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con-fection · 3 years

Text

violence and intimacy are the only universal languages | BUCKY BARNES x READER | 18+ oneshot

synopsis: In which Bucky Barnes fucks John Walker’s girlfriend, who turns out not to be John Walker’s girlfriend at all.

[Alternative synopsis: Bucky happens to meet you, John Walker's girlfriend, and you're nothing like he expects you to be. He's anticipating a woman that's arrogant, mindless and fake, following after Walker like a lost puppy, a woman who puts on a front to the whole world, a terrible person hiding behind the girl-next-door facade. You're nothing like that - you're soft, intriguing and absolutely lovely, everything that's good in the world. And he's very much attracted to you, desperate to show John who you really belong to.]

Content warnings: 18+ This is SMUT. Contains sex/explicit language/,masturbation.

THIS IS SET DURING EPISODE 2 AND WILL CONTAIN SOME SPOILERS AS IT USES SOME DIALOGUE FROM THE SHOW :) IT’S ALSO TOLD FROM BUCKY’S POV :)

Word count: 17K

John Walker is absolutely insufferable.

He is a man high off his own arrogance, regarding himself as the ultimate authority, and relegating every other member of this planet to being below him. He is a bastardisation of everything that vibranium shield stood for. John doesn't have bravery, but he has pride in spades, which is more than good enough for everybody around him.

Captain America had been so deeply beloved that his loss left a crippling gape in the very heart of the American dream. It was a space that required filling - and so, in the absence of Steve Rogers, the apparent next best thing was located.

But Walker wasn't the next best after a man like Steve Rogers. They may vaguely resemble one another, in their facial features, icy blue eyes and broad, towering stature, but John fails to measure up in each and every way that matters. He fundamentally lacks the most important qualities that Steve had in abundance.

Steve Rogers had been a heart-wrenchingly good man, burdened with a righteous sense of justice, a strong moral compass and compassion. His life had been far from easy, wrought with losses that left him fractured into pieces of himself. He was loyal to a fault - willing to wage a war against the United States' government to try to clear the name of a comrade so close he would have died for him a thousand times over. John would dance to whatever tune the government gave him, so long as it resulted in his name being glorified.

John Walker knows nothing of that sacrifice. Every alleged 'brave' act comes from his warped sense of reality, one that has given him the impression he simply cannot die, that he can't be wrong in any way.

Each time he jumped on top of a grenade, or put himself in the line of fire, he came out unscathed, and so he did it again and again and again, revelling in the praise he recieved afterwards, and the eventual mantle that was bestowed upon him.

Steve had never once come out of a single fight uninjured.

That was part of the mysticism, of his heroism. He would be hurt time and time again. And yet, he would never fold. He didn't bend or break under the pressure, under the pain. He didn't so much as waver in the face of all of it. his devotion to doing what was good and what was right always prevailed, irrespective of how many bones he may break or how much blood he may lose.

Despite the fact that John Walker, the second Captain America, lacked any of the characteristics of his predecessor, he became America's sweetheart. People were desperate to have somebody fill the space that Steve Rogers had left, and to the public, it seemed like John Walker was perfect.

He gave flawless interviews, where he came across not as an arrogant, self-serving puppet of the state, but as a humble, bashful, honest man that represented the very soul of America. Watching him talk was reminiscent of his predecessor, and of course, each public appearance had been carefully orchestrated so that would be the case. Every word that spilled from his mouth was premeditated, designed specifically with the intent to appeal to the populus.

John Walker got to parade around wearing stars and stripes, cradling a shield that he was very much undeserving of wielding. And, he got to do all of this accompanied by two people.

The first was Lemar Hoskins, the Battlestar. Like Walker, he too had served in the armed forces, and was to be considered a decently skilled fighter, though he failed to measure up to the likes of either Bucky or Sam.

...and then there was you.

Bucky found John Walker to be absolutely insufferable, a blight on Steve's legacy, and some tiny, bitter sliver of that hatred was reserved for you, too.

The new Captain America served the country with his best friend Battlestar and his lover, you.

You weren't like them. You weren't some jacked-up soldier fresh out of the army who had kissed enough ass and earnt enough medals to be made into a hero. Instead, you were practically just the eye candy. America's darling, hanging off the arm of their beloved hero. There was something magnetising about you that made people just love you instantaneously. It was a raw appeal that nobody was safe from.

Initially, Bucky had regarded you as an odd choice. You weren't even a superhero. You didn't take up a stupid, convoluted mantle like 'Battlestar' had. Rather simply, you were just there, tagging along, looking pretty and people adored you for it.

There was something very intriguing to the people of America about their new Captain America and his sweetheart - you, a stunning supermodel-type with a dazzling mind and a blinding smile. It was easy for them to project onto you two, the perfect superhero couple who had a fairytale romance.

Bucky utterly detested John Walker and his lost-puppy sidekick, Battlestar.

Some tiny sliver of that malice had initially been generalised to you, too. It was hard not to feel slightly bitter as he saw the two of you on TV, giving interview after interview, cuddled up to each other. It was all so terribly fake, utter bullshit that people eagerly lapped up because it was the version of reality that they desperately wanted to believe in.

It had to be fake - nobody is simply that charismatic, especially not when they're holding hands with John Walker. There was something about the way they, they being your PR team, had styled you in a few of the earlier interviews that gave him the distinct impression that they wanted people to be reminded of Natasha Romanoff, minus the bloody past.

For a while, for your first few public appearances, you had been relegated to wearing dark clothes and leathers that made you seem every bit a femme fatale, though any semblance of danger was nullified by your friendly smile.

It also seemed like that route had been abandoned, and now you tended to appear wearing lighter clothes, whites and creams that were more innocent, like your PR team had doubled back on itself and decided to switch from the 'whore' to the 'virgin'. You seemed more genuine like that, in florals and paler colours.

Bucky would be lying if he said he had never watched any of your interviews. It had merely been a simple fascination, a way to satisfy the nagging feeling of curiosity that threatened to consume him. They were interesting, and he consumed them with an almost ravenous hunger. Simple curiosity, that was all. That was all that he would let it be.

That interview that John had given at his old high school had just been the beginning, his very debut to the American people. Since then, there had been a few more, some featuring Battlestar, who would sit obediently at his side, and others featuring you.

You would curl up next to him, eagerly pressing yourself into John's side, smiling widely as you began the interview. There was a slightly angelic quality about you, a veil of innocence around you, your lilting voice like a siren's call, and your bright, doe eyes. With a well practiced ease, you would entwine your fingers with John's and sweetly tell him, looking at your lover intensely, that he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

It was fascinating to watch, to see just what kind of image your PR team could put across. You seemed every bit like the all-american girl, like the unattainable girl-next-door who would go to church every sunday and would be an inspiration to girls across the country.

Despite the innocent-seeming way in which you were deliberately styled, you never once came across as naive. Instead, there was never any vapid or vain qualities to you. It was like you just didn't know how pretty you were, or the effect you could have on people.

As nice as you may have come across in all of those interviews, every bit the picture-perfect media darling, Bucky knew it was all a farce. John had managed to seem like a decent, determined man who was down to earth and wanted nothing more than to provide inspiration to Americans, no, to the whole world. But all of those things about John simply were untrue.

Every interaction he had with the public had been carefully created to construct an image of him that incited adoration from the public. There was no reason whatsoever why you wouldn't be the same.

In fact, Bucky found it more likely than not that you were a complete inversion of that sweet, charming woman you appeared to be on TV. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth and biting back at bile rising in his throat. It was nauseatingly fake, all masquerading around as good and just using Steve's emblem.

It wasn't until he met you that the malice rescinded.

His escapade with Sam to see Isaiah had ultimately concluded with handcuffs being wrapped around his wrists and a visit to the local police station. Bucky had been taken into some tiny, isolated cell with boring blank walls that are comprised of chipped bricks covered poorly by cracking blue and white paint, constantly escorted and monitored by police officers, who were buzzing dually with excitement and tension at having both the recently-pardoned Winter Soldier in detention, and avenger the Falcon stood outside in the hall, demanding answers.

Doctor Christina Raynor had strolled into the precinct with both weariness and disappointment in her eyes. She walked almost like a woman defeated, one hand clasping the strap of her handbag and the other falling aimlessly at her side.

Immediately, she gravitated towards Sam, who was seated rigidly in some tiny, uncomfortable plastic chair amongst a myriad of members of the public, people who were also waiting for news about their friends or family who had been arrested.

Clamoring to put on the most polite smile she could, Doctor Raynor introduced herself to Sam, barely managing to get in a complete sentence before she's interrupted.

Swiftly following the arrival of the Doctor is the entrance of John Walker. John strides into the precinct dressed in the Captain America garb, shield positioned on his back. There's something terribly strategic about the decision to be constantly wearing the suit. Perhaps it's to offer a sense of security, or maybe it's because without it John has no authority to operate on. Either way, his mere appearance results in a horde of frenzied police officers trailing after him, desperate for a selfie or an autograph, something that John mindlessly indulges them in, smiling the whole time. Sam's face instantly sours as John enters, his eyebrows tugging down into a frown.

John Walker simply saunters in, a falsely cherubic smile on his face as he stares down at Christina. "Bucky's not going to be following a strict schedule any longer."

Doctor Raynor's previously jovial attitude towards John's presence dissipates, quickly replaced by confusion. "We haven't finished our work." She protests, setting her jaw. "Who authorised this?"

There's a note of challenge in her voice as she presses John for an answer. She's the professional - she's very much the one capable of understanding Bucky's mind, and yet John doesn't take her concern into account. He doesn't even look phased by it. He's completely unbothered by any opposition thrown his way - it had never mattered to him before, and it had no reason to bother him now.

"I did," John says, pointing to himself.

Sam and Christina both stare him down, equally perturbed. They exchange a brief glance. Doctor Raynor's concerned in a professional capacity - not only is Barnes her patient, and it is her prerogative to help him take control of his mind and heal, but she is also commanded by the state to oversee his psychiatric care.

Responsibility for him falls onto her - she's the professional. Christina is the doctor, the one who understands the human mind, and John very much is not. Sam, on the other hand, is personally concerned. As much as he pretends he despises Bucky, he does care, albeit begrudgingly. He wouldn't be here if he didn't.

A tiny beep goes off, signifying that a door is being opened. Bucky is walked in by two police officers, looking mildly agitated for one second, and completely numb the next, all emotion dropping from his face to put a cool, unfeeling visage into place. It's a mask that gives him obscurity, that allows him to distance himself from the mere possibility of being vulnerable.

Christina forces the two of them into some botched attempt at therapy, forcing them to look into each others eyes and get far closer than either of them are comfortable with whilst she presides over them, poking, prodding, inquiring.

It's a demand of some emotional vulnerability that Bucky simply does not want to produce. It's not exactly heart-wrenching but it does make him feel robbed, like something had been taken from him against his will. It didn't feel like healing, like what therapy was meant to be. It felt difficult. It felt like a quiet rage building in his gut that he desperately wants to keep under wraps, lest he lash out at somebody.

It leaves Bucky feeling stripped raw when they finally leave the police station.

By the time Bucky and Sam step out onto the streets the sun has already set. The sky is dark, a deep navy blue that's mostly covered by thick dark clouds that besiege the atmosphere. The whole street is lit by lights that have been left on in people's windows, or blinkering blue lamps that run along the outer wall of the police station.

A blaring, almost comically loud beeping noise disrupts the fragile silence of the night. Lined up outside of the station are a series of police cars, all emblazoned with white lettering reading 'BALTIMORE POLICE DEPARTMENT'.

The sirens of one of the police cars is going off wildly, the noise being one disruption and the blue and red flashing lights emitting from the roof of the car being another. It's an annoyance, and creates a false sense of urgency. Those sirens are normally used when somebody's life is at risk and members of the police force are going to respond. In this situation, there's no rush, no hurry, there's no crime.

Leaned up against the car, grinning wildly, is John Walker, still dressed as Captain America, all dolled up in navy blue and red, a silver 'A' on his breast.

When he sees that he's successfully captured Sam and Bucky's attention, which he garners from the fact that both of their heads whip towards him, attracted by both the loud noise and the bright lights, he turns off the siren, restoring the tentative peace to the darkened streets.

This time, though, Walker's not alone.

Next to him, propped up against the hood of the car is Battlestar, also dressed head-to-toe in his tactical gear, arms folded over his chest and a stoic expression on his face. There's something about him that just lacks any individuality. John masqueraded as somebody else, somebody whose mantle he had no right to use, and he's always constantly accompanied by a pale imitation of a comrade.

As likely as it is that Walker and Battlestar have engaged in combat together, they're not comrades, not in the way Bucky and Steve were. He and Steve had been willing to do anything for each other - endure any pain, run from the forces of the state if they had to, even die for one another.

Walker didn't seem like the type to lay down his life for somebody else out of a genuine heart-felt devotion to them.

And then, stood a few feet away from both Walker and his loyal sidekick is you - the lover. There's a decent amount of distance between you and them, separated from one another by enough space that it quite literally looks like you're desperate to avoid Walker's presence. You huddle over by the wall of the precinct, jaw set like you were irritated by the ear-splitting sound of the siren, though you don't voice a complaint. Unlike the two men, you're not dressed like you're headed out to battle, like you're some kind of protector. No, you're dressed in some pale, flouncy sundress that grazes your thighs, and you're shivering in the night air. Of course you are - it's freezing.

Bucky has to bite back a sneer just at the sight of the three of you, a vile, acrid remark just on the tip of his tongue. He has just spent the best part of his day in some cramped cell that reminds him all too much of a HYDRA facility, and then being interrogated by his own therapist, who is desperate to push him into emotional vulnerability all in the name of progress. He isn't in the mood to play happy families, and especially not with the man now wielding Steve's shield.

"Gentlemen!" John calls out, waving his hands in the air as if Bucky and Sam hadn't already started their stride towards him, matching expressions of disdain on their faces. "Good to see you again. Have I introduced you to my girl yet? No?"

It, of course, was a rhetorical question. The two of them had only ever seen you in snapshots of public appearances that you had made at John's side. You weren't actively accompanying Captain America or Battlestar on any of their missions, and as far as Bucky is aware, there are no plans for you to do so. You're not a soldier. You're not built for battle - you're softer. More gentle. You're not the state's attempt at creating a superhero. Allegedly, you're just a regular girl - pretty and smart and charismatic, but otherwise perfectly regular - who just so happens to be dating John Walker, the new Captain America.

John doesn't wait for a response from Bucky or Sam, but he does gesture to you, beckoning you over to him by crooking two of his fingers.

You approach him, your dress ruffled by the wind. In that instant Bucky thinks that the two of you actually do seem nothing like how you do on those televised interviews - his prediction had been correct. The persona was lovely, enchanting even, but it was just that. A persona, an act for your public image. There's something almost mechanical about the way you approach John, your hands folded across your chest in an unsuccessful attempt to shield yourself from the cold. It's all too robotic. It's not effortless or affectionate. You don't look remotely comfortable, but you slide up next to Walker and Hoskins regardless. Clearly, Battlestar isn't the only one who follows Walker's commands like an obedient dog.

You slot yourself in between Battlestar and John, a grimace passing over your face as you press yourself into his side. It's odd, exceptionally so, for Bucky to see this - god, you look reluctant to accept some modicum of warmth from your own boyfriend, who you'd proclaimed publically that you loved more than anything. It's almost like you resent his touch.

And oh, that's nice. It's almost cathartic seeing somebody meant to love and adore John avoid his touch like he's got some contagious flesh-eating disease.

There's a great deal of recognition in your eyes as you look at Bucky and Sam. It's likely you'd already been made familiar with them as a result of Walker's fevered desperation to unite their forces.

Bucky's looking at you intently, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to open your mouth and prove him right - for you to prove that you were just as fake as Walker and Hoskins. It almost seemed inevitable, really. It's all too easy to seem good, sweet and polite on those well-orchestrated interviews. But real life is a completely different matter all together.

Bucky's well versed in being able to tell when people are lying, easily spotting their little tells, locating them in the flutter of a limb, the arch of an eyebrow or the twitch of an eye. It'll be a matter of moments until he spots yours. Any act was doomed to fail around him. Everybody gives themselves away somehow.

You introduce yourself, stating your name and giving them a shy wave. "It's nice to meet the two of you." You say sweetly, a smile lighting up your face.

Bucky's eyes widen involuntarily. Oh. It was one thing seeing that enchantment on TV, and another seeing it just feet away from him. There was something absolutely enrapturing about the silky quality of your voice, and the way your eyes sparkled even in the dim light.

He hadn't expected you to actually be...pleasant. It was all supposed to be this fake persona, and yet, he can practically sense the genuity on you. You don't twitch like some little rabbit, or stumble over your words. There's no sweat beading on your brow, and you're not avoiding eye-contact. If anything, you're welcoming it.

There was no fucking way. No fucking way at all that you could actually be as nice as you were in those interviews and be with John Walker of all people. You should be horrible simply by being associated with the man.

"Well, now that we're all acquainted we can move onto our first order of business." John says, not even glancing at you. His gaze is focused solely on Sam and Bucky, steely and deceptive, completely dismissive of how utterly lovely you look.

Bucky's having a hard time even looking at John, not when you're right there, not too far away, looking absolutely angelic. There was no way it was some act, right? That facade had fallen through for both John and his stoic sidekick the minute they opened their mouths, but when it came to you... the complete opposite was true. Sam had definitely remarked on his staring problem more than once, and Bucky was very much hoping that in the dark you wouldn't be able to tell that he was looking at you in something akin to awe and unrepentant curiosity. He was looking at you in both fascination and scrutiny, staring intently like he was about to authenticate a work of art.

His deep rooted dislike of both John Walker and Battlestar was still very much present, but he was currently experiencing some emotional turbulence over his deep lack of hatred for you. It simply seemed to have evaporated the second you smiled at him. Which was...concerning to say the least. Shouldn't he hate you? Shouldn't your very presence have stoked that spark of malice?

"Look, if we divide ourselves we don't stand a chance. You guys know that." John says. He's all charismatic and confident, self-assured in a way that comes across as mildly condescending. It's a pale, cheap imitation of Steve's ability to rouse even the most slovenly of men and turn them into righteous soldiers.

"So what do you got?" Sam asks tiredly.

John immediately begins his speech, eagerly describing the plight of Karli Morgenthau, and how her journey around the globe is being aided and abetted by sympathisers who want to see the world return to the way it had been during the years of the blip. These sympathisers had much preferred it when half the world had been reduced to ash and something akin to anarchy had been allowed to prevail.

Whole governments had collapsed in on themselves, and often, borders ceased to exist. It was complete free movement - there was a distinct lack of separation between different human factions, like all of humanity had been united by that grave event that took half of the planet.

Bucky had no idea what that world had been like. He'd only seen the shell of it, the hellscape that was left once the other fifty percent of earth's inhabitants returned to life.

Battlestar makes a few brief interjections, explaining a few minor aspects of the tale - the geotagging, that this threat is most likely operating out of eastern europe, and that Karli has stolen the medicine to take it to one of the camps.

They don't tend to be sanitary places. Disease runs rampant there, and nobody tends to really care about those who fall sick and succumb to their illness. Of course they need medicine - there's probably hundreds of people who are in the throes of sickness, vomiting their own guts out, their wounds crusted over with coagulated blood, infected and festering.

"Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since the blip. So, I guess you'll have to look real hard," Bucky says, shrugging with a sort of apathy. It's rather vindicating to watch the way John's lip curls up in disdain.

"Well I guess it's good we have-" John begins, his jaw set and his tone confrontational, dripping with very thinly veiled rage.

You sigh, a tiny little breathless sound that makes Bucky freeze up slightly. It sounded, for a lack of a better word, rather nice. Melodic, even. "John, calm down." You tell him, not entirely unkindly, but not sweetly, either.

There's some kind of quality to your voice when you speak to John like you're negotiating for hostages, not like you're having a conversation with your lover. It's curious, but Bucky tries not to attach too much meaning to it.

Bucky gives you a stiff sort of nod, and you reward him with a smile, your lips curving upwards. "Where is she now? Do you know?" He says, softer than he probably would have if you hadn't been there.

"No. We don't know, Bucky." John's voice is a near yell. He shifts agitatedly, gesticulating wildly, tossing his arms about and shoving you slightly, letting you nearly collide with Battlestar, who is forced to grasp your arm to keep you upright. Battlestar's hand curves around your upper arm, pulling you back until you're steady on your feet. "But it's only a matter of time before we find out."

Relatively quickly, Battlestar's hand drops from your arm, and you give him a whisper of thanks before turning to give John a glare. He hadn't even so much as muttered an apology. He was completely focused on Bucky, the two locking stares in some kind of silent battle, one of wills.

"Things are really intense for you, aren't they, Walker?" Bucky can't fucking resist agitating him, letting the taunt roll off his tongue easily, not even bothering to resist grinning when your lips quirk upwards. Oh yes, you think he's funny - he can see it in the way you press a hand to your lips in a successful attempt to quell a rising peal of laughter.

"Walker's right." Sam is the one to turn to Bucky and snap at him. He tries to diffuse the situation, glancing between you, Bucky and John like he was watching something that had the potential to go very wrong. "It is imperative that we find and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and authorisations you have to get. We're free agents. More flexible. It wouldn't make sense for us to work together."

Tentatively, you set a hand on John's shoulder, feeling the coarse, kevlar-esque material of the suit beneath the tips of your fingers as he turns rigid, looking at Bucky and Sam coldly, all pretences of being nice completely gone, having simply evaporated into the cold night air. "Mr. Wilson isn't wrong."

Like Sam, you seem to have moved on to an attempt to prevent the escalating tensions from reaching their head. You try your best to soothe John, and his shoulders do sag fractionally, like he's just been reminded of your presence. There's something about the way that Walker looks at you that's utterly unappreciative. Perhaps John doesn't want to be grounded - if his will is being resisted then he'd rather be aggressive than diplomatic.

Sam scoffs at the name, "You don't have to call me that. In fact, please don't call me that."

"It's polite isn't it?" You say, smiling, even as John ruthlessly shucks your hand from his shoulder, dismissive of your touch. He gives you an irritated kind of look, a silent admonishment of you challenging his authority. It's not the kind of look that equal partners give each other, and your ensuing glare isn't, either.

"Suppose so," Sam shrugs, his lips quirking up in amusement.

"Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barnes aren't obligated to help," You tell John softly, seemingly speaking through gritted teeth. "Clearly, we all want the same things - to get that medicine back and bring Karli to justice. But, if you're not all going to be able to work cohesively on a team and get the job done, it may be best to work separately. It gives you all the opportunity to handle things the way you want to. This should be about doing the right thing and accomplishing the mission, not about who's calling the shots."

John nods stiffly, turning to you for a brief moment. There's some kind of red light coming from within one of the nearby buildings, and it's lighting up the dark street in shades of red, crimson light spilling over his cheekbones and dancing across one side of his face. He's the very image of begrudging agreement. "Alright then. Just one piece of advice for you boys. Stay the hell out of my way."

"Gladly." Bucky mutters under his breath, not missing the fact that you catch it and your smile widens.

As Bucky and Sam begin their exit, he can't help but to spare you one last glance over his shoulder. Bucky's eyes quickly roam over your form, as if he's mapping you out, or trying to emblazon the image of you within his mind - bathed in dying red light, still smiling serenely at him even as he's leaving. He really cannot figure you out.

The line of what's real and what's fake seems awfully blurred when it comes to you. Normally he's excellent at detecting a performance, but when it comes to you, Bucky has no idea whatsoever what is going on. And it's very much intriguing.

John Walker he would have no problem whatsoever in leaving alone.

...but you on the other hand, were a whole different story.

There was some grand, captivating quality that you had in spades that was even more potent in real life than it had been on camera. It was in the way your hair was jostled by the wind, the pale sundress that skirted your soft-looking thighs, the curve of your hips, the way you smiled and that hypnotic twinkle in your eye.

Walker and Hoskin's lovely personalities had been something of a farce, but yours wasn't. It did, however, make him wonder what somebody like you was doing with them - how you could aid and abet their actions even though it was glaringly obvious you weren't always in concordance with them.

"Man, I do not know what the hell was going on there, but I very much did not like how you were looking at Walker's girl like she was a piece of steak, or something." Sam shudders, muttering quietly once they're out of earshot of Walker and his companions.

"I don't know what you mean." Bucky feigns ignorance, setting his jaw and very much trying to push the phrase 'Walker's girl' from his mind. It just...didn't seem right.

In all of those TV interviews, the two of you had seemed like a perfect couple - you only appeared that way because Walker was plastering on a faux persona. In reality, the two of you seemed fragmented, distant from one another though Walker did have some tiny modicum of respect for you.

There was nothing about the real, raw interactions between the two of you that indicated any intimacy. It was the complete antithesis of the united front the two of you presented, of the perpetually happy lovers that America adored.

There was just no way it could be true. In fact, it sets off something that's terribly close to jealousy in his gut. Walker's an arrogant prick who carries a shield he has no right to even look at. He especially doesn't deserve you - you with the pretty eyes and an aura about you that screamed 'holy', 'saintly', even.

Yes. That was probably why he disliked it. Because it was probably inaccurate. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way you enchanted him, nothing to do with the sight of your bare legs and absolutely nothing to do with the lovely way you said 'Mr.Barnes.' It had absolutely nothing to do with that whatsoever.

"No, no." Sam protests. "I've seen you, you know, stare at people before - but god, never like that. Fuck, man."

And it's true. It was obvious to anybody that spent more than thirty seconds with Bucky that he had yet to acclimate and adjust to social scenarios, and that once he was focused on one thing had an abject refusal to move his gaze away from it. Bucky had heard Sam call it both 'creepy' and 'unnerving', and hoped, for some inexplicable reason, that you thought differently.

After all, your eyes had barely left his. It wasn't staring if both of you were doing it - then it was mutual, some kind of joint focus on one another.

"Like what, Sam?"

Sam just shakes his head, looking disdainful, his nose turned up like he'd just smelled something foul. "Mmhm, like you wanted to do some things to her that, for the sake of my own mental health, I would rather not think about."

Well, technically, he hadn't thought about anything that bad - just your voice, your smile, and the way you might say his name. But, in that instant, Sam's words derail all of those thoughts. Because, really, you had looked so lovely that it would be forgivable to think about you like that.

There was that cute little sundress you were wearing, grazing your thighs whenever you moved or whenever the wind picked up. It's all too easy for him to imagine skirting his fingers up your smooth, soft thighs and let his hands explore you, roaming over your ass and your inner thighs, enjoying the feeling of your skin and the little noises he could provoke from you.

"...stop thinking about it. I can literally hear your thoughts right now." Sam says, grimacing at Bucky's spaced out kind of look - his glazed over eyes and the fingers twitching at his sides. It's all too easy for him to see the gears shifting in Bucky's head, openly reliving the few moments he had seen you.

"I'm not thinking about it," Bucky outright lies as the two of them continue walking down the street.

"No, you absolutely are thinking about it." Sam objects. "I can sense the impropriety."

"Oh yeah? You can sense it?" Bucky glares at Sam, unable to resist antagonising him. It's safe, reliable even, between the two of them. They'll perpetually annoy one another, being challenging, rude, and utterly impolite, knowing that when it comes down to it, they'll fight side-by-side without objection, trusting each other implicitly. But in these moments when there's no imminent danger, that opposition is welcome. It's routine, even.

"Hell yes, I can sense it."

Bucky just scoffs at him, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. It wasn't really as if Sam was wrong. There was something especially fascinating about Walker's girl - if that's even what you are. He'd known you for a matter of fleeting moments that passed by like dandelion seeds in a breeze. And yet, something about it felt terribly significant.

He hadn't actually expected that appeal to be real. He anticipated that just like Walker's carefully groomed public image, it would have been falsified.

The only thing that really seemed fake about those interviews was your affection with John. It was non-existent in real life, and for a while, you had avoided touching him, until you had to diffuse the situation. That was very, very curious. Just where had Walker found you? He had to doubt that the relationship was genuine.

Somebody as nice, as innocent-seeming as you would never go for Walker. Not when Walker's the kind of guy that Steve would have tried to fight as a scrappy teenager, before he even got the serum. The kind of guy who Bucky would inevitably have to knock the lights out of in order to protect Steve. That kind of guy objectively did not belong with someone like you.

Bucky has to shake his head ever so slightly. It's a dangerous line of thinking. God, he doesn't even know you. He's met you once, and you'd exchanged only a few words. Irrespective of how nice you seem, how entrancing you are, he doesn't know you. It hardly matters whether or not your relationship with Walker is genuine. It shouldn't matter to him. It really shouldn't bother him.

But it does, and that fact alone is almost as bad as the fact that John Walker is the new Captain America. It causes the same bitter feeling to swell in his chest.

Sam and Bucky fall into line next to each other, walking side-by-side, the dull noises of their footsteps hitting the pavement reverberating throughout the streets. There's a comfortable silence between the two of them. Words aren't needed now. They often aren't. For all of their antagonisation, they can understand each other perfectly fine with a single glance. That's what comradery is.

There are neon lights that illuminate the streets in shocking tones of red and turquoise, reflected in stray puddles that pool in the potholes of the roads. The lights seem dulled, boring despite their vividity. He'd seen brightness before. It didn't look like a street sign. It looked like the curve of your smile and the silent rage you directed at John Walker.

---

Bucky's flat is near-barren.

As much as he hates empty rooms - they remind him of cold cells in underground bases that he wishes more than anything that he could forget - he's also come to the realization that he very much hates rooms that have too much furniture.

They all feel uncomfortable, unfamiliar, a bastardisation of a normal life that he feels he has no right to live. He's so unused to the feeling of a mattress beneath him that the floor next to his bed is easier for him to sleep on. And he hates that, too.

The simple inability to slip back into a normal life makes him feel woefully inadequate, like there's still something deeply wrong with him despite the fact that the command words had long since been removed from his mind.

Sam had returned to his own home a while ago, leaving Bucky utterly alone in the flat.

It's not necessarily loneliness that he feels, but it is a kind of numbness that is close to it - the dulled pain of loss. Perhaps, if everything had gone the way he meant for it to, he would be sharing this place with Steve - Steve who would take a bullet for him, fight any force in this universe or the next for him. Steve who would probably encourage him to sleep in the bed and not on the floor next to it.

That realisation prompts him to shuck off his leather jacket, toss it into the recesses of his room and try to distract himself.

He runs a hand over his face, closing his eyes and just revelling in the darkness. Mindlessly, he sits down on the very edge of his bed, already knowing that he won't be sleeping there. It seems somewhat pointless to even try.

Despite the Soldier being gone, there are some effects of his presence that linger. Slowly, he's been getting better, but there are a few traits he doesn't know whether or not he'll ever have the courage to discard. Sleeping on the floor is one of them. That constant need to be vigilant is another. Often it manifests itself as paranoia, and at other times as staring.

Oh god, the staring.

Bucky knew it could be bad sometimes - Sam made remarks about it often enough - but today, he really felt like he couldn't help himself.

Maybe he shouldn't have stared at you so much. It probably wasn't welcome. In fact, it had been described as 'unnerving' and 'creepy' more than once. But there was just something about you that made him not want to look away.

His eyes flutter open and he lets out a ragged groan of frustration, a low noise that originates at the back of his throat.

Somehow, every little nagging thought always leads back to you, which is inconvenient to say the least. He does have to keep telling himself that he doesn't know you, mentally repeating those words like a mantra, instructing himself to just leave that train of thought alone completely, and to discard any and every thought that pertains to you. You're with Walker. He doesn't know you - but he could.

Bucky takes in a deep breath, hand digging through the pocket of his trousers, emerging with his phone. The internet was a pretty vast thing that had initially taken quite some getting used to, especially when he was still living in Romania. It had been difficult to become comfortable with the amount that society had progressed whilst he was with HYDRA.

He still couldn't get used to the music or some of the fashion trends. By the time he got to living in Wakanda, he was more than used to the intricacies of modern day technology, despite the fact that once he came out of cryogenic freezing he lived a fairly simple lifestyle.

He can't really resist searching your name.

Immediately, article after article pops up, all with headlines about you and Walker. Bucky lets out a minor, quiet noise of discontentment, opting to avoid the articles and instead look at the videos, the interviews that you had given. In most of them, you're accompanied by Walker, and occasionally by Battlestar, too. Bucky absolutely does not want to watch those ones. It feels like John simply sitting next to you is somehow corruptive.

There are a select few interviews where, mercifully, you're by yourself. Some of them are from your earlier days, where you're dressed in black leather, which was absolutely a confusing wardrobe choice.

Privately, he much prefers you in the sundress and the pale colours. In the one that he chooses to watch, you're dressed in another sundress - this one's a pale sort of pink with tiny, blooming white flowers dotted over it. For some inexplicable reason, Bucky thinks he prefers you like this - innocent, summery, and not a pale imitation of somebody who was meant to be scary - not that you had the potential to make him afraid in the slightest.

You're in some room, sitting in front of a grand, white window, seated on a wicker chair opposite the interviewer. There's a few potted plants dotted around the floor, aloe vera, lavender, a cheese plant and some other flowers that are in full bloom, their soft petals unfurled. You're beaming happily as the interviewer begins, soft sunlight spilling over your profile, warming your skin.

"It's a pleasure to finally have the opportunity to interview you - and you're so kind to let us into your house like this." The interviewer says, looking between your angelic visage and their copious sheets of notes, each one full of questions and follow-up questions that they were desperate to ask you.

Ah. That makes sense - all the plants. You seemed like the type to like them.

"The pleasure's all mine." You say, and yes, there it is. That transfixing look about you that he's slightly hooked on now that he's seen it in real life. It's a bit addictive to watch you, and god, even just thinking that does very much make him feel wrong.

"How about we get started, then?" The interviewer says conversationally. "You know, every single person in America is curious about you. I'm just here to ask the questions on everybody's minds! Just who are you? Come on, tell us about yourself."

You don't flounder. Not even for a second. You're utterly effortless in the interviews just as you had been mere feet away from him. "Well, I'm just your average girl, really. I'm nothing special, I promise you. Honestly, I'm so grateful that everybody loves me so much. I really wasn't expecting it."

Sitting there, a serene expression on your face, you sound utterly bashful, humbled and sweet in a way that wasn't quite the same as it had been in real life.

God, seeing you in real life was different to the interview. You had been, for a lack of a better word, better than how he expected. He'd anticipated meeting female John Walker, arrogant, self-assured and willing to try to strong-arm him into fighting for their team, more like Walker's puppy than your own individual person.

And you were nothing like that - you'd challenged Walker, hell, you even seemed reluctant to touch the guy at first, and then, you'd laughed and smiled devastatingly sweetly whenever Bucky would agitate him.

" - oh yes, my favourite flowers are - " You're still talking sweetly but he's only capturing fragments of what you're saying.

It's hard to focus on your exact words when you've shifted slightly, and that sundress has slid up your thighs ever so slightly, exposing more of your legs to Bucky's heated gaze.

Fuck - you don't even realise what you're doing and how it's making him feel. You're just innocently trying to get through an interview, talking about something mundane, like your houseplants, and it has Bucky's imagination running wild.

If Sam were here, he would definitely be sensing impropriety right about now.

Bucky swallows thickly, biting his lower lip in an effort to stifle the ragged breath he's struggling to take. It feels almost like there's no air left in his lungs. It's all too easy for him to picture you, right there in front of him, giving him that lovely saccharine smile, your lips pulled upwards. You'd saunter into his room, sundress skirting against your thighs, and he would be utterly enraptured.

He clears his throat, squeezing his eyes shut for just a fraction of a second. He could practically feel the blood rushing south, pooling downwards until his cock was pitching a tent, straining uncomfortably against his dark jeans.

Bucky can't even bring himself to feel any shame - he's just chasing a sensation, chasing a fantasy of you as he tugs his jeans down, shucking them off and discarding them, letting them land somewhere near his leather jacket.

With an unsteady breath, he shuffles back awkwardly onto the bed. Without so much as a second thought, he's pulling his boxers down his thighs and resting his flesh hand against his cock. He's beyond hard, steely even, and Bucky has to bite back a groan. Even the touch of his own hand doesn't offer him much relief.

He discards his phone, letting the interview keep playing, just listening to your cadence and the entrancing way you spoke, not really picking up on the words themselves.

It's all too easy to imagine you being here, in that tiny little sundress, stalking towards him. He'd want you to straddle him, your thighs framing his, sundress riding up, exposing more of your legs. He'd push the fabric up, and instruct you to hold it there.

You'd probably give him something like a shy little nod and that dazzling smile of yours, your hands fisting the fabric and holding it up.

Fuck - it was all just too good to think about.

Bucky's grip on his cock tightens as he slowly strokes himself. He could easily tug the top part of the sundress down, too, to expose your tits. Maybe he'd even play with them for a bit, licking, nipping and sucking until there's a constellation of bruises and bites decorating your decolletage.

You'd probably beg, all whiney and breathy and absolutely desperate for him, struggling to maintain your hold on your dress, your fingers twitching as you pushed your chest towards him. It would be fucking lovely. He would finally pull away, admiring his work before bothering to address your needs. He'd trail his hands up your thighs.

He had to wonder exactly what you were wearing underneath it. White? Black? Lacey? A tiny little thong that rises high on your hips, the kind he can easily rip off with his bare hands or push aside?

Or fuck, even more addicting, what if you weren't wearing any at all? His fingers would smooth up your thighs as you trembled, meeting your bare cunt.

Bucky doesn't even bother to try to quell the groan that rises up within him at that thought. God, that would be nice. You'd be wet - so wet, dripping, coating his fingers and trickling down your thighs. He'd rest his dark, metal hand on your waist whilst the fingers on his other hand ran eagerly through your folds, teasing your clit as he memorised all of the little sounds he could pull from you before he'd plunge two fingers into you.

You'd cry out, and he'd swallow the sound with his mouth, crushing his lips to yours and letting you gasp into his mouth. When he finally pulls away from you, fingers knuckle deep inside of you, your face would be painted a bright red, and your lips would be swollen as you begged him, fucking begged him to fuck you.

He'd deny you at first, watching you tremble and twitch on his fingers, practically fucking yourself on them.

Bucky would stroke at your clit, tracing tiny circles over it and watching your face contort in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He'd let you get off on his hand first. Would your eyes roll back into your head? Would you scream for him, yelling out his name? Would you get even wetter, impossibly making his fingers even slicker, fucking soaking him? You'd probably seize up, your spine going rigid, your mouth tumbling open and your walls flutter around his finger, convulsing uncontrollably.

And then, only then, would he fuck you.

God, you'd take his cock so well.

Maybe the stretch of it would be a bit much at first and you'd squirm in his hold, his metal arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled on him. The noises you would make would be utterly lovely - whines and fragments of pleads that never quite get finishes because you keep interrupting yourself with your own moans.

Eventually, he'd have you in his lap, your legs folded over his, one of your hands holding up your sundress so he can see his cock entering you, pushing you open, the other resting on his face. You'd bounce on his cock, whimpering like a kitten, biting at your bottom lip whilst he stared at you in awe.

You would be good - so, so good, tight and hot around him, absolute perfection.

He'd mark your neck up too, so that it'd match your tits, leaving tiny, bloodied indentations of his teeth up the column of your throat, soothing the sting by laving his tongue over them, the taste of your blood blooming on his tongue.

'Walker's girl' his ass.

It wouldn't be John fucking Walker whose name you were crying out. It would be his. It'd be his love bites littering your neck, and it would be his come leaking out from your cunt, trickling down your thighs.

He's relentlessly fucking his fist at this point, grunting and groaning at the mental image of you riding him to completion, snug around his cock, begging for him. There's some deep, nigh unholy pleasure building within him, ripping through him like a hurricane.

"God, fuck -" Bucky comes almost violently with a cry of your name, jerking quickly, hot come spilling over his knuckles. The pearly white beads trail down his hand, oozing onto the bed sheets.

He can still hear that interview playing, your melodic voice grounding him as he comes down from his high.

You're talking about some sport you had played in high school, and the interviewer is lapping it up, eager for your attention and the exclusive interview. Bucky's chest is heaving, rising and falling heavily as he struggles to catch his breath.

Was it probably wrong to get off whilst thinking about another man's girlfriend? Yes. But, Bucky didn't particularly care, not when he'd just had quite possibly the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life, and especially not when it was 'Walker's girl' he was getting off to.

Walker probably couldn't make you come if his life depended on it. But Bucky would.

It's definitely strange that he wants you so badly. Maybe he just wants to take something from Walker the way that Walker had taken the mantle of Captain America.

He didn't really know how he'd react if he ever had to see you again. There's no way he can look at you in any non-sexual capacity, and he can just sense that this won't be the last time he comes whilst thinking about you.

It's probably for the best then, that he'll be staying out of Walker's way. There will be much less temptation on his part to interfere with your relationship. Yes, it's definitely for the best. He's probably just stressed and overworked, and that was the reason he felt the need to fuck his hand whilst thinking. about you. Just stress. And it's not exactly wrong to want to relieve that stress, is it? No. Not at all.

This is perfectly fine, and even if it wasn't, he wouldn't be seeing you again.

---

Just as Bucky had been getting ready to go out for the morning, dressed in jeans and some dark jacket that did a reasonable enough job of hiding the distinctive metal arm, a loud rapping reverberated through his apartment.

Immediately, he's frowning, and some of that old, ever-present paranoia is reawakening, like it's coming out of a coma, its dormancy ending abruptly. He pauses, slowing his gait and balling his hands into fists, bracing himself.

The knock doesn't sound like anybody he knows. It's not Sam - Sam either barges in, makes one single loud bang, or will just yell obscenities until Bucky stumbles out of his flat to meet him. This knock, a gentle rapping, is softer, more polite, and unfamiliar. If he's lucky, it'll have been just somebody who had got the wrong apartment number, or who wasn't yet aware that the previous tenant had moved out. It happened sometimes.

This knock could have a perfectly reasonable explanation behind it - it could be an honest mistake, or some unfortunate door to door salesperson whom he was about to scare off. Still, despite the fact it could be innocuous, it does have him on edge.

Cautiously, Bucky approaches the door, taking in a deep breath as he undoes the latches one by one. Slowly, he opens the door. It feels like ripping off a bandaid. To his surprise, it's neither somebody who's out to hurt him, nor somebody who's got the wrong apartment number.

It's you, standing outside of his door, wearing another one of your pale sundresses and a knitted cardigan, looking like something out of one of his dreams.

So much for not seeing you again.

Maybe he just had exceptionally bad luck, or the universe hated him. That absolutely had to be what it was - some grand, sadistic cosmic being had it out for him and was desperate to make his life hard.

Why the hell were you here? Was Walker sending you to harass him? That would be objectively cruel, and an unfitting punishment just for rejecting the opportunity to work with him. And - how the hell had you found his flat? That absolutely wasn't meant to be information available to anyone.

"Walker's girl?" He says, staring down at you, frowning.

Bucky doesn't dare call you by your name, not when the last time he said it was when he was coming all over his own hand. He hates the fact that he calls you that, and even more than that, he hates the wince you make. It's perfectly understandable that you don't like being called that, irrespective of whether it's accurate or not. Which he hopes it isn't. And then he resents himself for even being bothered by whether it's true or not.

He doesn't fucking know you. He shouldn't care.

You remind him of your name - as if he could ever fucking forget it. You brush it off pretty quickly though, smiling up at him. "Mr. Barnes, do you mind if we talk?"

Bucky is very much not enjoying the emotional turmoil you're putting him through. "Sure. Come in. And it's just Bucky."

He most definitely should not be letting you in. That would be a bad decision and he especially didn't want to get ideas about you whilst you were in his flat. And yet, he found himself readily opening the door and welcoming you in, before closing the door after you.

You make your way into his flat, looking at him gratefully.

"What's the deal with you and Walker?" The words tumble from Bucky's mouth, gruff and awkward, before he can even think to stop them.

A look of mild confusion passes over your face as you blink up at him. "Oh, John? I mean, we're not really a couple."

"I thought not." Bucky says, feigning impassiveness, even though there's absolutely nothing neutral or disinterested about the hopeful feeling that blooms in his stomach.

"Yeah. It was meant to be good for his public image, you know. The all-American guy with the perfect relationship. And I have debt I need to pay off - tuition and all that - and they compensate me for my time." You explain, laughing lightly. It sounds like bells chiming in the wind, and awakens in him some long forgotten memory of watching the sunset. It's reminiscent of something, someplace happier where his head was a whole lot lighter.

Bucky actually feels a genuine bolt of relief skirt down his spine. Of course he had been right. There was no way that Walker could get with somebody as good as you, somebody who seemed very much like an angel put on earth.

Your eyebrows tug slightly downward, "Was it obvious?"

"You looked like you'd rather have been anywhere else."

That prompts a peal of laughter from you, and all traces of concern simply evaporate from your visage, quickly forgotten. "Yeah, I suppose so. John can be...difficult at times. He's very strong-willed and we don't always get along."

"You two seem to get along well enough on camera," Bucky remarks, voice lower than he intended for it to be. Really, he doesn't want this to descend into some kind of interrogation, and he doesn't want to scare you off.

"I'm a decent actress," You say with a shrug. "And we normally do our TV appearances when we're getting along. John's not always easy to get along with, but occasionally we manage to put it all behind us. It may seem scummy, I guess. We are practically lying to everyone, but I do need the money and it's easy work."

It further reassures him - of what, Bucky doesn't quite know, but he doesn't feel half as on edge as he had been earlier.

You're not Walker's. He fucking knew it.

He couldn't possibly even conceive of a universe in which you would ever even consider Walker's advances. That bastard was lucky you even looked in his direction.

"I get that." Bucky says understandingly, a tentative smile playing across his face, his lips quirking upwards.

"I do actually have a reason for being here, Bucky." You say, sighing softly.

Oh. Yes. Of course you did. He'd almost forgotten that you needed a reason to visit - this wasn't a social call, of course it wasn't. The two of you had only ever met once, no matter how well he thought he knew you after having seen what is probably hours worth of footage of you. It's probably not a good thing that he's feeling so familiar with you - no, it's definitely not a good thing that he's feeling so familiar with you. In fact, it's probably very bad, especially with his proclivity for avoiding any form of emotional vulnerability or attachment.

"I...have the clearance to access some information that may benefit you." You say. Right now, you're being the most serious he'd ever seen you. There was a sort of solemn expression about you - your mouth set in a firm line rather than a happy smile - it's bordering on grave, and he's immediately compelled to listen, a frown forming on his face.

"Yes?"

"You and John both want the same thing, but you're not going to work together. I know for a fact you won't, and I really don't blame you. He's planning on going to see Zemo for information about the serum."

Bucky doesn't even tense up at the name. Helmut Zemo is an absolute bastard who had almost ruined his life, in addition to temporarily forcing him into a dangerous headspace, into a part of himself that, at that point, was very much present and very much not under control.

But now, the codewords are gone. They won't activate shit. Zemo's practically been neutered in that regard. He may not be able to invoke the Winter Soldier, but the mere mention of his name absolutely does invoke some kind of visceral, biblical rage that howls for revenge.

It's the kind of anger of the Old Testament, though Bucky isn't much for religion these days - the kind of anger that is desperate for 'an eye for an eye', to make Zemo hurt just as much as Zemo had hurt him. For retribution.

"We were planning on seeing him, too." Bucky says, a little stiffly, though he retains his composure.

"You'll want to get there before John does. He's planning on telling the guards not to let you in - Zemo will have his visitation rights revoked and you won't even be let on the premises."

Bucky lets out a tiny noise of irritation, a bitter little sound that originates in the very back of his throat. Of course, of fucking course Walker wouldn't be content with just working separately from himself and Sam.

Rather than just let it be, he'd try to actively obstruct their ability to work on the case - to help people. There was something about Walker's willingness to possibly prevent a breakthrough for the sake of his own ego that left a very bitter taste in Bucky's mouth. It was a complete stain on Steve's legacy.

"You have two days until John and Lemar visit Zemo. They'll probably be alerted when you show up, though, so I suspect you won't have long." You continue.

There's a possibility that you are working with Walker and this is all part of some elaborate scheme to impede his involvement in this. You could be lying through your teeth.

You had already told him you were a decent actress, and he definitely believed that to be true. Anybody that could be lovesick around John fucking Walker was either delusional or worthy of an oscar. Bucky was inclined to believe you were the latter.

That story about needing money for tuition made sense, and it also seemed reasonable that Walker's PR team would want to give him a girlfriend. A similar kind of thing had happened with Steve back in the forties. He'd been made to do all sorts of stupid campaigns, and a lot of them had involved pretty women like yourself who were willing to act, hell, even sing and dance, for the money.

Bucky wants to believe you're genuine. Surely he'd be able to tell if you're lying - he's good at that, at identifying people's tells and the falsehoods they're spewing.

"Thanks for the heads up." He says somewhat gruffly as he looks down at you.

"Lemar had a lead on the medicine and vaccines, too. But I don't know exactly what he's found." There's something about the way that you sigh that indicates frustration. "It's difficult to get information out of him. He's nice and all, but we're not close enough that he's willing to divulge a lot."

Bucky's slight frown deepens and he steps just a little closer to you, revelling in the fact that you don't stumble back or glance at the door. You're not afraid of him in any capacity.

"You're fishing for information for us? Why?"

That's the one thing he can't work out. Why show up here? Why bother to give him the warning? What could you possibly have to gain from it?

"It's the right thing to do." You say simply, that solemness receding from your pretty face to allow that sweet smile to return. "Whether it be you or John, somebody has to bring these guys down. It's only fair that you both have the same information, and I can get it to you."

How lovely. God, how had you managed to embody the spirit of Captain America more than the man who carried the shield?

"Right, right." Bucky doesn't even have a hard time accepting the answer. He should - he should poke and prod at your motives, but he doesn't want to. He finds that the desire to do good for the world is sufficient enough, especially when it comes to you. Because of course you want to help people, of course you want to help him - as if you hadn't been perfect enough already.

"I'm looking into the camps, too. It's hard to narrow the parameters, though. There's just so many of them." You say, somewhat aghast, like you're disappointed that they even exist in the first place.

There's a haunted kind of expression in your eyes, like you'd seen too much. And you probably had. Looking into all of those camps, rampant with disease, crime and horrifically painful deaths, couldn't have been easy, especially if you weren't acclimated to something so macabre or devastating.

"Hey," Bucky places a hand on your shoulder - the human hand - and he can feel the soft texture of your knitted cardigan beneath his fingers, as well as the heat radiating from your body. "Thank you. I appreciate it. You're doing the right thing. You're good."

Words of encouragement are somewhat difficult for him to come up with. He has no idea what will reassure you, so he just tells you what he knows to be true and it's enough. It's more than enough judging by the way your eyes light up and you smile at him. There's something almost devastating about that smile, and knowing that he had been the one to cause it.

"Thanks," You say, your voice barely above a whisper, voice a little hoarse. Oh. Oh. Your pupils were blown wide, and you were staring at him intently.

He falters for a fraction of a second, wondering if he'd done something wrong. And then it dawns on him - you'd liked the praise.

You had fucking liked it when he praised you. Well, shit. The rush he got from that realisation alone made him feel nearly high, like his head was in the clouds and he'd just done copious amounts of illegal substances. It was addicting, in short.

It's then and only then that he actually notices just how close the two of you are, and suddenly he's revisiting the thought that maybe letting you into his flat wasn't such a good idea.

Bucky can very nearly feel your skin beneath his hand. Having you here is such a unique brand of torture - you're exquisitely close, and you're looking at him like whatever it is that's between you, this mad, mutating attraction is reciprocated. It all feels a little too good to be true.

You probably shouldn't be looking at him like that. There was no way that the attraction he felt could be reciprocated. No way whatsoever.

"I should probably give you my number," You say, your voice still a little low - if anything, it's become silkier. Sultry, even, and it has Bucky's head spinning. "I'll send you everything I have."

"Yeah," He says, somewhat breathlessly. It's with a deep reluctance that he drops his hand from your shoulder, already missing the warmth and the closeness.

He probably shouldn't have touched you in the first place. You were so small next to him, dressed in your pale little sundress, cardigan slipping down one of your arms, pooling at your elbow to reveal a single, unblemished shoulder. There's something almost painfully innocent about you, the complete antithesis to him.

He had been a killer a thousand times over. Bucky had taken more lives than he could even begin to count, and despite his best efforts to reconcile and to make amends for it, his hands were still stained red with blood. They didn't deserve to touch you, no matter how badly he wants to.

Suddenly, you're turning away from him, snatching a piece of paper that had been lying around his flat and scrawling a series of numbers onto the back of it - your phone number. Without so much as a second thought, he's peering over your shoulder as you write them, eyes carefully following every digit that you inscribe.

You whirl around, paper clutched tightly in one hand and settling the other on his chest, fingers ghosting over his shirt. You're so, so close - a mere matter of inches away from him, and your hand is directly over his heart. Hopefully you can't feel the way it beats slightly faster as a result of the contact.

There was a high chance that if it had been anybody else, Bucky would have avoided their touch and shirked the vulnerability. He liked being in control of himself, which often translated in remaining isolated. But he doesn't really want you to take your hand off his chest. He doesn't want that at all. In fact, he'd much prefer it if you touched more of him.

The tension is literally palpable, hanging about the air like a thick fog. No, more like smoke really, with the way your presence threatened to asphyxiate him.

"Bucky," You say, so softly, your voice dripping with reverence. There's just something about the way you whisper his name that's so much better than any fantasy he could ever concoct. He's half-certain that you're going to drop your hand from his chest or shove him away, admonish him for getting too close. But you don't. Your hand remains pressed against him, fingers splayed over his torso.

He can't help but say your name in turn, his voice raspy as he looks down at you. Carefully, he takes the paper with your number on it from your hands and sets it down on one of the countertops. And still, you don't remove your hand from him. You're looking up at him and your eyes are so dark, tumultuous pits of lust that bore right through him.

Bucky leans ever so slightly closer to you, his flesh hand cupping your jaw. His index finger is curled under your chin, and the pad of his thumb is resting on your plump lower lip. In response to his touch, your lips part ever-so-slightly, and he can feel your breath ghosting over his flesh in light, shallow puffs of air.

"Do you want this?" He asks, his voice a low rasp, rough and bordering on ragged. It feels very much like he's entered dangerous territory. This is like playing with fire whilst being desperate to get burnt. He just needs to be sure. He's desperate for that reassurance, for you to explicitly say that he's not crazy or creepy, that this is mutual.

"Yes," You say, lip moving against his thumb as you speak.

In an instant, he's moving his thumb to caress your cheek and then crushing his mouth to yours. There's something utterly greedy about the way he consumes you, teeth smacking together, tongues roving throughout each others mouths, completely plunderous in nature. Because that is what he's doing - consuming you, entirely ravenous in the way his lips press repeatedly against yours.

Your hands become fisted in his shirt and jacket, and his metal arm wraps around your waist, crushing your chest to his, anchoring the two of you together. It seems as if you've gone weak in the knees. You practically crumble against him, pressing yourself into his torso until his metal arm is the only thing that's holding you up.

Oh. This was definitely reciprocated.

There was absolutely no need for him to wallow in guilt or shame or wish not to see you - because you wanted him to. It didn't fucking matter whether or not his hands were stained red, not when all you wanted was for them to touch you.

All too soon, your mouths part slightly and you're panting against one another. Your lips are red, beautifully swollen, and wet with saliva. With a mixture of his and your saliva.

"Tell me to stop," Bucky mumbles heatedly against your lips. "Tell me to stop and I will. I'll never touch you again. I promise."

It's a promise he won't want to keep. Not when he feels like a single kiss has completely fucking ruined him for anybody else.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" You whisper, gazing at him with this blazing fire in your eyes, challenging him.

"Do you want me to keep going?" He asks, and he's afraid of the answer. He has no idea what he wants - he's partially inclined to want to avoid the emotional implications of getting involved with you like this, of succumbing to your allure, but he also very much wants you to say yes, to beg him to touch you like you need nothing else more than you need him.

You tremble against his chest, a soft, keening whine tumbling from your mouth that has Bucky feeling dizzy, like the world had just tilted on its axis without any warning. It's a delightful little noise, melodious and sinful. It was so, so much better than he had imagined. He can barely refrain from rutting against you, high off the sound of your moans.

"Yes." You sound absolutely fucking devastated, pushed into abject neediness. He's reduced you to some kind of desperate mess, clinging to his chest like he's a lifeline, like you're remiss to let go of him.

And fuck, that one simple word is all the confirmation he needs.

Every single disparaging thought shatters to pieces, demolished by your eager moans. The way your chest wracks with sudden shudders, the way you breathe unevenly, perpetually unable to get enough air in your lungs as he keeps stealing it from you, your dilated pupils and your desire for his touch is all for him.

It's intoxicating.

Eagerly, he presses his mouth back against yours, revelling in the way you groan into his mouth, your eyes fluttering closed so your lashes can rest against your cheeks. Fisted into his shirt are your hands, bunched up in the fabric, constantly tugging him towards you in eternal desperation for more contact.

In the next moment, he's using the metal arm curved around your waist to hoist you into the air, letting your feet hover above the ground. It's all too easy for him to lift you.

Your legs had long since turned to jelly, your knees weakened and buckling. Your weight isn't a burden. He could toss a car around if he felt the urge to, which he doesn't. That is absolutely not even close to the urges he's having right now - the urges to make his fantasies a reality, to experience every lewd thought about you that had flitted through his head.

You release a small noise of surprise that Bucky eagerly swallows, biting at your bottom lip and memorising the delightful noises that the action pulled from you.

With his arm anchoring you to his chest, and you quite literally swept off your feet, it's easy for him to maneuver you through his flat, keeping his lips connected to yours as he walks you through to his bedroom.

The only time Bucky's mouth leaves yours is when he relinquishes his steely hold on you, laying you down gently on his bed, letting you rest atop his plain sheets, your sundress riding upwards.

And even then, he doesn't allow that separation to last long, clambering on top of you and surging forwards, capturing your lips again.

He's practically caging you in with his arms, allowing you no opportunity for escape.

Your fingers slowly unfurl from their previous position where they're been fisted, harshly gripping the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in what had been a successful effort to bring him closer to you. Now, your hands are wandering, beginning to explore. They roam freely, smoothing over his chest, tracing indecipherable shapes and fragments of words across his torso.

They easily pause at the lapels of his jacket, tugging it off with precision. Bucky has to move his arms slightly to help you divest him of the item of clothing, and he flings it somewhere across the room, not even bothering to check where it's landed. A single item of clothing seems totally irrelevant when you're beneath him, writhing at his touch.

"Please," You say between intense kisses, eyes blown wide with lust. Your pupils have expanded immeasurably, leaving a tiny ring of colour around them. "Off," You demand, tugging at his shirt.

Bucky chuckles, the low noise reverberating throughout his chest, making his torso rumble under your hands. Grinning, he pulls the shirt up and discards that too, leaving himself in just his jeans and you in your pale sundress and knitted cardigan. It's then that he falters, realising you can see the arm - of fucking course you would see the arm. There was no way that you wouldn't. It was just another horror of his existence that couldn't be avoided.

Strangely, though, you don't look at it in abject horror, reminded of his crimes, of the despicable acts of violence he had committed in the name of HYDRA.

Instead, you look at it reverently, one of your hands coming up to trace the grooves in the arm.

It was darker than any of his previous ones, a midnight matte black with stunning strips of gold running through the divots between panels. You trace the labyrinth of steady golden lines gently, fingertips tracing over the plates that comprised it. You were just as gentle with it as you were with the rest of him. His breath hitches in a way that is utterly obvious, though you don't outwardly react to it.

Your hand skirts down his metal arm, your fingertips coming to rest against the palm of his hand. The two of you aren't quite holding hands, but you very nearly are. Softly, so devastatingly softly, you tug the dark metal hand towards your face.

And you turn his metal hand over, planting a soft kiss to the centre of his palm before releasing it.

It was rather lovely, really. It made his chest swell up with some emotion that evaded description. Immediately, he's going back to kissing you, licking up into the cavern of your mouth, wordlessly showing you just how much he appreciated the small gesture.

Then, Bucky's mouth begins to traverse away from yours. He plants kisses down the column of your throat, only pausing in his quest to stick his nose into your neck, inhaling strongly. Your skin had a scent - a beautiful, honeyed kind of scent that he could very easily gain an addiction to. Fuck, everything about you was easy to gain an addiction to.

Before long, he's going back to suckling at the skin of your neck, interspersing his licking and sucking with bites that make your spine arch and prompt you to groan loudly. This great expanse of smooth, soft skin is available to him and he intends to take full advantage of it, making your skin bloom like some otherworldly piece of artwork, covered in red and purpled bruises. Interspersed between them were perfect iterations of his teeth, little crimson indentations from his incisors.

There was something absolutely animalistic about marking you up, covering you in aching bruises with his mouth alone. There was something about it that made him feel like he was laying claim to your skin, warding off anybody else who so much as dared to want you, somebody like John fucking Walker.

He probably shouldn't feel thrilled at the prospect of other people seeing you like this, your neck collared with a constellation of bruises and bitemarks that he had put there. Especially if it's one of your PR team, or even Walker himself.

Bucky pulls away from you, admiring the absolute mess he had made of you. Your hair is haloed around you on his bed, your throat is blotched in various shades of red and purple, your lips are swollen, your eyes are blown wide, and your nipples have pebbled against the fabric of your sundress. You look so fucking beautiful.

With some great urgency, Bucky divests you of your knitted cardigan, flinging it away and discarding it with some of his clothes. With his flesh hand, he eagerly tugs down the top-half of your dress, sliding the thin, flimsy little straps down your arms and pulling the fabric over your chest away to expose your breasts to his hungry eyes.

"Fuck," He breathes, shuffling forwards, one shin planted either side of your torso as you lay down, looking up at him in awe.

Bucky lets out a low noise of approval, sliding his hands up to your tits and squeezing them, earning him a strangled sort of noise that rips itself from the back of your throat. He pulls, tugs and pinches, listening intently to the different kinds of moans you reward him with - if he tweaks your nipple just right, you'll give him a breathy cry of his name.

"You like that, hm? You like my hands on your tits?"

"Yes, yes I do," You whimper. The metal hand and the human hand offer very different sensations. The flesh hand is warm, calloused, trembling slightly against your skin. The dark, metal hand with streaks of gold through it is no less dexterous than the organic one. It is, however, slightly colder to the touch, and smoother, comprised of plates of metal that don't have much of a texture. Both make you arch into their touch, perpetually desperate for more.

Bucky really can't help himself. He lowers his head, licking a broad stripe up one of your tits, eagerly mouthing at it whilst he tugs on the nipple of the other one, constantly keeping his mouth occupied. You're wrapping your hands around the back of his head, splaying your fingers over his skull, making desperate little noises as you drag your hands through his short hair.

He has you a squirming, pleading mess beneath him as his tongue roams over your chest, as he alternated between sucking, biting and pinching, watching reddish marks bloom over your torso. He's very much set on making your chest match your neck, painting it with bruises. There's something about this - the marking - that makes him feel absolutely feral, like some kind of rabid animal giving in to its most base urges.

"Please," You're begging for him - fucking begging. When he glances up, he can see your lips trembling, the perspiration beaded at your hairline and your glossy eyes. You look absolutely wrecked, and you sound it, too. Bucky's half tempted to ignore your pleas, but he doesn't want to be cruel. Not with you.

"Please what, doll?" The affectionate word slips from his lips and he hadn't even thought to stop it. "Do you want me to touch you here instead?"

His flesh hand slides down from where it had been cupping your tit, ghosting along your clothed ribs, down the plane of your belly. His touch prompts you to moan, despite the fact his hand isn't making contact with your bare skin. Not yet, at least. It's fascinating how receptive you are - so good for him.

Bucky keeps going, smoothing his hand down the curve of your hip, tugging your sundress up to expose more of your legs to him. His hand splays over the top of your thigh, thumb resting at the junction of your thighs, concealed by the very edge of your sundress.

You do something that surprises him. With a desperate groan, you reach down and grab his hand, tugging it towards your cunt. "No. I want you to touch me here, instead."

Well, fuck.

The very tips of his fingers meet your panty-clad sex, and immediately Bucky is using his metal arm to yank the bottom part of your sundress upwards, folding it up onto your stomach. Really, it's been reduced to a scrap of white fabric bunched around your waist, having been previously tugged down over your tits.

The panties were lacey. White. With thin, flimsy pieces of lace running up your hips. Bucky takes in a deep breath, staring intently at the slightly translucent patch over your pussy, the delicate fabric saturated, made wet by your liquid arousal. His fingers drift up over it almost in awe. Fuck, you're soaked. Absolutely soaked for him - all for him.

Bucky's fingers retreat from their position, but only temporarily. He slides your panties over, pushing them to the side so that he can appreciate your cunt. You gasp, your hand flying off his, where you'd previously been guiding his fingers, slapping over your mouth, barely muffling a groan.

With a renewed sense of confidence, Bucky dips his fingers into your folds. They're slippery - slick is seeping out from your neglected cunt, wetting the inside of your thighs, making them fucking gleam. You're soaked, absolutely dripping onto his fingers as he explores the most intimate part of you, slowly dragging his fingers over your clit and then circling them around your hole. You twitch and moan prettily in response to every tiny movement he makes, hypersensitive and desperate.

"Fuck." Bucky chokes out, dipping a single finger inside of you and admiring the way you convulse around him. Tight, hot and wet. His avid imagination and fucking his fist is one thing, but the sensation of you wrapped around his digit is another thing all together. Some stupid fucking fantasy could never compare - why had he even bothered to imagine that it could?

"God, Bucky, please." You whine helplessly, one hand still clamped over your mouth, muffling your words slightly.

Spurred on by your plea, he crooks his finger, pumping it in and out of you a few times before he adds a second one, using it to push against your walls, spreading them slightly in an effort to scissor you open.

"So fucking wet, aren't you?" Bucky's voice is verging on a growl, utterly animalistic as you gush over his fingers. You shuffle slightly, your hips rising and falling in a stunted rhythm. You're trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperately chasing an orgasm, your face contorted in pleasure. The fingers splayed over your jaw are twitching. Every single part of you is affected by him, writhing and trembling, perpetually desperate for more.

"Yes - yes," You chant, your voice a dying whisper, almost lost between your moans and whimpers.

"You're dripping," Bucky remarks, watching in fascination as your slick tumbles in steady streams down his fingers, "Fuck. All for me?"

You not emphatically, moving your head up and down, struggling to look him in the eyes, desperate to let your head fall back against the bedsheets. "Yes."

Bucky's thumb rubs harsh, unforgiving circles over your clit, his forefinger and middle fingers rocking into you, stuffed deep inside your cunt, covered in the slick arousal that's practically pouring out of you. You buck wildly against him, crying out in pleasure.

"Please - I'm gonna," You manage to stutter out, working your hips downwards, grinding onto his fingers, chasing your pleasure.

"Come for me, then." Bucky says.

He's incredibly fixated on every single thing about you as you come undone - the way your walls clamp down on his fingers, clenching tightly around the digits, the way your pretty, lust-blown eyes roll back into your skull, and the absolutely angelic noise that the pleasure he and he alone has brought you tears from your throat. Watching you come undone is wonderful. It's some kind of magical sight, made a thousand times better when you moan his name as you reach the apex of your pleasure. It's so fucking gorgeous that it threatens to make him come in his own pants like some rabidly horny teenage boy.

If Bucky hadn't already been uncomfortable, cock straining his jeans, rutting against the denim almost painfully, he would be by now. Especially when you give him that hazy post-orgasm look, a contented sigh leaving you as you finally remove your hand from where it had been clamped over your mouth.

Slowly, he drags his fingers out from inside of you. They're gleaming, coated in your arousal. Without an ounce of hesitation, he brings them to his mouth, eagerly sucking them clean, his tongue darting over every callous, every wrinkle, every crease on those two fingers, chasing your taste, completely ravenous as the flavour of your cunt explodes over his tongue.

He'd fucking ruined himself. There was nobody else after this. They wouldn't be able to compare to you in any way.

You bat your eyelashes at him, biting your already bruised lower lip seductively. Bucky's looming over you, pulling his saliva-soaked fingers from his mouth, the two of you breathing raggedly, panting like dogs.

Wordlessly, you reach forwards and palm his hard cock through his jeans, squeezing him in a way that leaves Bucky groaning, desperate for more.

"You're gonna let me fuck you, doll?"

"God, please." You breathe, eyes darkening almost imperceptibly. If he hadn't been so close to you then he probably wouldn't have caught it.

Eagerly, he undoes his belt, pulling it free from the confining loops of his jeans, and discarding it. Even as he's divesting himself of his remaining clothes, Bucky's eyes are always on you, watching you intently.

Oh yes, you definitely sparked his staring problem, especially when you're looking at him with hooded eyes, the expression on your face one of pure lust, pure need for him. Quickly, he pulls his jeans down, readily discarding them, along with his boxers.

Bucky's hard, leaking cock slaps up against his stomach. Taking in a weak, ragged breath, you beckon him closer until he's looming over you again, his chest pressed to yours and his cock jutting into your leg.

"Please, Bucky. Don't tease. Just fuck me."

"Oh, gladly," He quips, lips tugging upwards into an infuriating half-smirk.

Your panties are still pushed to the side, allowing him to run his cock through your folds until it's coated in your warm, slippery arousal. He lines the very tip up, teasing you with it for just a moment, revelling in your breathy whimpers and ensuing pleas. The very head of him catches on your entrance, and he uses it as an opportunity to begin to enter you.

His flesh hand is resting on your hip, fingers curling into your side possessively, the black and gold metal arm being utilised in an effort to keep holding himself up. Your hands, gentle and soft, scrabble to find purchase on the plane of his back, nails raking over his skin, leaving tiny red lines in their wake. Fuck. You were marking him up, too.

He wasn't even bothered by it. If anything, Bucky was pleased - he'd proudly wear whatever marks you gave him. They were little pieces of you, a litany of evidence that you'd touched him - that you had wanted to touch him.

The very head of his cock breaches you, splitting you open. He's thicker than you had anticipated, but the stretch is welcome. He practically burns you as he enters you the first time, stilling half of the way in to allow you a moment to breathe.

Happily, you writhe against his chest. It burns - but oh god it burns so nicely. The wonderful, near-painful intrusion of him is heavenly.

You're panting into the crook of his neck, frenzied breath ghosting against his throat. "More - please, more."

There isn't a single ounce of reluctance within him as he pushes the rest of his cock into you until he's fully seated.

"So fucking tight," Bucky babbles. His chest is trembling slightly, crushed against yours. There's just so much to feel - so many sensations to comprehend and decipher. You're so tight, gripping his cock like a vice, all wet and warm. It feels like fucking paradise - like some slice of heaven that he'd been gifted. Perhaps some cosmic being didn't have it out for him after all. If they did, there was no way they would allow him this.

Your legs shift, wrapping themselves around his waist, coaxing him deeper inside of you. You're moaning directly into Bucky's ear, your breaths fanning across his neck, fingers digging into his back as you cling desperately to him, saying his name like a prayer.

"Please - move." You're begging, on the verge of sobbing, lips pressed up against the column of his neck, mumbling little indecipherable words that all lead back to him fucking you hard.

And he does. Bucky unrelentingly pistons in and out of you, fucking you into the mattress. It's almost aggressive between the two of you. His hips are snapping up against yours, colliding almost violently, whilst your nails are shredding his back, though he barely feels the pain that he should.

You're a fucking mess. If he's destroyed by this, then you absolutely are, too.

Pathetic, mewling whimpers leave your throat, muffled only by the fact that your mouth is pressed into his neck, though your lips will occasionally move against his skin, your mouth falling open in a near-silent gasp as you try to pull air into your lungs. Your tits, marred by bruises and bitemarks that he had put there, are crushed against his chest. Your legs tremble from where they're almost, but not quite, interlocked around his waist, keeping him as close as possible.

He rocks into you, spearing you on his cock, enraptured by the cacophony of reactions he pulls from you.

"Can John do this? Can John fucking Walker make you feel this good?" Bucky's talking incessantly, those words dripping from his mouth before his mind can even register that the thought had ever even flitted through his brain.

He probably shouldn't be thinking about John fucking Walker whilst he's inside you, whilst his cock is nestled deep in your cunt and you're close to coming for a second time.

But he is. He looks at the vibrant red and purple bruises that litter your neck and torso, the bite marks across your body, the evidence that he's been here with you, the evidence that you had let him touch you, and he can't help but wonder if Walker had ever done this to you.

He can't help but to wonder if Walker had ever taken you like this, like a fucking animal, leaving his own god-awful marks across your throat, fucking into you with one of those sundresses that you wore whilst masquerading around as his girlfriend bunched around your waist.

Bucky really fucking hoped not.

He couldn't conceive of anything that Walker deserved less than you. Walker may not have really been dating you, but he still got to touch you, to put his hands all over you in those stupid interviews, utterly undeserving of that privilege. Walker didn't have any fucking right, any fucking right at all.

You weren't 'Walker's girl'. You didn't belong to John. And for good reason, too. You were so much better than him - the kind of person who was able to look at the mission objectively, put your differences aside, and feed the other team information. All because you wanted to do the right thing.

You gasp against his shoulder, head falling back onto the bed so that you and Bucky can lock eyes as he ruthlessly pounds into you, the obscene sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room.

"I - fuck - I never fucked John," You say, struggling to even form words.

And god, doesn't that make him glad.

"Yeah?" Bucky challenges you slightly, still grinning as his eyebrows raise a fraction. "And you're not fuckin' gonna."

Walker didn't get to put his filthy paws on you. Bucky wouldn't allow it.

You seize up around his cock, hands grappling at his back, and then sliding over to hold onto his shoulders, the fingers on one of your hands splayed over the seam that ran over his black and golden metal arm. Your fingers gently caress the border between machine and man, gentle, in complete contrast to the way you'd clawed at his back. His blood was probably under your fingernails considering how hard you'd scratched.

"'M so close," You whimper, desperately rolling your hips.

There's something utterly debauched about you. All of that angelisism had easily given way to depravity under his touch. You were practically mewling for him, making these little breathy noises that cause his cock to swell, getting increasingly desperate to climax a second time. That debauchery is located in every single moan that leaves your mouth, in the marks you've scratched into his back and in the way your sundress is bunched around your hips as Bucky fucks you.

"Yeah? Gonna come again?" Bucky asks, breathing raggedly.

He already knows the answer. Of course you're going to come again. He can feel your walls tightening around his cock, constantly fluttering, on the very precipice of your climax. You're close, probably painfully so, and so is he - but he's not gonna come first.

"Mhm," You groan excitedly as Bucky rubs at your clit, sending sparks of pure pleasure racing through your gut.

"Walker couldn't make you come like this," Bucky says more to himself than you, though you seem to really enjoy when he talks, convolusing on his throbbing cock as you desperately chase your high, all whilst he's snapping his hips up into yours, fucking you so hard that at times your eyes will begin to roll back into your skull, and your legs will shake against him. "C'mon, doll. Who are you gonna come for?"

"You. You. You."

"Good girl," He remarks, grinning as you tighten around him. "Fuck, doll. You have the best pussy I've ever fucked - 's mine. Not fucking Walker's. He doesn't get to have you like this. And I do - fuck."

It's then that he spears hard up against something pleasantly devastating inside of you. That sensation, delivered in tandem with Bucky's fingers circling your clit has you coming instantaneously. The barrage of pleasure washes over you like a tsunami, wrenching a cry from within you. You shatter beneath him, falling apart to a thousand pieces, utterly wrecked.

"Bucky," You sob enthusiastically as your orgasm crests, speaking his name over and over again like a prayer, like it's the only word you know.

It was one thing watching you climax on his fingers, and another when it's his cock. It feels otherworldly, watching you come undone as he fucks himself into you. It's probably the best, most arousing thing he's ever seen, you, beneath him, writhing, squirming, calling his name out over and over again.

He doesn't even bother to stave off his own orgasm any longer. It would be impossible of him to even try. If the image of you under him, legs hooked around his waist, trembling from the sheer force of the pleasure he's given you wasn't enough, the fucking heavenly feeling of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock is. You clamp down around him, as tight as a fucking vice.

Bucky's own orgasm barrels into him like a truck. It's a burst of pure, blinding, hot pleasure that rips forth from somewhere in his gut.

It strikes every single nerve ending in his body, and suddenly he's coming, emptying himself inside of you, ropes of his come painting your insides, filling you up.

You both lay there for some time - it could be seconds, or it could be minutes. It's impossible to tell. Time seems hazy when he's with you. He's still laying over you, panting and grinning at the same time. The two of you just smile lazily at each other, completely spent and sated. He shifts most of his weight to be on the metal arm, lest he crush you with his weight.

Eventually, you surrender his hips from your legs, letting him pull out of you and roll onto his back so he can lay next to you whilst you both catch your breath.

Tentatively, you pull the straps of your sundress back up your arms and fix your underwear. Bucky panics internally, quickly turning his head to face you.

"Going somewhere?" He asks, as casually as he could.

"I do have to get back to work," You laugh. It sounds like bells in the wind. "I have an interview tomorrow that I have to prepare for."

Bucky just nods stiffly, trying to quell the internal disappointment rising within him. What the fuck had he been thinking? He shouldn't have touched you in the first place, and now you were probably regretting the fact that you let him fuck you.

"I'll swing by tomorrow with whatever I can find on the medicine," You say, so sweetly. "If that's okay with you?"

"It is, yeah." He says gruffly.

They need the information. The near-devastating disappointment he's feeling right now is irrelevant. Walker and Hoskins have the state's resources at their disposal.

He and Sam have whatever leads they can scrounge up, and whatever you're willing to give them. Because you're good - so good, and he knows that, but he also feels like he's dying a little bit on the inside because of you.

"Maybe I'll let you take me out to dinner next time."

And Bucky falters, looking at you with wide eyes. "Next time?"

"If you want a next time." You say, avoiding his gaze.

Bucky sits up slightly, cupping your jaw with his hand and gently tilting your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. Now, you look enraptured by the sight of him. "I do want a next time."

"Good," Your voice is quiet, a mere whisper, talking to him in soft, hushed tones. "Because I want a next time."

He leans in closer to you, giving you every opportunity to stop him as he lowers his lips to yours. You don't. You don't want to stop him, not when you're completely enchanted.

Bucky hadn't been the only one that felt rather awestruck that day you'd met outside of the police precinct.

Really, you didn't much like your job. It paid the bills, and kept you ahead on your debt payments, but you didn't like it. The men you worked with lacked the heart that Captain America had.

And sometimes, the weight of pretending got a bit much for you. It had culminated in your guilt, and ultimately you lying in Bucky Barnes' bed, kissing him tenderly.

"So, I'm sending you back to Walker, huh?" Bucky chuckles as the two of you pull away from each other, proudly eyeing the bruises that descend down your neck and below your, now rumpled and creased, sundress.

He'd be sending you back to John Walker with small brands of possession bitten all over your torso, not to mention the fact that beads of his come were streaking your inner thighs.

Well, that'd probably show Walker that even though he got to publically call you 'his girl', you'd never belong to him in the most intimate of ways.

Bucky very much wanted Walker to see it - to see what he'd done to you. God, he'd pay so much fucking money to see the look on that bastard's face when he realised the woman he flippantly called 'his girl' was fucking somebody else.

Not just anybody else, no. She was gladly fucking one of the people that Walker hated the most. Bucky can almost envisage the way Walker's jaw would drop and the rage that would blaze in his eyes.

"I'll be back." You laugh. "As if I'd want to stay away."

Even more beautiful than imagining Walker's reaction, though, was the prospect of you coming back again.

#the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #episode 2 of the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #female reader #smut #bucky barnes smut #john walker #sam wilson #fake dating

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titanicsimp · 3 years

Text

A lonely spot for two

Pairing: Zeke Yeager x Female!reader

Genres: Smut

Warnings: Sexual content including; vaginal sex, oral, creampie, semi-public sex. Zeke acting kinda sleazy.

Summary: As the daughter of a Marleyan general, seeing Zeke could mean the death of you both. But even as hidingspots are growing slim, he isn’t willing to stop your little affair.

Shudders from both the cold and your nerves run over your body as you skitter over the barely lid streets of the Eldian zone. The band that gives you a fake Eldian identity around your arm keeps slipping, having been intended for a man far larger than you. You wish all this sneaking around could stop, but you know that could never happen.

The fact that you kept seeing Zeke was incredibly stupid. Eldians and Marleyans did not mix, so if anyone found out about your secret rendezvous with him you would both suffer horrid fates. Both of you knew the danger full well, but it stopped neither of you of seeking each other out.

What had begun with stolen glances while you dropped things off for your father at meetings, now had you shadely meeting up with Zeke in a secluded alleyway.

“Zeke?” You whisper.

This is the spot where he told you to meet him, you are certain of it, but the darkness is so thick you can’t spot him in the long alley.

“Over here.”

You sigh in relief when you hear his voice and make your way towards it.

Zeke’s leaning against one of the brick walls, puffing away at his cigarette. When you’re close he gives you a lopsided smile.

“I would offer you one, but I doubt you’re willing to commit two sins tonight.”

You purse your lips. Ah, it’s one of those nights. “Hello to you too, Zeke.”

You give him a look as he continues standing against the wall with his cigarette. “Did you find a spot?”

He throws his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with the bottom of his boot. “Yeah, you’re standing in it.”

Surprise washes over your face and you look around in horror. He can’t be serious, a dirty alleyway?

“What’s wrong? Too lowly for a Marleyan?” He asks, provoking you on purpose.

“You know that’s not it.” You’re jaw tightens. Damn him for making you feel bad right now.

Zeke chuckles and saunters of to you. “I’m just teasing.” He puts a finger below your chin, raising it up. “Not being able to see you these past days has been exhausting. Have you not missed me?”

You sigh. You can’t stay mad at him right now. “I have, a lot.”

He gives you a smile. “Then this is okay, isn’t it? Just for once.”

You nod slowly in agreement and he pushes you with your back against the wall. His lips brush over yours as he continues holding your chin, and you feel your body come alive at the slight intimacy.

A noise makes you snap your head to the right, eyes wide. Luckily there’s nobody there, a piece of cardboard merely bumping into things as it’s carried by the wind.

“What if somebody sees us?” You question worriedly.

Zeke shrugs. “Should be fine, they’d probably just think you’re a prostitute.”

Displeasure is clear on your face at his comment.

Before you can protest, he presses his lips fully to yours. He gives you a sloppy kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth and his lips moving wildly against yours. You grab onto his jacket and get pulled in regardless of your displeasure.

Not having been able to touch Zeke for almost a week had made your anticipation for tonight worse than usual. It had been hard to keep your mind in control during the day and stop it from drifting to him fucking your brains out.

He pulls away from the kiss and his cock twitches in his pants at the look of want on your face. “Seems like you don’t mind. Tell me, is it because you’re my little whore?”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks.

Zeke’s hand drifts from your chin to your neck, running his fingers over the length of it. “Come on, say it.”

You swallow down the embarrassment. It’s not that you don’t enjoy it, but you’re still not used to talking dirty like this. “I-I’m your little whore.”

He gives you a satisfied smile. “Good girl.”

You feel proud of yourself for pleasing him.

“Now, get on your knees.” He tells you with a predatory grin.

Doubt makes you glance around the alleyway. Gods, you’re really doing this here aren’t you.

With a last glance for reassurance at Zeke, you drop to your knees. The cobble street feels harsh against your knees, even through your skirt.

He hurriedly unbuttons his pants, pushing it down with his underwear just far enough so his cock is freed. A groan leaves his lips when he rubs the head against your lips. “Look at you...”

You obediently wrap your lips around his cock after he gives them a tap with it.

“You’re a real sight.” Zeke tells you and tangles his hand in your hair.

You suck on his cock, twirling your tongue around the head while doing so. You feel ashamed at how much you missed the taste of him.

The hand in your hair is joined by a second, and as he takes the back of your head in his hands you know what’s coming.

Zeke pants heavily as he pushes your head forward, forcing you to take his cock down your throat. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes and you silently curse him for being so big.

He chuckles as he feels you struggle to take him that deep. To get him back, you wiggle your tongue as much as possible against the underside of his cock, making a groan interrupt his chuckling.

You brace your hands against his hips to keep some control as he starts moving your mouth up and down his cock harshly. You feel his muscles clench under your hands multiple times, telling you that’s he’s trying to keep himself from cumming.

Without warning, Zeke pulls your mouth off of his cock with a pop. You gasp and take in air, wiping the saliva off of your mouth.

“I’m not wasting my cum in your mouth.”

You shoot him a look. Bastard.

Lust and impatience are clear on his face as he drags you back up by your arm. He spins you around, resting your front against the wall.

“Zeke!” You yelp in surprise as he flips up your skirt and pushes aside your panties.

“You’re soaked.” He notes as he runs his fingers through your wetness.

You shiver as his mouth comes right next to your ear. “Does sucking me off get you that much?”

“Please.” You whimper and put your hands against the cold wall.

“Please what?” He ask and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You bite your lip as his fingers play with your cunt, teasingly dancing over your entrance.

“I want you.” You tell him desperately.

His fingers poke at your entrance more intendly. “You want my fingers or something bigger?”

Gods, if you weren’t so turned on you would slap his glasses off of his face. “B-bigger.”

Zeke laughs contently at your answer. His fingers leave you and he instead grabs his cock, rubbing it up and down your cunt, coating his length in your slick.

You bite your lip to muffle your moan when he pushes himself into you, sheathing his full length inside you in one go.

“You take me so well.” He praises you from behind, his hands finding your hips.

When he pulls out and thrusts back in with a wet clap against your ass, you feel truly dirty. Zeke doesn’t seem to care as he starts fucking you from behind without hesitation.

Your own reservations are quickly forgotten at the feeling of him stretching and filling your cunt. Those few days without it had been so dire that you’re worried you might be addicted.

His name leaves your mouth a bit too loud when he kisses the back of your neck.

“Ssshh, you don’t want someone to hear, do you?” He whispers against your neck.

You shake your head. “N-no! It just feels- ah- so good.”

One of his hands leaves your hips, instead coming up to cover your mouth. You pant heavily against his hand as he continues slamming his cock into you.

Wetness drips down your legs and you feel them shaking lightly after Zeke keeps on fucking you fast and hard for minutes. You’re getting close, and you bite down in his hand in preparation.

Instead of saying anything, he bends his knees slightly and snaps his hips against your ass in this adjusted angle. Your scream is silenced by his hand as you cum violently on his cock.

Your legs start feeling weak as the waves of your orgasm course through your body. Zeke’s grip on you is firm, and for the first time tonight you’re grateful for the sturdy wall in front of you.

His pants and groans start sounding more choked as he starts approaching his own orgasm. His hand leaves your mouth and he pulls your face to the side to kiss you.

You eagerly moan into his mouth as his hand rejoins the other on your hips. With his full strength available again, he holds you tightly as he slams into you hard.

His pace is erratic, only spurt on further by your squeezing walls. You make out with him feverishly as he rams his cock into you over and over. You’ve already cum and he still has you this desperate.

Zeke’s tongue leaves your mouth and he bites your bottomlip as he cums inside you. You choke back your mewls as both the sting at your lip and the sensation of feeling his hot seed filling you make your walls squeeze even tighter around him.

He gives a few more lazy thrusts as he continues cumming, his breathing just as ragged as yours.

“I need to see you again tomorrow.” He tells you after he’s finished cumming.

Your throat feels dry when you speak. “A-alright.”

Zeke pulls out of you and tugs himself back in his pants, adjusting his clothes.

You squeal when he slaps your ass before adjusting your panties and skirt.

“Come on now, this is below your rank.” He teases you as your skirt drops down to cover the mess he made.

You give him a weak smile after you’ve turned around. “Seems like you enjoy putting me there.”

He grins and pulls you close by your waist. “Oh I’m more than enjoying tainting the poor general’s daughter.”

You roll your eyes and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yeah yeah, how about you taint my ears with some government secrets then? I want to know how your days have been.”

Zeke frees you from his arms and plucks a cigarette from his pocket. His face lights up when he flicks on his lighter, betraying the slight flush on his face. “I would love to.”

Tag: @pandorasbox126 🥰

#zeke x reader #zeke yeager #smut #aot #Zeke smut #fanfic #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #lemon #zeke jaeger #Zeke x reader smut #aot smut #snk smut #x reader #Zeke

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badassbuchanan · 3 years

Text

White Lies

Warnings: smut, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sex, overuse of the f word, riding, dirty talk, kinda sad ending.

Word Count: 5335

A/N: Sorry my inactiveness this past week, my loves! I’ve just had so much on my plate - hopefully everything will be back to normal this week xx

Also, let me know if my tag list still isn't working for you? I’ve had a few people having issues with it lately.

*** would just like to state for the record I do not condone cheating. Please do not read if this will upset or offend you in any way ***

The empty bottle of wine made Y/N’s body tingle with warmth. Andy’s larger body wasn’t feeling the affects of the alcohol as much, he was a different kind of drunk. His body was more tingly and warm from the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen laying so vulnerably against his side.

Y/N tried to act normal around him, she really had. She desperately attempted to treat tonight like every other night he’d come over to her place. But it was hard to act normal, when the secret of his she’d accidentally uncovered tormented her mind. Y/N knew that tonight was the last time she could ever see Andy.

She first met Andy only a couple of weeks ago when he was assigned to assist a case at the firm she worked at. He’d come in to the reception area looking smart and professional, but his mannerisms were slightly more on the causal side than most lawyer’s she’d liaised with. “Can I help you?” Her voice came out calm, almost soothing to his ears. Andy couldn’t ignore how beautiful she was, or the way his heart skipped a beat as their eyes met. “Yeah, is this where I sign in?” She was immediately attracted to his charm and dopey smile.

“My name’s Andy. M’gunna be working with…” He leaned his palms on her desk with a frown as he tried to wrack his brain, Y/N’s beauty distracting his mind from thinking straight. She watched with a soft smile as he quickly pulled out his phone, checking for the name of the person he was supposed to meet. “William Heartly on the Alberto and Bexley case.”

“Okay, Andy,” Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes off of the charming man. Andy tried to ignore the throbbing of his cock as he admired her, just getting hard from the way she said his name. “I’ll let Mr Heartly know you’re here. Please, take a seat.”

A few days of borderline flirty remarks whilst waiting for the lawyer to come and collect Andy later, and Y/N had grown fond of the blue eyed visitor. They had become quite well acquainted with eachother. She adored the way he seemed to be genuinely interested in talking to her. She was attracted to the way he made her laugh, his kind nature. Everything about him made her crave his attention. He was so different to all the other men she’d met, she’d never felt this way about anyone before. It was as if they were just destined to meet, like the stars had aligned.

“Morning Y/N.”

“So where are you from originally?”

“Here, I bought you a coffee.”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“What do you do when you’re not at work?”

“We should be finished up on the case by tomorrow.”

“I don’t want it to be the last time I see you. Do you wanna come to dinner with me?”

It was the small things he said that had her heart skipping every time he walked through the door, sometimes unscheduled. She wasn’t the kind of girl who has sex with someone she’s just met, but this was different. Andy was everything she’d ever looked for in a guy. She wasn’t going to let herself self sabotage this time, she’d trust that it was supposed to be. So they fucked in the back of his car that night. They exchanged numbers. They texted daily. They hung out, mostly at Y/N’s house. They cooked together. They watched movies. They stayed up late talking about anything and everything. They made love.

Thoughts of their times together flooded through her mind as she laid against his side, her heart sinking as she breathed in his intoxicating scent, one that she would soon be trying to forget. Deep down she’d always known he was too good to be true. But she thought that just this once, maybe she’d find the love of her life. And well, technically, she did.

“This is my favourite part.” Andy chuckled, blissfully unaware of the thoughts that tormented her mind, distracted by the movie on the screen and the peacefulness of being with her. She faked a chuckle, letting her hand rest on his bare stomach under his business shirt. She didn’t want to let him go, to feel the coldness of his absence. She wanted to go back to before that dumb accountant had run her mouth, unknowingly telling Y/N something she never imagined she’d hear.

“Andy.” She mumbled softly, craving all of his attention as she tilted her head to look up at him, noticing how well groomed his beard was. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies as her fingers massaged over his skin, desperate for the intimacy the both relied on. Her mind stilled as she admired him, perfection in human form.

Andy immediately fixed his ocean blue eyes on hers, one of his strong hands sliding down her back and into the waistband of her gym shorts instinctively as he gave her a soft smile.

Yeah?” He breathed out sweetly, leaning down to peck her lips slowly without hesitation. She hummed as she kissed him back, not missing a beat as her hand moved from his stomach up to his jaw, pulling his face harder onto hers.

Y/N felt her pussy throb with need as his muscly arms wrapped around her body. She shook her head, causing her to second guess her confrontational conversation and enjoy the moment instead. “Nothing.” She whispered seductively, opening her mouth for his tongue as he ran it over her bottom lip. She loved how wet Andy could get her from his hand simply squeezing her ass cheek inside her shorts.

Andy groaned into the kiss, letting his other hand dip under the bottom of her baggy top, resting on her soft tummy as he felt his cock throb. “Wanna feel myself in here.” He mumbled euphorically as he trailed his lips across her cheek, his tongue leaving wet marks as he went. Andy loved how she made him feel, not just sexually, although he loved that too. But emotionally, she made him feel whole, she made him feel loved and needed, she completed him.

Goose bumps covered Y/N’s skin as she tilted her neck, granting him more access. His hand started moving again as his lips trailed along the flesh of her neck, pushing further under her top as he palmed over one of her perky tits, squeezing it gently.

“Andy.” She threw her head back breathlessly, helplessly submitting to him as her legs parting instinctively. Andy continued to squeeze her ass and massage her boob, his cock straining against the material of his pants as he heard her moan.

“Need to be inside you, baby.” He kissed at her neck repeatedly, longing for the love only she could give him as he bit down softly on her neck, tugging her nipple between his fingers. She let out a whimper as she felt her wetness dripping down her pussy and onto the thin material of her underwear, begging to feel more of his touch. “I need you.”

Y/N licked her lips, resting her hand on the back of his head as her eyelids fluttered shut, her body relaxing against him. Andy let his hand glide back down her tummy, touching her body delicately before fisting the material of her top in his hand, impatiently pulling it up to expose her bare chest.

His lips left her neck, taking a moment to admire how perfect her body was, how perfect she was, breathing out shakily as he looked up into her lust filled eyes, staring back at him lovingly. He leaned closer to her, dropping his head to her tits as he started sucking on her pebbled nipple with his tongue.

She whimpered out in pleasure, tugging on his hair as her back arched off of the sofa in pleasure, nudging closer to his mouth. “Andy.” She moaned his name shamelessly, edging him on to get what she wanted, his cock inside of her.

He squeezed her other boob in the palm of his hand, letting out a groan as he felt her body wiggling desperately under him. His teeth grazed along the flesh of her breast as she tries to wrap her leg around him, needing something to hump her eager pussy on.

“Andy, please.” She choked out in a whimper, losing control of her body as she forced her eyes open to look at him. Y/N breathed shakily as she pushed her tits out for him, watching him kiss his way to the valley of her breasts, letting his tongue leave sloppy wet marks along her soft skin. “I’m so wet.”

“Tell me what you want.” He muttered mindlessly, too distracted by his desire to kiss every inch of her gorgeous body. His tongue snaked across her chest to attach to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first.

“You.” She moaned weakly, her eyes closing in pleasure as her head spun, her hips bucking desperately as she gripped his hair. “I want you.”

Andy lifted his head, moving his body up to level with hers, their breaths mixing as he stared down at her intensely. “I can give you what you just asked for in so many different ways, baby.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips as he felt himself weakening under her touch. “But if you want what’s going on inside that sweet mind of yours,” He kissed her again, feeling her absentmindedly open her mouth to welcome his tongue. “You’re gunna have to get a little more graphic for me.”

She nodded obediently with a whimper, licking her lips as she watched his, her eyes glistening with desire as her hands smoothed over the burning skin of his stomach. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”

Andy let out a strangled grunt, his jaw clenching as his strong hand squeezed her bare thigh. “You wanna feel my tongue inside that tight little cunt of yours?” He breathed out heavily through his nose as he looked down at her submitting beneath him.

Y/N nodded shyly at the vulgarity of his words, biting her lip as the soft hair of his beard grazed her chin. “Go get on the bed.” Andy instructed as his lips pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Take your shorts and top off.” He continued as he kissed her other cheek. “Then wait for me like a good girl.” He mumbled as he watched her through hooded eyes, his head spinning with desire.

Y/N’s pussy clenched, her crotch nudging against his bulge as she immediately moved to get up, leaving Andy with a final peck on his lips. He watched her obediently make her way across the room, her shirt dropping to the floor before she’d even reached the hallway.

Andy let out a scoff in amusement, smiling admirably as he felt his heart burst with adoration for the girl. He took the moment alone to regain his strength which seemed to dissolve whenever she was begging him.

His cock throbbed when he walked into the bedroom, immediately seeing her tight little pussy on display for him now that her legs were spread. Andy unbuttoned his shirt as he strolled to the end of the bed, keeping his eyes glued on her dripping centre that was begging for him.

“I don’t remember telling you to take off your underwear.” He mumbled cheekily as his hands dropped to unbuckle his belt after running a hand through his tousled hair, pushing it out of his way as he subconsciously licked his lips.

Y/N’s leg lifted to dig her heel into the mattress, her pussy clenching as her eyes dropped to marvel at his tattooed body that she loved so much. She bit her lip in anticipation as she watched his big hands pull the belt, that had tied her up on multiple occasions, out of the loops and into his hand in a smooth motion.

“They were coming off eventually,” She dropped her voice in a sultry tone as she leaned back on her palm, batting her eyelashes as she watched him unbutton his pants in front of her. “Thought I’d save you some time.”

“And what if I wanted to fuck you with them on?” He raised his eyebrow, smirking as he moved his hand down to grip her ankle. He tugged at her feet, forcing her body towards him as her back hit the mattress. She giggled at his dominance, butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she looked up at where he stood between her legs. Andy admired her naked form as he let go of her ankle, pushing his pants down before crawling onto the bed, hovering above her. “Have to wait until next time, won’t I?” He chuckled sweetly as he pressed a gentle kiss on her plump lips.

Her heart sank. There wouldn’t be a next time. A slight twinge of anxiety returned to her body as she remembered the secret he’d hidden from her so well. Was any of this real?

“Andy, wait.” She watched him slide his hand up her inner thigh as his lips travelled down her body, stopping inches away from her heat. Her chest heaved as she slightly panicked, feeling his movements come to a sudden stop.

He looked up, eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion as she tugged his hands off of her. Y/N silently rolled herself over, propping herself up on her knees as she pushed her palms into the mattress, her ass and pussy on display for him.

“Fuck,” Andy sighed in desire, his cock painfully straining inside of his boxers at the sight of her as he shifted to lay on his side. “This how you want it?”

“Mmh.” She moaned out with a nod, looking back at him from over her shoulder. Andy’s weight rested on his elbow as he came face to face with her pussy.

“So pretty.” He mumbled in awe, using his spare hand to grip the back of her thigh, spreading her ass cheek a bit more as he leaned in and kissed her pussy lips softly. “So wet.” He added, mumbling against her heat as he let his tongue poke teasingly out of his mouth, kissing her pussy again.

“Fuck.” She whispered shakily, already overwhelmed with pleasure as her head dropped against the mattress, desperately pushing her ass back towards him.

Andy licked a long strip up her slit, his spit mixing with her juices as he felt her jolting with pleasure in front of him, she was so responsive for him. “So sweet.” He mumbled against her pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through her body.

“Oh,” she whimpered erotically, arching her back as her hands gripped tightly against the bedsheets, her nipples rubbing against the mattress as she lost the strength to hold herself up. “Andy.”

Andy let go of her thigh, a growl escaping his lips as his passion took over, forcing his face deep into her pussy, his tongue rubbing against her inner walls. Andy guided his hand down, pushing inside his boxers to pull out his throbbing cock.

He moaned against her, pumping his thick shaft in his hand as he sucked on her clit. Andy’s eyes darkened with desire as he felt her fidget in front of him, rocking her hips against his face as he drank her arousal.

The slapping and sucking sounds of their intimate activity filled the air, a thin layer of sweat escaped her skin as her thighs shook, the pleasure taking over her body.

Andy teased his tip, spreading the leaking precum over his reddened tip before fucking into his hand again. He moaned as his tongue explored her eager pussy, drinking in her scent.

“Andy, I’m gunna cum.” Y/N whined desperately, the feeling on Andy’s beard tickling between her thighs too much for her to take. Her upper body collapsed against the bed as she jolted repeatedly, a bubbling pleasure building up inside of her as she reached a hand toward the pillows for support.

Her words only made his mouth fuck her harder, eager to watch her come undone as he flicked his tongue rapidly up and down her clit. A groan erupted from the back of his throat, his hand pumping his cock faster as a way of settling his desperate need for attention.

The vibration of his voice caused Y/N’s orgasm to hit, suddenly flooding her body with with pleasure as she desperately gripped the pillow her hand. Porn-star moans escaped her mouth as Andy lapped up her juices, his eagerness to feel her walls around him growing as he felt her overstimulated pussy jolting at his touch.

Andy pressed his thumb covered in his pre-cum against her core as he leaned back, admiring her puffy pussy lips through hooded eyes. The sight was almost enough for him to push her down and shove his face back between her thighs. But his cock was throbbing for attention. Y/N was too fucked out to pay much attention to Andy shifting behind her on the bed, still recovering from her orgasm as slid his boxers down his legs and knelt behind her, lining himself up with her soaked entrance before pushing his cock inside of her throbbing pussy.

“Oh, fuck.” Andy moaned loudly, his head dropping back in pleasure as a frown covered his face. His hands gripped her hips, her warm pussy clenching around his cock as he started thrusting in and out of her aching hole.

“Pull out.” Y/N whimpered out quickly, her head turning sideways to look at him over her shoulder as she moved her palm back to push him away by his stomach. His cock felt so good inside of her aching pussy, satisfying the need to feel him, like he was made to fit inside of her.

“No.” Andy growled desperately as he pulled her hips back against him hard, unable to fathom the idea of having to pull his cock out of her warm, dripping cunt.

“Andy,” Y/N hissed in frustration, whining at the feeling of his balls slap against her ass, the enormous amount pleasure coursing through her veins almost made her second guess her request. “I want your cock in my mouth first.”

Andy’s movements stilled as he let out a groan, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as he leaned down to press his chest against her back. His cock angled deeper inside of her, a soft whimper leaving her lips as she arched back, feeling the material of his shirt which hung open on his body. “Well, in that case.” Andy chuckled deviously as he pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder, a sigh leaving his lips as he regretfully pulled out of her soft pussy.

Andy leaned back up on his knees, not even giving Y/N time to think about the empty feeling washing over her before tugging her backwards by her arm to press her back against his chest. Andy’s hand snaked around to her throat, his fingers digging into her flesh as he kissed her passionate. Y/N smiled as she kissed him back, feeling the desperation on his lips contrasted by his rough touches.

“Lay down for me, okay?” She asked sweetly, knowing that if she tried to command him in any way, he’d fuck her into the mattress just to put her in her place. She pecked his lips softly, feeling his cock nudging desperately between her ass cheeks.

Andy groaned as he pulled himself away from the kiss, her voice sweet enough to be able to get him to do anything. He let go of her body, shuffling to obey her request as he turned his body to lay his head on the pillows.

He watched the way she admired his cock that was standing proudly, glistening with her juices as she crawls toward him. She bit her lip, her soft hand running ticklishly up one of his thighs as her lips kissed along the other.

Andy groaned as her lips inched closer to his throbbing member, his hips bucking slightly in need. Y/N’s mouth watered at the sight of his cock, unable to stop her lips from wrapping around his tip, her tongue flicking ever so teasingly over him.

Andy let out a grunt of frustration, forcing his eyes to stay open as his hand moved down to rest on the back of her head. Y/N could tell he wanted to take control, feeling his cock throbbing against her tongue as she glided it down his shaft and started bobbing her head.

“Fuck, baby.” Andy’s hand tightened on her head, his fingers digging into her scalp as he tugged hard on her hair, little moans escaping his open mouth uncontrollably. “Just like that.”

He breathed out shakily, his eyes fixated on the sight of her between his legs, gagging on his cock as she took his whole length. Y/N let her jaw go slack, allowing him the freedom of controlling her movements as he fucked into her mouth.

Andy’s jaw clenched as he felt his tip hit the back of her throat, sending waves of pleasure through his body. “Oh, fuck.” His face screwed up, in awe of just how good she always made him feel.

The sound of Andy’s heavy breathing has Y/N’s pussy clenching in anticipation of his throbbing cock being back inside of her. She moaned around his length, bobbing her head to assist with the rhythm that his hand was moving it up and down. The drops of saliva that trickled down her mouth didn’t cross her mind as they landed on Andy’s skin.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, breathing through her nose as Andy’s cock filled her throat, her nails digging harshly into the flesh of his thigh.

Andy movements came to a sudden stop, desperately trying to recompose himself as he almost lost control. He kept her lips against his skin as he held her head down, his cock filling her mouth and opening her throat as he tried to stop himself from reaching his climax.

“Fuck.” He moaned loudly, eyes not leaving the sight of her mouth warming his thick cock. Y/N was caught by surprise, trying to control her breathing as she choked, swallowing around him in an attempt to breathe. “Baby I’m gunna cum down that pretty little throat of yours if you don’t stop.”

She whimpered at his words, staying in position as her pussy dripped down her thighs, moving her other hand to rest on Andy’s lower stomach, trailing her fingers delicately over the skin.

Her throat started to involuntarily tighten as Andy watched her keep his cock in her mouth like a pacifier. He licked his lips as his blue eyes locked with hers, finally letting go of her head as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

Y/N took a moment to catch her breath, leaning up on her hands as they smiled knowingly at eachother. Andy watched intensely as she crawled up his body, their skin touching intimately as she sat back on her knees, straddling his waist.

He pulled her into a deep kiss as her hand cupped his beard covered jaw, her head tilting to grant him more access. Y/N rocked her hips down from where she sat above him, feeling his thick cock nudge against her pussy.

Andy moaned into the kiss, his hands sliding from her hips around to massage her ass cheeks. She sucked on his bottom lip desperately, pressing her chest against his she let go of his jaw, tugging the material of his shirt off of his body. She slid her hand down to his cock once he was completely naked beneath her, lining him up with her entrance as she braced herself for the feeling of his cock stretching her out.

“You’re so needy for my cock, baby.” Andy groaned into her ear as he tugged her hand away from his shaft, jolting his hips up to push himself fully inside of her.

“Andy.” Y/N moaned out with a gasp, surprised by his sudden movement as she momentarily dropped her head onto his chest, losing control of her body as her nails dug into his arm.

Andy’s wide chest caught her weak body, guiding her ass back and forth along his length with his big hands. “I’m not gunna last long.” He groaned desperately as his lips parted in pleasure, his eyes squeezing shut as he felt her pussy tight around him.

“So big.” She whimpered softly, still trying to stretch in order to accommodate to his size. Andy kissed her temple lovingly, his heart sinking at her words as his cock twitching inside of her rubbed up against her walls.

“Thought you would’ve gotten used to me by now.” He whispered cheekily, trying to distract her from the pain. He dropped his head to press a kiss to her lips, smiling as he noticed her chuckle shakily in response, both of them drunk on the feeling of their intimacy.

“Your cock is huge, Andy.” She mumbled sweetly as she kissed him back, starting to move her hips slowly as she adjusted to his thick shaft. “It’d take a lot longer than this for me to get used to it.”

“Shit.” He hissed as Y/N forced herself to bounce a little faster on him, a soft sound of their skin slapping together filled the room. Her stomach clenched as she paced up and down his cock, feeling so full with him inside of her.

One of her hands lifted to rest on his shoulder, the other on the mattress beside his head as she sat up on him, regaining her strength. Little whimpers left her lips as she pleasured herself on Andy’s cock, feeling his strong hands holding her tightly. His fingers left marks on her curvy hips, the new angle gave them both an increased amount of pleasure.

Groans rumbled in Andy’s throat as he clenched his jaw, admiring the gorgeous woman above him. He forced his eyes to stay on her, smitten with the way her back arches towards him, the way her tits bounce with every thrust, the way her face looks flushed and so very satisfied.

“Andy” She moaned his name, her eyes fluttering shut as she slid her hand from his shoulder to his chest, her finger nails digging into his skin.

He was mesmerised by the way her pussy smacked down against his skin with every bounce of her hips, rubbing the length his cock with her tight walls.

“C’mere.” Andy mumbled breathlessly, reaching his hand up to lift her arm from his chest, as he tugged her arm towards his head. He pulled her body down on to him with ease, desperate to have her closer.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to obey to his gentle command, resting her chest flush against his once more as she looked up at him through hooded eyes. His hands slid down to her ass, spreading her cheeks as he took control, thrusting up into her.

She forced her head to stay focused on him, even as the overwhelming pleasure filled her body. Andy instantly smiled admiringly down at her, proud of how well she was taking him. His heart fluttered as he noticed her smiling beck at him, losing theirselves in the love they felt.

He grunted desperately, feeling his cock push deep inside of her with every jolt of his hips. “Just because you’re on top, doesn’t mean you’re in control.” He mumbled through hooded eyes, craving more and more of her attention.

Y/N chuckled at his comment before whimpering as his cock hit her cervix, leaning up to kiss him as she cupped his jaw in an attempt to satisfy the need to bring him closer.

Andy kissed her back, his tongue slipping into her mouth to twirl with hers. He lifted his knees, pressing the heels of his feet into the mattress as he fucked up into her with more leverage.

Y/N moaned as she felt Andy’s cock slide deeper into her, protruding through the bottom of her tummy from inside of her. She moaned into another loving kiss, her clit rubbing against his skin as she felt her orgasm bubbling.

“Want you to cum around my cock.” Andy moaned against her lips, one hand digging into the thick flesh of her thigh as his length twitched inside of her.

“You’re close, Andy.” She whispered back matter-of-factly, noticing the way his cock was twitching desperately inside of her. Andy knew she was right, he could feel his release rapidly building up, his heart swelling at how well she knew him.

He nodded in response, their breaths colliding as Andy’s spare hand held the back of her head, tugging her hair slightly out of desperation.

Andy quickened his pace, feeling her juices running down onto his balls. Moans filled the room as Y/N moved her hips down aggressively, using the last of her strength to sit back up on Andy.

The sudden change of her angle was too much for Andy, sending him spilling his seed inside of her as his hips jolted erratically.

“Fuck.” He moaned as his face screwed up in pleasure, his eyebrows furrowing as he emptied his seed into her tight pussy, not letting go of his grip on her body.

Andy didn’t stop slamming up into her, the feeling of her pussy clenching around his length was something he never wanted to stop.

Y/N felt her orgasm wash over her with a loud moan, his cock rutting into her sensitive pussy as her hole filled with his warm cum. Her nails dug into his chest as they both stilled for a moment, trying to make the euphoria of the moment last.

Her overstimulated pussy pulsated around his cock, still deep inside of her as he took hold of her wrist softly, looking up at her in admiration.

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to steady herself with one hand as she felt Andy’s lips kissing her wrist. Her stomach sunk as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat, dread washing away the pleasure.

“Say it.” She whispered breathlessly, her eyes slowly opening as she looked at him innocently through her lashes.

“I love you.” He spoke without hesitation between kisses, his eyes never leaving her face as he admired her beauty.

“No, Andy.” She sighed irritably, lifting her hips up just enough for his cock to slide out of her, emptying herself of his length before sitting back down on him carefully. “Just say it.”

Andy sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he felt his heart sinking inside of his chest. He knew that his truth would catch up with him eventually, he just hoped it would be further in the future. The sadness that covered Y/N’s face had his heart aching at her pain, hating that he’d done that to her. “I’m married.”

She held her breath for a moment too long, feeling her heart break as the words left his lips. “I hate you.” She mumbled, closing her eyes to stop the tears from escaping. She sighed heaving as she laid her chest back on to his, enjoying the last of his presence. How could she have let herself so vulnerable? Why did she ever let her guard down? Why did she ever let him in?

“I know.” Andy sighed heavily, hating himself for hurting her. She hid her saddened face in the dip of his neck, relaxing against him as she inhaled his scent. Andy’s hands slid up her sides to wrap around her back, hugging her tightly.

The haunting silence engulfed the room, an emptiness between them where there had once been an overwhelming sense of fulfilment. Andy knew deep down in his gut that he’d lost her. He knew how much he’d unintentionally hurt her. He knew it was over. But there was nothing he could do, because the truth was, it never even should’ve started.

taglist:

@harrysthiccthighss @annestine @bestofbucky @velvetcardiganbucky @sexwithhiddlesbatch @be-patient-be-good @codyl-angdon @marveljunkieee @melchills-j @krislhurt @patzammit

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king-litchi · 3 years

Text

Eating you out - Sano Manjiro (Mikey)

Well, nfsw is really not my cup of tea but I tried to do my best :3 Sorry anon-chan if it's not at the top so it's a little short (it's my first hdc nfsw it's quite different from oneshot)

I've been pretty busy this year so writing has really been put on the back burner, I have lots of unfinished stuff in my drafts x.x

Obviously Mikey and reader are of age ~ beware the spelling may hurt the eyes (English is not my first language, I'm still learning)

Request : Mikey eating you out (oral ask)

Warning : +18 / oral sex

Mikey is usually more of a passive type: he much prefers to receive than to give but there are times when the only thing he wants to do is to tease you with his tongue. And in those moments he will be 100% dominant.

His voice changes and the tone of his voice also becomes more imperative. He becomes "your" leader and that's enough to get you excited.

“Undress”

His eyes filled with lust, he would look at your exposed body naked to the predator that he was. His look would make you flinch.

“Be a good girl and opens your thighs.”

One of his favorite positions to eat you is when you are on your back and he has all the fun of putting his head between your thighs and his eyes will be glued to your face. He likes to grab your thighs, handling you like a doll (but sometimes he also likes to see your ass bent over and have the pleasure of spanking you at the same time if you ask for too much or too fast)

Because Mikey likes to take his time, he will always start slowly. First he'll give you little kisses on the inside of your thigh and nibble on your skin, then gradually work his way up to your pussy with his tongue. He'll place his mouth with a sneaky kiss on your privates before flicking his tongue over your pussy. When he starts like this, you already know what he's up to.

"Look at you, already wet for me"

Oh boy, he was really hungry at the sight of your entrance all dripping just for him.

He'll go so slow...all he wants is to see you lose control and feel your hips thrusting towards his mouth begging him to go faster.

“Mikey...please...”

This arrogant little guy will look up just to see your face twisting for him. It turns him on completely. And he can do this all night long. Seriously hearing you beg becomes like a melody to his ears so he won't give in easily.

But if you ask like the good girl you are, then he will give you what you want. And when he gets into the mood, he doesn't fake it. At that point nothing will stop him until you're just a screaming, jutting mess. He'll make you feel so good.

He loves it when you hold onto his hair and push his tongue in even deeper but he'll never say it, he just makes you do it. Making eye contact with him gets him completely turned on.

He'll give you orgasm after orgasm, you wanted more so you'll get more. It's like a punishment for pushing your pussy against his mouth earlier.

You'll end up as a mess screaming his name, tears in your eyes and shaking from the overstimulation of pleasure.

Mikey will take care to drink all your juice licking his lips at the spectacle you offer him. He will give a last kiss on your intimacy caressing it with his hand to heal it. But...I said it, he just wants to tease you all night so...

"No break baby. The night is just beginning ~"

He didn't lie to you. Good luck, you'll need it.

End note : I wrote this text thinking of a mature Mikey (dark hair Mikey) in a happy time-line ofc because we only want his happiness. 🤗 Well I hope that it was more for you anon-chan ! Otherwise do not hesitate to tell me.

🜲 Litchi

#Tokyo Revengers #mikey x reader #sano manjiro #manjiro x reader #mikey #sano manjiro x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers mikey #ask #mikey headcanon #tokyo revengers smut #manjiro sano

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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 3 years

Note

hi! this is just a request but feel free to ignore if you don’t have time or any ideas but could you expend on “between love and lust” mc seducing foul legacy. it can be like a side story or a prequel since it happened before the current timeline.

sorry it took so long lmao law school started already and i'm drowning in cases. Thanks for this ask anon, i forgot about this series even though i already drafter the last chapter lmao, thanks for reminding me it existed hahaha. Anyways here you go, enjoy this unhinged couple lmao.

Prequel to The Consequences of Fucking in Front of the Geo Archon Statue Series: 1, 2, 3

In Love and Lust

Summary: Seeing Foul Legacy for the first time had awakened something in you, in a desperate attempt to hide how inappropriately horny you were, Tartaglia misunderstands your insatiable lust for him as fear.

You had always been aware that whatever happened during Tartaglia’s disappearance was life changing. You were prepared for whatever it was when you had pursued this relationship with him, just as you had reassured him you didn’t mind what his job asked of him, you were quite ready to reassure him you didn’t mind his Foul Legacy.

Seeing it for yourself however was another matter entirely.

It changed him. That much you were right.

You just weren’t prepared to see how it changed him.

So there you stood, blinking rapidly in front of your boyfriend who had laid waste to the battlefield amidst Snezhnaya’s white snow. Everything about him was big. His arms, his height,

‘His dic-’

You exhaled, trying to steady your heart and not blurt out something stupid like,

‘Bet I can take you in that form.’

You nodded, your eyes closed as you tried to convince yourself and stop your shaking legs as you took a step forward to your boyfriend’s personal space. All the while chanting inwardly for him to not notice what he just awakened in you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here” You told him, faking calm as you laugh nervously.

‘And wow, his muscles are so close and he’s so warm-’

“Is that so?” He spoke, voice deep, sultry and rumbly that it made your mouth drop and your panties wet.

His face came close to you, your wide eyes and flushed face reflecting on the large white bead on the center. His clawed hands pulled you close, resting gently on the curve of your ass.

You swallowed your saliva as you gently laid your hands on his chest, mind reeling and melting from the sheer force of your horniness for your boyfriend.

“Da-darling?” You gently called him, slight panic in your voice when you felt your warm cloak lifted and the unmistakable sound of your thick stockings being teared.

“Liar.”

In a blink of an eye you found yourself back in your shared apartment. Stockings ripped and panties soaked. Tartaglia was nowhere to be found and you swore loudly,

“At least let me suck your cock!”

You cried into your pillow with frustration as you furiously masturbated and repeatedly came with only your left hand and the vivid image of his Foul Legacy ringing in your mind. You moaned and drooled into the pillow, his lingering scent only fueling your desire and making you blind to Tartaglia’s arrival.

He watched as you fingered yourself, your legs spread wide and exposing your sopping cunt. You were moaning his name, while your free hand played with your nipples. It was a lovely sight that made him hard, it was almost enough to break his reason and make him stuff you full with his cock. Up until he remembered how scared you were earlier when you saw his foul legacy for the first time.

Instead he makes his way to the bathroom, furiously masturbating to the sounds of your moan and wet pussy echoing in the silent apartment. His hand moved up and down his throbbing cock as he imagined your squirming body as you moaned loudly, crying out his name.

He knew your go-to fantasies when masturbating to him, knew the intimate details of your deepest fantasies. So he faps to that, he imagines fucking you in that snow, ripping your clothes and exposing your pliable tits and sopping wet cunt. His cock plunging into your wet pussy, slamming it in and out and stretching it until the sensation left you drooling.

He’d gripped your tits, squeezing it and pinching its perk nipples until your moans are nothing but lewd pants of breath. He’d fuck you from behind, fucking you on all fours like a beast and biting your neck until the skin broke and he tasted blood.

He knew you’d begged for him to stop, even when you’d push your ass towards him, moving your hips in time to the thrusting of his cock. He’d fuck you until you babbled about getting pregnant, your pussy clenching to keep his dick inside. He wouldn’t stop thrusting his cock in and out of you, not even when you would orgasm.

Instead he’d fuck you harder once you told him you were about to come, hands gripping your waist tight as he controlled your body, moving it like a life sized fuck toy meant to relieve his frustrations. He knew how that thought pleases you, the image of you acting like a wanton slut in front of him, was something that never failed to drive him crazy.

His hand, gripping his cock tightened, just as he heard you orgasm from the bedroom. Your lewd voice coupled with his imagination made him cum, thick ropes of cum staining the wall as his hands slowly came to a stop.

Tartaglia sighed, taking a few moments of rest before cleaning up the bathroom. The routine was enough to calm him down, his anger and lust fading away into manageable levels. All of it quickly disappeared when he entered the room and found you passed out on the bed, legs spread wide, pussy dripping and stuffed full with the customized dildo you had made. The dildo was the exact replica of his cock and Tartaglia allowed himself a moment, a single moment of contemplation and acceptance of what being in a relationship with you entailed.

“Nnn...Tartagli..a” You moaned in your sleep.

Then he makes his way to the bathroom he had just cleaned, unzips his pants and begins to furiously masturbate again. In any other time he’d have masturbated to you right then and there, unloading his cum unto your sleeping body, maybe fucking your mouth and spilling his load down your throat but right now the two of you are in the middle of a fight and Tartaglia is petty enough to leave you horny.

You woke up the next morning, disappointed that neither your ready pussy nor your mouth had Tartaglia’s cum, your body wasn’t sticky from his dried cum nor was there the pleasant ache of your pussy being used to the fullest. You pout before groaning into the mattress and curling up in sexual frustration.

Tartaglia had a month off.

And you’d rather spend most of it fucking like rabbits, riding his cock, and being stuffed full with his cum. From the sounds outside your apartment window, you knew that at this time, Tartaglia was already in the training grounds.

You sighed before getting up from the bed, not bothering to cover up. You were missing the feeling of walking around the apartment with his cum dribbling down between your thighs. You made your way to the kitchen table, breakfast kept warm and no love note.

You blinked. Searching the entire area for Tartaglia’s customary love note. You frowned, sitting in a daze as you started to realize that something was very wrong.

“Oh no, we’re fighting!” You cried in despair.

You never really liked fighting with Tartaglia, the one that involved cold shoulders and no sex, no intimacy because it was always because you accidentally sent the wrong signal, made social faux pas that even he couldn’t stand and you knew that Tartaglia was the only one who could handle your crazy, your slightly dark tendencies and obsessive personality. Which meant that fights like this always made you want to fix it quickly because you didn’t want Tartaglia to sober up and realize he could do better.

Which meant that there was a need to call up your friends and dissect what you did wrong.

You glance at Tartaglia’s homemade cooking before deciding that the meeting could wait.

While you were enjoying your brunch, Tartaglia was in the training grounds beating up the new recruits and the rest of the Fatui soldiers that were brave enough to step up to fight him. He had slept terribly, missing your comforting weight in his arms and warmth of your body and your cunt warming his cock, he’d masturbated again in the shower, made you breakfast, tempted to fuck you until you woke up while getting dressed and willed his dick down before leaving the apartment.

Tartaglia really, really hated getting into a fight with you. Because it meant that the chances of you waking up and realizing that you could have a normal life were high. His flaws and demerits would outweigh whatever fondness and love you had for him, your childhood sweetheart.

He dreads the day you’d realize you can have stability, because he’d rather not resort to cutting you off from the rest of the world just to keep you by his side. He did his best to ensure you wouldn’t even entertain thoughts of breaking up with him, he catered to your wants and needs because it meant you wouldn’t try to leave. He’d raze the world to the ground if you asked as long as it meant you stayed.

He loved you deeply, darkly, and wholly.

In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of your familiar lovable and seductive self. And immediately decided to end the spar quickly before any of the recruits got an idea.

He covers your body with his coat, making you wear it properly and hiding the enticing look of your well-endowed body from the virgin killing sweater that you wore. You blinked at him, before you smiled sweetly and devilishly.

“Darling~” You grabbed his arm and he could feel the softness of your breast and Tartaglia knew that you weren’t wearing any bra underneath. He was also willing to bet that you didn’t wear any panties either.

“You-” his words were cut off when he saw your pout, even more so when he felt the fabric of your sweater moved, he looked down and saw that half of your areola were exposed to him.

You smiled at him sweetly, knowing that you’ve already won.

“I missed you so much~” You whined, acting pitiful and cute as you discreetly directed his hand to your lubed up and throbbing pussy.

“I prepared your lunch~” You looked at him from underneath your lashes, drawing attention to your glossed lips, colored pink, and Tartaglia gave up. In a flash, he had brought you home between one breath and the next.

And then you found yourself lying on the bed, you blinked in confusion until you found your arms tied with his jacket, the rest of the sleeves tied to the headboard and you purred in delight.

“Darling~ I’ve been such a good girl right?” You asked coyly, legs already spread and showing him your throbbing pussy, anticipating his thick and long cock fucking you stupid.

Tartaglia didn’t answer before leaving the room with agitation, you spotted his cock straining against his pants and grinned.

You were getting fucked today up until the next day. You smiled pleased at the outcome of the brainstorming you had with your friends. You were so caught up in the euphoria of your apparent success that you forgot who your opponent was. Tartaglia was a trained soldier, a genius in the battlefield and a Harbinger.

He also had the additional boon of knowing you.

Which meant that from the moment you had shown up wearing the virgin killing sweater, he knew that you were planning something. He wasn’t the type to fall for the same trick twice, you wearing the sweater that made both of you graduate from being virgins wouldn’t have the same effect on him again.

Yes, it still drove him mad but compared to the first time you had used it, Tartaglia could keep his wits with him.

So your plan of using a sex potion laced lunch fell through. Tartaglia was sure that he knew what you were planning and decided to use it for his own agenda. A quick survey of the kitchen and he was able to easily deduce where you hid the remaining stash of the potion.

He grinned once he found it and quickly made his way back to you. He whistled at the sight of you, acting like you were in heat. You fluttered your lashes at him and he grinned at you wolfishly.

“I trust that you can recognize this?” He asked as his right hand shook the bottle filled with pink liquid while his left hand deftly unbuckled his pants.

“...Oh” You gulped realizing that you were now playing in the palm of Tartaglia’s hands.

His grin grew sharp, the sight of it sending your pussy throbbing as you bit your lip in anticipation.

“Look at you, being a slut. Is my cock all you can think about?” He teased as his left hand began rubbing his dick, precum dribbling out of his head.

“I also think about your abs and your mouth” You replied, while your eyes stared at his cock, tongue peaking out of your mouth.

He wipes off his precum with his fingers and slowly wiped it on the folds of your pussy, you moaned, moving your hips up to rub against his fingers until they slipped in.

“Hngg!”

His fingers make a quick work out of you, slipping in and out, building a rhythm that had you moaning loudly, until the sound of your pussy’s squelch echoed loudly in the apartment. Your eyes were closed from the pleasure of his calloused fingers rubbing your walls, making you clench and pulsate.

“Cock-Tartagli-a” Your voice shook as you began to beg, “I need your cock inside--!”

You came loudly as his fingers curled and you squirted while his fingers didn’t stop moving inside you. Tartaglia’s fingers were drenched with your juice when he removed it from your pussy, the sheets were drenched with your squirt and you lay limply on the bed.

The top of your sweater were bunched in the middle of your breast, exposing your erect nipples to the cold air and Tartaglia’s hungry eyes. He brought the bottle on top of your twitching pussy, smiled at you and said,

“Congratulations, my beloved slut, you’ll finally be my cumdump today~”

You stared blankly as you watched him open the bottle, spreading your pussy lips and dumping the entire content of the aphrodisiac into your pussy. You struggled once you felt the foreign intrusion of the bottle’s neck, its effect was instantaneous, your protest turned into a moan as you felt your mind become clouded with pleasure.

Tartaglia watched with fascination as he saw your panic melt into euphoria, the look in your eyes was lustful and wanton as you began to loudly beg for his cock. Tears dripping from your face when he only slipped in his fingers,

“Nooo~!” You cried “Cock! I want your cock!”

Your tearful begging was all it took for him to stop teasing you and thrusting his cock inside you. There was no resistance at all from your pussy, his head went inside smoothly, hitting you all the way to your wall, you moaned in pleasure, legs automatically clamping around his waist.

Tartaglia groaned at the wonderful feeling of your heat, a night of not having your pussy warm his cock was enough to drive him insane. He was a fool to not have slept with you last night.

He kissed you fervently, drowning your moans and lustful cries while his hips moved, thrusting his cock back and forth inside your wet and hot pussy. His bare chest rubbed your sensitive nipples as his body rocked back and forth in time with his hips.

“I love you” He whispered in your ears over and over again as he fucked you senseless, like a beast while you clawed at his back, mouth drooling and eyes rolled back from the pleasure.

The aphrodisiac was affecting you both, fucking frenzily to reach new heights of pleasure. Tartaglia came inside you again and again, even so his dick didn’t turn flaccid remaining hard even after multiple orgasm until your pussy felt raw.

Adrenaline rushing to your veins made you not care, you only cared about two things, Tartaglia and his cock. Your pussy was filled to the brim, abused with Tartaglia’s thick cock that repeatedly dumped his cum on your loose pussy.

Time passed but the sounds of sex didn’t stop as day turned into night.His coat was torn and your clothes turned into rags, Tartaglia had changed your position, fucking your from behind, with your ass up, thick ropes of cum, dried and drying covered your ass and back, some of it dripping from your pussy, others coating your legs and face.

He had truly turned you into his cum dump.

“Such a good slut!” Tartaglia praised as he thrusted into you, his cock pushing out his old cum from your pussy, “so good for me!”

His praise made you so happy, your back arching to give him a better angle. You clenched on his cock as he came again, milking him of his cum.

Tartaglia slipped his cock out, shushing you gently when you whined from the empty feeling. He observed your pussy, your whole was loose enough that he could see how much cum was inside you, your clit and labias were covered with dripping cum, your asshole twitching and overflowing with his earlier cum.

He smiled, “ Looks like you can easily take my cock in foul legacy form”

“No-no! It’s too big!” You cried out in panic, covering your pussy.

Your fearful eyes, hiding the lust behind it made him hornier. He smiled and transformed.

You watched with your own eyes as he donned his armor, eyes staring at his cock that grew larger before it was covered by leather. You gulped.

‘Was that a knot?’ you thought as you felt your pussy grow wetter.

“I promise I’ll be gentle”

His monstrous cock was before your eyes, it made your mouth water and then he began with fucking your mouth. You felt him reach all the way back until he hit your throat, pleasure and pain mixing together as you tried not to gagged as he used your mouth. His cock was huge and thick, veins throbbing as you did your best to blow him.

You cried as you weakly clung to his clothes, slowly losing your mind to the pleasure. He came inside your mouth, cum pouring down your throat as he gently pulled out, you closed your eyes and tried to gather the excess that dribbled from your mouth to your palm.

“Swallow it” He ordered and you happily, greedily obeyed.

Even the cum on your hand was drunk, it was thick and delicious, sweet. You opened your mouth, tongue hanging out for him to see your obedience.

His clawed hands gently ruffled your head, the pointed tips scratching your head and awakening something in you.

“Now take my cock” He said as he lifted you up and then plunged your pussy to his erection.

You moaned loudly, your stomach bulging out from his cock.

“Too much~” You cried, even as you began to move your hips, “you’re too big! I-it won’t fit inside!”

You moaned as his clawed hands helped you move up and down, making your breasts jiggle with each motion as you begged for mercy even though your body was honestly enjoying his cock.

He slipped his cock outside of your pussy, rubbing your cum covered clit and reaching all the way to your cum drenched tits.

“Nooo! Don’t take it out!” You begged in tears.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Reason was thrown out of the window and he mounted you, pushing his cock all the way in, a miracle, that had you crying out in pleasure as he fucked you raw.

His old cum was pushed out with each thrust, clawed hands pressing on your back and holding your hips like you were a living fleshlight. Your lewd voice begging him for more as he ripped away the rest of your torn clothes.

He reached out for him, drawing him close until his mask opened and a long pointed tongue came out and entangled with yours. You made out with Foul Legacy as cock fucked your pussy raw, scraping out the cum until you came over and over again. Your thighs were drenched again, the bed shaking enough for the headboard to bang against the wall loudly.

Between your numerous orgasms you passed out just as he came inside you, flooding your womb and pussy with his cum, most of it ending up on the sheets and dripping down your pussy. He pulled out and began to fuck your thighs, bedframe creaking from the sheer force of his thrust until it broke as he spurted out and covered your entire body with his cum.

He panted heavily, engraving in his mind your blissed out expressions when you fainted from the pleasure.

‘Tomorrow, we’ll talk about your reaction when you first saw me,’ He thought as he gently lifted you up from the broken bed and made his way to the living area ‘but for now I need to get all of this out of our system.’

You woke up the next morning, face down on the table as you felt your body rocking.

“Good morning, love”

Tartaglia’s voice came from behind as you arched your back and moaned from having a dick thrusted into your sore pussy.

“Ngh!”

You turned around and found yourself staring at Tartaglia’s maskless Foul Legacy form, his eyes were slanted, and hair spiked up in soft waves.

He laughed at you softly, “Have you fallen for me again?”

“Darling~ You’ve ruined me for everyone else!” You cried as you let him see how much he affected you.

He grinned and you moaned in pleasure, when his head hit your g-spot.

“We broke the bed, so the table would have to do” He explained as he began to fuck you over the table, you were too lost in the pleasure to hear his explanation.

But he was in the same predicament as well, all thoughts of talking were gone, the moment he began fucking you as he slept. At this point, the entire apartment reeked of sex and yet neither of you remembered or cared.

Other things could wait.

#tartaglia x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #yandere childe x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact x reader

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touyasdoll · 2 years

Note

okok so i dunno if this is how im supposed to do this BUT hawks x reader w a enemies to lovers where the reader idolized him at first but grew to hate him,,, (n eventually love him again ykwtfgo 😭) ?

send me some basics & I’ll outline a fic for you

I don’t either lmao this is a new exercise for me, but this works perfectly! <3

okay, so.

You’re new in town, having just moved from a hero agency located across the country.

But of course you know Hawks. Everyone knows Hawks. Everyone loves him.

You were lucky enough to be offered a job at his agency and you’re over the moon about it. You’re so ready for your first day and to finally meet the hero who inspires you.

And then you come to understand why they say to never meet your heroes.

He’s nice enough, sure. But it seems fake, especially around the office. He barely pays his sidekicks any attention, always leaving them in the dust to clean up his messes.

He doesn’t even take the time to remember your name the first day. You can’t believe that you couldn’t see before how the fun, easy-going persona was just an act. Hawks is an ass and now he’s your boss. Great.

He basically ignores you. Occasionally, he’ll say hello. Sometimes he even gets your name right.

You put up with it. It’s easy, since you don’t have to see him much, but one day he calls you into his office to tell you he wants to patrol with you. See what you can do, which is annoying, because you’ve been working at HIS agency for 3 months already.

He calls you by the wrong hero name too. Apologizes and laughs it off before going to sign some autographs and chat up some female fans who are practically groping him.

It makes you jealous and you hate it, because you hate him. You’re pretty sure you do, at least.

Little do you know, he’s been avoiding you on purpose. He’s been following your career since you became a pro and he handpicked you to come and work for his agency, because he sincerely admires your work ethic and raw talent.

But he’s chronically averse to getting to close to people. He’s not close to anyone. Because he knew that anyone he became close to would potentially be a target. He also, quite simply, just doesn’t understand how to get close to people. Doesn’t know the first thing about intimacy of the platonic or romantic variety.

So when you show up and he feels his heart pitter patter at the sight of you?? He freaks. Does anything he can to shove you as far away from him as he can.

Purposefully uses the wrong name, multiple times. Avoids you around the office. Makes sure your patrols will never overlap. He doesn’t trust himself to even be near you, because your presence alone distracts him. You are too alluring to him and he can’t have that. He can’t cope.

He’s right not to trust himself, because he hears you laughing at something one of his sidekicks had said one day. He’s immediately jealous, though he fully understands that he has no right to be.

He sends a feather off to listen in and overhears you complaining about what an ass he can be and it guts him. He was so concerned with not falling head over heels in love with you that hadn’t considered you growing to hate him, as you obviously had.

So he wants to fix it, but once he feels that super scary little twinge of affection in his heart again, he bails. He had planned to apologize, buy you a coffee or maybe take you to lunch while you were patrolling, but here he was, letting fangirls flirt with him, so he didn’t have to face you.

He catches the look on your face and it breaks his heart, so he politely excuses himself and walks right on over to apologize to you, finally.

You’re stunned, but you reluctantly accept his invite to dinner that evening when he promises that he wants to make up for the way he’s treated you.

He takes you to a nice place. The two of you have a private room to dine in and he’s clearly a nervous wreck. It’s strange for you to see him that way, but it makes you believe he’s being genuine when he explains his selfish reasons for treating you poorly.

He apologizes profusely, promising to make up for it and saying that he understands if you want to resign, to which you say that you might have to.

He’s terrified, but he says he understands. He can’t blame you for wanting to leave after everything.

You tell him that’s not why you’d be leaving and he looks confused. He’s rendered speechless when you lean over and kiss him before explaining that dating your boss might not go over so well with HR.

He insists that it’s his agency, so it doesn’t matter, and that he’d rather keep you close to him while he slips his hand onto your thigh. You ask “how close?” in your most seductive whisper and he tugs your chair closer to slip his hand beneath your dress, whispering back, “I’ll show you.”

The waitress returns to ask if you need anything else while he’s two fingers deep inside of you and this man has the nerve to prod at your g-spot while looking at you to ask, “Did you need something, darling?” and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to try not to moan while you put on a smile and shake your head.

You insist he takes you then and there and he doesn’t disagree. He makes quick work of his pants while you hike up your dress and take a seat on his leaking cock.

He proceeds to fuck you well enough to make up for the past three months of him being a jackass. On the chair, over the table, and eventually against the wall.

He ends up with his forehead resting on your shoulders, lips lazily dragging along your collarbone while promising to treat you the way you deserve.

You kiss his forehead, whispering that you’ll do the same, and in that moment, he realizes that maybe intimacy isn’t so bad.

#just vibing 💌#just playin’ a game 📬#rae💕#the feeling is mootual

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seijorhi · 3 years

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This isn't a request or anything but I had a soulmate AU idea that I think you'd like.... And reminded me of Oikawa. Imagine you find ur soulmate from their name written on your skin on ur 16/18 bday, but.... You're blind. And dating Oikawa. And he /swears/ your name is on his skin... But when your birthday rolls around, he insists you don't show anyone else.... And starts buying you clothes to cover the mark.... And you hear him whispering about his mark to Iwa.... And you begin to worry. 👀

I know it wasn’t specifically meant as a request, but I took the idea and ran with it - I hope it’s okay!! 💕

Oikawa Tooru x Female Reader

TW gaslighting, manipulation, dub con nsfw, blind reader

Part II

Always

“You promise me it’s there?”

Are you sure it’s me?

Rich, warm laughter fills the air around you, and despite the tension gnawing away in your stomach, the corners of your lips twitch into a soft smile.

“You don’t believe me!”

He’s happy. Even gasping in mock indignation Tooru can’t quite manage to keep it from his voice.

He has every reason to be; you’re both home for the first time in a year and a half, settled in the well worn couch at his parents house, your friends sprawled out either side of you. He’s twenty one today and as of five minutes ago the proud owner of his very own soulmate mark.

Or so he tells you.

“Well it’s not like I can see it,” you tease, nudging yourself closer so that you can rest your head against his shoulder and sighing loudly. “It could be Issei’s name for all I know, and you’re all just too nice to break the news to me.”

The choked snort from your left side makes you giggle, but not as much as the sound of your boyfriend fake gagging.

“Please, he fucking wishes!”

“Iwa tell her!” Oikawa demands, and you can just imagine the way that Iwaizumi’s eyes must roll before he ultimately gives in.

He always does.

“It’s yours,” he sighs. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with him, Y/N. My condolences.”

Yours.

It’s hard, even as raucous laughter fills the air around you and Oikawa turns to shout at his best friend, to deny the warm fluttering in your chest. The arm around you eases you closer, a thumb absentmindedly stroking at your side and you allow yourself to relax against him.

It’s your name on his skin. You’re his soulmate.

For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can breathe easy. You wonder if Oikawa knew, if he noticed the way you held onto him just that little bit tighter - like you were scared to let go.

You’ve loved Oikawa for as long as you can remember, but you only get one soulmate. Was it really so outlandish to wonder whether his first love would be his last? Whether you could ever be good enough to be his?

The little blind girl, always following at his heels.

For all your faults, you’ve never been naive. You know how amazing he is - Tooru has always been destined for great things and you were just his highschool sweetheart.

A hindrance, one of his very dedicated fans had once taken the time to inform you, clinging desperately to whatever scraps of pity he felt charitable enough to throw your way.

Neither one of you had realised that Oikawa had heard every damn word.

—

“Can you just…”

Oikawa pauses, the hand he has wrapped around yours squeezes lightly. “Hmm?”

Breathe deep. Just say it.

Tell him.

You’re almost at the gate, your flight’s leaving in twenty minutes (and you would have been there sooner if he hadn’t insisted on dragging you through every overpriced store in the damn airport) and in a few hours, you’ll be home again.

But it isn’t the thought of being back in Japan that worries you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, your heart thumping unsteadily in your chest. His birthday is in two days, and that’s when he’ll find out who his soulmate is supposed to be. And you trust him, you love him. Even if the name on his forearm isn't yours, it’s not like he’s just going to suddenly toss you aside like yesterday’s trash, but… things’ll change, you know they will. And you couldn’t even blame him for that, because how much effort can you really be expected to put into a relationship if you know they’re not the one you’re supposed to end up with?

The doubts you have, the ones that fester and play on your every insecurity, keeping you up at night long after Tooru has drifted off - you’ve tried to shut them out and ignore them as best you can, but you just can’t get on that plane without having some kind of reassurance.

What if it’s not you?

“Just promise me that if…” your breath catches in your throat, and you try to force a smile on your face even though you know that it wobbles. “If it’s not- if I’m not-”

Soft lips press against yours, cutting you off. It’s only for a heartbeat, enough to get you to stop the panicked tumble of words you couldn’t quite get out, but for you it feels like it lasts a lifetime. You could lose yourself in Oikawa’s kisses, you think. Lose yourself and be happy for it.

A warm palm cups your face. “I love you,” he says, and it isn’t the murmured declaration first thing in the morning, his voice still thick with sleep as he rolls over to kiss you good morning, and it isn’t the cheesy, throwaway line he gives whenever you save him the last bite of the milk bread that he specifically bought for you (because god knows his coach would kill him if he found out he ate the entire thing himself).

It’s a promise.

“You are my soulmate,” his thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and you can’t help but lean into the touch. “You’re the only one I’m ever going to want.”

Standing on the outskirts of your gate, moments away from boarding the plane that’ll take you both home, you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to tell you that he’s certain that the name on his arm is going to be yours, or that he doesn’t care if it isn’t.

Either way, it’s enough.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, and captures your lips in another kiss - this one brimming with ardent devotion, a love too deep for either one of you to speak.

—

Hours later, Iwa, Makki and Mattsun are all asleep downstairs and it’s just Tooru and you curled up in his bed. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that being back in his childhood bedroom did little in the way of curbing his appetite, but between giggles and breathy moans, Oikawa’s hand clamped over your mouth and his lips at your ear-

‘Shhh, you have to keep it down, cutie. Unless you want the whole house to hear all the pretty sounds you make when you’re about to cum for me?’

- he manages to wring four orgasms out of you before the two of you collapse back against the mattress, all sweaty and panting.

And you think he’s fallen asleep now, an arm slung around your waist, his face buried against the nape of your neck despite the warmth of the balmy summer night. With his chest flush against your back, you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, lulling you gently to sleep with every beat.

Soulmate.

This, here, in Oikawa’s arms, this is where you belong, where you’ve always belonged. And yet even with happiness and relief and an overwhelming love singing through your veins - keeping you wide awake - you can’t deny that it feels… strange almost, knowing that out of seven and a half billion people, you’re the one he’s marked for.

He’d sounded so sure back at the airport, like there wasn’t even the possibility of doubt in his mind that you were the one for him. And maybe he was just saying it to calm you down and get your ass on the plane, but if the situations were reversed and it was your birthday first… could you really say with one hundred percent certainty that you knew it would be his name that’d show up on your arm?

You love him more than you’ve ever loved anybody else (more than you ever probably will love anybody else), it’s just that you’ve always known that the two of you were on wildly different paths. Tooru’s the starting setter for a pro volleyball team, and there’s already whispers of that national squad, Olympic selection.

He’s talented and driven and sometimes you wonder whether you ever would have left Miyagi let alone Japan at all if it hadn’t been for him dragging you along with him.

You’ve always been so content in your own little bubble. You cling to what’s comfortable, what you know - all your life, you’ve been told that you’re not defined by your disability, but you’ve never tried to push yourself beyond it.

With Tooru, you’ve never had to.

That girl, years ago - she wasn’t wrong. You do cling to him, like you’d clung to your friends and your family. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world, but when you compare what Oikawa has to offer his soulmate compared to what you bring to the table, and-

“I can hear you thinking from here,” your apparently not-so-asleep-after-all boyfriend murmurs in your ear. “Tell me what’s bothering my pretty girl.”

You sigh, rolling over to face him. It’s pointless to lie to Tooru - he can read you better than anyone else - but admitting the whole truth, even here under this little refuge of soft intimacy between the two of you, feels harder than it should be.

“You’re not… disappointed, are you?”

The harrumph that escapes his lips sounds almost offended, but the brush of his lips against the tip of your nose is sweet. “How long have I known you?” he asks.

Your forehead wrinkles at the question. “Fifteen or so years, I guess?”

You’d only been six or so when your family had moved in the house next door to his, across the street from Iwaizumi’s, and you can still vividly remember the first time you met him - crying in your front yard with a scraped up knee - always too eager for your own good.

“Hmm,” he acknowledges, “and how long have we been dating?”

“Seven-ish years?”

He chuckles, kissing you again, this time on your cheek. “And how long do you think I’ve been in love with you?”

Your whole face warms, and you fight the urge to bury it in his bare chest, especially when he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place back behind your ear. “Tooru-”

He sighs again, the sound tinged with just a hint of fond exasperation. “Give me your hand.”

You oblige, and you feel his long fingers curl around yours, tucking all of your fingers but your index away and drawing your hand closer towards him. It’s only when your pointer brushes against skin that you realise what he’s trying to do. Still, you don’t offer a word as Tooru slowly traces your finger along the dark letters on his skin - his soulmate mark.

Your name.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, just as I’m yours,” he vows, and you almost shiver with the intensity that burns in every word. “Any other name would have been nothing more than a filthy lie.”

Any further protests are swallowed up by another kiss, and your boyfriend takes it upon himself to show you exactly how much he adores you, over and over again, until sheer, utter exhaustion drags you to sleep in his arms.

—

Your own twenty-first birthday is a vastly different kind of affair. For one, the two of you decide to stay in Argentina - Oikawa’s mid season and can’t afford the time off training to traipse back home again.

Which means that it is just the two of you alone in your villa when you feel an odd burning sensation start to creep through your left arm. It doesn’t hurt exactly, more like a warm tingling sensation that flows along your skin as one by one the letters of your soulmate’s name come to light.

The sharp little gasp that slips from your lips must have alerted Tooru - hovering as he had been for the better part of the day - because his hands are on your arm within a moment, flipping it over and eagerly dragging it closer for him to inspect. His own breath hitches in his throat, his fingers tightening on your soft skin and a tentative smile works its way across your face.

People have told you before that your boyfriend is handsome - stupidly beautiful, you’d once overheard one of your old high school classmates bemoan. His voice certainly is, soft and pretty and lilting, warm like the first rays of the sun on a cool winter’s morning, though not without its sharpness. Oikawa always has had a wicked tongue. In your head, you picture a face to match, delicate, angular features, warm eyes and a grin that’s just a little impish. Trouble, but the irresistible kind.

You wish you could see it now, watch your soulmate’s eyes widen with delight, or maybe soften with quiet awe. You want to see him happy, deliriously so, you want to look into those lovely eyes of his and see all the love that’s coursing through your veins right now reflected right back at you.

He still hasn’t spoken a word.

The slow drag of a breath, shaky and too sharp, had your bright smile freezing on your face. His grip hasn’t relented, fingers calloused from years of playing volleyball digging into your arm almost painfully. The air between you two is still, he hasn’t moved, not so much as a twitch.

Unease creeps its way into your stomach.

Why hasn’t he said anything?

He’s never exactly been the strong, silent type, and you love him for that. Iwa often complains that his best friend likes the sound of his own voice too damn much (half heartedly at best), and maybe that’s true, but he never realised that it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

It’s different for you, not being able to see.

You don’t exactly blame them for not understanding - how could they, really? Without your sight to help you, your other senses have to work in overdrive just to make sense of things. Tooru’s voice builds the world around you, imbues it with a spark, guides you like a hand stretching out through the darkness. It’s a gap in the void, a reassurance you cling to - because without it there’s nothing. You’re alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

So when he goes quiet like this, it’s never a good sign.

A lump lodges its way in your throat. Without your sight, his silence is almost impossible to read, but you can sense the sudden heaviness in the air, the tension hanging thick between the two of you.

You expected dramatics. Tears, maybe, or a burst of affectionate cuddles and kisses. Gushing over your mark just as he had when his own had come through. Hell, you thought he’d grab his phone and take a thousand and one pictures just to prove to the world that you were his as much as he was yours - because you loved each other. Because you were soulmates.

Is there something wrong with your mark?

“Tooru?” you murmur, the edges of your smile starting to slip as your panic rises. “I-is everything-”

“You’re mine.”

The clipped words are little more than a whisper, hoarse and choked. It takes you by surprise, making your heart skip a beat, the knot in your stomach tighten, yet just as that paralysing apprehension starts to take root, he clears his throat, and a laugh bubbles to the surface.

Slowly, like ice thawing, his fingers relax on your forearm, gliding up over your shoulder to curl around your neck. “You love me, right?”

Your eyebrows knit together, but you nod anyway. “Always.”

There’s another shaky breath, and suddenly his arms are wrapping around you, drawing you into a tight embrace. You don’t fight it, still bewildered by the sudden whiplash of his tone.

His own heart is racing, you can feel it as he holds you against him. The question burns deep inside of your chest, a thought you don’t want to give voice to, but you can’t seem to stop yourself - it slips out before you even realise you’ve opened your mouth.

“It is your name, Tooru, isn’t it? You’re my soulmate?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Oikawa hums, resting his chin against the top of your head. “Of course it is, cutie,” he chuckles. “Who else’s name would it be?”

He takes you out for dinner to celebrate. You’d originally picked one of his favourite dresses to wear, a strapless white number with a pretty, flowing skirt that fell to your mid thigh, but Oikawa stops you before you can leave, passing you over an old denim jacket of yours.

“It’s cool out tonight,” he says as he eases it over your shoulders before you can protest.

You don’t question it.

—

He fucks you that night, hard, fast and unrelenting, holding onto you so tight that you swear you’ll have bruises come morning.

—

Oikawa likes doing little things for you.

He likes it when you hold onto his arm and let him guide you around when you go out together (you do have a cane - it sits in the back of your closet for ‘emergency uses’ only). He likes to buy you pretty things, jewellery, clothes, little trinkets that remind him of you - spoiling you with every opportunity he can, doubly so now that he has a salary that affords him that luxury.

It’s not uncommon for him to pick out your outfits. For one, you can’t see so you kind of have to rely on somebody else’s help so you don’t end up a mismatched disaster, and Tooru seems to enjoy doing it. He likes seeing you wear the things he buys for you - lacy, soft and demure.

He also likes it when people know that you’re his.

So it doesn’t strike you as odd when Tooru insists on you wearing his club hoodie over your dress the next time you go to one of his games. You might not be able to see him fly across the court, but you can hear the cheers, the roar of the crowd as they stamp their feet and chant like a battle cry when San Juan scores. You can taste the excitement in the air, and whenever your soulmate steps up to the plate to serve, you feel the rabid excitement of the crowd thrumming in your veins.

It’s warm in the stadium with so many people crammed close together, you push the sleeves up without even thinking. It’s not an issue - it shouldn’t be - but when your boyfriend slips his arms around you, fresh from the locker room post match, it’s the first thing he notices. He’s tugging them back down before you can so much as offer a hello, tersely muttering something about you getting a cold when you frown.

There’s a tiny flicker of unease at the odd behaviour, but he’s kissing you before you can linger on it for too much longer.

And if that’s all it was, maybe it would be easier for you to shove that niggling worry aside.

But once you start noticing things - little, inconsequential things you would have just shrugged off before - you can’t seem to stop, and that tiny seed of doubt starts to take root, to sprout and grow.

Your friends stop calling by. Back home your social circle was pretty much limited to Tooru, Iwa and their friends - not that you minded at all, you love them all dearly, it’s just that you didn’t really have any friends of your own outside of that little group. When you moved across to Argentina and Oikawa started training for longer hours, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to his new team, you got lonely, sitting in your new home just waiting around for him to come back to you.

And it took a while, but eventually you started to venture outside of your comfort zone and lo and behold - even with your stumbling Spanish, you managed to make a few friends! Though you can tell that your beloved boyfriend wasn’t exactly thrilled by the burgeoning new friendships you gushed to him about, he’s never begrudged you them. If it made you happy, then he was happy.

Lately though, they’ve been kind of distant. And by distant, you mean… well, nonexistent. They don’t come visit you anymore, when you call their numbers, it just rings out.

You can’t even leave voicemails - there’s just an automated voice telling you their message banks are full. Regardless, not one of them has made the effort to call you back, and it’s not like you can text them to ask why they’re avoiding you. Life gets in the way, you know that, and sometimes people just drift apart but it’s like all of a sudden they’ve just dropped off the face of the planet.

But when you mention venturing out into town one day without them while Tooru’s at practice, he seems strangely resistant to the idea.

“I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around by yourself. It’s not safe out there for you, cutie,” he tells you.

The words are saccharine, as sweet as the kisses he presses against your lips when he coaxes your chin upwards. You love him, you do. And you understand that he worries - even away from the hustle and bustle of the big cities, San Juan isn’t exactly a crime free neighbourhood, but for the first time the strong, muscular arms that wrap around your waist don’t bring comfort.

It’s like they’re a cage, locked around you and dragging you slowly down to the depths, and it’s driving you mad because you can’t figure out why it feels like that.

Biting back your annoyance, you sigh, forcing yourself to relax against him. You love him - this is normal, couples disagree all the time. “I’m not an invalid, babe. I’ve done it before - I can’t just sit around the villa all day moping all alone or I’ll go crazy.”

He hums noncommittally, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he draws you closer still, and the conversation is dropped.

Two days later, you find your cane snapped in two in the back of the closet. Oikawa has some weights stuffed in an old gym bag for when he can’t be bothered leaving home to work out - the bag must have fallen on your cane and cracked it when he put it back after his session yesterday afternoon.

An accident, it has to be. He’d never deliberately do something so petty, right?

And there are moments where you can forget the doubts that gnaw away at your insides. Tooru has always been a caring, attentive lover - the perfect boyfriend. He seems more determined that ever to shower you in love, whether that’s by waking you up with his tongue eagerly lapping at your cunt, bringing you home bouquets of fragrant flowers and cooking the two of you dinner, or just with the tiny gestures of affection - tucking your hair back away from your face, linking his hands with yours, the little kisses and compliments he lavishes you with on a daily basis.

When it’s just the two of you, lounging around on the couch, his head resting on your lap and your fingers carding through his hair, it’s easy to pretend that everything’s fine. The two of you love each other. You’ve been his rock, his biggest supporter right from the early days, and Tooru’s the one who drew you out of your shell, who makes you feel like you’re actually worth something.

That you’re beautiful, and loved.

It’s not until you come home one afternoon from an impromptu trip to the local bakery just down the road that all the little pieces fall into place, and you realise why.

The craving for something sweet was what drew you out. Truthfully, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. It was a short trip, one you’d made a thousand times before, and it wasn’t like the locals didn’t know you, wouldn’t watch out for you if they saw you about to unknowingly hurt yourself or trip over something.

The alfajores in your hand were supposed to be a surprise, Tooru had been wound up from practice lately, more stressed than he usually was this late in the season, and you knew you weren’t the only one with a wicked sweet tooth. You’d just wanted to cheer him up.

You hadn’t expected to come home to find Tooru pacing in your bedroom, muttering to himself, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to whirl around at the sound of your approach, snatching at your wrist and all but hauling you inside.

You certainly aren’t prepared for the snarling, bitter words he hurls at you.

And yet even as tears fill your eyes, a choked sob bursting free as he berates you for leaving the villa without telling him, Tooru clutches at you so tightly it feels like your arm’s going to snap.

“You can’t leave me! You can’t - you’re mine!”

He doesn’t stop, barely pauses for breath, but those eight words hit you like a freight train, and everything else fades out into white noise. You can’t for the life of you explain how or why, but in that moment, you know with absolute certainty that the name on your arm can’t be his.

Tooru lied to you.

He’s not your soulmate.

It’s all you can do to stand there numbly while your boyfriend falls to pieces in front of you. The angry yells and screams turn into wretched sobs, and suddenly it’s Tooru collapsing in your arms, clinging to your neck like it’s a lifeline as he sniffles against your chest, and when desperate apologies turn into desperate kisses and he starts to lead you backwards towards the bed, you don’t fight him.

He treats you like you’re made of glass, worshipping every inch of your skin, fervent declarations of love spilling out between kisses like prayers of the devout at an altar. He fucks you slowly, lovingly, moaning your name so sweetly as he searches for absolution within the plush walls of your sex.

And with his fingers coaxing at your clit, his lips dancing against yours you fall off that precipice with him.

You have no idea long the two of you lie there in silence, limbs entangled with one other, but eventually you register the warmth of his hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentle kind of tenderness that makes something deep inside of you ache.

“You still love me, don’t you?” Tooru’s voice is quiet. Hesitant. It reminds you of the little boy you knew, the one who confided all his fears of never being good enough to you, desperately seeking the validation you always gave so freely.

Your eyes flutter shut, another stray tear spilling down your cheek, and your heart breaks anew.

“Always.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #tw gaslighting #tw manipulation #tw dub con

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