feel the rapid thrumming of it, vibrating against your own chest with how close he’s holding you to himself. If you can’t feel that, you can sure as hell feel the outline of his hard cock pressing against your lower stomach right now. He sees nothing but sincerity and lust written across your face and swirling around in the color of your eyes. So, he responds with the only sentence his brain can come up with.
“Take advantage of me.”
Though things happen so quickly, HYDRA’s cameras capture everything. When the two of you fall backwards into bed, the man observing you both from behind the two-way mirror is on the edge of his seat. Out of all of the ways the second round could’ve started, he didn’t expect it to start quite like this. He watches with his mouth hung open as the Winter Soldier presses you impossibly further into the mattress, kissing you with a fervency not many people have had the privilege of experiencing before. The man pushes out of his chair and moves to stand closer to the mirror when Bucky starts rutting against you, grinding himself between your legs in a desperate attempt to find relief. But when you hook a leg over Bucky’s hips and skillfully flip positions so that he’s on his back and you’re straddling his lap, with the flimsy bed creaking beneath you both, the man behind the mirror is truly shocked. This isn’t what he expected at all. He nearly put a stop to things the moment Bucky ripped your restraints out of the wall, but seeing this now, he’s glad he didn’t. Hell, if HYDRA doesn’t get the stem cell experimentation capabilities that they want out of tonight, they could get a big payday with the video footage of this alone.
Covering up with the sheet doesn’t cross either of your minds as you hook a finger in Bucky’s waistband and start pulling his boxers down his thighs. You only pull them down enough to free his dick, and watching it spring up toward his stomach is enough to have you wanting the boxers on the damn floor. But still, you won’t go that far, not here. You don’t give yourself much time to admire his impressive length as you wrap your hand around it and start stroking from base to tip, spreading his precum along the shaft. Bucky’s lost in the feeling, so lost that he doesn’t even realize how many times your name has fallen from his lips, and you’re not even fucking his cock yet. When he groans your name in an especially needy way, you’re already tugging your panties to the side and pressing your wet cunt against his shaft, dragging your hips back and forth in quick succession.
“Shit.” Bucky groans lowly, gripping your hips with both hands and pulling you down harder against him. “Just like that.” He learned yesterday just how far encouragement goes in getting you off. You grind against him like that, alternating between quick movements with your hips and slow, lazy circles, until you can’t stand it anymore. You feel empty and your pussy is aching for him. His face is contorted with pleasure and his eyes are screwed shut, but you can read him well enough to know that he needs more too. Your gaze travels down to where you’re seated against the shaft of his cock, noting the way the head of it glistens with a mix of his precum and your arousal. God, it’s such a sight. Your head is swirling with dangerously horny thoughts as you lift your hips and wrap your hand around his length once more. Giving it a few strokes, you line it up with your entrance.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Bucky warns, watching you with narrowed eyes and a slightly concerned look on his face. You know you should listen to him and take it slow. He’s so big and as if his length wasn’t enough, his girth alone could take a girl out entirely. You laugh softly, thinking about how he was telling you take his cock just a couple of hours ago. You sink down, taking the tip in painfully slowly, focusing on the burning pain as your walls stretch to accommodate him. Then, just to spite him, you sit down on the entirety of his cock all at once, crying out at the mix of pain and pleasure. “Fuck, what did I just say?” Bucky groans out, digging his fingers into the skin of your waist as he tries to lift you back up. You fight against him, staying seated on his cock as tears form in your eyes. “Get off, it’s too much for you.”
“No.” You say defiantly, willing the muscles tightening around his length to relax as much as they can. With each passing second, it burns less and begins to feel more tolerable, more enjoyable. “I can take it like this.”
He’s going to lose his shit. Bucky’s seconds from either cumming so hard that it’ll be spilling out of you for days or picking you up, pressing your back against one of the concrete walls, and fucking you until you can’t even take a breath without feeling the ghost of him inside you. He watches through hooded eyes as you start circling your hips, as you let your head fall back and your hands brace against his bare chest. He catches sight of his name draped around your neck, hanging between your breasts, marking you as his and he can’t help himself. He thrusts upward just once, feeling you clench around him and memorizing the pretty sound that erupts from your chest. Again. He needs to feel and hear that again. So, he thrusts a second time. Then a third. Then, he’s meeting every bounce of your hips with one of his own.
“That’s it, take advantage of my cock.” He coos, matching your pace as your fingers curl against his chest and leave red marks in their wake. He wants more of you, he wants you closer. His eyes land on the ropes still tied around your wrists, and without thinking, he’s moving his hands from your waist and gripping one rope in each palm. He tugs on them hard, pulling you down abruptly so you fall against his chest. You’re skin to skin now, with his cock buried so deep inside of you that you think your pussy might be molding to the shape of it with each passing second. “Do you have any idea how good this feels for me?” He whispers the question against the skin of your neck, pressing his lips to your pulse point right after he’s spoken. “Do you have any idea how perfectly your tight little cunt wraps around my cock? How badly it makes me want to cum?” The volume of your moan would be almost embarrassing if everything he was doing and saying didn’t make you feel an unmatchable level of pure bliss.
“Please,” you plead through panting breaths, working hard to keep bouncing your hips in your current position. “Please cum inside me again, Bucky.” You sound desperate but don’t give a single fuck. “It felt so good the first time.”
“Fuck, you need it, don’t you?” He asks, thrusting up into you a little harder and sliding his hands down your sides. He grips your ass with both hands and puts even more force behind each upward snap of his hips. The sounds in the room are obscene and borderline pornographic as he fucks you senseless. “Whose name is around your neck right now?”
“Yours.” You cry out, dropping your head to his half flesh-half vibranium shoulder. His right hand disappears from your ass, but only before a second before it’s slapping back down with a resounding smack, earning him a gasp and arched back from you.
“Say it.” He orders, massaging his palm against your reddening ass cheek. You scream his name out only a moment later, as your orgasm is turning your brain to mush and your pussy to a fucking ravine. You’re barely aware when he rolls you over and starts fucking you into the mattress like his life depends on it. You feel the warm gush of his cum filling you up, the few sloppy final thrusts as he empties himself entirely, and then the weight of his body collapsing on top of yours. The only thing your brain seems to be thinking about is how deeply fucked you are. You’ve never been more sure of anything than you are of this, right now: Bucky’s gotten so far under your skin that you won’t be able to shake him when all of this is over.
You’re fast asleep beside him when the world tilts on its axis. When the explosion happens, Bucky doesn’t even have a moment to reach over and grab you, to pull you to his chest and try to protect you from the rain of concrete and debris. He can only watch as you’re thrown violently against the far wall, crashing against the concrete with a silent thud as a sharp ringing sound takes over Bucky’s hearing. He’s tossed in the opposite direction, feeling every little cut and rip of his skin as his body is cast through the two-way mirror on the other wall. It’s the last thing he remembers before blacking out, that he didn’t protect you when everything came crashing down.
“I’ve got something over here!” A deep male voice calls out. It’s grating to your ears, almost like nails on a chalkboard. Everything sounds too far away yet too close at the same time, and your head is throbbing in the worst way. You want to yell out and tell everyone to be quiet, to let you sleep a little longer. Something tugs against your neck, and you want to reach out and swat away whoever is nearby, but you find yourself too weak to even move your arms. Your eyes remain closed and your body remains still. You just want a little more sleep. “Dog tags!”
“Is it Bucky?” A second voice sounds, this one a little higher pitched and quieter. You try to blink your eyes open at the familiar name, but it feels like they’re covered in sand and it burns the second your eyelashes flutter, so you stop. Swallowing thickly, a cough creeps up your throat and barely manages to scrape past your lips.
“No, no it’s…” That’s when you feel a warm hand wrap around your own, intertwining its fingers with yours and squeezing once. “It’s her. I think she’s alive. We’ve got her.”
“Someone get a medic crew down here now!” The higher pitched voice grows louder and your head throbs more intensely. If everyone would just take it down a notch you could get a little more rest. “Let Fury know she’s coming home.”
Home. The word sends a fuzzy feeling, something like relief maybe, buzzing through your mostly numb body. You’re going home.
BONUS PART (will be linked here June 7th, 2024)
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#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x you#the winter soldier#winter soldier#sex pollen
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I would love to see Derek with a super confident sunshine gf but May be she gets super shy and flustered when he compliments her or makes a dirty joke and just like the first time it happens and Derek is so taken aback by her shyness bc he's used to her being chatty and confident
“Hi, Dr. Reid.”
Derek knows it’s gonna be a good day when you come in already flirting.
“Hi,” Spencer says. “Want a bagel?”
“Thanks, handsome, but I already had breakfast.” Derek leans back in his chair to watch you, and you see his moving, turning your attention to him with an equally brilliant smile. “Hi, Agent Morgan.”
“You can call me Derek, baby.”
“No, I don’t think so,” you say lightly. You pull your pea coat tighter against yourself and give a breath. “Is it cold in here today, or is it just me?”
“There’s a problem with the radiators,” Spencer says. “They sent out an email this morning to dress warmly. It’ll be fixed by tomorrow, apparently.”
“Oh. I didn’t see. I don’t think I’m dressed for the cold,” you say, looking down at your short heels. “I would’ve worn sneakers like you, Spence.”
“I brought some extra socks?” Spencer says.
“Well, keep me a pair in case I need them?” you ask.
“Sweetheart, if it’s warming up you need, you come straight to me,” Derek says, his tone warm as his promise, “I’ll find a way to keep you comfortable, that’s on my life, don’t waste your time with anybody else.”
He doesn’t mean it to sound so heavily sexual, but he absolutely did mean for it to be an innuendo. Regardless, he isn’t expecting this —you look straight to Spencer like you want to check he’s heard it, and you fluster hard, fisting the strap of your purse where it’s snug over your shoulder, a small smile playing on your lips.
“Okay,” you say shyly, nodding, looking at the space to the left of Derek’s shoulder. “Won’t waste my time.”
He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve always been sweet like that, your sunny disposition drew him to you like a moth to a flame, and yet Derek can’t recall ever having made you fluster so quickly, and so visibly.
Derek suspects he’d find neck hot under his hand with a flush if he touched it. laughs loudly, pen in his hands wagging up and down as he fights the urge to say anything else and prolong your agony.
You give a soft laugh, flustered, embarrassed and breathless, tapping his ankle with your shoe. “That was a bit mean.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, sorry Spencer has to be here to see it, “I was kidding.”
“I know!” You also give Spencer a sorry look.
Spencer, while sometimes slow to pick up subtle social cues, thankfully gets the idea and stands up from his chair. Derek follows suit, though he doesn’t scarper for the kitchen.
“That caught me off guard,” you say, laughing again as he offers his arms to you.
“What happened?” He tugs you forward. You tuck your arms behind his neck to kiss his jaw, the morning hello.
“You said it like you were bossing me around!” you defend yourself.
“And you liked that?”
“Stop, stop,” you laugh. “I wasn’t expecting it. You never boss me around. You’re nicer than anybody gives you credit for.”
“You think so?” he asks, still teasing, but also vaguely smug. To get to hug you in the office, arms on your waist, prettiest face ever made, Derek can’t help himself. “I really will keep you warm. I’ll get you a heater.”
“You’re my heater.”
“I’m hot-blooded.”
You part ways with mutual reluctance. “You’re something, Derek.”
He enjoys making you laugh, and the shy tilt of your head as you’d recovered, but he’s much happier when you’re bundled up at your desk with a hot cup of coffee and his promised space heater plugged in at your feet, chatting across the way to him about what you want to do this weekend if he doesn’t get called away.
“Maybe we can buy a couple of DVD’s and you can warm me up all weekend,” you suggest, an attempt to pretend you aren’t bothered by his comment anymore, that it had been a momentary lapse in judgement.
Derek’s content to give you anything you ask for. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”
#derek morgan#derek morgan x reader#derek morgan x you#derek morgan x y/n#derek morgan x fem!reader#derek morgan imagine#derek morgan fluff#derek morgan fanfic#derek morgan oneshot#derek morgan scenario#derek morgan drabble#derek morgan fic#derek morgan fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader
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clueless, kuroo tetsuro
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ kuroo tetsuro has a thing for girls with long hair. so what if you're a girl with long hair? that doesn’t mean anything!
➼ pairing! kuroo tetsuro x fem!manager!reader
➼ warnings! none, just fluff and humor. maybe ooc because i haven't written in years??? unfortunately, because this is based on the scene of kuroo and yaku arguing about their preference, this is really for my long haired girlies 😣 i apologize to the short haired readers
➼ word count! about 1.4k
➼ author’s note! "haikyuu renassiance!" we all cheer in unison. anywho, this is my first time posting in two years. please be nice to me 🫡
"So, you prefer girls with short hair then, Yaku?" Kai asks, shedding off the white button-up of his school uniform and revealing his black practice t-shirt. The three third-year Nekoma players had found themselves in an empty classroom, deciding to use it as a makeshift changing room. Luckily for them, they had all worn their clean practice clothes under their school uniforms. Doing so allowed them to save time and cut back the number of minutes they were already going to be late to practice, thanks to Yaku getting distracted by a group of girls, which Kai noted all had short hair. Hence, his question.
Yaku paused his work of ridding himself of his tie to send Kai a proud grin, pointing towards him with both hands, “Yesss!
"And you, Kuroo?" Kai turns to him, now curious to know his captain's answer as well.
"Long." Kuroo's answer is firm, leaving no room for debate. Still, he glances at Yaku, as if daring him to try.
Yaku only snorts, shaking his head in amusement as he too turns to look at his captain, "Like that wasn't obvious."
"Ehh," Kuroo's eyes narrow, head craning down to peer at the libero, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Yaku starts, taking a step closer as he peers right back up at Kuroo, "Everyone knows you have a crush on our manager, who just so happens to have the longest hair I've ever seen!"
"Ehh?" Kuroo repeats, louder this time as he cranes his head down even more, "Who says I have a crush—"
"Hey!" The door to the classroom slides open with a shocking force, startling the boys and drawing the attention of all three of them to it. Kuroo and Yaku both grow rigid as they find you standing in its opening. Quiet pants slip past your lips, and you take a moment to catch your breath as you stare at the three of them before you begin speaking, "There you guys are! I've been looking for the three of you everywhere."
"Hello," Kai greets kindly, the only one not left in a stupor at your sudden appearance, smiling as you make your way into the classroom. "We apologize, we're running a bit late."
"Yeah," You huff, coming to a stop a few steps away from them as you cross your arms, "It was your guys' turn to set up the nets. So when you guys didn't show up in time to do so and none of you answered your phones, Coach sent me to find you guys. Didn't know I'd be going on a wild goose chase."
Your words leave you in a huff before your eyes land on Kuroo, raising an eyebrow at the captain. His shoulders tense even more at the sudden eye contact and he's quick to snap his head in the other direction. Kuroo suddenly feels warm, realizing how you could have easily heard the conversation transpiring between the three of them. Stupid Yaku, Kuroo curses the libero in his head, doesn't even know what he's talking about.
"Sorry, Y/N." And of course it’s Yaku who disrupts his thoughts, pulling Kuroo's eyes to him just as he sends you an innocent smile, "We got carried away, talking."
There's a teasing tone to Yaku's voice, and Kuroo knows it's directed at him. Why is he friends with him again?
"I don't even want to know," You speak, and Kuroo can envision you shaking your head at the three of them, "Just get dressed and get to the gym as quick as possible, please."
All three boys give some noise of recognition in response to your words, and Kuroo takes the chance to glance at you then. He's quick to regret it. Your hand rises just as he locks eyes with you, reaching up to tuck some of the more unruly pieces of your hair (which most likely came undone due to your seemingly frantic search of the three third years) behind your ear and out of your face. Kuroo's eyes follow the movement of your hand, trailing downwards and taking in the long strands of hair that fall well past your shoulders. Once again all too aware of the conversation he was just having with his teammates, the tips of his ears burn as he pulls his gaze away from you once more. He shakes his head, trying to get Yaku's words out of his mind. Just because he liked girls with long hair, and just because you so happened to be a girl with long hair, did not mean he liked you.
Right?
A snort of laughter suddenly leaves Yaku, having caught the interaction, and Kuroo turns to him with a heated glare. You don't miss the exchange between them either.
"Are you two having one of your petty arguments again?" You accuse, eyes glancing between Kuroo and Yaku who are suddenly staring back at you like two deers caught in headlights. "Seriously, you've been fighting like this since first year. What topic could you guys possibly still be discussing?"
Yaku's smirk returns as he glances at his captain with an all too knowing look before he turns back to you, "Well, if you really want to kn—"
"Nope!" Kuroo is quick to interject, speaking for the first time since you entered and drawing your attention away from Yaku and back to the captain himself. Your eyes widen as he begins to take long strides in your direction. "No arguing here!"
Your lips part, confusion taking over your features at the odd behavior your captain is displaying. You don't get the chance to say anything, however, as Kuroo makes a show of glancing at the clock on the wall before turning back to you with a dramatic gasp, "Oh, would you look at the time! We should really be heading to practice."
"You still have your school shirt on, Kuroo.” You point out when he stops in front of you, pointedly glancing down at Kuroo's attire, which consisted of his practice shorts and white button-up, with his red school tie hung loosely around his neck.
"I'll just change it once we're in the gym," Kuroo responds, waving away your interjections before he drops his hands onto your shoulders and forces you to turn around and back toward the door. You attempt to dig your heels down when he begins to push you in the direction of the door, but you're truly no match for his strength. Stupid volleyball training.
"Kuroo," You voice your protests, attempting to swat at his hands in order to get him to release you. Once again, your attempts remain futile, "Let go of me!"
"No can do! As captain and manager, it's our job to be on time to every practice. What would our team do without us?" Kuroo shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if he's scolding you. He turns back to Kai and Yaku, flashing them a warning smile, daring them to say another word. Yaku merely watches on with an unamused look, while Kai holds a placid smile. There's extra sweetness in his voice as he practically chirps out, "Bring my stuff to the club room, will you?"
"I was on time!" You retort, not giving Kai nor Yaku a chance to respond to their exasperating captain as you send them a pointed look, all the while succumbing to your fate and allowing Kuroo to push you out of the classroom. After all, he did have a point. It probably wouldn't be long before Lev managed to push somebody's buttons (most likely Yamamoto’s) one too many times and ended up in hot water. "The only reason I'm not there right now is because I came looking for you guys!"
"Ah, now is not the time to deal blame, Y/N. Our juniors are waiting on us." Kuroo argues back, shaking his head as he removes one hand from your shoulder to slide the door shut behind the two of you. Still, Yaku and Kai face the door as the sound of your guys' bickering persists. It grows quieter and quieter with each passing moment, and it isn’t until they can no longer hear your guys' voices does Yaku glance away with a shake of his head.
"He's clueless." Yaku deadpans, glancing back down at his tie as he continues to work on untying it.
Kai nods, neatly folding his button-up before placing it in his bag. "Completely."
#kuroo x reader#kuroo tetsuro x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyu x reader#kuroo fluff#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu imagines#hq x reader
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The Angel of Music (Azriel x Reader)
AN: guys this is always one of my emotional support movies/plays I’ve seen it a million times so it only seemed fair that I give it the ACOTAR collab it deserves.
Summary: It was the inner circles first time at the theater and from the way the Shadowsinger was blushing they all had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last. (the reader plays Christine Daae in Velaris’ adaptation of The Phantom Of The Opera and Azriel falls in love with her, but he’s afraid that she won’t like him because of his scars because she choose Raoul in the play) Set between ACOWAR and AOFAS
Warnings: Angst because of Azriel’s scars, shy az, but so much fluff, (just a little Az brain rot, didn't take this too seriously)
Word Count: 3,070
It wasn’t the shadowsinger's usual scene. Bustling people dressed to the nines, plush red chairs, gold sconces, orchestras. But Cassian had been tirelessly trying to make Nesta smile, and Ferye wanted to try and get her sisters together, so here he sat in the box that Rhysand had purchased for the night.
Nesta loved the music and dancing, Elain loved the romance, and Feyre loved the costumes and color palettes of scenes. Cassian wanted to see Nesta smile, and Rhysand would do just about anything Feyre asked of him.
In all his 500 years of life, Azriel had never thought to go to the theater. When he was a child he heard of his parents going but of course, he never got to go. As he grew the idea of going to see a show simply never crossed his mind.
When the lights went down and the orchestra came to life he spent most of his time watching Cassian, who was watching a very intrigued Nesta. He stayed that way until a clap and a spark echoed throughout the room. At first, he thought there was danger, but as soon as he turned his attention towards the stage he saw the large chandelier raise itself to life bringing the dilapidated stage with it. Golds, reds, and vibrant colors filled the room.
Still, Azriel had trouble following the plot. But as he watched Nesta and her sisters become entranced by the music and dancing. The loud organ had stirred something in him, but he didn’t truly feel moved until her.
Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye…
Azriel was sitting in a box at the edge of the theater, but even from this distance, he could tell that she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. He scooted to the edge of his seat a tad just to be that much closer to her. Her voice was that of a siren, no not a siren, an angel. His shadows danced around his ears and his wings at the sound of her ballad. Even the rest of the inner circle seemed to be entranced by her spell.
As the play went on he found himself becoming irrationally jealous of Raoul. The pretty Viscount had not given her a second look at the beginning of the play. It wasn’t until the organ sounded again that the sound of her voice graced Azriel’s ears. The woman walked through a mirror towards a masked man.
Who was this masked man? Where was he taking her? It wasn’t until Mor rested her hand to where he was gripping his chair with white knuckles that he remembered it was just a play. He sat back in his seat more, trying to tell his shadows to calm down. But as her voice climbed and climbed that beautiful crescendo they twisted and turned around him.
Azriel spent the rest of the play being utterly entranced by the beautiful singer’s relationship with the Phantom. The masked man was dark and radical, staying in the shadows where no one could see him. He observed her from afar. Much like the shadowsinger did himself in every aspect of his life.
It was clear to him that the Phantom was in love with Christine. So when Raoul and Christine kissed he nearly felt his heart shatter. The way the Phantom mourned, and cried, it felt all too personal to Azriel.
I gave you my music, made your way. And now how you’ve repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…
From there on out Azriel found himself rooting for the Phantom, the man he saw so much of himself in. He nearly shed a tear when he found out why the man wore a mask. A scared child in a cage made to perform.
He looked down at his mangled hands sitting on the arms of his chair. He had known a similar childhood and had suddenly wished he had something like a mask to cover such torn flesh. Maybe then the beautiful woman on stage might look at him with that same lovesick gaze, she wore now for Raoul, but he knew that could never be.
For a moment he felt joy, seeing her kiss the Phantom with such passion, such love. Only for that joy to be extinguished like a candle when she walks out with the Viscount. Of course, she would choose him, life does imitate art after all. It wasn’t until the curtain went down and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause that Azriel broke from his trance, standing to applause with them.
“Well that was wonderful,” Feyre beamed, linking her arm with Rhysand’s.
“I’ll say, that girl sang like an angel,” Mor gushed, fanning herself with her program as we all made our way out of the box. “Even Azriel seemed to enjoy it,” the female smirked, bumping Azriel with her shoulder. She had seen the lovesick gaze in his eyes.
“It was so romantic the way Raoul came to rescue her,” Elain swooned, grabbing her sister's other arm.
“Oh please, the Phantom was the obvious choice!” Nesta huffed at her sister's comment.
“Nesta, would you like to meet the cast? Maybe talk to some of the dancers?” Feyre asked, changing the subject quickly before conflict arose.
Nesta thought for a moment and spoke again, “Yes I would.” all she said.
Of course, it was an easy task for Rhys to sweet-talk his way backstage, the inner circle sticking out like a sore thumb as they weaved past props, costumes, and the ensemble. Azriel’s eyes stayed ever vigilant, unable to let go of years of training as they walked down a dark hall. A cast member opened a door at the end of the hall to reveal mirrors with glimmering faelights around them. Vanities with every manor of makeup and costume jewelry. Two men he recognized as the actors who played the Viscount and the Phantom.
The Phantom had washed off the makeup that made his face look scarred. Once again Azriel wished he too had that ability. Rhys and Feyre shook both their hands introducing them to the whole inner circle, but Azriel paid no mind. His hazel eyes were searching for a hint of her.
“Oh y/n there’s someone who wants to meet you!” called out one of the actors.
“Oh, really who?” called a voice so melodic Azriel just knew that she had to be an angel.
His shadows wisped around him frantically, calling out her name in his ear, like they were excited to finally know it. Rhys and Feyre’s eyes looked to their friend and smiled at one another.
She walked around from a changing screen, tying the strings of the robe she was wearing that looked similar to the one she had worn on stage. She nearly stopped in her tracks as she saw her High Lord and Lady staring at her.
“My Lord, My Lady,” she bows. “It is an honor.”
“No, no, please don’t bow,” Feyre rushes over, bringing the singer upright. “If anything we should be bowing to you. You sang like a goddess out there, you are truly talented.”
“Why thank you, my Lady, I’m truly happy you enjoyed the show,” she smiled and Azriel’s heart all but glowed.
“Please call me Feyre,” the High Lady smiles, extending her hand.
“Y/n,” the singer replied, taking her hand and shaking it.
Azriel kept to the sidelines as the inner circle conversed with the cast and crew. Feyre and Rhys praised the play director and claimed they would be purchasing their box for the rest of the season. Nesta picked the brains of the dancers and their instructor, Cassian listening dutifully behind her. Elain chatted up the Phantom and Raoul, both actors seemingly falling for her, once again showing how life imitates art.
Mor talked to y/n, about what? Azriel didn’t know. But the second Mor caught Az gazing at y/n she held out a hand to him.
“Y/n I’d like you to meet Azriel, spymaster for the night court,” Mor said, beckoning Azriel over.
Azriel quickly put his hands behind his back, not wanting to scare her with his scars. He could’ve sworn he saw her cheeks tint a shade pinker as he approached, looming over her in size.
“How do you do?” y/n asks.
It takes a second for Azriel to realize that her angelic voice is speaking to him.
“Oh um, very well thanks.” he stutters, already feeling like a fool. Gods she was even more beautiful up close, he found himself suddenly longing for the box that offered him sanctuary, or a mask like the Phantom had.
“Did you um, enjoy the show?” she probed and Azriel realized that Mor had conveniently dismissed herself.
“I did,” he said quickly. “You have a beautiful voice, I could’ve listened all night.”
Once again he swore he saw y/n blush as she looked down at her feet, “Thank you, though I think I fell flat a little in the first song. Opening night and all,” she laughed nervously and oh Cauldron, the sound of her laughter was enough to make Az take one step towards her.
“No it was perfect, all of it.” he spat out, not standing to hear her say one more bad thing about herself.
“Well thank you Azriel,” she said and by the fucking Cauldron she smiled at him. His name fell off her perfect lips and she smiled at him. He must’ve been dead and somehow gotten to heaven, there was no other explanation.
The rest of the inner circle watched the pair intently. Feyre sank further into Rhysand’s side as they both realized they were watching Azriel fall in love in real-time. The yin and yang of the pair was near poetic and Feyre told herself she would pain this exact moment tomorrow morning.
“Y/n why don’t you come to dinner with us? We would love to hear more about you,” Rhysand smiled.
His words broke the trance y/n was in, “Oh my Lord I truly wish I could, but I have an early day tomorrow and my apartment is clear across town.” She apologized.
“No worries, it sounds like we will all be back for tomorrow night's show as well. Though I would hate for you to walk home alone,” Rhys smirked trying to get Azriel to bite at the bait.
“Not to worry I make the trek all the time,” she smiled, picking up the many vases of flowers people had left for her on her vanity.
“Azriel could walk you home, couldn’t you Az?” Mor chimed in and Azriel shot her a look.
“Uh, yeah I could if you’d like,” Azriel mentioned stuttering over his words as he scratched the back of his neck.
“Oh no I wouldn’t want to take you from dinner with your family,” she assured him, picking up two large vases of flowers.
“Not at all, I would be honored to walk you home,” the shadowsinger said a little too quickly. Feyre tried to stifle her laugh in Rhys’ side, she had never seen her spymaster so flustered.
“Okay then,” the girl smiled and soon enough they were off down the cobblestone street, their way lit by dim faelight.
y/n’s pov:
“Your shadows are incredible,” I smile watching as the dark wisps carry the various vases of flowers down the road.
I had been more than happy to have the High Lord’s shadowsinger walk me home. In all honesty, I was captivated by the male the moment I set eyes on him. Sure he was hard, dressed in black, and over a foot taller than me.
A sane woman might’ve kept her distance from the male, he was dangerous after all. But I knew the moment he spoke that he wasn’t a threat. There was a quiet and gentle calm underneath all that darkness.
“Thank you,” he says and I swear I see him blush. “They seem to really like you.”
“They do? How can you tell?” I laugh as one of the little fellas brush against my cheek like a cat brushing against an ankle.
“They went wild when you were singing tonight,” he chuckles, seemingly remembering how they danced.
“Really?” I ask balking a bit.
“I’m serious, give it a try,” he smiles, motioning for me to sing again.
I shrug and clear my throat before singing a line from the play, “Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel,” I sang softly and sure enough the little shadows danced and swirled around me. Threading themselves through my hair and around my arms where they held my vases of flowers.
“That’s amazing,” I breathe finally watching the small wisps die down, hiding behind their master like they were shy.
“You’re amazing,” their master spits out and then blushes. ‘
I can’t help but feel myself blush too, shying away from the hulking Illyrian. He didn’t look so tough as his shadows carried dozens of flowers behind him. He had walked down the street with his hands behind his back the whole time, not needing to lift a finger.
The little purple door I’m so used to seeing comes into view. Outside the cottage are dozens and dozens of roses and the light inside is out.
“I leave these here,” I say gesturing to the flowers I’m holding as I set them on the front porch.
“Why not take them home? Were they not gifted to you?” Azriel cocks an eyebrow as his shadows place the flowers neatly next to the ones I set down.
I laugh starting back down the path towards my place, “I get so many, I can’t possibly keep them all. Marla is an elderly woman who lost her husband years ago. It brings her joy to have them, so I leave them for her. Besides it’s not like they’re from anyone special,” I shrug, subtly dropping the hint to Azriel that I’m not otherwise engaged.
Azriel pauses beside me and approaches a rose bush blooming near one of the cottages. Drawing his dagger, he carefully slices off a vibrant red rose. Before offering it to me, he painstakingly removes every thorn with the same blade, as if to protect my hands from even the slightest prick.
“You deserve to have at least one flower,” he says offering me the rose.
I blush and go to reach for it when I catch sight of his hand. The mangled and marred flesh. I can’t help but feel my breath hitch as I wonder who could’ve done such a thing to such a gentle soul. The scarred hand pulls back a bit as if realizing my staring.
“I guess I’m more Phantom than dashing Viscount,” he utters sadly, referring to my play and my role in it. My heart shatters as I see his broken expression.
“You know,” I smile, taking the rose from his scarred hands. “I always thought that Christine should end up with The Phantom, he was clearly the better choice.”
His head whips up as if I’ve uttered an inconceivable phrase. “Even though he had ugly scars?” Azriel inquires, his face tight like he might not want to hear whatever answer I provide.
“Who said he was ugly?” I laugh, did this beautiful specimen of a male truly believe he was ugly because his hands bore scars?
“So you would choose the Phantom?” he cocks an eyebrow as if trying to read if I was telling the truth.
“In a heartbeat,” I affirm confidently and honestly.
He takes a step towards me, his form getting even bigger, “and what about scarred hands? Is that a deal breaker?” he probes, holding out his hands so I can see that they both harbor similar markings.
I shake my head taking another step towards him, appreciating the beauty that is him. From the white scars that ran up his hands, to the shadows that danced around him like they they were whispering to him.
“So if I asked you to dinner after your show tomorrow?” he queries taking a step towards me as well.
“I would ask you where we are going?” I reply feeling my cheeks heat up. Was he asking me out? I tried to push the butterflies down in my stomach.
“Rita’s ?” he shrugs, stepping forward.
“Sounds like a plan,” I smile moving towards him more, like I was compelled to.
“I’ll swing backstage after the curtain closes,” he smiles, seemingly becoming more confident in himself as we step closer together just a few feet apart.
“I’ll put your name on the list,” I say, feeling his presence pull me in.
“And if I were to send you flowers? What kind would you like?” he interrogates further.
I think for a moment, no one had ever asked me what flowers I might like to receive. My eyes look around as if searching for inspiration until they land on a blue siphon adorning his chest that’s right in front of me.
“Something blue,” I blush knowing that when I see the cobalt flowers on my vanity I will know they are from him.
“Consider it done,” he smiles and I suddenly realize that we’re mere inches apart now.
I turn to my right where the blue door to my house beckons to be opened. Pulling out my keys I unlock it and use my shoulder to shove it open as it always gets stuck.
“Well,” I say shyly. “Thank you for walking me home,”
“Anytime,” he smiles looking down at his feet.
The sight of the bashful warrior on my front doorstep has me melting. His face is so beautiful and perfectly carved I can't help but lean up on my toes and kiss his cheek. I almost regret it when it’s over but the violent red of his cheeks makes me smile again.
“Well goodnight,” I say, trying not to let my words shake in the process.
“Goodnight,” he smiles, brushing a hand against his freshly kissed cheek.
I close the door and place the single, thornless, rose he cut for me in a vase. It isn’t until I turn on a light that I hear him take off into the night and I swear I hear him let out a grand whoop from way up in those clouds.
Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202 , @kennedy-brooke , @sunshineangel-reads , @lilah-asteria , @evergreenlark , @cheneyq
#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel x reader angst#azriel x reader fluff#azriel#azriel spymaster#inner circle#acotar
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Kara is buzzed when it happens. Not drunk, buzzed. A little tipsy. Not lost in the sauce, more “in her cups”. It’s been a rough day of wordsmithing and crime fighting and game night has turned into an impromptu movie night because no one has enough energy to play anything. The Settles of Catan box is gathering dust next to the Pictionary stuff and the other random games that have accumulated at Lena’s apartment ever since they all realized that she has the best bachelorette pad for hosting these things.
Instead they’re watching Twister instead of playing Twister, laughing at how cheesy it is. The movie is almost over but the night is young and Kara is unwinding, so she asks Lena for a favor.
“Can you bring me some?” she says, spotting Lena pouring wine from a box that Kara brought over.
“Sure,” Lena says.
A moment later, Lena joins her.
This moment is inportant. Kara doesn’t know it yet but it’s one of the most important. One day she will rank it in importance with the day she first saved Lena and the first time she walked into Lena’s office and a number of other firsts.
Consider this: It is a warm May night and Lena has the windows open to let the breeze in. It’s maybe seventy in the penthouse and eventually it’ll get cooler. Right now, everyone is lazing about in knockaround clothes. Kara herself is in a pair of old threadbare sweats from the DEO that she kept even after the organization disbanded because they were so comfy, and the ribbed tank she had on under her outfit at work, baring her blocky and sun-tanned shoulders.
(This is because Lena once made a comment about her big meaty shoulders after they attended a spin class together. Kara never consciously said “I’m giving Lena two tickets to the gun show”, but she has her bis and tris on display around her whenever possible anyway. Kara had no reason to flex when she’s opening a bottle of wine -or a box with a screw cap- but she does it anyway. She doesn’t need to pick up Lena’s car… you get the idea.)
Lena, for her part, is dressed in mercilessly short shorts that bare her thick thighs, and she’s put on a sweatshirt. A gray sweatshirt that has the National City university logo on it, a school she did not attend, and is two sizes too big for her. She’s put her hair up in a sloppy ponytail and has taken out her contacts in favor of a pair of rather chunky-framed glasses. She looks like a dork.
A stunning, cute, adorable, huggable, kissable dork.
Lena brings with her two blue plastic tumblers of wine, and hands one to Kara.
The couch is packed. Alex and Nia flank Kara, and their respective partners fill out the sofa. Really, someone should have saved Lena a seat in her own house. She has one in mind, though. She sits right on Kara’s lap as she hands her the wine.
It could be any number of things that cause it. She’s tired, she spiked a few of her drinks with alien rum, it’s been a long and frustrating day and she’s just not thinking right. She doesn’t have her filters in. Words just spill out.
“Good girl,” Kara says, as Lena settles in place.
The reaction is subtle, but to a Kryptonian, obvious. Lena’s heart does a little pitter-patter and she tenses just slightly, just barely, so subtly that only Kara would notice. Her pupils widen and her breath catches sharply.
Alex, seated such that she’s behind Lena, snaps her gaze to them quickly.
Kara does the only thing she reasonably can do. She presses her legs gently to either side to make sure there’s enough room and lets Lena settle in with her. The couch is one of those huge custom jobs that cost more than Kara’s apartment and every stick of furniture in it, so there’s room for Lena to comfortable position herself and lean back into Kara, sipping a bit of wine.
Everyone is else is dead silent, the only sound coming from Lena’s massive TV and theater quality sound system (so there is in fact a lot of sound)
Lena is there and she’s warm and soft, the crown of her head in perfect range for a little sniff. With not much effort Kara could press her lips to Lena’s hairline and give her a little kiss.
She’d done that once. It was after a save, when Kara was holding Lena in her arms after catching a collapsing crane on her back, shrugging off a hundred tons of twisted metal to save her Lena. It was not long after Lena came back to her and things were still weird and fragile and Lex wanted her dead and Kara was so, so scared, so wracked with pain just from knowing what Lena meant to her. The only way she could stop herself from kissing Lena, proper kissing, was by pressing her lips somewhere safe and friendly and kinda a we’re friends kiss and not a I want to marry you please never leave me again kiss.
Lena drinks the wine so fast she gulps, and she’s either thirsty or trying to calm her nerves. There’s a palpable air in the room right now, a heavy tension that’s made them all suddenly stiff and uncomfortable. They pass the rest of the movie in silence.
“Who’s up for a double feature?” Kara says, not wanting to leave but not wanting to test the terms under which she might stay.
“Not me,” Alex says. “We’ve got to get home and pay Ruby for watching Esme. Besides, if we let you picky we’ll end up watching some damn cartoon.”
Nia wnd Brainy similarly demur, citing reasons of their own.
“Okay. I’ll stay and help clean up.”
“You don’t have to,” Lena says, tentatively.
“I don’t want to be a poor guest.”
The rest of the Superfriends pile out of the penthouse and into the night with mildly alarming speed, and Kara is suddenly alone with Lena. The vast penthouse doesn’t feel empty. Instead it feels close in, almost crowded.
Lena slips off of Kara’s lap and plops beside her, yawning. She sets down her empty wine cup and stretches, delightfully arching her back as she throws her arms back up over her head, fingers laced. Kara doesn’t need x-ray vision to see she’s bare beneath the sweatshirt. Her own heart does a little flutter.
She looks so soft, so cozy and inviting, but her legs are such a distraction that Kara can’t help but look at them, her gaze sweeping from ankle to hip with the intensity of an explorer who’s just crested a mountain and set eyes on a promised new land. That’s when Kara realizes that Lena saw her looking and is meeting her gaze firmly.
“Like what you see?”
Kara swallows hard. She can hear the drum of Lena’s own heart, almost feel the same quickening of her pulse as well as the slight waver in her voice.
Kara licks her lips.
“Should we clean up, or…”
“Should we? Or should it wait until morning?”
If Lena had been dropping hint before, she was laying down the gauntlet now. She looked at Kara with lidded eyes and a flushed, wine-silly grin.
Kara swallowed hard. A part of her, a very loud part, still insisted she misinterpreted all of this and Lena was just being friendly. What if she was just being friendly, what if-
“What would you rather do?” said Kara.
Lena shrugged. “I’m tired of thinking, Kara. People ask me what to do all damned day. I’d rather relax and just let someone else take charge for a while.”
The way she said it, especially take charge, was so heavy and drippy and velvety that Kara could get lost in it.
Fuck it.
Kara twisted and, carefully, very carefully, lifted Lena into her lap. Lena made sure to not sit but straddle, her warm thighs bracketing Kara’s as she settled her weight in Kara’s lap and fell against her chest.
Very, very tenderly, with supreme care, Kara pressed her hand to the back of Lena’s head, slipping her fingers into Lena’s hair, and guided her in. She savored every second. The ghost of breath on her lips, the sight of Lena’s blown pupils before she closed her eyes, the feeling of Lena’s fingers digging into her shoulders as their lips met. Lena kissed her softly at first, then more and more greedily, exploding from a gently pressing of lips into something undeniably needy and hot. When Lena moaned into her mouth, Kara’s nerves lit up like a Christmas tree and she instincts grabbed Lena’s hips and and grinds herself up against her.
“Lena,” Kara whispered, “is that my sweatshirt?”
“Yes. It is.”
“Take it off,” said Kara, and then a moment later, “good girl.”
#supercorp#supergirl fanfiction#supergirl#supercorp fanfic#lena luthor#kara danvers#kara x lena#karlena#supergirl fanfic#ficlet#steamy#Lena likes praise
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QoL as Kindness: ISAT's diagetic tutorials
This is the hopefully first of a series of posts I'll be doing reinterpreting ISAT's Loop through the lens of START AGAIN: a prologue's context. As such....
Major spoilers for both ISAT (all acts, including optional content) and SASASAP (all endings).
One of the biggest differences between ISAT and SASASAP is it’s QoL – it’s Quality of Life. QoL refers to all the little things that make a game just that little bit more playable; quick to navigate menus, quicksaving… tutorials.
It’s not really a surprise that SASASAP is as RPGmaker as RPGmaker gets. This isn’t a criticism, just an observation, and also a compliment to how much Adrienne’s skills with the engine improved between releases. Still, there’s some things that ISAT has over SASASAP.
ISAT’s QoL is absolutely essential to making it bearable. Anyone ever watch an ISAT playthrough where the player sighed in relief as the tutorial on picking where you loop came up?
SASASAP lacks a lot of ISAT’s QoL because it’s an earlier project without a studio backing it, but what impresses me is how this change ties into narrative.
Because the greatest chunk of ISAT’s greatest QoL is provided by Loop.
Even before you ever meet them, they’re already over your shoulder. Loop is the tutorial, speaking to you inside your brain.
It’s genius, in that no player is ever going to question this. Hell, SASASAP’s movement tutorial is the exact same thing with less flavoring
This reframes what the QoL is – it’s not just a convenience to the player, it’s a convenience to Siffrin, too. It’s diegetic. It’s not something the game is giving you, it’s something Loop is giving you.
Let’s look at what Loop gives you, and more importantly, why.
Zone Out
The first of the QoL features I want to talk about is the Zone Out function, the absolute bread and butter of not making this game a total slog.
The Zone Out feature as is did not exist in SASASAP (because Adrienne didn’t know how to do it yet) – instead, some doubled scenes let you just skip them entirely outright. There’s only two extremes: listen to all of it again, or none of it.
ISAT’s zone out system is much more dynamic, since it fast forwards dialogue line by line, letting you zone in whenever you’d like, and forcing you to zone in whenever a) something notably new happens, or b) whenever Siffrin speaks.
The way this feature is introced by Loop is kind of genius. Because Loop’s tutorial is about one thing – it’s okay to skip.
“You might miss what your party is saying, but who cares, right? If you make them mad, you can always loop back and they'll have forgotten all about it!”
It’s a cruel joke, or at least it seems that way on the surface. It’s also genuine advice. And a cruel joke at the same time. For Siffrin, freshly starting the loops, this is scandalous, but for Loop, who’s long since desensitized, it’s the same old same old.
What Loop’s doing here, by joking about Siffrin not listening to the party, is alliviate Siffrin’s guilt when they inevitably take Loop up on the offer. Because, even though Loop loves their party members…
From SASASAP, when sitting outside the bathroom:
(Will you get farther this time?)
(Will you live this time?)
(Or are you stuck listening to the same lines forever?)
(…)
(Stars, you’re so tired.)
Loop knows intimately well that Siffrin is going to drive themself insane trying to be a people pleaser every single loop, so this joke is telling the outright – don’t bother.
At first, Siffrin (and the player) still might. I really enjoyed reading the same conversations five times minimum because they’re fun and I’m deranged, but at some point I did start skipping them. And it was a relief to know there wouldn’t be anything new.
Siffrin: “Should I check everything again?”
Loop: “You mean, should you check the same barrels, the same closets, the same objects on tables every loop?”
Loop: “I mean, you can, but… You know things won’t change, right?”
Loop: “If you really want to get a certain item again, or listen to your friends repeat something funny, you should!”
Loop: “I personally would only check two or three things every loop, and ignore the rest.”
Loop: “It will just make you crazy to expect something to change, when nothing will.”
Loop: “All that might change is your reaction to it!”
The game is telling you, Loop is telling Siffrin, don’t drive yourself insane playing, please. The characters aren’t going to remember if you skipped something.
In the course of my script wizard activities, I’ve gotten an in-depth view of just how much that actually holds up. Pretty much all major differences are by Act, unrelated of how often you’ve done something. Minor variations apply for other things, but… those variations are minor.
And this also points out what all those variations are. Siffrin’s reactions!
Loop’s pre-empting Siffrin’s guilt, cuz they probably felt it themself. Hell, we do know they felt the pressure to perform and make sure nobody notices anything’s wrong, in SASASAP! Right up until the finale, Loop was driving themself up the wall.
(You have to act, you can't crack, you have to fake it and play it exactly as you did the first time for the whole way through so your friends don't find out anything is wrong)
(You don't want to know what would happen if they knew their quest was in vain)
(If they knew their quest for justice and change always ends in stillness and death!)
Acting everything out perfectly is one of the ending paths for SASASAP, which results in… complete and utter failure. Obviously.
(You acted perfectly normally, didn't you?)
(Nothing out of place, nothing weird, every line the same as it might've been the first time?)
(Ah…That was your mistake, wasn't it…?)
(Because… Didn't your very first time… end exactly like this?)
(The King throws the Housemaiden's body onto the floor again.)
Zoning out for too many conversations actually awards weird points in SASASAP, locking you out of the Perfect Ending. On the other hand, acting “perfectly” in ISAT… has no awards whatsoever. No special scene or or optional event or anything at all. You get nothing for paying attention!!!
So spare yourself the pain already, m’kay?
(On that note: I don’t think Loop not being sarcastic about it would’ve like… worked. At the start of ACT 2, Siffrin isn’t going to believe Loop when they say “Stop forcing yourself to relive the same thing over and over because you’ll start seeing your friends as disposable actors and lose touch with reality.” That all comes later, when Siffrin can look back on Loop’s words and see how right they were.)
Loop Back
The second biggest sigh of relief in any given ISAT playthrough is probably this specific tutorial.
Loop graciously shows you that you don’t need to loop back all the way to the beginning every single time. You can pick and choose where to go, even going forward by paying up with Memories of Skirmish.
This is a feature SASASAP does not possess, for the reason that it is much, much shorter, only covering about as much as one floor of ISAT’s three floor House.
But… since this is a character showing this to you, Loop showing this to you, we can ask… when did Loop learn this? After all, START AGAIN, Loop’s loops, do not have this feature.
“It'll save you time, so it's important, so listen up!”
This feature not existing in SASASAP means this is a thing that Loop did not know exists during their own time as Siffrin.
And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? SASASAP’s Siffrin does not know how to do this. They cannot pick and choose where they end up, as demonstrated wonderfully by SASASAP’s True Ending.
There’s an even more wonderful implication, though –
On SASASAP’s Perfect End path, when exiting the final room before the King, Isabeau says this:
Isabeau: “…I'm glad you're feeling better, though!”
Siffrin: (…?) “What do you mean…?”
Isabeau: “Oh!!! Um, you were…”
Isabeau: “Well! You were acting a little weird when we were way closer to the Castle's entrance……”
Isabeau: “You weren't really listening to us, you were kinda smiling the way you do when you're actually not happy…”
Isabeau: “…and you like, almost acted like you knew exactly where you were going?”
Isabeau: “But clearly you're feeling better now! You're acting just like normal!!!”
SASASAP’s Siffrin knew how to do this, somehow managed to lock themself into the House’s last floor… and then forgot how to get back. By making this tutorial, Loop is ensuring that Siffrin never will.
“What can I do next?” – SASASAP’s greatest flaw
So, if you’ve had the pleasure of playing START AGAIN START AGAIN START AGAIN: a prologue yourself (as you should), then you’ve probably faced this scenario, or some variation of it:
I got to the end, I died to the King, but… what do I do next? The game tells me to go for the extremes, but how do I do that?
(edit: apparently some of yall just managed to speedrun sasasap in two loops. You're gonna need to stay with me here, please. Suspend your disbelief a bit, because a lot of people [including me] were dumbasses about it)
Maybe you try another loop, but just get the same ending again (or a differnet one, depending on a coinflip). You’re getting frustrated. Getting the Perfect Ending demands pinpoint precision to avoid everything weird, the True Ending demands good memorization of every single damn key in the game, and the order you do everything in. (Though, to be fair, the requirements on that one are actually more merciful than one might expect.)
Point is, in SASASAP, it’s incredibly easy to get stuck in that endless loop of “What the fuck do I do now?” It’s not uncommon to think you got it right only to get the same result anyways.
What does one do in this situation?
They consult a guide, obviously.
START AGAIN’s ending requirements are frustrating. They are. When I tried to go for either the Perfect or the True Ending, I saved inside every single room, just so I could get right back to it when I inevitably fucked up five times minimum. This is both criticism… and praise.
Because Loop is the major reason that ISAT does not suffer from this same problem.
Whenever you’re stuck in ISAT, Loop is just a single loop or call away at any times. And besides that, no plot requirement in ISAT demands nearly as many moving pieces all at once as SASASAP does – the “Sus Route” has been relegated to an optional ACT 4 exclusive event, instead of the game’s True Ending.
Instead of consulting an external guide on how to progress, you have one right there in the game, always ready with the next tip. They’re not infallible, mind you – enough time in Isatcord’s #game-help proves that, but Loop solved all of the moments I got stuck and frustrated in ISAT for me.
(Primarily that one time you need to figure out that a photo is similar to being stuck in time. That moment in particular is actually commendable, as you need to ask Loop about it twice before they tell you, leaving you a last shot to try and figure it out on your own.)
Loop is a feature that nullifies SASASAP’s greatest flaw in its successor, and they choose to do so.
Memory of Keys
In my humble opinion, Loop does this because… they do not want Siffrin to suffer as they did. They want Siffrin to escape. And there is no greater example of their kindness than how Loop treats keys.
First of all, all keys in the game have a sparkling effect on them if you’ve picked them up at least once before, making it immediately clear where in the room they are. This means you don’t need to search every single room top to bottom for them, as you had to do for any keys and Star Crests in SASASAP. It’s some nice QoL that just means you don’t have to re-search the same area if you happened to forget which specific cupboard the key was in.
Key point being: SASASAP did not have this feature. In SASASAP, you did have to memorize where all the keys are, and doing so is expected if you want the True Ending.
Loop does not want Siffrin to have to do this. Because…
From SASASAP’s True End:
(The torch in the infirmary? That’s important!)
(The key in the book? Soooo important.)
(The names of your friends, that have been by your side throughout this entire adventure?)
(Not worth remembering.)
Compared to ISAT’s ACT 2:
Siffrin: “How come I can see where the keys are?”
Loop: “Whaaaaat? You caaaaaan? How can that beeeeeee?”
Siffrin: “Is it thanks to you?”
Loop: “Maybe.”
Loop: “I figured you'd have other things to worry about than where a stupid key is.”
Loop: “No need to thank me.”
To Loop, that they memorized the House’s layout over their friends’ names is a defining moment to their own failures. After all, in all likelihood, the True End of SASASAP is the last loop before they called it quits. It’s a traumatic experience from them, one that came from having to remember all the dumb fucking keys.
They do not want Siffrin to experience this. They do not want Siffrin to have to memorize the House, to push away what actually matters in favor of efficiency. So Loop is directly, personally, giving them a boon, so that Siffrin does not have to.
Conclusion
There’s probably more tutorial things I could talk about, but I feel like you’re seeing the pattern now, even if I don’t bring up saving level ups or keeping equipment or the “You’re stuck” signifier, least of all cuz they don’t have direct points of comparison with SASASAP like my other examples do (SASASAP has no changeable equipment, and saving levels doesn’t matter if you only have one floor, and you can’t softlock either.). So.
Loop’s tutorials all belie a fundamental kindness to their character. Everything that made their own experience trapped in the timeloop just that bit worse, they’re choosing to do away with it for Siffrin. They are choosing to make Siffrin’s time here easier.
Zoning out too much lead to them never paying attention to their friends, forgetting their names, so they make sure that Siffrin can still zone back in whenever something new happens.
Loop trapped themself for years on the final floor, locking themself out of progress that might lie further back, so they’re ensuring Siffrin knows exactly how to loop forwards and backwards so it doesn’t happen again.
Loop lets Siffrin keep equipment across loops to cut down on time spent doing the exact same thing over and over.
They are saving Siffrin time, and they are giving Siffrin comfort.
At every single turn, Loop is saving Siffrin from the same pitfalls they fell into without anyone to guide them out.
It's honestly incredible to transform an increase in skill into an actual narrative element. Yes, SASASAP sucks more to play. But ISAT sucks less, because Loop wants it to. It's the perfect marriage of real world circumstance and storytelling. I could... probably pull another comparison here, saying it's like a game and its remake - overhauled graphics, expanded story, and loads and loads of QoL, because the makers of the remake realized something. They love the original, but parts of it do suck, and there's so much that can be done to make a new player's experience smoother. Metanarrative commentary,,,, woah,,,,,
Every single one of these QoL elements I’ve mentioned function as a crutch for a player’s failing memory, but also Siffrin’s (similar to what I talked about in my previous essay on ISAT’s ludonarrative - the player and Siffrin are always in sync, even in how tutorials benefit them). Loop doesn’t know the player exists though (only the Change God does), so they do everything for Siffrin.
To keep Siffrin from forgetting. To help Siffrin focus on what’s important. To make Siffrin’s journey just a little bit less miserable.
Loop directly improves ISAT’s QoL. For you. For Siffrin.
From Loop’s introduction:
Loop: “See, I’m useful! I’m very useful! That’s why I’m here, helpful Loop.”
Siffrin: “Why are you helping me?”
Loop: “…”
Loop: “Because I think you should be helped.”
Loop: “I won’t always have the answers, but… I think having someone on your side to talk to is better than dealing with this alone.”
Loop: “Right?”
From Loop’s hangout:
“But it’s fine.”
“Whether you believe me or not, I’m here to help you.”
“So you can escape this loop.”
And finally, from the start of ACT 3:
Siffrin: “Are you really here to help me?”
Loop: “Stardust…”
Loop: “…”
Loop: “Yes.”
Loop: “If you can believe anything, believe that.”
Loop: “I asked to be here, so I could help you.”
And I do believe them. Loop’s feelings on Siffrin are… complex, to say the least. They love Siffrin, and they hate him in equal measure. They’re jealous, and spiteful, but underneath everything…
In SASASAP, if you die to a Sadness thrice, you get this monologue:
(Sometimes, when you loop back here…)
(In the corner of your eye, you can sometimes see someone that looks just like you.)
(Is it a you from another loop? Remnants of your past failures?)
(Are you going crazy?)
(May they succeed where you cannot.)
#feli speaks#in stars and time#isat spoilers#start again: a prologue#sasasap#LOOP TIME BABEYYYYYYYYYYYYYY#WATCH OUT IT'S FELI TALKING ABOUT LUDONARRATIVE AGAIN
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DAY 75: onehat
#codacheetah#isat#loop isat#siffrin isat#isat act 6 spoilers#twohat spoilers#isat spoilers#yea im tagging the onehat post twohat spoilers. watch me#..do we know what time of day it is when siffrin goes to the favor tree?#i always imagined the evening for some reason.#um so anyways. hey do you guys ever think about onehat. do you think about it#do you ever think about how siffrin never learning about loop and never getting closure with them#is just as valid of an ending as twohats. you dont have to get twohats. loop getting some catharsis isnt necessary to siffrin's narrative.#they asked to be here. they were here to help siffrin. and they did. and it ended#that's it.#i've always wondered if loop saw siffrin perform the ritual for them#i wonder if it would comfort them or not. if you ask them if they're a ghost they say yes (and no) after all#the tree is their grave.#something something from main character to stage director to sponsor to corpse#and with how arcane the prereqs for twohats are. yes you can get them naturally on a first playthrough but it's definitely not the majority#experience especially playing blind.#to give loop an ending you have to reach back in with both hands and grasp at that connection#i dont rlly know how to articulate it but it makes me feel a kind of way tbh. you only learn the prereqs (w/o guidance) by talking to loop#very frequently and paying attention to the hints they drop to you about the coin. labor of love situation#self love. siffrin reaching back for loop. We Are Getting Out Together Bitch#Is this anything i dont know that it is#idk onehat fascinates me a lot and im not even gonna touch on the onehats playthroughs where u actually do get the prereqs#i think there is a slight tendency among some fans tocharacterize loop as. more vindictive than they are? i guess?#it's easy to stare down loop's big twohats breakdown and see them bare their fangs and look into their anger#but loop's willingness to fade into nothing and leave siffrin alone shouldnt be forgotten i dont think
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In Limbo [Chapter 6]
mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist
mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader
no good deed ever goes unpunished
cw: minor depictions of violence, shady activities, non-con touching/groping, non-con kissing, a lot of hurt, no comfort, playfully shitting on people from Birmingham.
wc: 5k
Small chunks of salt stick to the tips of Simon’s fingers, dusting them like fresh snow. You were right; a simple order of chips really isn’t enough to keep him going throughout the night.
If anything, the saltiness makes him hungrier. It pummels his stomach until it’s grumbling at an annoying frequency, and it doesn’t do much to help the dryness in his mouth, either. He would have tried to order something if it wasn’t damn near impossible to get anyone to deliver to the club, and god forbid Price actually install a proper kitchen. But there would be no use for any sort of kitchen in a place like that, as it’s not good food that makes people swarm to the club like brainwashed zombies. It’s the booze. The music. A quickie in the stall.
Shady activities in an alleyway.
Simon huffs as he tosses the empty chip container in the small bin that sits in the corner of the surveillance room. Monitors upon monitors line the wall on the far side of the room, illuminating the concrete floor with a grey glow as faint music pulses through the air. He hates this room. Small, stuffy, and overheating with the computers and servers; he’d rather be out in the bitter November winter right about now. He’s out of luck tonight, because after nearly two weeks, Johnny’s research has finally bore fruit.
About time, too. All Simon has been able to think about for the last few days has been you. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still see the outline of your body that’s ingrained in his mind. Your limp, exhausted form as you rested in the conversation pit — too overwhelmed to keep conscious. He doesn’t know why you haunt him so terribly. Perhaps Mrs. Price is to blame; she knows how he never likes leaving a job half done.
Or maybe it’s because you’re so… peculiar. For a woman he could only describe as being a skittish cat, you’ve suddenly melted into some other version of yourself. Your dislike of his proximity to you was obvious. Short words, awkward exchanges, yet the impulsive need to constantly get even with him, like you were trying to sweep up the breadcrumbs that lead to your door so he couldn’t follow you home.
However, when he visited you a few days ago to check on your hands — as promised — you seemed to be a whole new person. Well, not entirely. If you were the world’s most skittish cat before, you had now become the feral stray that would maybe eat out of the palm of his hand if he didn’t look at you while you did it. He would ask you questions and you would respond with something more than simple words or an uneasy, anxiety induced joke.
I’m just… glad you’re not doing it just for me.
He still wonders what you meant by that.
“Hey, you paying attention?” Johnny quips.
Simon blinks the glaze out of his eyes — one which still carries a now greenish-yellow hue around his cheekbone — and pushes the thoughts of you out of his mind as his attention fully settles on the monitors in front of him. A chair squeaks as Johnny settles back against worn, faux leather. He’s already got everything loaded up for whatever presentation he’s about to give.
“Waitin’ on you, Johnny,” Simon playfully retorts.
“Right,” he replies, rubbing his hands together, “so I’ve been trying to do some research on your dance partner here, and he’s a slippery fucker. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks up. At least through the methods I use to find people. Nothin’ on the media or anythin’ like that. Might as well not exist at all in the tech world.”
A hum rumbles in Simon’s throat as he crosses his arms. “You drag me in here just to tell me you found nothing?”
Johnny’s neck cranes to the side where he then looks up at him with a smirk. “Come on, Riley, when have I ever wasted your time?”
Both men turn their attention back to the monitor as Johnny begins to wind and rewind through footage from a few days ago. Everything happens fast; speedy bodies darting across view, and the comedic speed up of light snow falling on the ground, but not sticking. Static streaks across the screen as the footage warps, before it suddenly pauses again.
“Since I wasn’t able to find anything on this guy, I decided to sleuth through this video again, and I found something a little odd about this bloke here,” Johnny explains as he points to a male figure. Whoever it is, they’re faced away from the camera with their hands shoved deep into their pockets to stave off the cold. “He enters the alley before your pal does…”
The video plays at normal speed, and the faceless man vanishes behind the brick corner of the building a few meters down, just as Johnny described. He fast forwards, and everything plays at triple speed. Simon’s seen it all before. The man who accosted you enters the alleyway, and then you unfortunately come across him a bit later, but then something happens that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to before.
The man Johnny pointed out leaves the alley, this time facing the camera. He’s fiddling with something in his hands, and upon closer inspection, Simon’s able to tell it’s a wad of cash. It’s quickly stowed away in his pocket, and that’s when Johnny pauses the video.
“He leaves as soon as Chip arrives, shovin’ cash into his pocket like he struck a deal,” he concludes.
Tense fingers grip the back of the office chair as Simon leans over Johnny’s shoulder, squinting at the face on the screen. He scrutinizes every detail possible through the fuzzy footage, and his jaw flexes as he huffs. Square jaw, visible stubble, and eyes just as shifty as his character.
“He looks familiar,” Simon mutters.
“He outta. Fucker works here,” Johnny drops.
A rancid, sour taste floods the back of Simon’s throat at that revelation, and his fingers tense to the point the imitation leather of the chair threatens to crack beneath his grip. Fury rises in the dark irises of his eyes as he leans back and grumbles. It seems like such a simple detail to miss. Something that he should have caught on to the other night, even in his sleep deprived state. If he had, he would have been several leaps closer to the real issue ages ago.
“Who is he?” Simon demands.
“Marcel Wylder,” Johnny answers as he twists in his chair to face him. “Works part time as one of the bartenders in the VIP lounge. Only really works on weekends, and according to the floor manager, he’s a good kid. Only twenty three years old. Always shows up on time, things of that sort.”
“Good kids don’t meddle with men who like to scare women in alleyways,” Simon retorts.
Johnny shrugs. “Guess we all have our dark sides… some more dark than others.”
It takes a few more moments for Simon to finally get himself to look away from the screen, and his eyes land on Johnny with a malice not meant for him. He’s not quite sure why this revelation angers him so. The sting of failure pricks at his skin too violently for him to ignore it.
“He here tonight?” he then asks.
“Yeah, he’s working on the second floor right now. Or, at least that’s where he was last, according to the cameras,” Johnny answers. He pauses to lick his lips and tilt his head at Simon. “You’re brewing something up in that head of yours. None of it looks too cheerful.”
Swarthy eyes glare back at the monitor as Simon commits this new face and name to memory. Marcel Wylder. Twenty three. Square jaw. Stubble. Thin eyes.
“Thanks for the intel, Johnny,” is all Simon says as he turns on his heels and walks towards the exit.
A high pitched squeak echoes off the dull white walls of the room as Johnny spins in his chair to watch him leave. All he can make out are straight set shoulders, clenched fists, and an aura that demands blood.
“Go easy on the kid!” Johnny calls after him, his voice too saccharine to truly mean it.
There are very rare times when Simon Riley feels like a savior, but he can’t deny the fact that he feels like Moses when he’s walking through John’s club. All it takes is a single glance or a firm hand on someone’s shoulder, and the mass of pulsing bodies splits for him like the Red Sea.
This trend continues as he jogs up the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, and his path to Marcel is highlighted by the mob of patrons crowding the bar. He looks nicer tonight than he did the other night, and his square jaw almost appears defined now that he’s shaved that fuzz off of his face. Pristine dress clothes mark him as a perfect employee as he quickly fills orders and stuffs tips in his pocket all with a thankful smile. Doesn’t look like he’s doing half bad for himself, considering there’s a near topless woman serving booze next to him.
“Marcel!”
Simon’s voice booms louder than the bass of the music, and is so sharp all other sounds nearly seem to cease for a moment. That pathetic sod glances up from his work like a schoolboy being scolded, and his face grows pallid. All it takes is a simple gesture of his fore and middle fingers to get the man to slip from behind the bar and join him in the crowd. Smart kid. Everyone knows not to mess with Riley.
He leads the boy out behind the building like a lamb to slaughter. Just like a good offering, he’s quiet. Hardly questions anything besides an is everything alright? to which Simon doesn’t respond. Frigid wind attempts to cut through the formidable fabric of Simon’s clothes, but it seems to really do a number on Marcel. Hardly even ten seconds out the door and the poor boy is wrapping his arms around himself and trying hard not to shiver lest he look pathetic in front of the head of security.
A flickering security light is the only source of illumination in the shady alley, and even in the bleakness of the winter the garbage spoils and festers with a stomach-churning odor. Marcel stands cornered with his back to the wall, and he watches with trepidation as Simon’s hand dives into his pocket. Relief doesn’t fill his face until he realizes it was only a pack of cigarettes he was searching for, and not something nefarious.
The cancer-stick sits at home between Simon’s lips as he lights it and puffs out a steady stream of smoke until it’s well lit. A gentle breeze whisks it away into the air where it quickly dissipates among the smog smothered stars. Once he’s satisfied, he holds the pack out toward Marcel.
“You smoke?” he asks.
“Yes sir,” Marcel answers.
Simon shakes the pack, and a smile pulls at the boy’s lips.
“Cheers.”
As Marcel’s trembling hands work on igniting the lighter, Simon takes a better look at him. There’s hardly a single scar on him, and his hands are much too soft to truly be a part of any violent syndicate. Still, anyone can be a mole, even if they’re a smoothed face kid. Besides, he’s got a Brummie accent, and Simon fucking hates Birmingham.
“What d’ya do outside of workin’ here?” Simon asks. It’s kind enough. Simple, polite conversation — but there’s nothing civil about the look in his eyes as he chews on the filter of his cigarette.
“School, mostly,” Marcel replies.
Simon hums. “Uni?”
“Greenwich.”
“Smart.”
Another exhale of smoke dances between Simon’s lips as he huffs, dark eyes still trained on Marcel. He’s damn near shivering out of his skin as the black fabric of his uniform is designed to whisk away sweat and keep you cool in warm, humid temperatures. No matter, the boy can warm up soon enough — Simon intends for this interaction to be quick.
“Since you’re a smart kid, you’ll do well to be truthful with me then, yeah?” Simon prompts as he flicks a bit of ash onto the ground. “That bloke you met up with the other night? Who is he?”
Trembling muscles suddenly freeze, and the cigarette seems stuck against Marcel’s lips. There’s no exhale of smoke, or the embers brightening at the tip to show he’s inhaling; there’s nothing.
“Bloke?” he repeats.
“The fucker you met up with in the alley a week or two ago,” Simon snaps, already impatient.
Marcel jumps and the cigarette falls free from between his lips and fingers. It sputters and whines on the ground, where the boy quickly puts it out of its misery by stomping on the embers until they’re no longer glowing.
“Right, erm, Andrei I think it was.”
“And what did he want?” Simon presses.
“Well, he had this picture of someone. Some bitch he didn’t want hanging around here I suppose. Was asking me questions about her and stuff,” Marcel replies earnestly.
A bright pink dusts the tips of Simon’s ears, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s from the cold biting his skin, or the rage boiling through his veins. “What did she look like?”
“She was dressed mostly in black, kind of similar to our serving uniforms. It looked like it was taken through the window of some restaurant, but I don’t know which one, I swear.”
Sapori. Teeth nearly cut through the filter of the cigarette as Simon’s jaw clenches, and he rips the thing out of his mouth to toss it on the ground, not even bothering to stomp it out. This man — this Andrei — is getting too close to you for comfort. He thinks back to the way you reacted in the alley; how petrified you were. A terrible thought plagues his mind as he wonders what else has been done to you to get you to fear someone so terribly.
Simon doesn’t like where his mind is wandering.
“What questions did he ask about her?” Simon continues.
“Dunno, just regular stuff? I suppose? Like when she was here and who she was with. Things like that,” Marcel answers.
Simon raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“And I told him the truth. About how she was here on Halloween. I mean, I didn’t see much of her so there wasn’t a lot I could tell him. Honest. I think he was mostly looking for confirmation that she was here at all. He didn’t ask for anything else after that and sent me on my way.”
Acid eats away at Simon’s stomach as the chips he ate before this seem to have a hard time settling with the heavy ire disrupting his mood. Dense feet scrape against the ground as he takes a few steps closer to Marcel, who puts his hands up in defense as if that’s going to do anything against the raging storm barreling straight for him.
“That’s it, that’s everything, honest! I swear!” he pleads.
“I know. I believe you,” Simon says through gritted teeth.
Worn knuckles crash into the tense flesh just underneath Marcel’s sternum, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He sputters miserably as his back crashes against the brick wall behind him, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t breathe. A deep purple hue stains his face as his body begins to jolt and spasm uncontrollably. It’s impossible to keep himself upright with the wind knocked out of him, and he slowly slides onto the ground with his hands over his stomach like he’s trying to stop blood flowing through a wound.
“You’re a smart boy, so listen close,” Simon says as he crouches to Marcel’s new height. “Be careful who you call a bitch ‘round here, because if I hear you refer to a woman like that again, I’ll knock your goddamn teeth out, ya hear?”
Still sputtering and heaving, Marcel nods.
“Good. Now, that woman Andrei showed you? Forget her. She doesn’t exist to you. If he comes ‘round here again askin’ about it, you tell him you haven’t seen her, because you won’t. You’ve got nothin’ for him, yeah? Nod,” Simon continues, and Marcel complies. “If anyone ever starts askin’ about any of our patrons or workers, you bring that shit right to me. Don’t you ever go ‘round behind my fuckin’ back again. You think there’s anything that happens here that I don’t know about? Huh?”
After an eternity of struggle, Marcel is finally able to get a good gasp in, and a few subsequent breaths after that. That bright purple begins to fade from the paleness of his face, and he quivers and shakes his head.
“N-No sir,” he stutters. “Sor-ry…”
“Good, and don’t fuckin’ forget that.”
Simon pushes himself up to his feet and looks down at Marcel as he writhes and chokes on his achy diaphragm. He haphazardly digs around his pocket for his pack before he retrieves a single cigarette and tosses it toward the pathetic lump of a man at his feet. It bounces on the slimy ground before rolling to a stop with specks of dirt sticking to the filter — a shitty attempt at an apology.
“Take a breather, then get back to work,” he orders while he turns to leave, but Simon only gets a few steps away before he pauses. A stiff finger points at Marcel as his attention is quickly brought back to the boy. “Keep in mind, that’s not even half of what I’ve got.”
Marcel’s pathetic response is drowned out by the uproar of music that fills Simon’s ears as he returns back inside of the club. A thick wall of heat melts the frost off of his skin as his brooding figure cuts through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. His blood continues to boil with clenched fists and heavy breaths. It’s all consuming. Swallowing him whole. Simon doesn’t like being angry. He feels too much like his late father, and sometimes he fears that he looks like him, too.
Violent, angry, sinister — his intimidating build and threatening demeanor have always been something he’s tried to fight against. A stereotype he’s been trying to break. Yet now that he’s gotten one step closer to uncovering the monsters hiding in your shadows, he’s grateful for it. For once, it’s a tool he can use to his advantage.
Something he can use to help you.
Except while Simon is busy taking baby steps through this web of lies, you’re already in the maw of the beast. Frayed string tangles around your fingers as trembling hands attempt to keep themselves busy with a solo game of Cat’s Cradle. It’s already the 25th again, and just like every other month, you’re in perfect position. Sitting properly on a bench with a wad of cash tucked neatly into the envelope that sits inconspicuously on your lap. This is a dance you know well. A dance you don’t think you’ll ever be free from.
Washers and dryers hum around you and clash terribly with the ringing of your ears and the violent pounding of your heart. Trepidation plagues you worse than it usually does on your payment days because you don’t know how Marco is going to react about what Simon did to Andrei. You keep going through possibilities in your mind. Things you need to say to keep him off of Simon’s trail. Ways to apologize to keep him from getting upset. You’ve gone through every option your mind can come up with, yet it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. There’s something you’re still missing.
But you’ve run out of time.
Frosty air slices through the warmth of the laundromat and you try your best not to shiver even though you’re already shaking. Marco's cologne drifts along the air, mixing in dissonance with the fragrance of soap and fabric softener. Green eyes scan the small room as he takes note of the single mom folding clothes in the back of the building as her young son watches videos on her phone. It should be comforting to know that you’re not alone — but you’ve learned that you’re never safe, not even when all the cameras in the city are trained on you.
Your attention stays firmly on your hands as Marco waltzes up and makes himself at home next to you on the bench. The scent of him scorches your nose as his arm wraps around your shoulders. You try not to jump as he involuntarily pulls you closer to him, and you find your fingers clamping down hard on the string in your hands.
“Long time, no see,” he greets.
He’s friendlier than he normally is, and that terrifies you. His thumb rubs at your arm through the fabric of your jumper and you feel your heart leap up into your throat. He knows. He knows, and you’re about to pay for it.
“Did you hear about our good friend, Andrei? Got scuffed up pretty bad the other night,” Marco then prompts.
You swallow your heart down your throat and back into your chest. “Is he alright?”
“Define alright,” he hums. Long legs spread apart and bump into your thigh, crowding you further like he’s trying to lock you in a cage of flesh. “Busted lip, broken nose. Face is so goddamn swollen he sounds like he’s got a cold.”
Images of Andrei’s face from the other night sear your mind. Bright red blood trickling down his lips, an appalled expression on his face as if he had never met anyone able to put him in his place before. You should have known then that you wouldn’t walk away unscathed from something like that. You never do.
“What were you even doing there, anyway? At that club?” Marco then asks.
“I was delivering food,” you answer truthfully.
“You a delivery driver now? Thought you were a waitress,” he digs.
“Hostess…” you correct.
“Who were you delivering to?”
“My friend… her husband owns the club and she was hungry… so… I, well…” you lie.
Firm fingers dig into your arm as Marco pulls you closer, and you try to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “Ah, right. John fucking Price.”
Shocked, you finally bring yourself to look at him. There’s faint amusement on his face as he stares at the washers in front of him. A mixture of soapy water and colorful clothes dance around in the machine as it gently spins and agitates the fabric.
“You know him?” you venture to ask.
A smirk pulls on his lips as he turns his attention to you, and your blood screams at how close his face is to yours. “Don’t worry about that, babe.”
His eyes capture yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away, like you’re an unfortunate deer caught in the headlights of a car. He wanders down. Down, down, down until he catches sight of the unmarked envelope on your thighs. He grabs it and isn’t at all courteous about where his fingers brush in the process.
“How did that guy even know you were in that alley? The man who fought with Andrei?” Marco asks.
As he waits for your response, he hits the envelope against the top of your thigh as if he’s bored. Tap, tap, tap. Each time it touches you, you feel your stomach twist.
“I, uhm, asked the same thing. Said he heard us. Thought I needed help. Guess he was the bouncer outside the VIP entrance during that time. M-My friend said he’s the head of security,” you reply, weaving truth and lies seamlessly together.
“Yeah, I know who the bastard is,” Marco mutters in reply.
Something in you wants to press him for an explanation of what he means, but you keep your lips sealed as he folds up the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. Your gaze finally breaks away from him as you glance down at your hands. They’re almost fully healed — nothing but faint scars and scabs. You untangle the string from your fingers as you begin to wind it up, hopeful that he’ll leave soon.
“Well, it doesn't matter. I’m sure it was all one big misunderstanding. No use in getting worked up over it, pet,” he sighs. A pause follows his words, one that’s interrupted by quiet giggling of the child still playing on his mothers phone as she folds clothes somewhere to your right. “Still, some damage was done. Andrei’s been an annoying fuck ever since the altercation. As much as I would love to let you get off easy, it doesn’t really look too good if I’m letting some sweet, pretty thing walk all over me, now does it?”
Your eyes flutter shut as he speaks, and you attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever blow he’s about to deal to you. Of course it was naive to think you’d get out of this easily. In fact, you had planned to be hurt in some type of way. All you wanted to do was throw Marco off of Simon’s trail, and though it feels like you’ve succeeded for now, you’re not quite sure if you even accomplished that much.
“It doesn’t,” you pitifully agree.
Marco smirks. “Because of that, your monthly payments will be increased by five hundred starting next month.”
The very blood coursing through your veins turns to ice, and tears blur your vision when you open your eyes. Five hundred. A brutal panic wreaks havoc in your chest. You want to sob, and scream, and thrash but his hand is still on your arm, keeping you chained to him. Gluttonous fingers stain your skin and his leg is still pressed against yours and you can feel the disgusting warmth of his body and you can’t. You can’t. You want to rage, but you’re cornered and trapped, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“B-But that’s… that’s fifteen hundred a month, I… I’ve hardly- I can’t make that.”
You’re crying now, and you hate it. Hate how weak and pathetic you are. White hot tears cook your cheeks as they travel down your face, and you’re trying your best not to hiccup. Suddenly, you’re a kid all over again. Fawning, trying not to flinch as his hand reaches for your jaw to turn your face to him. His breath smells minty as it fans across the wet streaks on your face — he’s so close you can almost taste the menthol. There’s a small frown on his lips, something that almost looks sincere, but his eyes are too hungry for it to be real.
“Look at you,” he shushes. His hand moves up to cup your cheek as his arm keeps steady and firm around your shoulders.“Getting all upset over this? If it means that much to you, we can always negotiate lower, babe.”
It takes an eternity for his lips to meet yours, and once they do, everything freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the ringing in your ears and warm shame on your skin. It’s degrading. Humiliating. A terrible reminder that you’ve never really belonged to yourself. Never really belonged to anyone or anything but him.
Things get worse when his tongue pushes past your lips. Everything becomes ten times louder — the washers and dryers, the video on that damn phone, Marco’s slight moan against your skin. You make a pitiful attempt to fight back by pressing your hands on his chest, but he only pulls you closer, holding you tight like a coiling snake.
Something in you demands blood. You feel obligated to bite down, to sink your teeth into his tongue until the mint in your mouth is replaced with iron and copper. When you were a kid, your dad taught you how to throw a punch. You wonder what he would think if he saw you now, too afraid to fight back.
Once he’s had his fill of your fear, Marco pulls away, but you still can’t breathe. Using his thumb, he wipes a stray tear from your face, and you can tell by his slick snicker that he savors the feeling.
“For that, we’ll drop it down to three fifty,” he whispers. He places another kiss against your lips — something chaste and quick — before he releases you and stands to his feet. “See you next month, pet.”
Marco leaves just how he arrived — with a gust of bitter, frigid wind. He’s taken something from you that you won’t get back, and it’s left you feeling empty on that bench. So void, so barren of anything, that you can’t even bring yourself to move. All you can do is sit there and curse yourself for being just as worthless as the day you were when you first got yourself stuck in this mess.
Shuffling sounds on your right, and you nearly jump out of your skin and look up at the source of the sound. It’s that lady and her son. You’d nearly forgotten about them. A small basket of neatly folded clothes sits on her hip as she’s holding the boy's hand to lead him out of the laundromat. There’s a look of disgust on her face, like she can smell every single sin that’s ever been forced upon you. As if you are at fault for the grotesque display of affection you were made to endure.
As she exits, you try not to think about why she didn’t help you. If anything, you’re grateful for it. No more favors. No random acts of kindness. It never turns out well. No good deed ever goes unpunished. Instead, you rise to your feet a few minutes after she leaves, wiping your face clean before you brave the cold streets of London to make your way back home. You promise yourself that once you get home, you’ll wash your mouth out with soap, and then call Sapori to see if you can pick up an extra shift for tonight.
No matter what, you can’t take Marco’s offer — that terrible promise he made you all those years ago. Maybe one day you won’t have a choice, but for now, you’re content on working until your hands bleed.
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hey i saw you're open to requests!
What about a hotch x reader fic where he's reunited with an old friend on a case and he gets all flirty and flustered? No angst, happy ending if poss 👀
Aaron Hotchner x lawyer!reader
sfw, reuniting, fem reader <3
no haley or jack mentioned and no specific season
Eyes meet across the room. Warmth fills his gut. He knows those eyes, he memorized those eyes, he loved those eyes.
“Aaron?” your voice still sounded the same, like honey and warmth, like the soft and lulling pitter patter of rain on a spring’s night. Just how he remembered.
You made a B-line for him, at a determined speed. That’s another thing he remembered about you, so determined. Throughout all of law school you both would compete, for anything and everything, you almost always won.
“It’s really you, huh?” looking at him with so much admiration he needed to break the contact. “So, what’s a hotshot FBI agent doing here? Come back to beat the score.” You jest, hitting his elbow with your own. The score was something sacred back in your university days. It was a tally between you two, one that would update every time one of you got a higher grade, an award, a commendation, or stayed sober the longest, the last one was always biased. He fondly remembered nights of drunken giggles and takeout while watching badly written court tv shows on your thrifted couch.
“Oh no, those days are long gone. Any more tequila and my liver will go into failure.” A ghost of a smile paints his lips.
“I still get flashbacks after a mere whiff of the thing.” Your laughing sounding more of an amused snort, not caring who saw you. That was something Aaron always loved liked about you, not once in the entire time he knew you did you ever care about how others viewed you. You were so uniquely you that he truly believes if another you appeared one day, the earth would stop spinning.
Emily and Morgan walked up behind him; he could see their smirks through the back of his head. “Hotch, I didn’t take you for a tequila connoisseur,” Derek was in view now, offering his hand to you, “Derek Morgan.”
“y/n l/n,” you state as you shake, “and you should have seen him in our second year of law, god I thought I was going to have to drag him to emergent care some nights.” Your words were embarrassing, but your eyes were filled to the brim with joyfulness, you make eye contact once again and it is as if the world stops. “But of course I was no better so I would be a hypocrite to say anymore.” You grin, your lip getting a slight tug from your teeth. Aaron felt himself blush as his brain began to create images of that lip, and those teeth, and that smile, and oh those beautiful eyes.
You noticed the change in his demeanor, you always had. Except this time, your eyes twinkled in victory. “So, what do you guys need?” you turn you head towards Emily, although your gaze is stuck like honey to Aarons eyes.
“We were told that you were the prosecutor for the case we are working on. We came to discuss some things about the trial.”
“Oh of course, let me just grab the file. One second.” You turned to walk to your office; it was just principle that Aaron followed you, no other reason. “Come on agent Hotchner, the file isn’t going to find itself, I need your expert profiling skills to uncover it.” You laugh as you reach your office. Aaron looked at his very amused coworkers and felt the flush of his cheeks get 2 shades darker.
“I don’t know who she is or if they have a history, but he followed her like a dog.” Morgan states, a belly laugh following as he finishes his senses.
Emily observed you through the glass, your head thrown back in laughter, and Hotch’s eyes staring at you with something that could only describe as a child on Christmas morning.
“He is whipped.”
A/N
short and sweet but trust me I will start doing longer ones.
requests are still open, please give feedback.
ik it's not the best but I hope you like it.
#criminal minds#bau team#criminal minds fandom#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner is my husband#girlblogging#i love making grumpy men babygirl#emily prentiss#derek morgan#short story#my fic#fluff#aaron hotchner fluff
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In Your Dreams: II ☁️🌙☁️
Azriel x Reader
A/n: Heyy😖 sorry for the long delay. Lowkey, I don’t like using Y/n but since it’s more Azriel’s POV we just have to put up with it. God gives his strongest battles to his strongest warriors😔✊🏽
Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.
Warnings: Smut. MDNI.
Part I
Azriel could help but let his mind wander to that dream. To the way you looked at his mercy and how his name sounded coming from your lips. Those lush rosy lips.
THUMP
Azriel hits the ground forcefully, his sword flying out of sight.
Cassian rolls his eyes and extends a hand to his brother. “What the hells is it? You’re distracted this morning.”
Azriel takes his hand, standing to his feet. “Nothing.”
Cassian tugs Azriel’s hand and gives him a knowing look. “Is it the stuff with Elain?”
Azriel’s brow pinches in confusion for just a second before he answers. “No. There is no ‘stuff’ with Elain.”
As Rhysand had made it very clear to him.
For a moment he’d forgotten of the incident he shared with the Archeron sister. Of course, he has thought of her many times since but she is not what plagued his thoughts this morning.
It was you, quite the opposite, in fact.
While Elain is the picture of innocent loveliness and blooming roses, you are the essence of grim allure. The thorns of those roses.
Shit, he even forgot that he promised to take Elain to her favorite bakery as soon as he returned from his mission. He’d been so focused on not focusing on you that he hadn’t even tried to find her at all yesterday.
Another thing he adds to the mental list of reasons not to like you.
“Then what is it?” Cassian asks, readying his blade for more action while Azriel picks up his own.
Though his distaste for you is apparent, he hasn’t spoken of you to anyone but Rhysand. The only reason he ever does is to get him to do something about you. What that something is, he’s not too sure but anything works at this point.
“I have to take…Y/N with me on a mission tomorrow.” Your name feels so foreign on his tongue, chilling, as if speaking it would summon you.
Cassian shrugs, gesturing for Azriel to strike him first in their new round of training and he does. The two begin to spar once more.
“What of it?” Cassian asks dodging Azriel’s attacks.
“Only that I cannot stand the sight or smell or idea of her.” Az grunts.
“Yeah, I kind of got that.” Cass chuckles between blows. “Remind me why? is it because she out sneaked you?”
“She did not out sneak me!” Azriel growls. “Something is just off about her.”
“Like?”
“Like how bleak and foreboding she is.”
Cassian laughs, “I can’t argue with that. She’s definitely intimidating at first.”
“At first?”
“Well once I got to know her, I discovered that’s she’s actually pretty interesting.” Cassian swings his sword.
“Got to know her?” Cassians attack misses.
“Yeah. Shes kind of like you in that sense.”
Az staggers back, not from Cassian’s attacks but from utter shock. The accusation of being anything like you. “What do you mean by that? I’m not like her at all.”
“Just that some people aren’t as scary as they look.” Cassian doesn’t bother to strike Azriel in his baffled state.
Azriel really didn’t know what to make of it all, couldn’t picture you smiling and chatting away with Cassian. You’re all but a stonewall whenever he’s seen you. But Cassian wouldn’t just lie for the fun of it. Unless…
“Did Rhysand tell you to say that?” Azriel runs his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat that drips from his curled tips.
He doesn’t wait for an answer before returning his training sword to its proper area, Cassian in suit.
“Why would he?”
“Well he seems quite adamant on me getting along with her.”
“Maybe you should. She’s-”
“I get it Cass. Shes your new best friend but that certainly does not mean she has to be mine.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a promise to keep.”
.☁️🌙☁️.
Thankfully, Elain wasn’t upset with Azriel’s forgetfulness, allowing him to escort her to her favorite bakery and even stopping by a jewelry shop for some new earrings.
“What do you think of these?” Elain asks pointing to a pair of small pearls.
Azriel leans forward, inspecting the timeless jewelry. “They’re very nice.”
Elain nods at the shop owner who adds them to the small pile of jewels she’s picked. “Maybe one more pair?” Elain sheepishly smiles.
Azriel nods. “Take your time.”
“How about you pick them?” Elain suggests. “They’re all so beautiful, I can’t choose.”
The idea makes Azriel smile at the middle Archeron sister. That she might like to wear something he chose for her.
Azriel scratched his chin examining the rows of elegant and extravagant jewelry. Gold, silver, diamonds, all kinds of jewelry that he knows she would appreciate but there is one piece that calls to him.
A unique piece for sure, nothing like he’d ever seen before. A silver pair of earrings with a stone so black it’s like looking into a void and the tiniest diamonds scattered across it like stars.
However, Elain is not who came to mind upon seeing them. It’s you.
The earrings would go flawlessly with your usual pure black attire but it’s the way they make him feel like he’s looking right at you.
His chest tightens. Daunting yet fascinating.
He hates himself for letting you distract him from Elain again. You, who could not be anymore different, should be far from his thoughts right now.
You steal his siphon, his thoughts, his dreams and he detests it. He just wants to return to the life he had before he knew of your existence.
“You seem to like those.” Elain’s tranquil voice brings Azriel out of his thoughts. “I’ll take them.”
The shop owner reaches for the unnerving jewels but Azriel stops him. “No, not those. The ones next to it.”
Azriel hadn’t even taken notice in the plain, diamond studs beside them and mentally cursed you for keeping him from finding a beautiful pair for Elain.
Elain nods and the owner rings her up.
The walk back to the house is silent. Azriel’s thoughts consisting of half trying not to replay his dream of you grinding on his cock and half wondering where the tension between he and Elain is coming from.
Did she know he was thinking of you when he saw the earrings? Was she upset that he’d chosen something so boring for her?
Whatever the reason, it’s your fault for being a parasite in his brain.
“You seem distracted lately.” Elain breaks the silence between them.
Distracted. The same thing Cassian had said this morning and what he is trying so hard not to let you do to him.
“It’s nothing. Just thinking about my assignment tomorrow.” It wasn’t a lie. You are the most troubling part of his work now too.
“Right, you’re going to the Hewn City with Y/n.”
Azriel’s eyes almost leave his skull at Elain’s comment. You are not a topic he EVER needs to speak of with Elain.
Elain giggles, “She told me about it.”
“You…talk to her?” Azriel asks incredulously. It’s one thing to hear that Cassian has spoken to her but Elain? Sweet, sunshine Elain?
Elain nods, “Why wouldn’t I?”
Azriel shakes his head. It felt like worlds colliding. World’s he didn’t want to mix at all.
It was foolish of him to believe Elain wouldn’t talk to you though. Despite her months of casting everyone out, Elain is kind hearted.
Even before the cauldron, when she was afraid of him, she still did her best to be polite.
“I just assumed she didn’t speak to anyone.”
Again, Elain laughs. “She gets along quite well with everyone.”
Another piece of shocking information. “Everyone?”
Elain nods. “I won’t lie, she’s a bit scary when she’s quiet, but one day she asked to join me while baking and I got to know her a bit.”
You approached her? Azriel didn’t think he could be anymore shocked but there he was his jaw practically on the floor.
That isn’t at all like what he imagined you to be like. With your cold and strange disposition, he couldn’t even imagine you and Elain in the same room, let alone baking together.
Now, Azriel by no means believes Elain to be a liar but the thought of you actually getting along with his family is so…bizarre. He needs to know for himself to believe it. So he set forth on his own personal mission.
.☁️🌙☁️.
Upon his departure from Elain at the House, Azriel begins the search for his first witness, Mor.
He beelines for her room, knocking on her door a bit too urgently.
She’ll tell me him the truth.
Mor opens her door, brow pinched in slight annoyance. “Want to knock a bit louder?”
“Have you spoken to Y/n?” Azriel wastes no time on formalities or her mood.
“About?” Mor shrugs.
“Anything. Anything at all.” Azriel sighs, growing impatient. He needs answers now, before he’s stuck with you for Gods know how long tomorrow.
“Uh…yes?” Mor’s irritation turning into confusion.
“And?”
She shakes her head, her confusion only furthering. “And what? I don’t know what you’re asking me, Az.”
“What do you think of her? What did you talk about?” Azriel runs a hand through his hair trying to calm his edge as he realizes how frantic he is coming off.
Mor taps her finger against her chin. “She’s great! We talk about clothes, we talk about clubs, we talk about boys.” Mor wiggles her eyebrows.
Boys? He didn’t care about that. He wants to know what she knows about you.
Yet he couldn’t help himself.
“What ‘boys’?” Azriel glances down the hallway, as if you’d appear there, staring him down as you always do. “Anyone I should be concerned about?”
Mor chuckles and rolls her eyes. “None. Unless you’re concerned with who she may share a bed with.”
Something like nausea twist in his gut. He did not need to know that. He will absolutely never need to know that.
“I am most definitely not. I mean, is there anything suspicious about her? Anything I should know?” Azriel shakes the thought from his head.
“Nope. She seems alright to me. Anymore questions that you can find out for yourself?”
Azriel resists the urge to learn every detail she knows and shakes his head, bidding her a good evening and setting off to search for the next subject to his questions. If there’s anyone that will tell him what he wants to hear, it’s Nesta.
.☁️🌙☁️.
Azriel finds Nesta lounging in the den, a book (that she obviously is very concentrated on) in hand.
Nesta isn’t fond of being interrupted while reading but this is important and time sensitive. He needs to know who it is he’s going to be stuck with.
Azriel clears his throat, stepping into the den. Nesta continues to read.
He clears his throat again, a bit louder this time.
“I’m busy.” Her eyes remain in the book.
“What do you think of Y/n.” Azriel decides it’s might be worse to try and ease her into conversation.
To his surprise, she actually looks up. A smirk stretches across her lips as she puts her book down and crosses her arms. “Why the sudden interest? I didn’t think you liked the poor girl.”
Poor girl? Nesta thinks you’re the victim here? He’s the one you stole from!
“That doesn’t matter. Do you like her or do you not?” Azriel asks, doubt begins to fill the hope he held out for anyone else to feel what he feels.
Nesta waves him off. “If you’re not going to tell me, then I’m not going to have answers.”
Azriel’s patience is worn thin at this point. He has a feeling he knows her answer. He just wants to rip the band aid off.
“My only interest is making sure she isn’t going to stab me in my sleep when I take her with me on my assignment tomorrow.” His hands rest on his hips, awaiting Nesta’s response.
Nesta scoffs. “I doubt that. Though it seems you might be the one doing the stabbing. You look like you’re going insane.”
“I feel like I am.” Azriel slumps onto the sofa across from Nesta and burries his face into his palms.
He doesn’t know what to think and he has yet to see any of this ‘great’ personality as Mor had described you. Anytime he has been around you, you’ve always been tucked away in a corner, languishing in your own mysterious presence.
“Stop being so stubborn and talk to her. Maybe then you won’t run away like a scared child when you see her.” Nesta pokes fun at him but he couldn’t deny that he mostly feels the need to flee when you are around.
Speaking to you does not sound appealing, not only because you seem as interesting as watching paint dry, but mostly because of how you make him feel.
Being face to face with you always results in his every nerve being on fire and a gripping ache in his abdomen that won’t go away. He’s on high alert, anxious that you’ll break from your spine chilling stillness and put your cunning skills to use.
You are a source of stress that he does not know how to relieve. Even after learning that you’ve earned his family’s affection, he can’t settle the unease that you stir in him.
But he’s afraid everyone is right. Maybe it’s best for him to grow a pair and face the discomfort to try and alleviate some it at least.
.☁️🌙☁️.
Azriel hesitantly searches for you throughout the rest of the evening and night, occasionally gathering the courage to peak into a room to see if you are there.
He has faced beasts and armies and kings yet facing you is what terrifies him?
The walk to the library felt long in the dead silent house. Not even Cassian’s snores can be heard from here and it only makes Azriel more nervous.
Since he could not find you anywhere else, the library seems to be where you hide at night.
He silently creeps into the library. The illumination of moonlight from the back of the room proves him right as he slips past the row of bookcases until he reaches the now open balcony.
There you were lying on the bench, eyes closed, hands tucked tightly to your chest.
Now he’s sure you are insane. Sleeping on a hard bench in the cold night.
Azriel stalks towards you, unsure if he should wake you or let you freeze the death. Maybe that’ll solve this whole thing.
But once again he just can’t walk away.
Your skin seems to glow in the moonlight and each strand of your hair glitters in the gentle night breeze. Peace replaces your usual stone features.
Heat pulses through his veins and his every nerve begins to vibrate with alarm just as he knew they would. Except there was something more.
It’s not only that he can’t leave but its as if once he gets close enough to smell you, to notice the details of your being and to be able to reach out and touch you, he is lost to an unseen enchantment that only draws him closer.
Azriel looks down over your sleeping form. His eyes roam over your nightgown clad figure. The hem, riding dangerously up your thigh, would do absolutely nothing to cover your center if you move half an inch.
Visions of his degenerate dream flit through his mind, the lewd things he did to you. The sound of your breathless moans and the feeling of your tight pussy contracting around his fingers as you came.
Unwelcomed desire pinches deep in his stomach. Despite his best attempt to push down the carnal feeling, all is for not when his eyes lock onto your lips.
Pink and plump and parted in your slumber, he cannot look away, can’t stop the vulgar thoughts flooding his mind. Hypnotized, his fingers twitch with the need to touch, to feel, to know.
Cauldron, he needs to know.
“Do you enjoy watching people sleep?”
Azriel jumps back as his heartbeat sky rockets. What the hells is wrong with you scaring someone like that!?
You look up at him through your lashes. “Well?”
What is he even supposed to say? There is no way to make staring at someone while they sleep sound normal.
Azriel swallows, “I was making sure you weren’t up to anything.” Turning the tables of accusations is one way.
Your brow quirks up. “Oh? And what exactly do you think I’d be up to?”
Azriel shakes his head as if it should be obvious. “Stealing.”
“Stealing? With my eyes closed?” You scratch your chin. “Though I probably could from you.”
Lightning strikes his pride. “You could not. Even the worst of the worst get lucky from time to time.”
The corner of your tempting lips curl into a smirk and a chuckle escapes them. You laughed. He made you laugh. Not at all intentional but still the sound weaves its way into the deepest corner of his mind, engraving its melody for what he knows will be eternity.
He wants to hear it again.
“Okay. So what would I be stealing?” You sit up. Azriel doesn’t miss the way your soft thighs glide against each other as you cross your legs.
“Whatever you can get your little hands on.” Azriel sneers, already regretting letting everyone influence him to speak with you.
“Hm. Well, I can get these ‘little hands’ wrapped around just about anything. Sounds like you’ve got trouble then.” The smirk on your lips turns devious, like a cat toying with a mouse.
Your choice of words incite that thrill in him again. The same one when he retrieved his siphon. The same one he felt fucking you with his fingers in his dream.
“Say I was stealing, what would you do to me?” You blink once, twice.
Azriel couldn’t ignore the thrum of his heart. Just as you had in his dream, you feign innocence. Chin tilted down as you watch him behind long fluttering lashes. “I’d…”
You did not want to know what he’d do to you. What he had done to you.
For stealing he’d send you somewhere as dark and cold as you. For your arrogant attitude, it would involve three fingers in your soaking cunt and your ass grinding on his throbbing cock.
“Rhysand would lock you away.” Azriel keeps himself out of the scenario completely. He’ll be damned if he shows you just how much your provocative choice of words affect him.
“He already didn’t do that.” You pout. His frown must be more apparent than he thought it to be because your vacant eyes fill with a devilish amusement.
It’s blow after blow at his dignity as a spy master. Azriel’s ego was never high to begin with but your words get under his skin. “Yeah, instead he decided to give a very important job to a less than impressive thief.”
You chuckle again.
Azriel scoffs. Why are you laughing at his jabs at you? Why aren’t you as annoyed and desperate to end this conversation as he is?
“I beg to differ. I did impress the High Lord.” You lean forward just an inch. An inch that seems like a mile to Azriel. “And I think I impressed you too.”
“Impressed by a common thief from the slums of the Hewn City?” Azriel wanted to hit where it hurt, to knock you off your high horse.
“Where I’m from you’re either a thief or a whore.” You shrug, brushing your hair over your shoulder. “I chose thief.”
The persistent ache deepens within him as he recalls the noises you made in his dream. The way you begged to feel his fingers and make a mess of you. The way he had made you his whore.
“Maybe you would have been better at the latter.” Azriel steadies his breaths, unsure if he truly meant offense. He wanted to mean it that way but his crude memories begin to blur that line between hate and desire.
You stand from the bench, eyes never leaving his with their crushing weight. “You think I’d make a good whore?”
You take a step towards him only this time he did not step back. You tilt your chin up, a knowing look dances across your expression.
“More than a thief.”
“Why?” You ask.
Why not? Is what he wanted to say. How could you not when you made such tempting noises and felt so fucking good against him.
Upon his lack of response, your sultry smirk returns. “Is it my body? My face?”
Both. Your figure is one thing but your face is a whole other. Your darkened eyes stare into his soul, cheeks tinted pink from the pinch of the cold air and your pretty lips just waiting to be kissed.
Gods, you’re incredibly beautiful. Every time he sees you, he notices something new. More and more beautiful each time.
Azriel can’t help but stare, unable to say the words he wished to say. All he could think is how badly he wants your hand on his chest. For it to travel lower and lower until he stops you. For his all consuming dream to become a reality.
“Tell me what would make me a good whore.” You challenge.
He couldn’t think. With you standing so close he can feel the warmth of your skin through his leathers. He could touch you, the real you, only inches apart.
He could know how soft your kiss is in a split second.
His eyes flit to your lips then back to your magnetic eyes.
Suddenly you burst into laughter. Full blown laughter as you clutch your chest from the hysterics.
Azriel steps back in surprise.
“Don’t tell me you want a kiss, spy master?” Your lips curled back in a full grin, perfect teeth gleaming back at him.
A mix of humiliation and awe swirl through his every sense. Cruel splendor you are.
You chuckle once more and wink at him as you make your way out. “In your dreams.”
If only you knew. He doesn’t know if he’s furious or turned on but either way, he’ll make sure you pay for it tomorrow.
.☁️🌙☁️.
Azriel plops down onto his bed, running his hands over his face, a deep sigh following.
What was he to do about you? That conversation went far worse than he anticipated. Instead of finding some kind of relief to his assumptions, he found that he wants to fuck you senseless. The attitude mixed with that silver tongue of yours is a lethal combination, cracking down on his hard exterior.
He only hopes you’ll stay silent so he can focus on the assignment instead of your lips.
His pants tighten at the thought of them. How your lips would look so good around him.
Azriel couldn’t help but squirm, the friction of his pants against his cock making him even harder inside them.
His hands don’t leave his face, embarrassment and desire flood his senses.
His hips move in slow, deep circles. The soft fabric of his briefs caressing him.
“Having fun by yourself, Shadowsinger?” Azriel silently gasps, sitting up to see you stood in the center of his bedroom. Nightgown clinging to your body, loose hair swaying at you tilt your head to the side.
“Get out.” Azriel growls. As much as he tries to avoid you, one conversation has you following him around like a lost puppy?
“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You pout.
“Leave.” Azriel points to his door. Heart racing, from surprise or lust he doesn’t know.
You shake your head, silky thighs brushing against each other as you move towards him. “You don’t want me to leave.”
“Leave.” Azriel repeats hardly over a whisper, chest visibly rising and falling with each heavy breath.
“You don’t want me to leave.” You match his volume. Your condescending tone mocking his decaying self control as you come to a halt right between his thighs.
You look down at him with those enthralling dark eyes. Words, thoughts, air all elude him as you lower yourself.
Azriel’s eyes never leave yours, his lips part slightly in fascination at the sight you on you kneeled before him.
“Do you?” You ask virtuously.
Azriel subtly shakes his head
Your pouted lips morph into a wicked smirk. “Then tell me I’m better.”
Azriel blinks. Confusion trickling into his intoxicating lust. “What?”
“Tell me that I’m better.”
“A better what? Whore?”
You scoff a laugh. “Spy. Everyone thinks it already, just admit I’m better.”
The haze of infatuation decomposes into disdain. For only a second he forgot about that arrogance, that you aren’t this innocent, amazing person everyone thinks you to be. You’re rotten and he’ll make sure you know it. Tonight he’ll teach you.
Azriel roughly grips your jaw in his hand, jerking you closer to him. An inaudible squeak leaving your puckered lips as your eyes widen at the unexpected movement.
“You will never be a better spy than me. You’re hardly a good thief.” Azriel’s grip tightens, pushing your lips even more together. His index finger brushes over them before he presses it down hard to keep you silent. “I still think you’d make a better whore.”
Your muffled response is lost on him as he squeezes even harder. You flinch at the ache forming in your cheeks.
“You’re going to show me just how good of a whore you can be.” Azriel’s thumb caresses your jaw. You glare at him but it only earns you a wry smile. Seeing you start to become irate just as you make him every second of the day is so satisfying.
“Show me.” Azriel releases you with a shove of your face. He leans back slightly on his palm, it’s his turn to wear the arrogant smirk.
And it’s your turn to be speechless. You only sit there, jaw clenched and red with his finger prints, debating your next move. “Not until you give me what I want.”
Azriel’s smirk widens. “I don’t think you understand. You are going to give me everything that I want and you are going to take everything I give you. Every last inch.”
You sneer up at him, eye glaring with animosity. Yet you stay there on your knees for him.
“Come here.” He coos, gesturing you to lean closer. Hesitantly, you come closer. His eyes fixate on your mouth again as he brings his index and pointer finger to rest on your bottom lip. “Open.”
You don’t open. You only glare at him as his fingers play with your lips. Moving them side to side trying to find an entrance into your mouth.
“I said open.” Azriel growls growing impatient with your attitude.
You take a second, another before parting your lips slightly. Letting him slide his long jagged fingers into your mouth. They slide across your tongue, reaching even further until they touch the back of your throat. Knuckles pressed to your lips.
Your eyes squeeze shut holding back a gag, his fingers curling deep in your throat. “This is where I want my cock. All the way back here, baby.”
He pulls his drenched fingers from your throat, sending you into a coughing fit as you try catching your breath.
Azriel chuckles, completely taking pleasure in assaulting your pride. “Good whore. Now show me where it goes.”
Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as you glare up at him. “Fuck you.”
Azriel frees himself from the confinement of his pants. His throbbing member pink and leaking with need. You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplation in your stare.
You roll your eyes with a grimace before sticking out your tongue and dragging in from his base to his cum beaded tip.
Azriel takes in a sharp breath.
You roll your eyes again, taking his head into your mouth. Lazily and indifferent you bob your head around his tip.
Azriel scoffs, lacing his fingers through your hair and tugging you off of him. He leers down at you. “Don’t be a fucking brat. Suck my cock.”
He pulls you back down into him. Your soft whimper duly noted.
You wrap your mouth around his shaft, slowly sinking, throat stretching as he guides you further.
A strangled moan leaves Azriel when his head hits the back of your throat. You gag around him, clamping his stiffness.
His stomach tightens at the euphoric feeling. He can’t imagine you anywhere but here with his cock down your throat forever.
You go to pull away but his hand holds you down tightly.
“Not yet. Stay right there.” Azriel moans, grinding his hips into your face, wanting every inch of himself to be covered in your warm saliva. “Stay right fucking there.”
You gag again, reaching up and digging your nails into his thighs as his cock pulses in your throat. He groans pulling off of him again.
Your coughs are replaced by whines as you struggle to regain your breath. “Asshole.”
Azriel laughs at the image before him. Your cheeks pink from the pressure, drool dripping from your lips and eyes glossy. He reaches out, swiping his thumb over your tantalizing lips, spreading your spit across them.
You turn your head away, glaring daggers he knows you wish to impale him with at this very second. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Bullshit.” Azriel smirks. You raise a brow in question. “I think you’re bullshitting. You want my cock in your mouth. You want me to stretch that little throat of yours.”
Azriel gently caresses your jaw. Your eyes fluttering shut. “You want me to fuck your face until you’re covered in my cum.”
You open your half lidded eyes, chewing on your bottom lip. Unadulterated lust filling your gaze.
He could cum at this sight alone.
Azriel pushes your loose strands behind your ear and his hand slides to the back of your head, cradling you with affection. “Now suck it and make it yours, angel.”
You waste no time, taking him as far as you can, bobbing your head up and down, sucking and twisting and drooling all over him.
“Oh shit.” Azriel’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He grips your hair, not needing to guide you anymore. You devour him with an insatiable hunger, gagging and choking around him.
Azriel brings both hands to cup your face and hold it still. “F-fuck, look at me.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, tears streaking your cheeks. His hips thrust up into your tight throat, wanting to be impossibly deeper in your warmth. “You look so good choking on my cock.”
Your nose crinkles as you smile and what he assumes is your muffled attempt at giggling vibrates around him. “So fucking beautiful.”
Azriel continues to drive himself into your mouth. Tension begins to build inside him, hips bucking as he starts to lose his pace in the heightening feeling.
“I’m so close. Fuck!” Azriel pulls your mouth off of him. You whine at the sudden loss but quickly open wide and stick your tongue out with excitement.
Azriel groans taking his cock in his hand and stroking desperately as he tilts your head back. His tip brushing your tongue earning even more moans from the Shadowsinger.
Azriel lets out a long, breathy moan, feeling himself start to come undone. Shockwaves grip his entire body as hot white ribbons shoot across your tongue and face. A smile graces your lips as you hum in content.
Azriel gawks at his masterpiece in admiration.
You swipe your fingers over your cheek, gathering his seed and toying with it. You chuckle and he can’t help but do the same.
“I do make a good whore.” You smirk before leaning forward. Your eyes closing gently as you slowly tilt your head and come closer.
You were going to kiss him. Azriel’s heart beats even more rapidly. You were going to kiss him and he would finally know.
Azriel closes his own eyes, awaiting your lips.
.☁️🌙☁️.
Azriel opens his eyes to see the ceiling. He sits up finding himself in the same position he had upon returning to his room last night.
Another dream? How do they feel so vivid? You were right there, sucking his cock and making him cum.
Azriel sighs, making his way to the bathroom to clean up the mess he’d made of himself.
This is going to be the longest day ever.
Tag list:
@quinzzelx @mybestfriendmademe @quiettuba @kksbookstuff @bloodicka @lilah-asteria @honk4emoboyz
#a court of thorns and roses#azriel angst#azriel spymaster#azriel smut#azriel fanfiction#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#acotar smut#acotar
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Minx- Dinner Start
cw: implied and lightly referenced sexual acts and favors
“Well, you look like something the cat threw up.”
Jason pried one eye open just to glare at Danny as he flicked him off. It didn’t matter if Danny couldn’t see the glare, it was the principle of it all. Jason didn’t need to be told how badly he looked, not when he knew how badly he felt. He especially didn’t need to be told that by Danny who looked liked a million bucks. The black dress hugged Danny on all the right places to give him all the right curves and, impressively, the appearance of small but shapely breasts.
Danny just shrugged at the gesture. “You do.”
“And you’re lucky most people here know not to fuck with you,” Jason growled. “What are you doing walking around here looking like that?”
“There were some creeps around the lockers I keep my change of clothes in,” Danny said as he sashayed forward. The way he walked in those heels over the beat up sidewalks of the Alley was frankly impressive. “It seemed safer to come home like this than deal with those fucks. Don’t worry, I’ve got the gun you gave me.”
Jason ran his gaze down the form fitting dress again. “Where?”
Danny laughed, the sound bright and musical. It was at odds with the shit hole of a night that Jason had been through. It was nice.
“Come on, up off the wall. My place should be close enough to limp over to,” Danny said. He reached out and placed what Jason had to imagine was a gentle hand on the side of the helmet. “Unless you need the better stock of your place?”
Jason bit back a groan as he leaned up off the wall. “Not that badly hurt. It’s a lot of surface shit and bruising.”
“I can take care of that. Come on. I even have dinner waiting for us.”
“Yeah, how’d you manage that magic?” Jason asked. He followed just a step behind Danny and to his left, automatically falling in to guard him in a way that Jason tried not to think about too hard.
“With the magic of a crockpot and a rice cooker,” Danny said with a dramatic spread of his hands like he was making a rainbow. “Seriously, best two purchases that I’ve ever made. Like, I can come home to warm food and it’s good! I never thought that I could cook but this shit I can do.”
Jason hummed in acknowledgment. He couldn’t exactly do a crockpot when he didn’t know what safe hosue he might end up at, but maybe he could look into a rice cooker that he could start remotely. If he threw some precooked meat or an egg on top of the rice, that would still be better than what he at some nights when he was coming home after a long patrol.
“This one is mine,” Danny said as they got to a small, nondescript door. It was next to the entrance for a fix-it sort of shop and lead up to the second story of the battered, brick building.
Jason had already known that this one was Danny’s. He chose to not say anything about that as Danny unlocked the door and led them up the tight stairs to another door (which was to Jason’s approval also locked) and into the apartment.
Thrift store might be a better word for the place. There was a lot of stuff with no clear sense of style or theme. Hell, Jason wasn’t even completely sure what room they were standing in right then.
“Go sit on the couch,” Danny said.
“I would if I could see the damn thing,” Jason replied.
Danny rolled his eyes as he brought a foot up to start to undo the dangerous footwear. “Behind the potted plants. It’s yellow, you can hardly miss it.”
“You say that, but,” Jason said, mostly to be an ass, as he headed that way. He stopped short of the very yellow couch to stare at the wall and the large, neon skull that adorned it. “Didn’t that used to be up Vic’s bar?”
Danny smirked at him as he passed by. “You can’t prove it’s the same one.”
“I can. I mean, you know that, right?” Jason called after Danny as he disappeared through a door that he didn’t bother closing. “I could, in fact, prove it is the same one.”
“But you won’t!”
Jason sighed. But he wouldn’t. “How did you even get it here in one piece?”
“Carefully and with a few blow job IOUs,” Danny said casually. After a beat he added, “You know, I don’t think Leo ever cashed in on his? Oh well, he’s happily married now.”
Not really knowing what to say back to that, Jason sat down on the edge of the couch and started to undo his boots. He set the second one aside just in time to look up as Danny finished pulling on some black leggings up over strawberry patterned underwear. Jason glanced aside quickly.
He hardly had an issue with nudity— not after years of fighting crime with family or training with assassins— but there was something so much more intimate about it in the soft neon light of Danny’s apartment. Focusing on taking of the bulkiest parts of his own armor seemed safer than looking up again.
---
AN: Words are... not my friend today, so not sure if I'll get anything for Trauma Tuesday done. So have this it of Minx I wrote more of last night! Stay delightful, darlings.
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like she used to (II)
alexia putellas x sister.
chapter I
~~~~~~
My fingers are dancing on the piano keys, the soft melody leaving my mouth in a quiet hum when Alba walks into my room that night. My mouth closes as the door opens, but my fingers are unstoppable, continuing to abuse the keys as I continue to play the song.
My hands rest on the last keys I pressed when I am done and I think Alba is crying, unless she suddenly has allergies. It is quiet for a few moments before she speaks.
"If you weren't so good at football I would try and convince you to do this forever."
She sighs, standing up and motioning for me to follow her as she laid on my bed. I move beside her, my head now resting on her shoulder.
"I remember when you first played the piano." She smiles, reminiscing on the fond memory. "You were three, you couldn't reach the pedals but you insisted that Papi taught you something. You made us all squish onto the sofa in his office so we could listen to you play and you gave us a very slow and broken version of La Vaca Lechera. It was terrible but Papi was so proud because you had only been playing for a month and could already play with both hands. He picked you up and claimed that you would be the greatest piano player to ever walk the planet. He would be so proud of his pequena superestrella."
"I wish I knew him." They're the only words I can bring myself to say.
"He was a very good man, I miss him a lot. He would have been so proud of Ale with all her football and so proud of you with it too. And your piano. Mami sometimes says to me that you are a mini him."
I realise she is avoiding herself, a habit she got herself into a few years ago, when I followed in Alexia's footsteps by securing my spot in La Masia. She used to be upset, it was unfair. Why had the football gene just skipped her?
"He would be proud of you as well, Alba."
She shrugs, I think she tries to blinks away tears but doesn't succeed because one lands on my head
"I hope so..." she pauses. "It is harder for me to imagine because I am not outstanding at anything like you and Alexia. I am just Alba which is ok but I just don't know what he would be proud of me for."
"There is no such thing as 'just Alba' because you are the best person I know. You don't need to play football for him to be proud of you. Do you realise you are the person we all go to when we need anything? When I am sad, Alba, when I am happy, Alba, when I want to laugh, Alba, when I want to cry, Alba. You are my answer for everything, hermana. That is better than any song on the piano or the biggest trophy there is to be won."
"You are so cute, I love you." She giggles quietly and wraps her arms around me. "Aitana called me earlier and I wanted to come over and make sure you are ok."
"What did she say?"
"Not much, she just asked if everything was ok between you and me and Ale. I didn't tell her the truth, if you were wondering."
"What did you say?"
"I just said that Alexia is struggling with her injuries and that you both are very busy. I don't think she really believed me. Either that or she knows there is something else going on."
I groaned. "She kept giving me looks as we were driving home and it was annoying."
"It's sweet, she's looking out for you." Alba smiles and ruffles my hair. "You are only a little baby to them. 15 is young, pequena!"
"Yeah, well it'd be nice if my own sister did that, wouldn't it." I snap back at her and she recoils slightly.
"You won't let me do anything about it, Elena, so don't get feisty with me! Alexia is complicated and I can't even get anything out of her." She rolls her eyes. Alba is sick of all of the tension. She has been for a while.
"I don't know what to say to her anymore. Does she even know that I was called up?"
"Mami said that she wasn't going to tell her because she wanted her to hear it from you."
"She had no problem telling me when Alexia got a new girlfriend." I'm petty about it, but sometimes I think I deserve to be.
"I cannot believe you still have not met Olga." Alba sighs, flopping back down onto my mattress. "She is very nice, I think you would like her."
"I am good at getting out of things." I shrug my shoulders and Alba rolls her eyes again. "I don't want to meet her."
"You liked Jenni so much, maybe this could be the same?"
"I still talk to Jenni, on the phone. Maybe we should start an anti- Alexia Putellas club."
Alba groans and sits up, causing me to grunt in annoyance as my head is knocked onto the mattress.
"You know I don't like all of this venom between you two, so please just leave me out of it. I've had enough of you not telling me what the problem is, I am so, so sick of it. You used to be so close that I was jealous of your relationship and now all you do is complain about each other to me." She flops back onto my mattress in frustration.
"You don't understand, Alb, you don't understand what it is like for someone you idolise to practically forget your existence. She used to come to all my games and now she doesn't even know I was called up." She rolls her eyes as I move back to the piano stall, ignoring the way my voice cracked and my eyes sting with tears.
"Mierda, Elena! How many times do I have to tell you? She has been so busy. I'm sure she has tried to get to them." Even Alba can't explain Alexia's absence.
"Si, si, you have said that before but you can't understand because she never forgot about you. You didn't used to have an older sister who used to drive you to all of your trainings and games before she decided she was too busy for you and shoved you on the Barcelona busses at the age of 11!" My fingers begin to ghost the keys. Like I said to Aitana, the piano is a good outlet for my emotions. I am glad Mami let me put Papi's old piano into my room. I don't think she is glad when I wake her up in the dark hours of the morning playing loud songs.
"I have an older sister and a younger sister who used to be close and then fell out. I have a father who is dead and a busy mother. We were indestructible, Elena, but look at us now."
My left hand finds a chord and presses down on the four keys, calming my brain down.
"I am sorry that you are hurt by what has happened between Alexia and I, but I am so upset and I don't know what to do."
Alba's eyes softened but I looked down at the keys in front of me, sighing softly as she sat next to me.
"I'm sorry I can't help you more. I don't truly know what happened, but I just want things to go back to the way they were."
"I want that too." A tear found it's way from the back of my eyes but I wiped it away before it had a chance to fall down my cheek.
My fingers picked up another tune, familiarity gracing through my fingertips, the sounds floating around the room. Alba's head rests on my shoulder again and we both tell ourselves it will be ok. Alba likes when I play the piano because if she closes her eyes she can pretend it is our father.
"He was never as good as you are, hermanita."
~~~~~~
The rest of the training week went well. Better than well, but I was mainly just relieved that I wasn't a big disappointment.
The negative of my good performance is that I will be put on the team list. Jonatan pulled me aside after training today and told me I am on it and I thanked him with a smile, hiding my emotions.
I knew my sister was going to find out sooner or later. I'm honestly surprised it has taken her this long, it is not like she has been completely absent from the training grounds. Aitana seems to be the only one who has noticed that me and Alexia have not spoken, but she still has not got anything out of me.
I tell Mami to lock the doors and windows when the team list comes out because I don't want to face Alexia when she inevitably comes over and asks about it. She tells me to stop being ridiculous.
I manage to lock myself in my room when I hear her car coming up the driveway. As soon as she is in the house I climb out the window and walk to the bus stop. I don't want to deal with her tonight. I don't want to deal with her ever, to be honest.
The bus driver smiles at me as I tap on, heading to the back of the bus, no destination in mind. I am happy to just sit there as it drives through my home. My phone is unsurprisingly buzzing of the hook, full of congratulatory messages from friends and family and strangers and fans.
Aitana: *attachment: 1 file* very very proud of you! congrats little lena.
She had screenshotted the team list and put a big heart around my name and I think that might be what started to tears.
But before I knew i could see tears tracking down my face in my reflection as I stared out the window, my mind just wishing that things were normal. Wishing that I was at home celebrating with my family, excited to finally be on the same team as my older sister. I wish I wasn't crying on a bus trying to escape confrontation with my sister who I know will be disappointed that I am on her team.
But this is how it is.
I find myself getting off the bus outside the park near the training grounds, still not sure where I am going. I was considering heading in, practicing my shooting or going to the gym, although I expect they will be closed.
What I don't expect is to hear someone calling out to me.
"Pequena Putellas!" The voice is familiar and I recognise it almost immediately. "What is my little replacement doing out so late in the middle of Barcelona?"
Mapi reached me quickly despite the crutches that she doesn't seem to be relying on too heavily.
"Congratulations, replacement! First team sheet-" she stops when she sees my face. "oh."
"Hola Mapi." I put on a smile but it is a weak effort. "I'm just heading home."
"Si, this is about you and Ale, no?" I look at her curiously and she rolls her eyes. "You don't think I wouldn't have noticed? She is my best friend!"
"And that is why I can't talk to you! I have to go home because they will be looking for me." She rolls her eyes again.
"You are coming over to my house and we are talking about this like grown-ups because you are now a professional athlete. You are not a grown up but you have grown up since I saw you last pequena!" She smiles lightly and uses one arm to pull me into a hug. It is awkward with her crutches. "I have missed you so much." Her words are mumbled quietly into my hair, her arms warming me with comfort and nostalgia.
Apparently, the new apartment Mapi has moved into with Ingrid is right across the road from the park so we walk back, Mapi getting increasingly frustrated as I become more and more reluctant.
"Maria, please just let me go home?"
She was adamant that she wanted to talk. I just think she wants to know what happened between me and Alexia but I can't tell her. She wouldn't understand. Nobody would understand because everyone would just think I'm being childish and petty. Maybe that's just what I am.
We stand in silence as the elevator takes us up the levels to the apartment.
"Ingrid is not home, she is out with Frido tonight so you do not have to talk to her."
I let out a quiet exhale in relief. Ingrid is nice enough from what I know of her in training but I don't want to have this unwanted conversation in front of anyone else.
Mapi and I used to be close. She was never my favourite but that is mainly because I saw her so often that the novelty of her had worn off quickly and I found myself gravitating away from her at trainings because, like Alexia, she was just always around.
But Mapi loved me like I was her little sister because she never had any of her own. She did a lot for me as a child and tried to pretend that she wasn't offended by my blatant favouritism of other players.
She sat down on the sofa in her living room as soon as she opened the door and I grabbed her crutches that she had thrown on the floor and stood them up against the wall.
"Thankyou, now sit here." She patted the seat beside her and I sat down, my arms crossed. "Do you want to tell me why you were crying alone in the middle of Barcelona, 45 minutes away from home?"
I shook my head.
"Will Mami be mad?" I hate the wobble in my voice.
"No, I texted her and told her you were with me and she said it is ok. She is not mad at you, pequena."
"I don't like being called that anymore." I slumped down in my seat.
"What do you want to be called?" I am surprised that she didn't ask why. I suppose it might be obvious.
"I usually just get called my name." I pause. "Elena."
She smiles lightly, though I can see the water in her eyes.
"I know your name. I know you very well, Lena, I have for a long time but I also know your sister very well and I know that there have been problems for a while now and I know that she is trying her very best to not make it obvious that it is ripping her up and you are doing a very bad job of hiding your sadness. Why did you not tell her you had been called up into the first team?"
I roll my eyes but choose not to respond.
"No, don't roll your eyes at me, peque- Elena. I understand something must have happened but it is big news that you neglected to tell her!"
"What is bigger news? Breaking up with your girlfriend or being called up as a replacement in a football team?"
She hesitated and I continued.
"Getting a new girlfriend or being called up as a replacement? Buying a dog or being called up as a replacement? Being told you are about to win the Ballon d'Or or being called up as a replacement? She told me nothing for so long so don't you dare try and tell me that I should tell her about my life when she does not care to tell me about hers!"
Mapi recoiled and I immediately felt guilty.
"Sorry."
"No, don't be sorry. What else has she done to make you upset?"
"No, Mapi, we're not doing this because you don't need to know about what my sister has done to me. I don't need a psychologist, I just need to grow out of being the pathetic and weak baby Putellas. The younger sister of La Reina who has not had to work hard because her pathway has already been paved and everything has been handed to her on a silver platter." My voice is bored, like I am in front of a class, presenting a boring speech that I have practiced in my bedroom for weeks.
"Why do you say that? Where is this all coming from?" Her voice raises slightly and her arms wave about as she speaks.
"Because it is true, Maria, why else would things be the way they are? I don't deserve this, it's only been given to me because of my surname." My voice is clearly becoming more urgent and I try to calm myself down. It doesn't work.
"Where are you getting this from? You need to stop making this stuff up in your head and telling it to yourself because it could not be further from the tr-" Mapi's voice was raised, only slightly, but I could hear the wobble in her voice.
"I am not telling myself this stuff, Alexia did! And Alexia is right, she always has been and she always will be. She is a football geek she knows everything."
Mapi pauses, her mouth opening like a goldfish and her eyes staring straight into mine for any hint of exaggeration or lies. She found none. I have never been a liar.
"She... she said that? To you?" Mapi was surprised. How could her best friend have said something like that to the little girl that meant the world to her? "Alexia said that to you?"
I regret my small outburst immediately; I didn't want to tell Mapi. My fingers begin to get restless, my heart racing, my gum held firmly between my teeth. It is in these moments that I would move to the piano and prepare myself to play a song. My fingers ghost imaginary keys by my side as I take a deep breath, preparing myself to beg and plead; to do whatever I need for Mapi to forget everything I just said.
"No, you cannot say anything, Maria, this is all a lie, I am dramatic, I am making it all up. Please, just forget I said anything. Please." Tears began to slip out of my eyelids and the expression on my face can only be described as desperation.
"calma, calma. vale. I will forget everything and I will not tell anybody, as long as you don't want me to. But pequenita, it is not true, not true at all and you don't deserve for anybody at all to speak to you like that. You are talented, so talented that I am jealous of you, not your natural talents but your work ethic, Elena, your work ethic is admirable. You are so strong and you have worked for every single opportunity you have been offered and do not ever-" I look away from her.
"Look at me, Elena, look." I look towards her again and notice the water in her eyes.
"Do not ever let anybody tell you otherwise and if you do you call me up immediately and they will get a piece of my mind, si?"
I slump into Mapi's familiar arms and let out a small cry and she just squeezes me harder. I haven't ever told anyone that much of the conversation I had with Alexia - not even Alba - and to hear her best friend attempt to squash any of the worries I had about myself was refreshing. My fingers begin to ghost imaginary piano keys, preparing to begin playing a piece.
"Was this before or after you transferred to La Masia? That is around when she stopped going to your games, no?" Her voice was soft and I felt the need to answer.
"It was during the party that Mami held, when my spot at the academy was accepted. That was the reason why I started crying when I was talking to you. You probably don't even remember that, it was so long ago." I let out a dry chuckle and she rubbed her hand down my back.
"I remember. I remember thinking you were not telling me the truth but I had no idea what was wrong. You have been suffering in silence ever since?"
I don't want to nod my head because it feels dramatic to say that.
"I told Alba only a little bit of it but nobody else knows. Please, please, please don't tell anybody. Not Mami, not Alexia, not anyone. Please." I looked up at her and she stared at me wordlessly for a few moments before exhaling softly.
"Elena..." She pauses again. "As much as I want to go and give your stupid sister a piece of my mind I will not but on the condition that you talk to Alba or your Mami or me or anyone about it, si? Even Alexia. Maybe she has forgotten. But she misses you, that much I can tell."
I nod, wordlessly making a promise that I know I can not keep. She seems to be satisfied though and changes the topic.
"vale, buena. It is too late to drive you home so you will stay here tonight and Ingrid and I will drive you to Johan tomorrow, si?"
I nod, I do not have a choice.
"Is there a piano in this apartment?"
~~~~~~
Mapi saying she had a piano is an overstatement, it is a keyboard with Norwegian inscriptions that was shoved into the corner of the unused study. Apparently Ingrid does not play the piano but has always wanted to learn.
But, I take the equipment for what it is and sit on the stall, flicking through the different sounds for a while before I find something I like. The office chair behind me squeaks as Mapi sits down but I ignore her presence as I place my fingers on the keyboard.
She would have noticed the release of tension in my shoulders when I sat down. She would have noticed the sigh of relief that I released as my fingers placed themselves on the keyboard.
The song starts out slow. Ludovico Einaudi is one of my favourite composers. His notes sing out from the keyboard speakers and soon they become faster and more intense. Nuvole Bianche is a pretty song, in my opinion, and I like to make up stories as I play it whenever I do. Sometimes I relate to the stories and other times I do not.
But the song builds and builds until a brief pause in the middle in which I hear Mapi sniffling and there is shuffling downstairs. Ingrid must have arrived home. The song picks back up quickly and before I know it the last few chords are ringing out through the room and Mapi has come to stand behind me and is rubbing her hand down my back.
"The last song you played me was un elefante se balanceaba and now you are playing this. You made us sing along and you went all the way to 50, we were in there for a long time. But now you have grown up. You are still so young but you have grown up now I am so proud of you."
I can hear the tears in her eyes so I stand up and pull her into a hug. I feel guilty, she is Alexia's best friend and I accidentally slipped what Alexia said which could potentially drive them apart. But I can't help but feel relieved, I feel comfort which is something I have been looking for for such a long time. Mapi used to be like a sister to me. I don't think I even realised how much I have missed her.
"That song was so hard!"
She chuckles into the hug and I do too.
Maybe I deserve to feel like this every once in a while.
~~~~~~
hope you enjoyed x
chapter III
#woso fanfics#woso#woso imagine#woso one shot#alexia putellas#alexia x reader#barcelona femeni#fcb femení#putellas!reader
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Stress Relief
Azriel X Reader
Synopsis: Working for the Night Court has become near impossible with Azriel determined to drive you out the door but can a camping trip arranged by Rhys smooth things over.
Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, frenemies to lovers, lots of dialogue, if you see a typo no you didn't
A/N: Hehe this kinda long but I wanted to keep the chaos to one part. I'm finding writing since Other Worlds a bit stressy so I think posting this nonsense will help with that and we can return to out regularly scheduled programming. Let me know what you think!
Requests open! (I am working on your Cass request if you see this anon👀 )
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“YN you need to fucking relax”
“I suggest that you keep quiet Azriel if you'd like to keep your head attached to your shoulders” Azriel rolled his eyes at you from the couch as you paced up and down, trusty list in hand.
“I’m just saying you’ll give yourself a heart attack”
“Hey! Do you want me to add your name to this list!”
“Az would only want to be on it if it's your To Do list” A pillow flew from alongside Azriel right at Cassian as he howled.
“I’ll relax once we get there”
“Why do you get so fucking neurotic when it comes to travelling?”
“Why are you so fucking anno-”
“Okay okay stop it you too! We promised Feyre no fighting on Rhy’s big camping trip, she’s already upset Elain won’t come, just don’t add to her stress” You and Azriel groaned like scolded children at Cassian’s words. You counted the bags again, checking off your list as you went. Azriel stood to grab his bag, coming chest to chest with you before pushing past.
“I’m flying ahead because I can’t be around her uptight ass anymore”
“Aw you look at my ass” you smiled sarcastically as Cassian laughed in the background.
-
You all finally arrived deep within the woods of the Night Court, luggage crashing down around the group. You couldn’t stop thinking that you had forgotten everything, glancing from the list to the pile repeatedly, your friends happily unpacking. The night had already begun to creep in, Azriel and you delaying the group by fighting about which was the fastest route to take. You busied yourself fixing up some of the tents as Azriel dug through the pile of bags in search of his own.
“YN, what’s the plan for us sleeping together?”
“Excuse me?” you deadpaned to Azriel.
“Sor-Sorry I meant the plan for sleeping?” he quickly corrected himself, his shadows doing their best to cover his rosie cheeks.
“Well, Feyre & Rhysand, Cassian & Nesta, Amren & Mor and then I guess you and Lucien and then I get my own tent” you beamed, shaking a sleeping bag from its case.
“Funny how that worked out isn't it” he remarked and you rolled your eyes but the group agreed to the sleeping arrangements, with further prodding for Lucien to agree.
You gathered around the fire, feasting on the fire-roasted food Cassian did his best not to cremate, trading life stories in pure unadulterated ease, everything Rhysand had wanted for this trip. You swaddled yourself deeply into your sleeping bag as the fire began to sink beneath its tinder.
“Do you regret leaving Summer Court for us YNN?”
“I think I love the Night Court more than I ever could Summer” You smiled in reply to Cassian, your eyes flashing to Rhysand briefly before he launched into his favourite Tarquin story, Azriel noticing the fleeting glance seemingly tinged with an element of sadness.
“You like it even though being an emissary to the Seasonal Courts clearly makes you want to pull your hair from your head?” Azriel whispered to you.
“You and your antics are the only thing that causes me to do that, I seriously think you need a refresher training on diplomacy” you bit back to his sharp whisper. You had shared the job with Lucien but soon found yourself taking on the brunt of the work as Lucien was lost in Elain.
“You need to stop being so uptight seriously, I think you need to be fucked or something, anything to get you to relax” Your head whipped towards him, the group laughing at Rhysand's story, choosing to ignore the two of you, assuming it was an argument. You huffed out in disgust at Azriel, he watched your chest release the full capacity of air from your lungs before taking another deep breath. You shuffled slightly in the sheet, wrapping the sleeping bag tighter around yourself and facing back towards the fire. It was then Azriel realised he was fully staring at your chest.
“I didn't…I didn't mean that I want to be the one to….fuck you…I meant …”
“Just stop talking Az” you scoffed, choosing to listen to Rhysand instead as Azriel mentally cursed himself for losing his edge over you. The fire sank until it went out, the laughter from the group lighting the forest.
“Okay, it's like 2am, time for bed kids especially if we’re going for the hike tomorrow” Rhysand stood, pulling a sleepy Feyre to her feet. The group said their good nights as you climbed into your canvas home. You stretched along the fabric floor and sank into sleep easily, tired from the day as you balled up in your opened-out sleeping bag.
-
“Hey! YNN! Wake up!”
“I swear to the Gods you better be a super polite Naga about to rip my head off otherwise you’ll wish you were” you breathed out without opening your eyes, the sound of your tent zip worse than a blaring alarm to your sleepy state.
“It’s Az, I need to sleep in here, push over” he collapsed next to you without invitation, your hand sailing outwards to clock him flat into the chest with a thud.
“Az, what the fuck? It's like 3am, get the fuck out we’re not braiding one another's hair!” you whisper-shouted at him while you sat up.
“Lucien is snoring like he’s trying to deafen me and I don’t fancy interrupting Mor and Amrens beauty sleep and as for the mates, I don’t need to explain why I don’t want to go in there” you sighed at him as he gave you a look that said he wasn’t going anywhere. You sank back into the canvas, Azriel pulling the sleeping bag from you.
“Az” you bit out.
“I’m not going to freeze to death because you’re a blanket thief”
“You’re going to find yourself on the other side of the zip if you don’t go to sleep” you said, rolling into the slack of the sleeping bag, pulling it fully from Azriel. He almost grunted at the action, catching the end and whipping it from under you, sending you rolling into the wall of the tent.
“Az!” you barked and he raised his hands up in surrender. You sank beneath the cover again, moving closer to Azriel to spread the sleeping bag more evenly. Azriels eyes fixed on the mesh vents on the tent roof, the sound of the night filling the tent.
“Do you ever think you’ll go back to the Summer Court?” Azriel broke the silence that filled the tent, you sighed before replying.
“If you keep being a prick then maybe” you deflected the question successfully.
“I’m a prick because I care” You laughed at his joking tone, rolling to your side to face him more, hands tucked in under your cheek.
“As much stress as you and Cass and your antics cause me, which is a lot might I add, I would find it very hard to leave you freaks” you half laughed, eyes still heavy.
“We’d miss you” he admitted
“I mean who would keep your secrets from one another if not me” you teased.
“What secrets?” you tapped the side of your nose lazily and Azriel nudged you slightly in annoyance at your grin.
“Fine fine emmm.... Cass is the one who told all those females in the Rita's where to find you when you were home” you yawned into a light laugh. Azriel felt annoyance grow in him at this revelation, that had caused him months of being harassed by all sorts from every walk of life.
“I swear I’m going t-”
“Just leave it Shadowsinger” you gave a small laugh, grabbing his hand as he went to leave the nest you’d both made, pulling him back down and forgetting to let go, you lost your fight to sleep then, entirely drifting back off. Azriel glanced at you sleeping peacefully next to him and found himself surprised at enjoying holding your hand beneath the sleeping bag.
Azriel stayed awake for half an hour, staring up at the canvas above him, torn between the growing pain in his shoulder and not wanting to let go of your hand. The nerves felt like they were screaming as the muscles went dead in his arm, an idea coming to him. He quickly rolled towards you while releasing your hand and grabbing the other but he greatly misjudged the distance, sending his head straight into yours. You almost immediately dropped his hand to place it on the bump growing on your head, Azriel feeling regret for waking you but more so for letting you go.
“You're such a freak Shadowsinger” You laughed half asleep before rolling in closer to him and draping your arm across his waist, pulling yourself closer to him softly, resting your head between the pillow and his chest. Azriel felt such an unfamiliar level of comfort at the movement but also a new level of confusion.
You moved from next to him then, leaning on your elbow to prop yourself up and look at him as puzzled as he looked at you.
“Sorry I-I don't know why I did that”
“Emm it’s okay YN…it was actually kinda comfortable…I’m ok-ay if you’re okay with it” he spoke the words with caution and you found a sigh of relief leave you that you didn’t know you had. You rolled away from Azriel to face the tent wall, his face slightly greying with nerves, had he been vulnerable to the wrong person? He braced for your rejection only for it not come, instead you shuffled slightly down and laid your back flat into his chest. Azriel cautiously moved his arm across your waist, only to have you catch hold of his hand and move it across faster, forgetting to release his hand again.
Azriel nestled his chin on top of your head, pulling you in as close as he could as you both tangled your legs together. He felt so entirely comforted by how close you were to him…too close he thought suddenly. He shuffled in the bed a little to try to hide the part of him betraying any sense of secrecy he had about his changing feelings towards you. You just moved back to where you were, leaving him no place to hide. Azriel felt your whole body smirk against him as you traced little circles along the back of his hand with your thumb, he hated how you were winning.
“You’re not hard for me to read Azriel” he definitely heard the smirk from you. He refused to let you win, he tried to push the embarrassment from his voice before speaking again-
“Well I hardly think that's surprising, I already told you what I think needs to happen for you to relax” he barely whispered, your body's turn to stiffen in the bed alongside him, he smiled with the point he won.
Azriel slowly moved to hover his mouth above your neck, both so still in the movement that he could almost see the hairs on your neck stand on their end. He gave little thought to his next movement, now acting on his instinct as he met your neck almost painfully softly. He kissed you there until you found your neck flexing to allow him more access. A betraying soft moan of approval escaped you as Azriel smiled into the nips he gave you, gaining a further point advantage.
You couldn’t let him hold the win for long as you began to push yourself into his growing length, a low growl escaping him before he reburied himself in your neck, more feverishly this time. Your hand wrapped tighter around his as you began to grind into him, encouraging him further. You rolled onto your back, Azriel now almost hovering over you and moved without thinking. He leaned down and met his lips with yours. Electric, you were electrifying one another. This night was going further than you both thought it would. Sex was one thing but kissing someone like that and feeling such overwhelming desire as a result was another thing. You both separated almost surprised at the waves of confusion mixed with yearning.
“I-I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have…” Azriel didn’t know what he was saying, almost begging you with his eyes to say anything.
“I-” you were cut off by the sound of Lucien's loud sneeze from across the fire pit causing you both to almost jump. It hit you both then what you were about to do, with all your friends mere metres away.
“Night Azriel” was all you found yourself saying before rolling back to face the wall of the tent, not taking his arm with you. Azriel cursed in his head before lying back down on the canvas. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, the thought of what could have been controlling his thoughts. He didn’t think you were asleep either but didn’t challenge you on it, what had you both done?
-
You rolled over to find the space next to you empty as the sun leaked in the thin canvas the next morning. You ran your hands down your face, cursing your actions from the night previous. You got dressed haphazardly, removing a mirror from your pack to braid your hair back, your eyes falling on deep maroon markings on the side of your neck. You traced them gently with your fingertips, a small smile escaping you at the memory.
“YN! Get up! We’re leaving in 10” Cassian's voice accompanied him banging on the top of your tent, chasing your smile away. You ran your hands through the loose braid, separating it out again to cover the evidence of your lapse in judgment.
You hauled yourself out through the soft door once you were dressed to find your friends all laughing at one of Cassian's stories, ready and waiting for you to set off. Your eyes landed on Azriel as he tilted his head back laughing before his eyes met yours, he almost instantly tore them from you and looked back to Cassian.
-
The group set off bounding along the mountain in total ease, Nesta winding Rhysand up ahead of you and Cassian.
“So YN…you gonna tell me why Az won’t look at you?”
“How am I supposed to read that pain in the ass’s mind?” you replied almost too quickly to him as he raised an eyebrow, catching your hand and helping you up a steeper part of the path. You looked at the back of Azriel’s head ahead of you as he lead the group along the path to the waterfall.
“Hmm likely story YN and tell me why I could have sworn I heard Az leave your tent this morning?” he couldn’t bury the teasing tone as you sighed.
“Lucien was snoring so Azriel just stayed in my tent, no big deal” You could see the thoughts race through Cassian’s grinning face, you tilted your head slightly forward, ensuring the truth was still covered by your hair.
“Interesting, I don’t know Lucien to be a snorer” He gave a small laugh as you raised your eyebrow, only getting a playful shake of the Illyrian's head in return. A sudden slap of mud met the side of Cassian's face.
“That’s for Rita’s!“ Azriel shouted back the path, his hand having just released the ball of mud.
“You told him YN!” Cassian’s head snapped to you as you howled with laughter.
“Must have slipped out?” you tried your best to lie, only to have the broad male throw you over his shoulder as you screamed in hysterics. He ran with you, the group all roaring laughing as they followed. You suddenly couldn’t feel Cassian under you as he flung you from his arms, landing with a splash into the large lake.
“Cassian! I’m going to kill you!” you shrieked, the cold water bursting through you sending power coursing. You sent a tendril of water, playfully pulling Cassian from where he stood straight into the water alongside you, the group following suit in fits of laughter, leaving Azriel to watch from the rocks. Azriels eye caught the slight glimpse of his handiwork beneath your soaked hair, a pang of pride beating through him then replaced by panic. A shadow met the side of your face, draping your hair back to cover the markings. You looked towards Azriel and found yourself laughing at the action, he returned a smile.
-
After a day of hiking and swimming and being a bunch of fools, you all came back to the campsite ready to feast on whatever you could scrounge up.
“Okay everyone, it’s time to announce the reason behind this little trip” Rhysand announced to his family gathered around the roaring fire.
“Well, as you know, YN has been with us now for some months now-”
“Unfortunately” you hit Azriel into the chest at his sarcasm.
“Anyways-” Rhysand threw a warning glance “-YN has helped to negotiate many our trade agreements and cleaned up many of our messes-” Cassian raised a glass to you at Rhysands words, the group laughing “-But anyway, I’m sorry to announce that I have failed as your High Lord in convincing her to stay with us” the group turned to face you in almost shock.
“I know everyone I said-”
“-You said you wouldn’t leave” Azriel cut across you, semblances of pain dripping from his quick words.
“I know Az but-”
“-No, you said you wouldn’t leave” his words turned to tones of anger, the group looking amongst themselves, feeling as though they were intruding.
“Yes but Az, I’m needed at home, they’re still recovering from Amarantha and Tarquin needs m-”
“-But I- I mean we need you!” He stood from the log to look down at you, your sad eyes meeting his. Suddenly aware of the scene he was making he dissolved into shadow as you tried to call after him.
“I better go-”
“No Cass, I'll go” you winnowed out of the clearing.
-
Azriel crashed into his room in the House of Wind. Mixtures of emotions spinning in his head like the shadows around his heels.
“Az” he whipped around to see you stood with your hands up chest level in surrender.
“Here to pack your bags?” he chewed out.
“Oh fuck off Azriel, don’t actually pretend you want me to stay” you matched his tone.
“And why do you say that?” he snapped back.
“Because you’re the reason I’m leaving!” he took a small step back in shock at your sharp admission. He sat down on the edge of his bed, brow furrowing in thought.
“What have I done to you?”
“What haven’t you done!? You go out of your way to make my job difficult, every motion I put forward you try to shoot down, you’re constantly following me watching every move I make waiting me to fuck up! Now you have what you want, I’m leaving!” you paced up and down in front of him, releasing the tension you held in your shoulders.
“I don’t want you to leave” he sounded almost offended that you thought so.
“What?”
“You really think I want you to leave…especially after last night” he stood from the bed, stepping in front of you to stop your pacing.
“I thought that especially after last night you’d want me to leave” You half laughed.
“At least I guess I’ve given you something to remind you of me” he gave the smallest smile, his hand sweeping your hair off your shoulder to look at his busy work as you felt yourself blush.
“Don’t leave YN, who would I play with?”
“Cass maybe” you grinned, something seemingly darkening in his eyes.
“I don’t want to fuck him” he breathed out.
“That’s not what Rhys told me” You laughed again before noticing his serious eyes.
“Please don’t leave me YN”
“And what will I tell Tarquin?” you chuckled, unsure what to do with Azriels edgy tone. His hand found yours, hazel eyes fixated on you.
"Tell him you're preoccupied"
"With what exactly" he moved closer to you with your words ever so slightly rattling out of you.
“Az if we kiss…this might become more than what either of us wants”
"What if its what we both want?" he was mere millimetres from you now, unable to fight against this magnetic force pulling you forward. Something bubbling between you both, the electricity coursing through the space between you both again as you kissed so sweetly. Your eyes snapped open to find his eyes meeting yours, gently pulling back from one another. Mate. Mate. Mate.
“YN- you’re my-”
“-Mate” you breathed while looking at him with such unadulterated love. Azriel burst into laughter with you following suit.
“Now you really can’t leave me”
“How convenient” you smiled, running your hands through your hair, Azriel tracing the bitemark's outline with his heated gaze.
“Care for some stress relief YN?” Azriels hands went straight for your hips, the feeling of the small calluses meeting your soft sides sent pulses down you both. He met your neck, the same place he had last night, cupping his hands beneath your lower legs and lifting you from the ground, your legs wrapped around his waist
“Why can't I keep away from you?” You breathed, the hairs on Azriel’s neck standing on their end.
“Why does that make me so happy?” Was all he could manage before reconnecting to your neck. Azriel carried you to the bed before throwing you down and closely following in pursuit. You knotted your fingers through his hair and forced down the moan trying to escape at the pleasure of having him nip you. You tugged his hair until he pulled from you to face you.
“I want all of you”
Azriel cautiously lowered his mouth to yours until they met again. Much like the first time electricity coursed through both of you but unlike the last time, neither pulled away, only growing hungrier.
You could feel him hardening against your thigh, no longer able to fight the little victory you were going to give him, you moaned gently. He smirked hard into the kiss before it became more feverish. Your hand ran across him beneath the fabric of his trousers, his turn to groan.
“You're wearing too many clothes” he rasped as you smirked and pulled your shirt from over your head, he gently caught your jaw as he kissed along it.
“I want revenge for these” you smirked, wrapping your leg into his side to flip him so you straddled him on top. Your teeth grazed his neck with heat as he sat up in the bed with you on his lap. He pulled his shirt from over his head, his hands replacing on your hips to support you, his groaning encouraging you on.
“Enough teasing YN, I need you” he said darkly, flipping you onto your back and yanking your trousers free from your legs to discard them. Azriel kissed you sweetly before moving down the shape of your body, peppering kisses along the trail to your entrance. You felt your legs begin to tremble under his touch, begging for more as his fingers began to play with your clit, your hands tangling in his hair with a moan.
“You’re so ready for me YN, its intoxicating” he began to kiss around you and slowly his fingers began to move in and out while he sucked your clit. You felt the tension build in your abdomen, the greatest realess you ever had just a few movements away until he stopped entirely. You looked down between your legs to meet his eyes as he moved to hover above you again, discarding his own trousers in the process.
“You’re so beautiful YNN” Your hand met the side of his face softly before pulling him back down into a searing kiss. Your fingers began to drag up and down his bear back before tracing the spines of his wings as they began to splay in their relaxed state.
“Is that okay Azriel?” you whispered watching his eyes close with the building pleasure.
“Nothing has ever been more okay” he leaned his head towards your hand, taking the waves of pleasure in his stride before lowering back down to meet you sweetly.
Azriel slowly then began to enter you, you both almost meeting your release at the feeling. He slowly began to drag in and out as the sensation grew with its addictive nature, he increased his speed, spurred on by your hitching breath. The pressure growing and growing and growing, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your back arched until the band snapped sending you into overdrive as every nerve in your body stood to attention and then exploded. You practically screamed his name sending him over the edge, returning the sentiment by moaning your name, collapsing next to you while riding out his high.
“I had no idea how much I needed to hear you say my name like that YN” Azriel finally found some composure to rasp out, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you in. You tried not to cringe in embarrassment as you buried a laugh into his chest.
“Don’t go shy on me now” he laughed, kissing the top of your head. You rolled onto your elbows to look into his eyes as they lit up for you. You hauled the duvet up around you, leaving a small corner for Azriel to tug at.
“Why must I be mated to a blanket thief?”
“Why must I be mated to a pain in the ass?”
-------------------------------------------------
Whatcha think friends!
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#acosf#acomaf#acowar#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x oc#azriel acotar#azriel fanfic#azriel fluff#azriel fic#cassian#acotar x reader#acotar x you#acotar x y/n#acotar fanfiction#acotar fic#acotar fluff#azriel shadowsinger#shadowsinger x reader#sarah j maas#fanfic#lucien vanserra#lucien acotar#rhysand#feyre archeron#smut#acotar smut
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RED AND CREAM ✨️🧨🎈🩸Wonwoo Oneshot
pairing : military official wonwoo × fem!reader
genre : pwp, pure smut
warnings : mention of blood, unprotected sex ( wrap it up guys ) , creampie, abusive talks, minors DNI
author's note : so umm I kind of wrote this smut for someone but then thought why not post it with wonwoo in mind. Bear with the he(s) pls.
×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
As he stood there looking at her with dark clouded eyes with his hair all messed up from the intense fight, blood dripping down his knuckles onto his black boots, she saw the devil in him. The devil staring at her, telling her that he has finally came for his daughter. That he has finally found his worthy offspring to spread his bloodied rays into the world.
Stepping close to him, she looks into his red burning eyes as if she's gonna light him up on fire that very moment, as if she's going to draw out those popping veins in his eyes with her red nails.
Pushing his legs apart with hers she stands between them with her black heels on while her hands take his fist in hers and gently swipe off the blood off of them with her fingers and put them into her craving mouth, gently sucking onto them as if giving him the temptation of how she would treat his dick so good yet so rough between her cavities.
All this time her knees move up and down his already tightening up crotch, sometimes pushing it a bit too hard earning muffled up moans from him. Because he's a man. He cannot show how weak and needy his woman is making him feel now. Being done with sucking off all of his enemy's blood and injecting it into her system, her hands now move upto his neck to hold it tight and firm in place while her lips curve up into a satanic smile.
She quickly brings her mouth up to the bone protruding so prominent out of his neck and instantly plants her teeth onto the skin, pulling it with her canines making tears swell up in his eyes from the intense sting.
"If you thought I'll let his blood infuse into kine and make me impure, you're so wrong honey. I'll make sure that yours takes control on his and completely overpowers him. I want to see you overpower each and every individual on the face of this planet and be at the very top" and with that she bites into his skin at animalistic force and draws out blood like a vampire feasting on its meal after ages. As if a blood thirsty demon got the first taste of vanilla sweet blood burning with rage finally on her lips, all the while he cannot touch her or do anything to her because he was pinned down.
But she very well knew that she would be overturned in a minute if he truly tried for it. Having had enough of his woman being a brat he finally engulfed her legs by his and pushed her down onto the floor. He stood tall before her, while she lay on the cold marble with a sinister smirk knowing quite well what was coming next.
Bending down to her level the very first instinct he had was to rip off ever piece of clothing from her body, making her completely naked infront of the beast that was now to feast on the vulnerable little prey infront of him. Having his legs placed on both sides of her shaking ones, he took her lips in his. And no it was not a gentle kiss at all. It was a hungry, desperate one. One to prove how he will always have the upper hand over her, how she will just be a playtoy under him.
While his teeth pulled onto her lower lips, popping the slender veins there making blood drip down the corner of her mouth, his hands played with her boobs. More appropriately abused them. His nails drew deep and sharp around her supple jiggly skin, leaving behind deep rooted tracks of his invasion onto her body and soul and mind.
Shifting from her lips, he now focuses on slapping the living shit out of her breasts, earning constant pleas of mercy from her, knowing that the undertone in them was nothing but her asking for more brutality.
When he's finally done abusing her chest, leaving it all red with his hand prints, as if something turns in him and he gently places his mouth on her nipples and suckles onto it like a child feeding on his mother. But oh well isn't his entire persona deceiving? While his mouth work like a complete gentleman around her mounds, his fingers find her throbbing clit and aggressively rubs it's like it's some sort of enemy he needs slain down.
Her eyes rolled from the intense pain and pleasure that her body was feeling at the same time. She licks off her own blood from her mouth and slightly pushes up her head as if to see what is happening to her bare body, only to find that it's a red hill down there. Every part of her skin is burning aflame. And in that very painful moment, he quickly unzips the tent in his pants and brings out his rock hard dick to now graze up and down her sloppy cunt.
Never giving her the pleasure to feel him inside her, while she claws out his toned back, he slaps the tip of his dick onto her throbbing pussy and sometimes teases her hole with it by pressing it a bit down and taking it out immediately. Not being able to take the torment anymore she takes things into her hand and harshly slaps him across the face.
That was his last string. How dare a bitch have the audacity to slap a man like him. And with that he presses himself in her in seconds without any warning, without giving her the time to even adjust to him.
"You wanted it so bad you whore hmm? How you like daddy's dick tearing up your walls into shreds now huh" he runts into her soft delicate hole like a complete animal gone feral, like a tiger getting a good meat after days.
He could see tears rolling down her eyes onto the floor from his intense thrusts, him completely ruining her pussy for the new few days so that she remembers he is who she belongs to, every inch of her body belongs to him and is only for him to ravish and eat and feast on.
With one more push down her cunt, he feels his high riding him as he releases all his anger, frustration into her, making his cum ooze out of her swelled up walls, mixed with some traces of blood from the intense abuse.
#seventeen#kpop#svtcreations#hoeforhao#kpop scenarios#seventeen x reader#seventeen x y/n#svt smut#wonwoo svt#svt wonwoo#wonwoo seventeen#wonwoo fanfic#wonwoo smut#seventeen smut#kpop smut#svt x reader#svt x y/n#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo x y/n#wonwoo oneshot#wonwoo scenarios#svt scenarios#svt oneshot#kpop oneshots#kpop x reader#kpop x y/n#svt imagines#seventeen imagines#kpop imagines
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Heist
Mob!Azriel x reader AU
Note: another day another Mob!Az fic for you all to think about teehee.
Warnings: mentions of violence and blood
You giggled as Azriel lightly nipped at your cheek, his hand trying to sneak into the bowl of cookie dough. “Az,” you laugh out, smacking his hand away. “You can have some later when the rest of the Boy Scouts show up.”
Azriel rolls his eyes at the nickname. “I’ve told you, we are not Boy Scouts, we are-”
“A highly trained and dangerous group of powerful families that are allied.” You say, mimicking the overused statement. “Yes, yes I know Azzy, geez.” You tease, bumping him with your hip.
Moving from his grasp you bustle around the kitchen grabbing ingredients and plates. Azriel’s kitchen was gorgeous, and criminally under utilized. When you moved in it was all black and white, barely any ingredients or extra appliances.
“Oh this won’t do.” You had told Azriel, demanding you go shopping for every and anything you’d ever need for a kitchen. You gave the place a complete makeover, painting the walls and cabinets a lovely sage green and replacing the countertops. Adding an island and dark wood table and cushions to the breakfast nook the room was complete.
Coming back to stand between Azriel and the island you start scooping out the cookies. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.” You shrug, a generous scoop of dough and chocolate chips falling from your spoon. “I want to. Plus, I never really got to bake since work took up too much time. And your meetings go on forever, you guys absolutely need snacks.”
Leaning down Azriel presses a kiss to the back of your head. “You’re amazing, my love.” He says softly. You lean back into his chest, tilting your head back to stare at his pretty face. Turning, you hold up a finger with dough on it. Azriel’s eyes light up at the treat, licking it from your finger. Pushing up on your toes you peck his lips, murmuring, “I love you.”
Before Azriel could pull you to him and go for a more heated kiss, Rhys walks in, clearing his throat. “They’re here Az.” He nods at his brother, signaling Rhys’s dismissal.
A heavy sigh leaves his nose. Holding your face, Azriel gives you one last kiss. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
An hour later you were balancing a tea tray laden with chocolate chip cookies in your hands. The guard at the door smiles at you, knocking and opening one of the double doors for you. You nod in thanks as you quietly make your way to the occupied half of the table.
It was a small group today. Only Helion, Eris, Kal and their second and third in commands, along with a few other key members of their organizations. Reaching between Helion and Rhysand, you gently place the tray in the middle of the table.
The men looked hesitant to reach for the snack at first, but also didn’t want to be rude. “Thank you, my love.” Azriel says, giving you a small smile from his place at the head of the table. “Of course,” you whisper.
Azriel leads the conversation back to their plans, “Now, we can’t stand for this. The Molina family made us look like fools and trust me gentleman, that will not happen again. This robbery has to be big.” Odd, you thought to yourself, Azriel’s MO isn’t home robberies.
The pictures of the mansion in question spread across the table caught your eye. It’s familiarity had you titling your head, wracking your brain for where you’d seen it before.
then it hit you. The paintings on the wall! You knew them because you delivered them! Your lips parted slightly in surprise at your memory.
You felt Helion’s attention on you as he asked, “What’s wrong?” Your eyes snap to his deep brown ones, cheeks tinting red in embarrassment. Azriel takes his tone as rude but you brush it off, knowing he’s just curious about what you’re seeing.
You look to Azriel, not knowing if you have the right to give your input in a meeting. You didn’t want to make Azriel seem less in charge or something.
Azriel gives you a soft, encouraging look. “Go ahead, y/n. Tell us what you see.” You nod at him, dragging the picture of the paintings toward you. “These paintings are fakes.” A confusion spreads over the room as a few huh’s sound around the table.
“My boss got his hands on the real ones somehow, these are like rare pieces, hell museums would kill for these. Before he sold them I honestly thought they were in the Louvre. But he sold them to Molina Jr. who also requested fakes to display, since he bragged so much about buying them. They aren’t very good fakes if you ask me though.”
Helion brought the image closer to his face, attempting his untrained eye to see the falsity of the paintings. Kal snatched it from him, giving him a you-don’t-know-shit-about-art look.
Conversation bubbles around Azriel but all he can focus on is you. You and your beautiful, passionate, intelligent mind.
“Where would he keep the real ones?” Eris asks, breaking up the conversations and Azriel’s concentration on you. Though that didn’t last long. As soon as you opened your mouth Azriel was laser focused on you.
You give Eris a knowing smirk, “His vault, where I helped deliver the paintings.” Cassian and Kal let out laughs or triumph as the others gave you approving looks. Rhysand unrolls the blueprints to the mansion in front of you. “Alright y/n, point us in the right direction.”
Two hours later the heist was planned perfectly thanks to you. You waited in Azriel’s office as he bid his guests goodbye. Kicked back, sitting in his kingly leather chair, your feet propped up on the desk.
Hearing the door click shut you perk up. Azriel grins, strutting over to you. Crossing his arms he leans against the desk in front of you. “I don’t think I could’ve planned that without you.” You shrug at the praise. “Eh, you would’ve gotten by.”
Azriel nudges your feet off the polished wood, chuckling at you. Lifting you up and pulling you into his lap you immediately lean against his chest, playing with the buttons on his shirt.
“You’re too modest, my love. Everyone was telling me how brilliant you are.” You giggle, burying your face deeper into Azriel’s chest at the compliment. Hooking his fingers under your chin, Az tilts your face up to meet his shimmering hazel gaze.
“My clever girl.” He hums, pressing his lips to yours. You slip your arms around his neck pulling him closer. Azriel stands, gently placing you on his desk. He nudges your thighs apart to stand between your legs, deepening the kiss. “I think you deserve a reward,” his voice had taken on a deep and seductive tone. That smirk promises a very pleasurable reward. Tugging on Azriel’s dark locks he pulls away from you, dropping to his knees.
——
Tonight is the big heist. When Azriel had kissed you goodbye you plastered a convincing smile on your face, trying to ignore your heart pounding so hard against your chest you thought it was trying to escape.
You were always nervous when Azriel went out with his men for a job. Pacing the TV room, more like a theater, you dug your toes into the carpet to focus on something other than Azriel. You had lots to keep you distracted like a book, your favorite show cued up, your phone. However, moving around was a necessity right this very second.
The first time Azriel went on a job after you moved in was a disaster. You had a panic attack so bad not even Baxian, your bodyguard, could calm you down. Baxian was on the verge of calling Azriel as he walked through the front door. It made him contemplate never leaving you again.
You still can’t decide if you’d rather Az not tell you and just be blissfully ignorant. Or if you would still worry if he was out until all hours of the night. You’d probably still worry but worse.
In the silence you paused at any creaking or popping that sounded in the house. About to settle on the couch to pick an activity, the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.
Staring at the doorway to the TV room you held your breath. You didn’t want to see Azriel if he was hurt. You didn’t think you could stomach the sight of his blood.
Footsteps grew louder and louder until Azriel was staring at you. He was unscathed. Safe. And home.
You let out a cry of relief, running into his open arms. Azriel pulls you flush to his body, tucking your head under his chin. You revel in his warm touch. A smile spreads across your lips at having him back home.
Pulling away, you stare up into his tired eyes. “Everything went ok?” You ask softly. Azriel nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It went perfectly, all thanks to you my love.” He says, exhaustion lacing his voice.
“Come on you,” you squeeze him around the middle. “Let’s get you to bed, baby.” You move to his side, pulling him along. “Sounds perfect, my love.”
Tucking into bed you couldn’t shake this feeling in the pit of your stomach. Watching Az sleep peacefully you snuggle into his side, holding on to him. Just in case.
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar reader fic#acotar reader imagine#acotar imagine#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#azriel fic#azriel imagine#azriel fanfic#acotar azriel#azriel#azriel fluff#azriel au#mob!azriel au#mob!azriel
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Heeeey, Shea. How are you?
I just wanted you to know I love your stories. Kook trio reader and shy reader are my favorite.
I know that's not how it went, but I really think in another universe, Rafe would have trouble getting to date shy!reader because she just wouldn't realize he was flirting hard with her. Maybe a bit of self esteeming issues or because she's inexperiente. But, anyway, I see her being completely oblivious about all his efforts and being like "he's so nice, guys. No, he would never flirt with me. You guys are insane" and everyone else would be like "girl... what?".
Thank you for your stories, they keep me smiling. <3
- T.
hi t!!! thank you so so much for your kind words, it means so much. i am so glad you love the different readers on this blog! i think your idea is so cute and funny, it suits them perfectly. here's a little bit based on what you sent and i hope you enjoy ♡
since the day you had met rafe—truly met him, not counting the multiple instances where you had passed him in tannyhill attached to sarah's hip when he hadn't even realized you'd been there—you had been a little confused about the newfound attention he was giving you.
you felt it was strange. sarah was always going on and on about how mean rafe was, how badly he treated others and how he never spared a minute to talk to anyone. but she must have been exaggerating. right?
the rafe that you were becoming more and more acquainted with was nothing of the sort. from the time he had driven you home a few weeks ago to now, he had been nothing but nice—offering you a ride everytime you were at tannyhill, asking if you wanted anything when he was on his way out. he even went out of his way to find you at the country club, stopping to say hi even if it was in the middle of one of his golf matches.
it was nice. it was really nice. everything sarah had told you about him seemed to be completely wrong, but then you realized it. rafe was probably trying to be a better brother, and starting with being nice to sarah's friends was likely a good jumping off place.
with this notion firmly stuck in your mind, you proceeded to go about your days, smiling sweetly at rafe when he was being so nice and reminding yourself to tell sarah—her brother was making a big effort, and it deserved to be recognized.
"did i see rafe walk away from the course to say hi to you?" sarah asks, and you look up at her, a little surprised. you hadn't brought it up yet, and in all honestly, didn't know when you would.
your other girl friends look a little closer at you—surprise evident on their faces too. you hate being the center of attention but somehow it feels even worse like this—they're all getting the wrong impression.
"yes.. he's being very nice. i think he's trying to make it up to you, y'know, for being mean like you say he is."
"by being nice to you?"
"by being nice to all of us," you add quickly, looking at the other girls, waiting for them to pitch in.
"he's never been nice to me."
"i don't think he's even ever said hi to me."
"so how exactly has he been nice to you?" sarah asks, and you feel your face burn. they still have the wrong impression and you have no idea how you'll correct them.
"well not much," you lie, clearing your throat. "he just gave me a ride home a few times. and he said hi a couple times here. and got me a soda from the gas station the other day."
"not much?" your friend questions.
"he never asks me what i want from the gas station-" you interrupt sarah, eager to make sure they stop speculating.
"he was just being nice. it was nothing, i-"
"what's next?" sarah asks, cocking her head at you. "don't tell me, he lets you pick the music in his car?" she laughs, and the others do too, but you stare back at her blankly.
"just once or twice," you mumble, suddenly finding your drink and the misty glass far too interesting.
"oh my god. he's totally flirting with you." you whip your head up so fast you think you got whiplash.
"you're insane. that is so not what this is. he was just being nice."
"if any other guy did this, you'd be picturing your future wedding-"
"it's not just any other guy, it's sarah's brother. do you see the kind of girls he goes out with? that's how i know he's being nice, i'm nothing like them-"
you feel incredibly flustered, face hot and playing with your hands like you do when you get nervous. your friends are laughing, and though you know it's not at you, you still hate the feeling, feeling like you might burst from the intensity of the emotions you're experiencing right now. first and foremost—the fact that maybe rafe wasn't just being nice to you.
"yeah?" you hear, though you don't look up. "then why's he walking over here right now?"
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