#How to Use Pulse AI | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heron-knight · 9 months ago

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decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it.

Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air.

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours.

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do. As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later.

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon.

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7:

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive.

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth.

#mechposting #creative writing #mech pilot #Heron knight’s writing #short story #writing

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verus-veritas · 16 days ago

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Possessed by Pleasure

(AI Generated)

The summer sun beat down mercilessly on the empty park, the air thick with humidity that clung to everything like a second skin. Colton, a broad-shouldered college jock with a mop of blonde hair plastered to his forehead, chucked another rock at the ducks gliding across the pond. The splash echoed in the stillness, the ducks scattering with indignant quacks. He wiped sweat from his brow, his tank top soaked through, clinging to his chiseled frame.

Nearby, Samuel sprawled across a weathered bench, his muscular legs splayed wide, fanning himself lazily with his baseball cap. His thick, curly mullet dripped sweat onto his neck, the dark brown strands matted against his tanned skin. His hairy chest glistened under the open shirt he hadn’t bothered to button, the heat making him careless.

“Man, this summer’s a fuckin’ drag,” Colton groaned, tossing another rock. “No parties, no chicks, just our dumbass parents nagging us about school.”

Samuel snorted, tilting his cap back to reveal his sharp green eyes. “Tell me about it, bro. My old man’s on my case about grades again. Like I give a shit about calculus when I could be balls-deep in some sorority girl.” He grinned, crude and unapologetic, scratching at the coarse hair on his chest. “Remember that blonde from the Kappa house? Swear she was begging for it after, like, two beers.”

Colton laughed, a low, arrogant sound. “Yeah, dude, you’re such a stud. Bet she’s still dreaming about that mullet tickling her thighs.”

They cackled, their voices carrying across the empty park, brimming with the careless bravado of youth. They were kings of their own small world, untouchable in their shared arrogance, lazy in their disregard for anyone but themselves.

Boredom gnawed at them, the kind that made trouble sound like fun. “Let’s head into town,” Samuel suggested, sitting up and cracking his knuckles. “Steal some shit, mess with people. You know, the usual.”

Colton’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Fuck yeah. Let’s see how many of those old farts we can piss off before dinner.”

They grabbed their stuff, littering the park with empty soda cans and chip bags without a second thought, and kicked over a “No Loitering” sign by the park entrance for good measure. The crunch of metal under Samuel’s sneaker made them both laugh as they sauntered toward town, their strides long and confident.

The main street was quiet, the heat keeping most folks indoors. They passed a diner, where Samuel flipped off a waitress who glared at them through the window, and stopped outside an antique store tucked between a barber shop and a laundromat. The faded sign read “Mabel’s Oddities,” and the window displayed dusty trinkets and creepy porcelain dolls that made Colton shudder exaggeratedly.

“This place looks like a fuckin’ haunted house,” he muttered, but his grin betrayed his interest.

Inside, the air was musty, thick with the scent of old wood and mothballs. Shelves overflowed with junk—rusted candelabras, chipped teacups, a taxidermied owl that seemed to stare right through them. Behind the counter sat an old woman, her hair a wild nest of gray, her eyes sharp and suspicious. She wore a shawl that looked older than the town itself, and her voice rasped like dry leaves when she warned them, “Don’t touch nothin’ unless you’re buyin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, chill, grandma,” Samuel said, flashing a smirk as he poked at a brass lamp.

The woman, presumably Mabel, glared but said nothing, her fingers tightening around a cane propped against the counter. Colton wandered toward the back, nudging Samuel and nodding toward a glass case behind the counter. Inside was an ancient tome, its leather cover cracked and adorned with strange, swirling sigils that seemed to pulse under the dim light. A small brass lock held it shut, glinting faintly.

“Dude,” Colton whispered, his eyes gleaming. “That book looks like some Harry Potter shit. Bet it’s worth something.”

Samuel’s grin widened. “Let’s snag it. You distract the old hag, I’ll grab it.”

Colton nodded, sauntering to the back of the store where he “accidentally” knocked over a shelf of glass figurines. The crash was deafening, and Mabel hobbled over, cursing under her breath. Samuel seized the moment, slipping behind the counter with the grace of a practiced thief. His fingers worked quickly, picking the lock on the case with a paperclip he kept in his pocket for exactly this kind of thing. The tome was heavier than it looked, its pages yellowed and brittle, but he tucked it under his arm and whistled sharply. Colton bolted for the door, Samuel close behind, their laughter echoing as they sprinted down the street.

Mabel stood at the entrance, shaking her fist and screaming, “You little shits! You’ll regret touchin’ that book!”

Samuel turned, flipping her off with both hands. “Suck it, you old bitch! Go back to your cauldron!” They disappeared around the corner, the tome pressed against Samuel’s sweat-soaked shirt, their cackling fading into the humid air.

—

Back at Samuel’s house, the two sprawled in the living room, the AC barely keeping up with the heat. The tome sat on the coffee table, its presence oddly commanding. Its leather cover was warm to the touch, the sigils seeming to writhe when caught in the corner of their eyes. Colton pried open the lock with a pocketknife, revealing pages filled with incomprehensible text, the ink faded but still dark in places, some smeared with what looked like dried blood. The metallic scent hit them both, and Samuel wrinkled his nose. “What the fuck is this? Some kinda vampire diary?”

Colton flipped through, stopping on a page with a vivid illustration. It showed a circle of naked figures—men and women locked in a writhing, orgiastic embrace around a pentagram. Above them hovered a horned creature, its form both grotesque and alluring, with a tail curling like smoke.

“Yo, check out the tits on that one,” Colton said, pointing at a woman in the drawing, his voice dripping with juvenile glee.

Samuel laughed, but his eyes caught something else—a scrawled translation beneath the pentagram, written in shaky Latin.

“Hey, look at this. Someone wrote what it says.” Without thinking, he read the words aloud, his voice stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables: “Ego invoco te, Xaz’zaraul, filius Asmoseros, dominus libidinis…”

The incantation rolled off his tongue, each word heavier than the last, until the final syllable hung in the air like a thunderclap.

The world went silent. The hum of the AC, the distant chirp of cicadas, even the creak of the house all vanished. The air thickened, pressing against their skin, and a wave of dread washed over them, primal and suffocating.

Colton’s eyes widened. “Yo, Sam, you feel that?”

Before his friend could answer, a deep, sultry voice purred from behind them, “Oh, I definitely felt that.”

Hands, warm, strong, and unnervingly heavy suddenly settled on their shoulders. They yelped, scrambling forward and spinning to face the intruder.

He was massive, at least seven feet tall, his skin a deep, blood-red that seemed to glow faintly in the dim room. Black, wiry hair covered his broad chest and scalp, framing a face that was both youthful and wickedly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a goatee that he stroked with long, clawed fingers. A tattered cloth hung low around his hips, barely covering him, and a long, whip-like tail swayed lazily behind. The air around him shimmered with heat, carrying a scent that was intoxicating—sweat, musk, and something primal that made their pulses race.

Colton stammered, “What… what the fuck are you?”

The creature bowed with a flourish, his tail flicking playfully. “Xaz’zaraul, at your service. But you boys can call me Raul. One of the thirteen sons of Asmoseros, lord of lust and carnal delight.” His voice was like velvet, each word dripping with promise. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he savored the humid air of the room. “It’s been… oh, two thousand years since I last tasted the mortal world. You boys opened a lovely little rift for me to slip through.”

Samuel’s shirt, discarded on the couch earlier, caught Raul’s eye. He bent down, picking it up with a reverence that was almost obscene, and pressed it to his face. His long, forked tongue slithered out, lapping at the sweat-soaked fabric, his sharp teeth grazing it as he moaned softly. “Such… vitality,” he murmured, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

Samuel, pale and trembling, shouted, “You’re a fucking sex demon?!”

Raul’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Precisely.” He dropped the shirt, his gaze sweeping over them both, lingering on Samuel’s hairy chest, slick with sweat from the heat. “And I’m here to indulge. But first, I need a human vessel. A permanent home in this world.”

His eyes locked onto Samuel, predatory and hungry. “You’ll do nicely.”

Samuel bolted for the door, his heart pounding, but Raul vanished in a blur, reappearing in front of him with a chuckle. “Now, now, where’s the fun in running?”

Samuel skidded to a halt, fists raised, his voice shaking but defiant. “I’ll kick your ass back to whatever fucked-up hell you crawled out of!”

Raul laughed, a rich, throaty sound. “I admire that fire. It’ll taste divine.”

Before Samuel could swing, Raul’s hand shot out, clawed fingers tangling in the jock’s curly mullet. Samuel froze, his body seizing as if struck by lightning. His eyes rolled back, turning milky white, and his limbs trembled violently, muscles twitching under his sweat-slicked skin.

Raul threw his head back, moaning, “More! More! Give me more!” His voice was ecstatic, feeding off whatever he was pulling from Samuel.

Seconds later, the shaking stopped. Samuel’s fists dropped, his shoulders slumped, and his head lolled forward. His eyes returned to their normal green, but they were empty, unfocused, like windows to a vacant house. His jaw hung slack, a thin line of drool trickling down his chin, pooling on his hairy chest.

Colton, frozen in horror, choked out, “What did you do to him?”

Raul smirked, his voice suddenly shifting seamlessly into Samuel’s, complete with the faint Texan drawl. “I vacated the premises, bro. Flushed out all that pesky personality, memories, everything that made him… Samuel. He’s an empty vessel now, ready for me.” He winked, his expression so eerily Samuel that Colton’s stomach churned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got all his essence. I’ll slide right into his life, and no one will ever know.”

Colton tried to run, but his body wouldn’t move, his limbs locked as if bound by invisible chains. He could only scream, his voice hoarse. “Let us go, you freak!”

Raul wagged a finger, his voice back to its sultry timbre. “Oh, Colton, where’s the fun in that? Stay. Watch the show.”

He turned to Samuel’s mindless body, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Leaning close, he whispered into Samuel’s ear, words too soft and guttural to decipher, a low chant that seemed to vibrate through the air.

Samuel’s body suddenly jerked to life, moving with a clumsy, puppet-like grace, as if strings were pulling him from within. His hands fumbled at his belt, fingers trembling as they unbuckled it, the leather sliding through the loops with a slow, deliberate rasp. His jeans fell to his ankles, followed by his boxers, the fabric catching briefly on his thick thighs before pooling on the floor. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, glistening with sweat in the humid air, the tip twitching as if responding to an unseen command.

Samuel’s face twisted into a vacant, perverse grin, his mouth slurring incoherent groans, “Uhh… nngh… f-feels…” His voice was thick, sluggish, barely forming words, each sound dripping with drool that spilled from his slack jaw, sliding down his chin and onto his hairy chest.

His hands moved mechanically, guided by Raul’s will, fingers grazing his nipples, pinching them until they hardened. His groans grew louder, more animalistic, “G-good… uhh… m-more…” His body shuddered with each touch, his muscles flexing involuntarily, sweat beading and rolling down his torso, catching in the coarse hair that spread across his pecs and trailed down to his navel.

Raul stepped closer, his presence radiating heat that made the air shimmer. He pressed his nose into the crook of Samuel’s neck, inhaling deeply, his long tongue flicking out to taste the salt of Samuel’s skin.

“This flesh,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent growl, “so ripe, so brimming with primal energy.”

His clawed fingers traced the contours of Samuel’s back, lingering on the curve of his spine, then sliding up to tangle in the damp curls of his mullet. He tugged gently, tilting Samuel’s head back, exposing the taut line of his throat. Samuel’s empty eyes stared at the ceiling, his mouth open, drool pooling and dripping in slow, viscous strands.

Raul’s hands roamed lower, skimming over Samuel’s hips, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin just above his groin. Samuel’s cock twitched, hardening fully, precum beading at the tip and sliding down the shaft, mixing with the sweat that coated his skin. Raul’s tail slithered forward, its tip curling around Samuel’s thigh, the smooth, warm surface brushing against his inner leg, teasingly close to his balls.

Samuel’s body reacted instinctively, his hips jerking forward, a slurred moan escaping his lips, “Nngh… s-so… gooood… uuuh…” His face contorted into a lewd grimace, his tongue lolling slightly, drool spilling onto his chest, glistening in the dim light.

The demon’s hands guided Samuel’s own, one wrapping around his cock, the other kneading his pecs, fingers digging into the muscle, tugging at the coarse hair. Raul moved with deliberate slowness, savoring every reaction, every twitch of Samuel’s mindless body.

He leaned in, his lips brushing Samuel’s ear, whispering more incomprehensible words that made Samuel’s groans deepen, his voice a low, guttural, “F-fuuuck… nnngh… p-please…” The words were barely coherent, a string of slurred syllables driven by pure sensation, his body a puppet to Raul’s perverse control.

Across the room, a mirror reflected the scene, but Raul’s form was invisible. It was just Samuel, standing alone, his hand stroking his cock with slow, rhythmic motions, his face twisted into a perverse smirk that looked wrong, alien on his features. His hairy chest heaved with each breath, sweat and drool mixing into a slick sheen that caught the light.

Colton, paralyzed, could only watch, his pleas growing weaker, his voice cracking. “Stop it… please… that’s my best friend…”

Raul’s voice shifted back to Samuel’s, taunting, the Texan drawl dripping with mockery. “Yo, bro, check it out. Feels so fuckin’ good jerkin’ my fat cock. Look at it, man, fuckin’ throbbing.”

He sped up the strokes, Samuel’s hips bucking in rhythm, the wet slapping of skin growing louder, more frantic. Samuel’s body was a perfect marionette, every movement dictated by Raul’s will, his thighs trembling, his cock leaking steadily now, precum dripping onto the floor in thick, glistening drops.

His groans were a constant stream of slurred nonsense, “Uhh… f-feels… s-sooo… nngh… g-goood…” His eyes remained vacant, but his face twisted into expressions of raw, mindless pleasure, his mouth hanging open, drool pooling and spilling, his tongue flicking out instinctively.

Raul’s tail tightened around Samuel’s thigh, the tip brushing higher, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath his balls. Samuel’s body shuddered violently, his hips thrusting forward, his cock pulsing in his hand. Raul’s fingers slid down Samuel’s chest, tracing the lines of muscle, circling his navel, then dipping lower to cup his balls, rolling them gently in his palm.

Samuel’s groans grew louder, more desperate, “M-more… uhh… f-fuuck… nngh… meee…” His voice was a broken record of pleasure, each sound punctuated by the wet slap of his hand on his cock, the slick sound filling the room like a perverse symphony.

Raul leaned back, his eyes gleaming with delight as he watched Samuel’s body writhe under his control. He pressed his chest against Samuel’s back, his red skin hot against the jock’s sweat-slicked flesh, guiding both of Samuel’s hands now—one stroking his cock, the other pinching and twisting his nipple. The demon’s long tongue slithered out, lapping at the sweat on Samuel’s neck, then trailing down to his shoulder, tasting the salt and musk with a low, satisfied moan.

“This body is a fucking feast,” Raul purred, his voice vibrating against Samuel’s skin. “Every inch of it, pulsing with desire. I can’t wait to play with you forever.”

Samuel’s body responded with a shudder, his hips bucking harder, his cock throbbing in his hand. His face was a mask of mindless ecstasy, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth open in a constant stream of drool and slurred groans, “G-good… uughh… s-so… f-fuuuuck…”

His thighs trembled, his muscles flexing and relaxing in waves, his body entirely at the mercy of Raul’s touch. The demon’s tail slid higher, the tip brushing against Samuel’s cock, curling around the base and squeezing gently, eliciting another slurred moan, “Nngh… p-please… m-more…”

Raul’s grin widened, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Time for the finale, Samuel. Cum for me. Let me in.”

He pressed himself fully against Samuel’s back, his red-skinned form aligning perfectly with the jock’s sweat-soaked body. Samuel’s face flushed red, his grin blissful and empty, his thighs spasming as his cock pulsed harder, the precum flowing freely now, coating his hand and dripping onto the floor. Raul’s hands tightened on Samuel’s, guiding the strokes with fierce intensity, the rhythm relentless, the wet slapping echoing through the room.

Then, with a devious chuckle, Raul began to merge with Samuel’s body. His red skin shimmered as he pressed himself into Samuel’s back, his form sinking into the jock’s flesh. The invasion was slow, deliberate, each inch of Raul’s body melding with Samuel’s, the sensation overwhelming.

Samuel’s body convulsed violently, his eyes crossing, his hips thrusting wildly as if trying to escape the intrusion but unable to resist. His groans became a cacophony of slurred, incoherent sounds, “Nngh…yeees… f-fuuck… c-cum… uuhh… i-inside…”

His cock throbbed, the tip swollen, and with a final, shuddering thrust, he erupted. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering his hairy chest, his face, and the mirror across the room. The orgasm was relentless, wave after wave, his body jerking with each pulse, cum mixing with the sweat and drool that coated him, his face twisted in blissful, mindless pleasure.

Raul’s tail was the last to disappear, slithering into Samuel’s back with a final, obscene wriggle. Samuel’s body arched, his head thrown back, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as the demon fully claimed him. His cock continued to spew, the cum pooling on the floor, streaking his thighs, and matting the hair on his chest.

His body slumped briefly, jerking erratically, then straightened, standing tall as he took a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes rolled back, then snapped forward, no longer vacant but gleaming with a devious, unfamiliar light.

Colton, tears streaming down his face, whispered, “Sam?”

The figure turned, grinning. “Of course it’s me, bro. Your best friend since middle school.”

The voice was wrong—Raul’s deep, sultry tone. He laughed, catching himself, and shifted back to Samuel’s voice, complete with the Texan drawl. “Whoops. Sorry, but Samuel’s gone now. His body and mind, however, are all mine to keep.”

He stretched, flexing Samuel’s biceps, then buried his face in Samuel’s hairy armpit, inhaling deeply. “Fuck, this flesh is exquisite.” His tongue lapped at the sweat, a low moan escaping as he savored it.

He ran his hands over Samuel’s chest, smearing cum across the hair, then scooped some from the floor and licked it off his fingers, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“This body’s a goddamn masterpiece,” he purred, flexing again, admiring the taut muscles. “Not as strong as my old form, but the sensations… worth it.”

Colton’s voice was barely a whisper. “W-What about me?”

The new Samuel sauntered over, grabbing Colton’s chin and licking the side of his face, tasting the salt of his tears and sweat.

“Don’t worry, bro,” he said, his voice dripping with Samuel’s cadence. “My younger demon brother’s dying to try on some human flesh. You’ll make a fine vessel.” He grinned, the expression alien on Samuel’s face, a perverse mask hiding the demon within. “We’re gonna have so much fun with this world.”

Colton’s tears fell faster, licked away by the demon’s tongue. The room reeked of sweat, cum, and something darker, the air heavy with the consequences of their reckless theft. The tome lay forgotten on the table, its pages fluttering as if stirred by an unseen wind, a silent witness to the demonic desires now unleashed into the world.

The End & Beginning of the Lust Demon's Era...

#mind control #reprogramming #possession #demon #jock #identity theft #AI Generated

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ilovemarvel97 · 1 month ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 13

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Wanda’s bond is stronger than ever—but beneath the warmth of their intimacy, unsettling questions arise.

Word Count: 5,272

Warnings: fluff, a little smut, (18+), use of strap (enchanted)

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

A few days had passed since the mission, and Y/N had been basking in the kind of peace that only came from being wrapped up in Wanda—physically, emotionally, soul-deep. But even with the warmth of their bond grounding her, something kept tugging at her attention.

Vision.

Despite everything—despite the clarity of the bond between Wanda and her—Vision had been sneaking out of the compound more and more. Quiet departures in the early morning, late returns after sunset. Y/N had caught glimpses of him once or twice, and each time, something about him seemed… different. Off.

She made her way down to Tony’s lab, hoping for insight.

Tony was hunched over a half-built suit and a cup of coffee, talking softly to himself when she walked in.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted, hands in her pockets.

Tony gave her a once-over, not looking away from his project. “Well, well. Look who came up for air.”

Y/N smirked. “Funny. I was actually here to ask about Vision.”

That earned a pause. Tony blinked, then set down his tools with a sigh. “Ah. Him.”

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked. “I’ve seen him leaving. At weird hours. Something’s not right.”

Tony leaned back against the workbench, arms crossing. “You’re not imagining it. FRIDAY flagged a few anomalies in the compound logs—Vision's been leaving without logging his destination, and encrypting his activity. Not that he has to report to me, technically… but it’s weird.”

“Weird how?” Y/N asked, concern creeping into her voice.

Tony shrugged. “He’s precise. Predictable. But lately? He’s being careful. Too careful. Covering his tracks, locking access, even shutting down surveillance feeds in sections of the lab when he’s working.”

Y/N frowned. “Do you know what he’s working on?”

“No clue,” Tony said. “He always closes the screen or cuts the connection when anyone walks in. Happened twice this week.”

Y/N looked down for a moment, processing. “You think it’s about Wanda?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t exactly been subtle about that obsession. But I can’t say for sure. He’s not talking. Just... off.”

Y/N nodded slowly, eyes distant.

Tony’s voice softened slightly. “I’ll keep an eye on it. Let me know if he says anything to you. Or if anything feels… wrong.”

Y/N nodded again. “Thanks, Tony.”

As she turned to leave, Tony added under his breath, “Weird behavior from a synthezoid usually means one of two things—an upgrade… or a problem.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

But the knot in her chest said she already knew which one it was.

---

Tony continue to monitor Vision’s behavior.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where is Vision off to again?” he asked, sipping his coffee as he watched the surveillance feed.

“He has exited the compound through the east corridor,” the AI replied smoothly. “No scheduled mission or clearance filed.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at the screen as Vision walked with purpose across the perimeter and into the tree line, the same path he’d taken three times this week alone. Always around the same time. Always when no one was watching.

Or so he thought.

“Freakin’ sneaky toaster…” Tony muttered. “What the hell are you up to?”

He tapped a few keys, pulling up heat signatures and satellite imaging, watching Vision disappear into the woods again. No obvious rendezvous, no vehicles. Just… him, alone, disappearing deeper into some isolated location.

Tony leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is getting weirder by the day.”

With a sigh, he stood up and grabbed his tablet.

---

A Month Later

Gunfire echoed through the dim corridors of the Hydra base, lights flickering as red emergency alarms pulsed across the walls. The air reeked of gunpowder and scorched metal.

Y/N was a blur of motion.

She zipped between agents, disarming them before they could aim, dropping weapons to the floor with clatters that barely registered before she was already gone again. A round of bullets followed her—too slow. They hit empty wall as she reappeared behind the shooter and knocked him out cold with a swift elbow to the temple.

“Got eyes on the main server room,” Nat’s voice crackled over comms. “Cover me while I pull the drive.”

“Copy,” Y/N replied, turning toward the hallway where Nat had vanished.

More Hydra agents spilled into the corridor ahead, barking orders in German. Y/N dashed forward, skidding between them, her momentum sending two crashing into the wall as she swept their legs from under them. She ducked a stun baton, twisted, and delivered a lightning-quick jab to the agent’s solar plexus. He collapsed with a grunt.

“Wanda?” she called into the comms. “You good?”

“I’m surrounded,” Wanda’s voice came through, tight with strain. “Third corridor near the east wing—need backup now.”

Y/N's head snapped in that direction. "On my way, babe."

She shot forward in a blink, wind snapping around her as she dashed through the maze of halls. Along the way, she shoulder-checked a Hydra operative into a wall and vaulted over another, disarming him mid-air.

Sparks flew as she skidded to a stop near Wanda, who was holding her own—red magic lashing outward in brilliant waves. But more agents were closing in fast.

Y/N didn’t waste a second. “Heads down!” she shouted.

In a flurry of movement, she zoomed through the group, disarming, disabling, and knocking them flat in a matter of seconds. The last agent tried to run—Y/N appeared in front of him and sent him flying with a roundhouse kick before he could blink.

Wanda lowered her hands, panting, her red eyes glowing faintly.

Y/N grinned. “Miss me?”

Wanda smirked, stepping toward her. “Always.”

Behind them, another explosion shook the far wall. Nat’s voice came through again: “Got the data. Meet you at extraction in two.”

Y/N gave Wanda a quick wink before grabbing her hand. “C’mon, let’s finish this.”

---

The low hum of the Quinjet filled the cabin as they lifted off from the Hydra base, the engines steady beneath them. Y/N sat with her back against the cool metal wall, catching her breath, her suit smeared with soot and a cut above her eyebrow already beginning to close. Across from her, Wanda was watching her, arms crossed, eyes soft.

Nat was at the console, already decrypting the stolen files, while Clint piloted up front, focused but relaxed now that they were airborne.

“That was clean,” Clint called over his shoulder. “Almost too clean.”

“Speak for yourself,” Y/N muttered, wiping her forehead. “I think I ran enough to power this jet twice.”

Wanda chuckled softly and moved closer, settling beside Y/N. Her fingers gently found Y/N’s wrist and traced over her name, a quiet, grounding touch. “You didn’t hesitate when I called,” she said, voice low.

Y/N turned her head and smiled at her. “I’ll never hesitate for you.”

Nat looked up from the console with an amused eyebrow. “God, you two are worse than Barton and Laura.”

“I’m right here,” Clint said, though he didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, he was smiling.

Then, after a moment, he added, “Hey—before I forget. This weekend, it’s Nathaniel’s birthday. Laura already invited Nat, but I wanted to ask you two as well.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Oh—really? You sure we wouldn’t be, you know… distracting?”

Clint chuckled. “Nah, Laura loves you both. And the kids are already obsessed with Wanda’s magic tricks and Y/N’s speed. You’re practically party entertainment at this point.”

Wanda grinned. “I’d love to come. It sounds wonderful.”

Y/N nodded. “Count us in. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Wanda leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, and Y/N instinctively pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.

“So,” Nat said, tone suddenly sly, “how long until we have to start making excuses to give you two alone time again?”

“Don’t start,” Y/N groaned. “We’re just… making up for lost time.”

Clint laughed. “That what the kids are calling it now?”

Nat smirked but said nothing more, returning her attention to decrypting.

Y/N glanced down at her wrist as Wanda’s touch lingered there. The mark hummed faintly, alive with warmth and peace. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes for a moment, just soaking in the closeness.

Even with the low buzz of tech and the hum of the Quinjet, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, everything finally felt… right.

Home wasn’t a place anymore. It was a heartbeat against hers.

---

Back in the Compound

****

A few hours later, their room was dimly lit by the golden hue of late afternoon sunlight seeping through the curtains. The air was heavy with warmth and intimacy, filled with soft gasps and the creak of the mattress.

Wanda was straddling Y/N, her palms pressed against Y/N’s stomach for balance. Her movements were slow, intense, each roll of her hips deliberate, driven by the quiet desperation in their bond. The enchanted strap they’d come to cherish pulsed with magic and connection, bridging the space between their bodies in a way that felt impossibly real.

Y/N’s hands held her waist firmly, guiding her but letting her lead. Her eyes never left Wanda’s face—flushed, lips parted, brows furrowed in pleasure. She looked like a dream. No, more than that—like something sacred.

“Wanda…” Y/N whispered, voice rough with emotion, not just desire.

Wanda leaned down slightly, one hand sliding up to Y/N’s chest for support, their foreheads nearly touching. “I feel everything,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Every inch of you… it’s overwhelming.”

Y/N cupped her face, pulling her in for a kiss as their rhythm deepened. Magic sparkled faintly around them, soft red wisps dancing at the edge of their joined bodies—resonating with every thrust, every gasp, every heartbeat they shared.

They weren’t just touching—they were fused in soul, in love, in something far greater than either of them could put into words.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Wanda’s movements grew faster, more desperate, her fingers digging lightly into Y/N’s stomach as she rode out the rising wave inside her. The bond between them crackled like a live current—magic and love entwined, tangible in every breath, every shared heartbeat.

Their moans filled the room, raw and unfiltered. Y/N’s grip on Wanda’s waist tightened as she thrust up to meet each movement, breath ragged, lips parted.

“Wanda—” she groaned, voice trembling with the effort to hold back.

Wanda leaned forward, one hand cradling Y/N’s face as her forehead rested against hers. “Detka…I’m so close” she whimpers, eyes locked on hers. “Come with me.”

As Wanda cried out, her body trembling through the high, the sensation and their bond sent Y/N over the edge with her. A low moan tore from her throat as she released, the enchanted toy responding with a soft pulse, responding to Y/N climax. Wanda gasped again as she felt it—warmth filling her, real and undeniable—and her lips found Y/N’s in a kiss that was everything: hungry, tender, grateful.

Their bodies stilled, but their connection pulsed stronger than ever. Wanda stayed close, resting her forehead against Y/N’s, both of them breathing hard, tangled together in the soft afterglow.

****

“I’ll never get over this,” Wanda murmured.

Y/N smiled, brushing back a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”

Wanda lay on top of her, chest rising and falling against Y/N’s, still intimately connected. Her cheek rested against Y/N’s shoulder, the warmth between them steady and comforting. The room was quiet now, save for their slowing breaths and the occasional hum of their bond, soft and pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Y/N lazily trailed her fingers up and down Wanda’s spine. “You know, we really need to stop breaking the bedframes,” she said with a sleepy grin.

Wanda chuckled, her lips brushing against Y/N’s skin. “Maybe you should stop making me lose control, then.”

Y/N smirked. “That would mean denying you. And I’m just not that strong.”

Wanda hummed in satisfaction, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “I like when you’re weak for me.”

“You’re dangerous when you know your power,” Y/N teased.

There was a quiet pause, filled only by the shared rhythm of their breath, before Wanda murmured, “What do you think Clint’s kid wants for their birthday?”

Y/N laughed, the sound low and full of affection. “You just rode me like a woman possessed and now we’re talking about birthday gifts?”

“I’m a multitasker,” Wanda replied smugly. “Also, I want them to like me.”

“They already do. You helped Lila with her math homework, remember? You’re basically her favorite Avenger now.”

Wanda smiled against her skin. “You think so?”

Y/N wrapped her arms around her, holding her tighter. “I know so!”

They lay there like that a little longer, basking in the quiet afterglow, their hearts calm, their souls at peace. Wanda was mid-sentence about birthday gifts when Y/N suddenly shifted, flipping them both over in one fluid motion.

Wanda let out a surprised laugh that turned into a soft gasp as Y/N settled between her thighs, still inside her, deeper now.

“My turn,” Y/N growled playfully, her eyes dark with renewed desire.

Wanda’s breath hitched, her legs instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as a fresh wave of anticipation rushed through her. “Then take it,” she whispered, voice trembling with need.

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She rolled her hips forward, slow at first, drawing a moan from both of them, and then again—deeper, firmer. The room once more filled with the sounds of their love, their bond sparking like wildfire between every breath, every kiss, every movement.

And just like that, round two began—hungry, heated, and absolutely theirs.

---

The city buzzed around them with late afternoon life—horns honking, people laughing, the faint smell of roasted nuts from a nearby cart. Wanda’s fingers were laced with Y/N’s as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, both of them in sunglasses and low-key clothes. Still, they had a glow that made people look twice—two women in love, completely immersed in each other.

“Okay,” Wanda said, glancing at the small list she had open on her phone. “Clint said Nathaniel’s been obsessed with dinosaurs lately.”

“Dinosaurs?” Y/N grinned. “Then we’re getting the biggest, loudest, most annoying toy we can find. If it roars, stomps, and maybe breathes fake fire—perfect.”

Wanda laughed, leaning into her. “You really want to get uninvited next year?”

“Absolutely not. I just want Clint to suffer a little. He did make me babysit the gremlins during that mission debrief last month.”

They ducked into a bright toy store a moment later, the kind with spinning mobiles, bright shelves, and too much cheerful music playing in the background. Y/N made a beeline for a massive animatronic T-Rex while Wanda wandered through the science kits and puzzles, already thinking of what Laura might appreciate too.

Eventually, they met in the middle—Y/N triumphantly holding the roaring T-Rex box, and Wanda with a neatly wrapped educational kit about fossils.

“We get him both?” Y/N asked, already knowing the answer.

Wanda nodded with a smirk. “Chaos and balance. Very us.”

As they stepped back outside, bags in hand and the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, Y/N pulled Wanda into her side and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“This is nice,” Y/N said softly.

Wanda tilted her head up and kissed her. “It is.”

They didn’t rush home. They strolled, stealing kisses at red lights, sharing a street pretzel, and laughing like no one was watching—just a couple in love, picking out dinosaur toys for a kid’s birthday and living a piece of the normal life they'd fought hard for.

---

The Birthday Weekend

The Barton farm was alive with energy—kids darting across the yard with superhero masks and foam swords, music drifting from the porch speakers, and the scent of grilled food in the air. A bright dinosaur-shaped bounce house roared intermittently, thanks to a little button Nathaniel couldn’t stop pressing.

“Why does that thing growl every five seconds?” Laura asked with a chuckle, joining Wanda and Nat under the shade of the big oak tree with drinks in hand.

“Because Y/N showed Nate how to do it,” Nat replied dryly, sipping from her cup. “She’s enabling him. Chaos recognizing chaos.”

Wanda laughed softly, but her attention remained fixed on Y/N. Across the yard, Y/N was dramatically pretending to be a captured villain, wrapped in streamers as Nathaniel and Cooper shouted about locking her up. She stumbled back with exaggerated groans, fell onto the grass with flair, and made the kids burst into delighted laughter.

“She’s good with them,” Laura said, watching the scene unfold with a fond smile.

“She is,” Wanda agreed, her voice quiet, full of something deeper. Her gaze never wavered from Y/N, who now had Nathaniel perched on her back like a tiny superhero riding into battle.

Laura noticed the way Wanda’s fingers brushed absently over the inside of her wrist, where Y/N’s name was marked—her soulmate. Y/N immediately raise her head with a smile she only gives to Wanda, feeling her own wrist tingle. And Wanda just smiles back.

“You two talk about the future yet? Marriage, kids?” Laura ask seeing their interaction.

Wanda flushed slightly but nodded. “We’ve started. Not everything, not yet. But we know what we want. And we want it with each other.”

“That’s the bond,” Laura said knowingly, lifting her own wrist and brushing her fingers over Clint’s name. “When it’s real, when it’s right, you don’t need everything figured out. You just know.”

Wanda glanced at her with a soft smile, then at Nat, who remained suspiciously quiet.

“She’s already yours,” Nat said teasingly, nudging her shoulder. “Even if you weren’t soulmates, the way she looks at you would give it away.”

Wanda’s gaze drifted back to Y/N just as she scooped Nathaniel up and spun him in a wide circle. The boy shrieked with glee, arms outstretched, completely trusting her. Wanda’s heart clenched, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded into the background. All she could see was Y/N—laughing, loving, alive.

“Being with her feels like breathing,” Wanda murmured. “Like I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until we found each other.”

Laura smiled warmly. “That’s how I felt with Clint. It’s soul-deep. Hard to explain, but impossible to ignore.”

“And now,” Nat added, “you two are in the honeymoon stage. Might be stuck in it for a while.”

“Forever sounds fine with me,” Wanda said without hesitation, a dreamy smile playing at her lips.

And as they stood together, watching Y/N collapse onto the grass with Nathaniel giggling in her lap, Wanda knew—with her whole heart and soul—that this was only the beginning of the future they would build. Together.

---

The Barton farmhouse quieted as the evening rolled in, soft laughter still echoing from the kitchen where Clint and Laura were cleaning up. The kids had finally crashed after hours of games, cake, and chaos. Nat had taken one of the smaller rooms, grateful for the quiet. Wanda and Y/N were shown to the guest room upstairs—cozy, with a big window overlooking the back pasture, and a bed that was just the right amount of creaky.

Wanda entered first, kicking off her shoes, her body still buzzing from the joy of the day. Y/N closed the door behind them, flipping the small lamp on. The warm yellow light painted the room in soft golds and browns.

“They really wore Nathaniel out,” Wanda said, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and letting it fall around her shoulders.

“They wore me out,” Y/N said with a playful groan as she stretched, cracking her back. “I think I pulled something when I was pretending to be a villain in the treehouse battle.”

Wanda turned, smiling. “You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“I was. With you watching? Always.”

Y/N crossed the room, her arms circling Wanda’s waist, and she buried her face in the crook of her neck. Wanda wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, grounding herself in the warmth and scent of her soulmate.

“Today was perfect,” Wanda whispered. “I could do this with you forever.”

Y/N leaned back slightly to look into her eyes. “Then let’s.”

They shared a soft kiss—no rush, no fire, just intimacy and affection and the quiet promise of forever. When they broke apart, Y/N pulled her shirt over her head, and Wanda followed suit, both settling into bed under the thick quilt.

Wanda curled into Y/N’s side, fingers tracing over her chest, then down to her wrist, where her name was etched in elegant script. “It still feels like a dream,” she murmured. “That you’re mine.”

Y/N kissed her temple. “And you’re mine. For good.”

They lay in silence for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the house, the sound of crickets outside. Wanda sighed in contentment and nuzzled in closer.

“Let’s have this one day,” she said, eyes fluttering shut. “And all the days after.”

Y/N smiled, pulling her in tighter. “You got it, baby. Every one of them.”

And wrapped in each other’s arms, they drifted off—soulmates safe, together, and finally at peace.

---

The days rolled by in a quiet rhythm of love, missions, laughter, and stolen moments. Somewhere between early morning coffee kisses and late-night whispers under shared blankets, time slipped past like sand between fingers, and when they realize it was already six months since Wanda stopped rejecting.

“Six months,” she murmured aloud, her fingers brushing over the date circled in red. The day they finally stopped denying the bond. The day she chose Y/N fully, without fear or guilt.

She found Y/N in the training room, sweat glistening on her brow, cheeks flushed from sparring. Wanda just stood in the doorway for a second, watching her—her soulmate. Her partner in everything. The woman who had taught her that love didn’t have to hurt.

When Y/N caught her staring, she grinned. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

Wanda walked over, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist from behind and resting her cheek between her shoulder blades.

“Did you know it’s been almost six months?” she whispered.

Y/N paused, her hands settling on Wanda’s. “Really?” She turned around, smiling softly. “Feels like yesterday. Feels like forever.”

Wanda leaned up to kiss her. “It’s everything.”

They sat down on the edge of the mat, Y/N pulling Wanda into her lap as she ran her fingers through her hair. “We’ve been through a lot in less than a year,” she said quietly. “But I wouldn’t trade a second of it.”

“Even the messy ones?” Wanda teased, resting her forehead against Y/N’s.

“Especially the messy ones. That’s how I knew it was real.”

Wanda kissed her again—slow, reverent, full of everything words couldn’t say.

Y/N deepen the kiss making Wanda moan slightly into her mouth. And when they break the kiss Y/N murmur “Do you wanna go eat somewhere with me tonight?”

Wanda smiled against Y/N’s lips, her fingers still tangled in the hem of her shirt. “Hmm… is this a date?”

Y/N grinned, her nose brushing Wanda’s. “Of course it’s a date. You think I’d let six months go by without taking my girl out to celebrate properly?”

Wanda’s eyes lit up, the way they always did when Y/N called her that—my girl. She bit her bottom lip, nodding.

“I’d love that.”

Y/N leaned back just enough to catch her breath, her heart still pounding from the kiss—and the look Wanda gave her. “Alright, then. You shower, I’ll shower, and let’s get dressed up. Somewhere nice.”

Wanda raised a brow, teasing, “Nice as in candlelight and violins? Or nice as in greasy fries and milkshakes?”

Y/N pretended to think it over. “Hmm… maybe both. Fries first, violins after.”

Wanda laughed softly, the sound warming the air between them. “That’s why I love you.”

Y/N blinked, heart skipping a beat. Wanda had said it so casually, so confidently—but it landed like thunder in her chest. She smiled.

“Good,” she whispered, brushing a soft kiss to Wanda’s cheek. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m crazy about you.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Hopelessly.”

They kissed once more—gentle and full of promise—before Y/N stood and offered her hand.

“Come on, Maximoff. Let’s celebrate almost-six-months with something that isn’t leftover pizza.”

Wanda took her hand, rising to her feet. “Only if you let me wear the red dress you like.”

Y/N smirked. “Deal. But fair warning, I might not make it through dinner if you do.”

Wanda leaned in with a sly look. “Then we’ll just have dessert at home.”

---

The night started perfectly.

Wanda looked stunning in the red dress Y/N loved—elegant, effortless, and entirely captivating. Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off her, and Wanda couldn’t stop smiling at the way her soulmate kept sneaking glances like she was seeing her for the first time all over again.

They were seated at a cozy corner table, low candlelight flickering between them, the clinking of glasses and quiet hum of conversation creating an intimate backdrop. They held hands over the table, sipped wine, laughed at old mission stories, and toasted to ten months of love, chaos, and finding peace in each other.

But as the food arrived—plated beautifully, rich in aroma—Wanda’s expression changed.

Her smile faltered.

She blinked a few times, then pressed a hand lightly to her stomach. “Sorry, I—I don’t know what’s wrong. I suddenly feel…”

Her voice trailed off. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with panic.

“Wanda?” Y/N asked, concerned, already rising from her seat.

Wanda didn’t answer. She bolted from the table, heels clicking in a rush across the floor, and disappeared into the women’s restroom.

Y/N followed without hesitation, ignoring the startled looks from a couple of nearby diners. When she pushed through the restroom door, she found Wanda in the far stall, retching violently.

Y/N’s heart sank. She closed the stall door behind her and crouched beside her, holding her hair back and rubbing gentle circles on her back. “I’m here, baby. Just breathe. It’s okay.”

Wanda didn’t speak for a while, just coughed and heaved until her stomach was empty. When it was finally over, she sagged against the stall wall, panting and pale.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t know what happened. The smell hit me and then—just everything turned.”

“Shh, don’t apologize,” Y/N said, brushing strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re okay. We’ll get you home.”

Wanda nodded weakly, allowing Y/N to help her to her feet. She rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water on her face at the sink, still visibly shaken but grateful.

“I ruined our night,” she muttered, still not quite meeting Y/N’s eyes.

Y/N turned her gently by the shoulders and looked at her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You scared me, sure. But we’ll try dinner again some other time. Right now, I just want to get you somewhere comfy.”

Wanda managed a small smile as Y/N kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into the touch, letting the familiar warmth of her soulmate steady the trembling in her limbs.

They exited the restaurant quietly, with Y/N flagging down a car rather than using her speed—Wanda looked too shaken to be swept off her feet like usual. The ride back to the compound was silent, but not uncomfortable. Wanda rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes closed, breathing slow. Y/N held her hand the whole way.

Once inside their room, Y/N helped her out of her dress, letting her change into one of her oversized T-shirts and a pair of soft shorts. Wanda moved slowly, still a little off balance, and Y/N noticed—really noticed—how pale she looked under the warm lighting.

“You want some water? Or tea?” Y/N offered, brushing Wanda’s hair back.

Wanda shook her head. “Just… lie with me?”

Y/N didn’t need to be asked twice. She climbed into bed and opened her arms, and Wanda curled into her side without hesitation. The bond between them pulsed softly, a gentle hum that grounded them both.

Y/N held her close, the steady beat of Wanda’s heart under her palm both a relief and a concern. She pressed a soft kiss to Wanda’s forehead and whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve never gotten sick like that before. Maybe it’s a bug? Or something you ate?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. Her fingers toyed with the hem of Y/N’s shirt, a nervous habit, and her eyes stayed trained on some distant point on the ceiling. Finally, after a beat of silence, she said softly, “I’m fine.”

Y/N frowned, gently tilting Wanda’s chin so their eyes met. “Wands. That wasn’t nothing. You nearly collapsed in the restaurant.”

“I know,” Wanda said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin tonight.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Y/N said firmly. “But you’re scaring me, baby. Talk to me. If something’s wrong, I need to know.”

Wanda’s throat worked as she swallowed, and for a moment, it looked like she might say something more. But instead, she shook her head and snuggled in closer, burying her face in Y/N’s neck.

“I promise I’m okay,” she murmured. “I just needed to be with you. That’s all.”

Y/N didn’t push, not yet. She tightened her arms around her and let out a slow breath, choosing trust over worry—at least for now. But her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Wanda was rarely this quiet when something was off. And that look in her eyes earlier—that wasn’t just discomfort.

It was fear.

Still, Wanda was resting now. Her breathing had slowed, evening out against Y/N’s chest. Y/N stroked her back in soft, repetitive motions, whispering small reassurances even as her gut twisted with unease.

She was lying. Not about being fine, but about something.

She just didn’t know what yet.

And that scared her more than anything.

Y/N held Wanda a little tighter, her hand resting gently on the back of her head. The rhythm of her fingers slowed against Wanda’s hair as a quiet thought surfaced—last time she got sick like this...

Her mind flicked back to a memory she’d tried not to dwell on too much. It had been months ago, back when everything was still tense and raw. Back when Wanda was still living in the other room. Back when she was still engaged to Vision, when he tried to be intimate with her…

Y/N sighed, her breath slow and heavy, and looked down at the love of her life resting in her arms. Wanda’s brow was still faintly creased in discomfort, lips parted as she breathed softly through her mouth, eyes shut but restless. She looked so vulnerable. So human.

Y/N wanted to ask. Wanted to say “Are you feeling like that again? Did something bring it back? Did Vision try to do something?”

But she didn’t.

Not tonight.

She brushed a kiss to Wanda’s forehead and whispered into her hair, “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about anything. Just rest, baby.”

Wanda let out a barely-there hum, nuzzling into her chest. But Y/N felt the tension still lingering in her spine, like her body hadn’t fully let go yet.

She rubbed soft circles into Wanda’s back and closed her eyes, trying to ground herself in the feel of Wanda in her arms. The bond between them was steady but quiet, like it too was waiting—watching—holding its breath.

Y/N swallowed the unease rising in her throat and tucked it deep down.

Let it pass, she told herself. Let her breathe. Let her feel safe.

Tomorrow, if Wanda was ready, they’d talk. But tonight… Y/N would simply hold her through the storm.

---

Let me know your thoughts in the comment!

#wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda marvel #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #soulmates

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 2 months ago

Text

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 8

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: He's baaaaack. And it's about to get dramatic.

warnings: AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Pregnancy. Angst and arguing. Mention of canon typical blood and injury. Description of IV and stitches.

w/c: 4,425

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks*

The cry of your voice cut through the night like a dagger into Matt’s heart. He didn’t know what was waiting for him at home, but he could hear the agony in your screams from blocks away. All the worst case scenarios were running through his head and clouding his thoughts as he tried to focus on his surroundings to make it to you as quickly as he could. He tripped on a chimney as he leapt from one roof to another, recovering with a roll and not missing a beat to keep pushing onward. Despite the sweat now pouring down his face, his blood felt like ice, freezing him in place and slowing him to a near halt. At least that’s what it felt like as the seconds ticked on while he tried to get home to you. He may as well have been running through molasses. Not caring at how his legs ached while they carried him, he pressed on, trying with all his might to pick up speed until he finally made it home.

His heart rate was high from how quickly he was moving, but it nearly dropped all the way to zero as the smell of blood invaded his nose when he finally stepped onto the balcony of the apartment you shared. He didn’t want to think of the worst case scenario, couldn’t even bring himself to imagine the word. Wrenching open the door, he picked up on three heart beats through your sniffles and pleas; yours, the baby’s, and a third.

It was the least steady, erratically pulsing in an unclear rhythm.

Dying.

He tasted your tears in the air, salty and mixing with the stench of blood as he rushed to be by your side.

“Matt! Please! I’m losing him, please!” you begged

Matt honed in on the figure in your arms, listening to inaudible grunts as the life in it was slipping away. He could practically hear the blood pouring like a waterfall out of the strangers’ neck. The familiar scent of gunpowder amongst the sweat and the blood stuck to the man’s skin. Heavy boots weightless against the floor as he struggled to breathe. At least three guns on his person.

Frank.

“Keep putting pressure on the wound.” Matt commanded as he leapt back to his feet and sprinted to the bathroom, emerging a moment later with the first aid kit in his hands

It had only been minutes between the time Frank collapsed and Matt arrived. But as you watched Frank grow paler and colder in your arms, it felt like an eternity. Matt tossed his gloves aside as he knelt down beside you and threaded the needle.

“Hold him steady.”

Matt began suturing the wound, hands slipping with each stitch from the wetness of the blood. Weightless in your embrace, Frank’s head rested against your stomach. You prayed that he could hear the baby the way Matt could in this moment. Maybe if he could sense the life inside you that he might have created, it would give his soul the push he needed to stay earthside. You stroked at Frank’s hair while Matt worked, tears spilling onto his eyes as he laid nearly motionless in your arms. Would this be enough to save him?

“Okay. The wound is closed. But he’s lost a lot of blood, we need to get him to—” Matt paused, head cocking at a new sound. “Someone’s here.”

Not even a second later, there was a gentle knock on the door. Your body froze in place as you watched Matt take in everything he could about whoever on the other side of the door. Was Frank followed? Was Matt? Were you about to be caught in the middle of a shootout in your own home?

“Matt? My name’s Curtis. I’m a friend of Frank’s.”

You exhaled in relief, choking out another sob. Frank had told you about Curtis a few times and you knew he was a person to trust. Matt ripped off his Daredevil helmet and bolted towards the door.

The man followed Matt into the apartment, immediately going into field medic mode when he saw you and Frank on the floor. He was large in stature but had a kindness in his eyes and a tranquility to his voice, even in such a desperate situation.

“What happened?” Curtis asked, using his flashlight to open Frank’s eyelids and asses his vitals

“He um…” you spoke softly through sniffles “He just showed up. His neck was bleeding and…”

“I closed the wound, but he’s lost a lot of blood.” Matt chimed in

“Did a damn good job too. Those are some clean stitches.” Curtis commented, feeling Frank’s pulse. “I brought a few bags of blood and some IVs. Help me get him on the couch.”

Matt and Curtis crouched down and picked up Frank’s heavy, unconscious form. One of the few things Frank had told you about Curtis was his prosthetic leg and how he got it. You wondered if lifting a solid log like Frank was difficult for him. As they got him up and onto the couch, you sat back on your haunches. You didn’t want to let him go, wanting to hold him in your arms; feel him breathing against you just to know he was still alive. You numbly watched as Curtis rummaged through his bag and put on latex gloves.

“How did you know where to find him?” Matt asked.

“He called me. Said he was hurt bad and that he was heading here cause it was the closest place he could think of. Asked me to meet him.”

Curtis worked fast, getting a line into Frank’s arm and getting a bag of blood hooked to him. The former medic seemed completely unfazed that Matt was standing beside him, half-dressed in his Daredevil suit. You wondered if Curtis already knew who was behind the red mask, or just spent enough time around Frank that the identity of a notable vigilante in the city was unremarkable to him. Did Curtis know who you were though? Did Frank even tell him about you?

“With Frank you never know what you’re gonna find but I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad.” He continued while he worked

He improvised using the table lamp as a stand, hooking the bag onto the finial and checking that it was flowing correctly. You realized it was still dark in the apartment, only the moon still streaming in. Shit, you should have turned a light on so Curtis could work better, not knowing what else to do to help.

Color began to spread across Frank’s face almost immediately. As the seconds ticked on, he looked more and more alive and you finally allowed yourself to breathe fully. Since his arrival, it felt as though you were a fish that had been caught on land and now were finally tossed back in the sea as water filled your gills with relief. With Frank’s main injury taken care of, Curtis pulled a few antiseptic wipes out and began to clean the blood that was drying on Frank’s neck, also checking if there were any other injuries he needed to address. You still sat on the floor across the room, unable to move as you watched Curtis work. Matt paced behind the sofa, ready to lend a hand if needed. You could tell he was listening closely, making sure Frank was still breathing. Once Curtis had cleaned enough of the wound, he lifted each of Frank’s limbs to check him over once more and gave his heart a listen.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to bring some antibiotics.” Curtis said, cleaning up his supplies and grabbing his bag.

“Will he be okay?” you asked

��Probably. If he makes it to sunrise and doesn’t sprout an infection, we should be in the clear.”

“Thank you, Curtis.” Matt said, walking him to the door.

You stared at Frank. If he didn’t have all the scrapes and bruises across his face and arms, he’d look just like he was sleeping. After how things ended between the two of you, it was unbelievable that he was here in front of you and alive (mostly.) You worried if you dared to look away for even a moment, he might just evaporate into thin air and disappear from your life again.

“You should get some sleep.” Matt spoke almost robotically in your direction.

He was standing between you and the door where he just showed Curtis out, clearly keeping a distance. All the emotions you carried from your fight earlier came flooding back in; your anger at Matt for not considering your feelings, the hurt that he’d put himself in danger, the fear that he wouldn’t return to you. Based on the way his eyes shifted back and forth rapidly, you knew he was assessing you now. He could probably tell how your muscles ached and your eyes burned from exhaustion. He could probably tell your heartburn was flaring up with a vengeance from all the stress of the evening and that your ankles were swollen from all the pacing. He could probably tell the bed had not been slept in since he left.

“I’m not tired.” you responded

“That’s not true.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

“You should at least try.”

“Please, Matt. I need to stay up. Just until Curtis comes back and we know he’s okay.”

“Fine.” Matt replied curtly. He cocked his head to give you and the baby another listen, then headed towards the bedroom.

You stayed in your spot on the floor, just watching Frank’s chest rise and fall. Again and again and again.

“Can I ask you something?”

Matt’s voice cut through your trance, startling you with a jolt. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been sitting there staring at Frank, but enough time had passed that Matt was freshly showered and clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt. In all the overwhelm of Frank’s arrival, you hadn’t really looked at Matt since he’d gotten home. Thankfully, he had no signs of injury clearly visible to you. The only thing amiss was the pained look on his face.

“Yeah. What?”

“Did you mean it earlier? When you said you loved me?”

You sighed deeply, hurt by his question. You were still so angry with him. With the way he still stayed several feet away from you, leaning on the bedroom door frame with an unreadable expression, it was if he was mad at you for Frank’s unexpected return. Like you somehow magically willed him to come back out of spite for the fight you and Matt had earlier. You’d received no affection from him since Curtis left and Frank was deemed stable; no greeting kiss, no apology for how he spoke to you earlier, no hug or gesture to comfort you during this stressing ordeal. He was behaving more as if he was having a discussion with an opposing counsel and not his lover.

“Matt, you know I meant it. My heartbeat didn’t waiver, I know it didn’t.” you spoke with a hushed tone, careful not to disturb Frank. Unsure if he was still passed out or just sleeping, but he needed rest if he was going to heal.

“Yeah, I know. But I wanted to make sure that hasn’t changed.”

Rubbing at your bump, you shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to cry again. Sure, you were still angry about your fight earlier, but not enough to possibly not love him anymore in just a few hours.

“Why would it have changed between now and then?”

Matt nodded towards Frank on the sofa.

You scoffed.

“How could you even think this changes how I feel?”

Matt stepped towards where you still sat on the floor, crouching down to be at face level with you. His voice vibrated with irritation through gritted teeth as he tried to also keep his volume down.

“It changes everything.”

“Not how I feel about you, Matt. I love you and I mean it. No matter what happens with Frank.”

That was all you could be certain of at this point and you hoped it was enough reassurance for Matt.

“And what if he wants to be in the baby’s life too? What do we do then?” he asked

“I don’t know. He needs to make it through the night first. When he wakes up and I have the chance to tell him and then we go from there.”

Admittedly, Frank being back put a serious complication in everything moving forward. Or maybe it didn’t matter at all because he could just up and disappear again and leave you and Matt right back to before. Your head began to throb. There were too many things to think about, each swirling in your brain like a hurricane meeting a tornado, leaving no clear thoughts just chaos in it’s wake.

“What if he wants you back?” Matt questioned

“We were never really together so I don’t know how he could want me ‘back’.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m with you now, Matt.”

“Still didn’t answer my question.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” you scoffed

“I don’t know.”

Matt’s clipped tone let you know his patience was waning. There was something he was trying to get from you; whether it was reassurance or he was just egging on another fight, you weren’t sure. But you knew you could out stubborn him. Besides, to have the audacity to be miffed like he was when you were the one who should be agitated. And you certainly were. Not just from the argument earlier, but at how cold and distant he was right now. The fucking nerve to treat you like he was a detective interrogating a suspect when you’d done nothing wrong. His voice got tighter and tighter as he spoke, jaw ticking with rage as his tone dropped lower.

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, bullshit.” he spat back

“I did.” you swallowed thickly “Before all this. Before he left. Before the baby.”

Once again, you placed a protective hand on your stomach. Your tail bone was starting to ache from sitting on the floor for so long and if you weren’t so stressed, you probably could have laid down right there and slept for hours on the uncomfortable ground.

“But you know Frank, he couldn’t… didn’t want to…” you trailed off “Anyway, you stepped up and showed me so much gentleness that I’m still not sure I deserve and I fell in love with you.”

“Do you still love him though?”

“I’m not sure. Do you ever stop loving someone once you love them? But I know I’ve moved on. And I know you’ve made me happy. And I know I love you, Matt.”

Something about that seemed to finally quell Matt’s doubts even if just a little. He reached out, placing his hand softly over yours, taking in the tiny heartbeat coming through. A tear ran down your face at finally feeling Matt’s touch, a small comfort in the panic of the last few hours. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments. Matt’s head tilted a fragment of a degree from time to time, listening to your stomach and taking in the sounds of you and the baby. Just as you finally felt at peace for the first time since this afternoon, Matt spoke.

“He’s not staying.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Matt.” you balked, shoving his hand away from where it rested “He almost died tonight. He still might. I’m not going to let you just toss him out because he wasn’t there for me like you were for a baby he knows nothing about.”

“Fine. He can stay until he’s better.”

The sun was rising, muddy blue dusk illuminating the apartment.

The exhaustion of the last few hours finally caught up to you, Matt finally convincing you to go to bed and at least lay down. You fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. Matt tried to remain focused on Frank, listening to his heartbeat become steadier as the night wore into morning. But he couldn’t help but tune into you and the baby as well.

The smell of Frank’s blood lingered in crusted specks under your fingernails while you slumbered. Matt’s Columbia sweatshirt warmed your body amidst the chill still in the air. He listened as your skin glided smoothly against the silk sheets as you shifted to lay on your other side.

Attempting to get himself something to keep awake, Matt fiddled with the coffee maker in the kitchen. The city below was beginning to come to life; cars whizzing past as early commuters began to head downtown, morning joggers’ feet thumping rhythmically along the west side highway, bodegas lifting their grates to begin welcoming business for the day.

The noise of it all faded away in an instant as Matt heard the figure on the couch shift and grunt.

Frank was awake.

Thoughts wisped by in Frank’s brain as the world started to come into his focus. He scrunched his eyes shut as he tried to figure it all out. His whole body ached like the times he had to run the obstacle course at bootcamp. His mouth felt dry as he tried to swallow, burning pain traveling all the way down his esophagus.

The only thing he could remember was you. Coming to him in a vision as he sat on death’s doorstep. He wasn’t sure how he got there, he just knew that’s where he had been. And there you were to greet him. One final vision to seal off his time in the land of the living. The love he lost second standing in a bright doorway to send him off. He knew on the other side of that door would be the first one he lost, a perfect bookend to remind him of all the happiness he was never meant to have while he lived.

But no, he never made it to you. Never got the chance to kiss you goodbye and cross the frame to Maria. Instead he was here now, scratchy blanket coarse against his skin as he tried to shift where he lay. He was somewhere? A couch? But where… oh, right. Matt.

“Red?” he called out in barely as a whisper, raspy and faint.

“Yeah?” Matt replied, carrying two coffee mugs in his hand as he made his way across the room to Frank.

“What happened?”

“You showed up at my apartment last night. Bleeding out.”

Matt sat the mugs down on the coffee table, taking a seat in the chair opposite. He crossed his arms, expression stoic behind his red glasses.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your friend Curtis came too and he says you might actually live so, lucky you.”

Frank rubbed at his eyes as he attempted to orient himself. Right, Curtis. He sort of remembered that too. As he tried to sit up, a wave of vertigo rushed over him, making him feel like was on the shittiest ride at the carnival that Lisa used to love going on. She always tortured him and Bill, making them ride it over and over until they were ready to loose their lunches. Resigning to the awful sensation, Frank gingerly laid his body back down. He blinked a few more times to shake away the nausea and took in a hearty inhale.

Your name unmistakably slipped from his lips in the form of a question.

“She’s sleeping. Finally got her to calm down enough to rest.”

So you had been real.

“What’s she doin’ here?”

Matt’s grip on the arm of the chair tightened as he heard the way Frank’s heart sped up when he confirmed you were just in the other room. He was trying to remain calm with Frank for your sake, but he’d never been good at keeping a level head when the two of them were together even before he met you.

“She lives here. With me.” he replied curtly

Despite how dizzy and weak he felt, Frank sat bolt upright at Matt’s statement, glancing around with confusion just to confirm he was indeed where he thought he was; in Matt Murdock’s apartment. The blood rushing away from his brain made his head pound and his vision go white for a moment, but he pushed the discomfort aside. From what Frank could see without twisting his body (which he knew would hurt like a bitch if he tried), Red wasn’t lying. Sure, the place felt mostly like something a boring fuckin’ lawyer would live in; modern art that looked like a Kindergardener drew it on the walls and furniture that was probably designed by Warhol and Frank Lloyd Wright’s love child.

But he also could immediately see the touches of you. There was an antique desk under the window that he knew used to be in your place. On top of it was a frame with a photo of the Eiffel tower. You told him you wanted to visit Paris someday. Draped over the chair was an afghan, purple and blue yarn woven in a zigzag pattern. You once mentioned it was made for you by your great aunt.

Shit, you lived with Murdock now. But how?

“What do you mean?” Frank asked, confused still

“Someone had to take care of her after you left.”

Matt couldn’t help the malice in his tone. Recalling the nights he spent wiping away your tears and holding you in his arms when Frank disappeared, he grew angrier and angrier with every passing second that Frank had stumbled back into your lives. Matt was there for every night you spent worrying, every tear you shed, every bout of morning sickness and late night craving. All of it. And Frank wasn’t.

“She tell you about me?”

“Yeah. She did.”

Frank let out a sigh through his nostrils, shaking his head. Matt couldn’t possibly know how your face had haunted him every damn minute since he left. The evenings spent staring at his phone, guilt at how he’d ended it eating him alive while contemplating dialing your number only to turn to a bottle of pills and a glass of whiskey to numb the urges. Not a night went by that he didn’t dream of your face; the one you made as you laid against his chest in the afterglow of love making, all flushed and ethereal with pleasure. And how all those dreams turned to nightmares the moment he pictured what you looked like after he left. He imagined images of you alone in bed after he’d broken your heart, crying out for him and missing him like an actress in one of those stupid made for TV Christmas movies you liked to make fun of. All the regret he still felt at having to hurt you like that. How desperately he wanted to reach out, to hold you again. But he knew it was best if he stayed away. So he did.

“So what you been up to since, huh buddy? Hiding out? Plotting your next kill?” Matt asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice

“I ain’t hidin’ from shit.”

“You’re hiding from her.” Matt pointed at the closed bedroom door. “Broke her heart so you could go out and shed all that blood guilt free, huh?”

“She’s a big girl. She’ll get over it.”

“Yeah? That how you go through life, Frank? Pushing anybody who bothers to care away just so you can be the world’s loneliest little soldier?”

“Better than all the pussy-ass shit you do, Red.”

“You mean actually help people? Be of service to others?”

“That right? Are you of service, Red? You serve? You think you’re some kinda hero, just cause you go running around in your pajamas? You’re just a goddamned knight in shining armor, coming home after playing make believe to save her like you save the city. Like she’s not a goddamn adult who can handle herself.”

Matt pushed himself off the chair and stalked over to the couch, bending down to get his face right in Frank’s. He kept his tone level, wanting to make sure it was known just how angry he was without risking waking you from the noise. Frank didn’t flinch as Matt invaded his personal space, nostrils flaring.

“I wouldn’t have had to do that if you had stayed, Frank. If you could get your shit together and not run in the other direction the minute a good thing walks into your life.”

“You wait until her bed was cold at least or you come in the second I left?”

Matt’s hand flew out before he even had time to think, connecting with Frank’s face with a loud smack. Frank flinched, eyes going wide in surprise at the outburst. Matt staggered backwards, pacing in a circle and running a hand through his hair in frustration. Pain seared through Frank’s head as he realized just how bad of shape he was in. A backhand like that normally wouldn’t have phased him, but with the fresh injuries plaguing his body, he struggled to hide the pain behind his stoic face. He could have found the strength to fight back, but didn’t want to. Letting Matt have his tantrum, he watched as he collected himself.

“Goddamn it. Goddamn you.” Matt bent over, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, I apologize.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“She wouldn’t want me to…” Matt trailed off “You really think that’s all it is between me and her? Just sex? Was that all she was to you?”

“Don’t you dare goddamn say that about her.”

“ She’s so much more to me, Frank. And I’m happy to have cleaned up your mess if it means I get to have her in my life.”

“Yeah that right? You do it to prove a point? Take my woman to get back at me cause you don’t like how I operate?”

His woman. His woman?! As if you ever belonged to Frank.

“I did it because she’s pregnant.” Matt spat, finally reaching his breaking point.

If he couldn’t use his fists to hurt Frank right now, he figured he’d instead drop a court-worthy bombshell right in his lap.

“And the baby has as good a chance being yours as it is mine.”

NEXT CHAPTER

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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avengxrz · 19 days ago

Text

feral gremlin girlfriend ⁃ steve rogers

pairings: steve rogers x reader word count: 6k words summary: she's sharp, closed off, and terrifying on the field. no one really knows how to talk to her, and honestly, most of the team is too scared to try. except steve. he's the only one she lets close, the only one who sees past the walls. and when she softens around him, everyone else starts to realize just how deep it really goes. warnings: mentions of past trauma, emotional walls, soft moments, grumpy x sunshine dynamic, mild language, confused teammates, found family vibes, steve rogers being painfully gentle, reader being feral but loyal, slow burn softness notes: thank you to the lovely anon who requested this, i loved the idea so much. sorry it took a while to write, life got in the way but steve rogers brainrot pulled me back. hope it was worth the wait <3 disclaimer: my works are not made using ai. every word comes from me, my thoughts, my hands, my time. do not steal, copy, or feed my fics into ai for any reason. fuck ai and what it’s doing to creative spaces. support real writers. requested by: anon ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ masterlist

You storm into the hangar with blood still on your knuckles and smoke clinging to your clothes. The lights above flicker, almost nervously, like the building itself is reacting to your presence.

Your boots hit the floor too hard, too fast, echoing through the space with the kind of rhythm that warns people to keep their distance.

Behind you, the quinjet powers down, hissing steam and wounded pride into the air. The mission was successful, technically.

You’re alive. The target isn’t. The body count was high. No one asks for specifics.

Steve follows a few paces behind, quieter, steadier, a calm tide in the wake of your storm.

You don’t look at him. You don’t look at anyone.

Natasha takes one glance at the blood smeared up your arm and decides now isn’t the time to ask questions.

Sam opens his mouth like he’s going to say something clever, then thinks better of it.

Even Bucky, who’s seen the worst of the worst, just nods once in silent respect and steps aside to let you pass.

You aren’t in the mood for conversation. You never are after missions like this.

Then, in the debriefing room, you sit in the farthest chair and peel your gloves off with slow, careful precision.

Your fingers are bruised beneath the leather. One knuckle is split. No one tells you to go to medical, because no one wants to be the one to get throat-punched before lunch.

The silence stretches on, dense and pulsing, until Steve clears his throat and offers a few quick words to the team. He gives the report, answers Fury’s questions, keeps everything clinical.

Efficient, but his eyes keep flicking back to you like he’s tracking your heartbeat through the floor.

Afterward, while the others drift away, some to the showers, others to disappear entirely; Steve approaches you with a towel and a first-aid kit. You scoff before he even opens his mouth. You don’t need help. You never do. That’s the whole point.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, voice sharp as broken glass.

“Sure you are,” he says, not flinching. Then he kneels in front of you like you’re not covered in half-dried blood and a dangerously thin layer of rage. “But I’m still gonna clean you up.”

You roll your eyes and lean back in the chair, arms crossed tight across your chest. “You always do this, like I’m gonna break if I get a paper cut.”

“You got stabbed,” he says simply, tugging gently at the hem of your shirt to inspect the gash beneath your ribs.

“Barely.”

His fingers brush your skin and you flinch, not from pain, but from how gentle he is. Always too gentle. Like he thinks if he touches you too rough, the monster in you will wake up again. Or worse, that the monster will soften.

He doesn’t say anything about the way your shoulders tighten. Instead, he starts cleaning the wound with maddening patience. The antiseptic burns, but you bite the inside of your cheek and stare at the wall. It’s easier than looking at him. Easier than acknowledging how steady his hands are, how he knows exactly where you hurt even before you do.

Meanwhile, the silence between you stretches thin and warm. Not uncomfortable. Not anymore. You’ve fought beside him enough to recognize the shape of his quiet. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask you to talk. He just… stays. Like he always does.

Then, when the wound is clean and your breathing has evened out, he lifts his eyes to yours. That look again. Like you’re some priceless painting he’s terrified to smudge. You hate that it doesn’t make you want to run anymore.

“You did good today,” he says, voice low and sure.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“That soft crap. I’m not one of your damsels, Rogers.”

He smiles, barely. “Never said you were.”

“And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I didn’t just commit several felonies and smile about it.”

He laughs under his breath, and it infuriates you how much you want to hear it again. You grit your teeth, but it’s half-hearted. The fire’s already burning lower.

Then he reaches up, touches your jaw like he’s done it a thousand times before, and leans in. His lips brush your forehead with a tenderness that feels like it shouldn’t belong to people like you.

You should shove him away. Say something snarky. Scare him off, but instead you just sit there and let it happen.

You don’t look at him when he pulls back. You don’t trust yourself to.

After a long pause, you finally move. Slowly, reluctantly, you drop your arms from their barricade across your chest and let your hands fall into your lap. Your fingers twitch like they’re not sure what to do now that they’re not clenched.

Steve doesn’t mention it. Instead, he begins packing up the first-aid kit with that same quiet focus he brings to everything he touches. It should irritate you.

The calm. The consistency.

But instead it settles deep into your chest, somewhere under the bruises and between the bones, like warmth slipping into places that forgot what it felt like.

Then he stands. He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t hover either. He just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to memorize the way your lashes fall when you blink too slowly.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sound is the hum of the lights above and the occasional clatter of someone else passing in the hallway outside. You wonder if they’re talking about you.

About the way you walked in blood-soaked and dead-eyed. About the way you only let Steve touch you.

Eventually, his voice breaks through the stillness. “You hungry?”

You snort, and it comes out uglier than intended. “I just broke a guy’s jaw with my boot. Forgive me if I’m not in the mood for sandwiches.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t challenge the deflection. “I made soup. It’s got potatoes and those little noodles you like.”

You glance at him sideways. “I never told you I liked those.”

He shrugs, mouth twitching. “You finished your bowl last time. Twice.”

That makes something uncomfortable stir in your stomach, and not just because you skipped lunch. You look down at your hands again, now cleaner but still raw around the knuckles.

For a while, you say nothing. You think of the mission, of the way the target begged at the end. You think of the look on Bucky’s face when you didn’t flinch.

You think of how quiet the ride back was, how nobody sat beside you.

Then you push yourself to your feet, stiff from adrenaline and blood loss. Steve moves like he’s going to offer you a hand, but you shoot him a glare before he can.

To your relief, he backs off with a faint smile and just waits.

You walk past him and out into the hall, footsteps slow but steady. He falls into step beside you, not speaking, not touching, just present.

Meanwhile, the corridors are mostly empty now, dimmed and still. The team has scattered. The compound feels less like a battlefield and more like a house again, though only barely.

You walk in silence through the maze of steel and glass until you reach the kitchen, where the lights are low and the air smells faintly of rosemary and garlic.

You want to make a joke about him playing housewife again, but your throat closes around the words.

Instead, you sit at the counter while he moves around the space with practiced ease. You try not to watch him, but you do. He ladles soup into a bowl, grabs a spoon, and sets it in front of you like it’s normal.

Like you’re normal.

The warmth hits your face first, then your hands, then that stubborn place in your chest that hasn’t thawed in years. You stare at the bowl.

“You don’t have to eat it,” Steve says, wiping his hands on a towel. “Just figured you might want something warm.”

You pick up the spoon slowly, testing its weight like it might be a weapon. Then, without comment, you take a bite. It burns the roof of your mouth a little. You take another anyway.

He watches you quietly, leaning against the counter across from you with his arms crossed. The room is too quiet, too intimate, too gentle. You hate how much it doesn’t make you want to run.

Eventually, you speak, voice quieter than it’s been all day. “I didn’t like the way they looked at me.”

Steve tilts his head. “Who?”

“The others. After. Like I was some kind of bomb that might go off again.”

He doesn’t speak right away. Then he crosses the room, slow and deliberate, and rests a hand lightly on your back. It’s nothing dramatic. Just warm. Solid. Real.

“You scared them,” he says, voice steady. “But not because you’re dangerous. Because they don’t understand how you survive what you do and still stand.”

You don’t look at him. You just take another bite of soup.

Then, for a moment, everything feels strangely weightless. The spoon slows in your hand, and the taste of the soup fades into the background.

Steve’s hand is still on your back, warm through the fabric, steady as a heartbeat you are not used to noticing. You have spent years building walls that never cracked, turning your skin into armor and your silence into a weapon.

But now, sitting in a kitchen bathed in low light, with the air thick with garlic and quiet concern, you start to feel something shift.

Meanwhile, Steve says nothing else. He doesn’t push, doesn’t prod, doesn’t ask you to explain the hollow places behind your eyes. Instead, he simply stands there beside you, presence unwavering. His hand moves in slow, thoughtful circles across your back, grounding you without pinning you down.

It should be infuriating.

You have never trusted kindness this quiet, never believed anyone could look at you without some kind of agenda. But this, this is different.

Then you set the spoon down gently and let your hands rest on the edge of the counter. The warmth from the bowl has seeped into your palms, and it feels almost foreign, like your body is confused by the absence of threat.

You close your eyes for a second and exhale slowly, not because you are tired, but because you are safe enough to do so. That realization sits heavy in your chest.

Steve leans in slightly, not enough to crowd you, just enough that you can feel the brush of his breath against your temple. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost reverent. “You’re allowed to let go. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

You shake your head, not in disagreement, but in disbelief. “I don’t know how.”

His hand stills for a moment, then starts moving again, softer now. “You don’t have to know. You just have to let someone help.”

You open your eyes and stare down at your scarred hands, then at the spoon, then at the cooling soup. The vulnerability sits awkwardly in your mouth, thick and unfamiliar. It is easier to fall from a ten-story building than to say what you are about to say, but still, you do.

“I wasn’t always like this.”

Steve’s fingers pause, just slightly, before continuing their motion. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel the shift in the air, the way he’s listening more closely now.

“I used to cry at cartoons,” you say softly, voice barely audible. “I used to laugh at everything. I was... I don’t know. Loud. Annoying. Too much.”

Then you pause, as if the words are trying to fold in on themselves. You can feel your pulse in your throat, fast and embarrassed.

“Something happened,” you continue, voice tightening. “And I got good at being someone else.”

Steve’s hand doesn’t leave your back. He steps just a little closer, letting the silence stretch gently between you until the weight of your words can settle.

“You didn’t become someone else,” he says finally. “You became someone who survived.”

You glance at him, finally meeting his eyes, and you are startled by the depth there. He is not looking at you like you are broken. He is looking at you like you are firelight. Scorched, yes. But still burning.

The next morning, you wake up with sore muscles and a bad mood already brewing behind your eyes. The kind of mood that makes even your own footsteps sound irritating. You don’t bother brushing your hair, and the hoodie you throw on is stained from something you don’t remember spilling.

The kitchen is already alive when you step in, which is your first mistake.

Sam is talking too loudly about something involving wings and aerial superiority, while Bucky is glaring at the coffee machine like it insulted his mother. Natasha is sitting on the counter, sipping her drink with the slow smirk of someone who knows exactly how annoying her silence can be.

You make it five steps into the room before Sam turns to you and grins. “Hey, sunshine. You sleep alright, or did you kill a raccoon in your dreams again?”

You glare at him without answering. He doesn’t seem fazed, which is strike two.

Then Bucky, ever the instigator, snorts into his mug. “You always wake up looking like you fought a hurricane and lost.”

“I was the hurricane,” you mutter, reaching for the coffee pot. “Get out of my way before I make that a confirmed report.”

Meanwhile, Natasha slides her cup toward you in offering. “I added cinnamon. Thought you’d like it.”

You stare at the cup like she handed you a live grenade. “Did I ask for cinnamon?”

“No.”

“Then why would you give me cinnamon?”

She raises a brow and shrugs. “I thought I was being nice.”

“Well, don’t.”

Then, before the collective annoyance crawling under your skin erupts into something dramatic and probably paperwork-inducing, Steve walks in. Hair still damp from a shower, sweatshirt sleeves pushed to his elbows, calm written into every line of him.

He looks at you for exactly two seconds and smiles—not one of those pitying smiles, not cautious, not amused. Just real.

“Morning,” he says, voice warm and simple.

Your jaw unclenches. Your spine relaxes a fraction. The coffee doesn’t taste like betrayal anymore.

Sam watches the shift with narrowed eyes. “How come when I say good morning, you threaten to stab me, but when he says it, you look like you might actually spare a life today?”

You don’t even glance at him. “Because he knows when to shut up.”

Bucky raises both hands in surrender. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Then Steve crosses to you and sets down a small plate; toast, perfectly golden, with just the right amount of butter and jam.

You blink at it, then at him, unsure whether to accuse him of witchcraft or propose. He just nods once like he’s delivering a peace offering to a very temperamental deity.

Meanwhile, the others watch in silence as you pick up the toast and actually eat it without complaint. Sam nudges Natasha, whispering something you pretend not to hear.

You don’t bother snapping at them. Your mouth is full, and Steve just poured you coffee the way you like it; two creams, no sugar, because sweetness is earned, not automatic.

Then, because apparently today is cursed, Tony walks in. He takes one look at the scene and mutters, “Oh great, the murder gremlin’s got a breakfast boyfriend.”

You set your coffee down very carefully. “I will put you in a wall.”

“See?” Tony points at you. “But this one,” he gestures at Steve, “you just give him that soft little eye squint. Why does he get special treatment?”

Steve, ever the peacemaker, chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe because I don’t call her a gremlin before she’s had caffeine.”

Tony shrugs. “Fair.”

You finish your toast in silence, ignoring everyone. Steve sits beside you, eating his own breakfast like it’s a Sunday morning in the suburbs and not a ticking time bomb of a team dynamic. The others keep throwing glances your way, trying to decide if it’s safe to speak again. You don’t give them an answer.

Eventually, Steve taps your knuckles gently with his and murmurs, “You okay?”

You nod once, eyes still on your plate. “Now I am.”

After breakfast, the team disperses like they are afraid to tempt fate by lingering. Tony retreats with a muttered excuse about lab work and potential lawsuits. Sam and Bucky start bickering about flight drills as they head toward the training floor, their voices fading down the hall.

Natasha offers you a look as she leaves, something between curiosity and grudging respect, but she says nothing. That silence feels earned. Eventually, even the background noise of the compound grows quiet.

Then it is just you and Steve left in the kitchen, both of you nursing the last of your coffee. The sun is higher now, streaming through the tall windows in golden shafts that make the dust in the air shimmer.

The mood has settled into something oddly comfortable, not quite peaceful but no longer tense. You glance at Steve out of the corner of your eye. He is doing that thing again, the quiet watching, as if he could memorize the shape of your presence just by sitting beside it long enough.

After a moment, you sigh and stand, taking both your mug and his to the sink. He doesn’t protest when you rinse them out. He knows better than to fuss over the little things. You finish drying your hands and lean against the counter, arms crossed more out of habit than hostility.

“So,” you start, voice low, “how long have they all been tiptoeing around me?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, not surprised by the question. “Since the mission. Maybe a little before that.”

You huff. “I don’t bite.”

He gives you a look that clearly says you absolutely do, but he lets it go. Instead, he nods toward the hallway. “Come on. Walk with me.”

Without arguing, you fall into step beside him. The corridors are quiet again, most of the team having retreated to their corners. You walk in companionable silence, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly through the compound.

For a few minutes, there is nothing but the rhythm of movement and the low hum of the building itself.

As you turn a corner and step into a side corridor lined with windows, Steve finally speaks again. “You know they’re not scared of you, right? Not really.”

You look straight ahead, unwilling to answer too quickly. “They act like they are.”

“Maybe they’re just... trying not to push you. Everyone’s got their own way of healing. Yours just happens to involve fewer words and more intimidation.”

You almost smile at that, but you hold it back. “So what, I’m the scary one and you’re the emotional support golden retriever?”

Steve chuckles under his breath. “If the shoe fits.”

Then the two of you step outside into the training courtyard, where the late morning sun cuts through the clouds, and the air is sharp with that post-rain clearness. The moment feels lighter somehow, easier to carry.

You stand there beside him, hands shoved into the front pocket of your hoodie, while he crosses his arms and surveys the horizon like there is something worth guarding beyond it.

Eventually, you glance at him and speak quietly. “They don’t know what to do with me.”

Steve turns toward you, calm and solid. “That’s because they haven’t figured you out yet.”

“And you have?”

“I don’t need to. I just let you be.”

You look at him for a long moment, unsure how to respond. There are very few people in the world who have ever said that to you. Fewer still who meant it. You drop your gaze to the gravel path beneath your feet and kick a loose stone, watching it skitter away.

“Sometimes,” you say finally, “I think you’re the only one who doesn’t make me feel like I have to prove something.”

He doesn’t reply right away. Then he steps closer, not enough to touch, but enough to be present, like a lighthouse standing just a little nearer in the storm.

“That’s because you don’t.”

After that, the silence between you grows thick again, but this time it feels different. It is not heavy with things left unsaid or awkward with tension.

Instead, it settles between you like a familiar blanket, something you both recognize but do not need to name.

The breeze moves through the courtyard, gentle and cool, rustling through the leaves along the perimeter wall.

You breathe in slowly and let your shoulders drop a little more. You are not relaxed, not entirely, but you are closer to it than you have been in weeks.

Not long after, Steve tilts his head toward the benches by the shade and begins walking. You follow without question, the gravel crunching softly beneath your boots.

Once seated, he stretches one arm along the back of the bench, leaving just enough space for you to feel it but not enough to pressure.

You sit beside him, legs crossed at the ankle, arms resting on your thighs. From the outside, the two of you probably look like polar opposites.

He is all clean lines and quiet steadiness, and you are bristling in a hoodie two sizes too big, with a healing split lip and shadows under your eyes, but somehow it works.

Then he speaks again, quieter this time. “You don’t have to be anyone else with me. You don’t have to fix your face or filter your words or make yourself small.”

You glance at him sidelong, not defensive, just tired. “I don’t know how to be anything else. Not anymore.”

He nods, not with pity but with understanding. “Then let me help you remember. At your pace. If you ever want that.”

For a moment, you don’t answer. You stare at the pattern of the sunlight on the ground, golden and broken by the wind. You think about how hard you have fought to build a version of yourself that could survive anything, and how sometimes, in doing so, you forgot what softness even felt like.

Then, almost involuntarily, you lean the slightest bit in his direction. You don’t touch, not really, but the space between you lessens.

He notices. He always does.

Meanwhile, the door behind you opens and closes, and you hear voices from inside; Sam’s sarcasm echoing down the hall, followed by what sounds suspiciously like a microwave beeping and Bucky swearing under his breath.

You roll your eyes before you can help it, and Steve laughs quietly.

“Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, they pull you right back to baseline irritation,” he says, amused.

You groan softly. “They’re like emotional static. Constant, useless noise.”

He grins. “Yet here you are, still choosing to stick around.”

“I don’t stick around for them.”

There is a beat of silence before you add, less guarded this time, “I stick around for you.”

Then his expression softens, that gentle kind of pride that does not need to be loud to be powerful. He doesn’t thank you. He doesn’t make it dramatic. He just looks at you like you said something sacred and he heard every word.

After a long moment, you tilt your head and ask, “Do they know you’re the only reason I haven’t quit five times over?”

“They probably suspect,” he says, smiling slightly. “But they’re too scared to bring it up.”

You smirk, the first real one of the day. “Good.”

He laughs again, and this time you do not look away.

Later, after the sun has shifted and shadows stretch longer across the courtyard, you find yourself tracing the cracks in the concrete beneath your boots with your eyes. The bench creaks slightly as Steve adjusts beside you, but neither of you speaks for a while.

The quiet feels earned, like something carefully built and not to be disturbed.

You are not the kind of person who usually seeks silence, but today it feels more like a balm than a burden.

Eventually, you shift your weight and lean back against the bench more fully, allowing your shoulder to brush lightly against his. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he seems to lean into it just enough to steady you. There is no dramatic shift, no gasp of revelation, but your heartbeat eases a little. The usual tightness in your chest loosens as if the air has finally turned breathable.

Soon, the door opens again and you hear footsteps approaching from inside the compound. You recognize the rhythm instantly; Sam’s exaggerated stride, followed by the deliberate and somehow judgmental gait of Bucky.

As they enter the courtyard, you already feel the tension begin to creep back into your spine. They are not doing anything wrong, technically, but their presence always seems to grate at your nerves like sandpaper on bruised skin.

Predictably, Sam is the first to speak. “Well, well, look who’s having a moment. Should we be quiet or start slow-clapping?”

You don’t even glance at him. “Say one more word and I’m testing the upper limits of your flight gear.”

Steve huffs a laugh beside you, but it is low and contained. Bucky crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “You get a little sunlight and suddenly you’re tolerable. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

You finally look at them, expression flat. “You came all the way out here to annoy me?”

Sam shrugs. “We were bored.”

“Go be bored somewhere else.”

Instead of arguing, they both glance at Steve as if asking for permission to continue existing. He just shrugs with an amused look on his face, and after a moment, Sam and Bucky exchange a wordless agreement to back off.

They retreat toward the far end of the courtyard, not leaving completely, but giving you enough space that you no longer feel cornered. You roll your eyes and exhale slowly, muttering something under your breath that Steve wisely chooses not to repeat.

After the interruption, you fall back into that careful stillness. A breeze moves through again, stirring your hair, and for the first time in what feels like hours, your jaw isn’t clenched.

You tilt your head to look at Steve and catch the way he’s watching you, not in that overbearing way some people do, but with a softness that says he is glad you exist exactly as you are.

Then, unexpectedly, you speak again, quieter this time. “I hate that I don’t hate you.”

His smile is slow, almost teasing, but warm all the same. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You glance away quickly, but not fast enough to hide the way your mouth twitches at the corner. There is no point in pretending anymore, not when you are sitting next to someone who sees through all of it, who always has.

You close your eyes for a few seconds and simply let yourself be. It is not a feeling you are used to. But today, it does not scare you.

After a few more minutes, the quiet hum of the compound settles around you again. Sam and Bucky have disappeared back inside, leaving you and Steve alone once more. The sun climbs higher behind the clouds, softening the edges of the world into something almost gentle.

You sit there with your arms loosely folded, not in defense this time, but out of habit. Beside you, Steve doesn’t speak, doesn’t push, just breathes in rhythm with you like he has all the time in the world.

Gradually, the stillness becomes something shared instead of solitary. Your body, so used to bracing against everything and everyone, starts to ease.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been sitting there until a bird lands nearby, pecking curiously at the ground. It flutters away a second later, but even that small intrusion doesn’t disturb the calm. For once, you’re not fighting your own pulse.

Then, out of nowhere, you laugh. Not a full one, not loud, but enough to turn heads if anyone else were around. Steve tilts his head, visibly surprised but not alarmed. He waits.

You shake your head and let the sound trail off. “I was just thinking. A year ago, I would’ve told you to get lost if you looked at me the way you do now.”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek as the grin tries to grow again. “I would’ve said something awful. Something mean. Probably walked out of the room. Maybe thrown something.”

Steve nods thoughtfully. “You did throw something. Twice, actually.”

You narrow your eyes. “That doesn’t count. The first time was a paperweight and you dodged it.”

“And the second?”

“I wasn’t aiming for your head. That was just gravity.”

You both laugh, and the sound catches you off guard again. It feels easy. It shouldn’t. But it does.

Meanwhile, Steve shifts closer, elbows resting on his knees now, hands clasped in front of him. His tone softens again, sliding under your skin like warm water. “You’ve changed.”

You shrug. “You make it hard to stay angry all the time.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” you admit, looking at him again. “It’s not.”

Then, for the first time, you let yourself study him openly. His posture is relaxed but alert. His face is soft, yet never uncertain. There’s a kind of patience in him that doesn’t flinch when you’re sharp or cold. He absorbs it, meets it with quiet steadiness, like he knows exactly what it is and refuses to be afraid of it.

You’ve never been able to figure out how he does it. You’re not sure you want to. Maybe part of you wants to keep that mystery untouched, like a corner of the world that still feels like magic.

Finally, you speak again, quieter this time. “I don’t want to go back to the person I used to be. But I don’t want to be this all the time either.”

“You won’t be,” he says without hesitation. “You’re not stuck. You’re healing. That’s a process, not a sentence.”

His words settle over you with unexpected weight. You don’t respond right away, but the silence between you bends instead of breaking. The moment holds. You let it.

Later that afternoon, you find yourself back inside, posted up in the corner of the communal lounge with your feet on the coffee table and a blanket you absolutely did not steal from Steve’s room draped loosely across your lap.

The TV is on, but no one is watching it. Tony is fiddling with a tablet that keeps making a concerning beeping noise, while Natasha casually sharpens a knife with all the serene menace of a housecat planning murder.

Sam and Bucky are locked in some passive-aggressive argument about takeout containers in the fridge, neither willing to back down.

You are only half listening until Steve walks in, fresh from a run, cheeks pink with cold and sweatshirt sleeves pushed to his elbows. The second he enters the room, your posture shifts, just barely, but enough.

Your eyes find him first. Your fingers twitch as if they are debating whether to reach for him. Instead, you settle for a quiet, “Hey,” softer than anything you’ve used on anyone else all week.

Tony’s head snaps up. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

You ignore him and look at Steve instead. “Did you stretch after?”

“I did,” he says with a smile, moving toward the kitchen.

“Good. I’m not carrying you if you strain something again.”

He laughs under his breath and disappears around the corner. The moment passes. Or at least, you think it does.

Meanwhile, the room has gone dead silent. Bucky and Sam have stopped bickering mid-insult. Natasha pauses mid-sharpening and glances at you with narrowed eyes. Tony looks personally offended.

Natasha is the first to break. “What was that?”

You frown without looking up. “What?”

“That tone,” she says, pointing her knife at you like it’s a microphone. “You just went from possible war criminal to schoolgirl with a crush in two syllables.”

Sam leans in, eyes wide. “No, but seriously. I’ve been calling you ‘sunshine’ for months and you threatened to shove me into an active volcano, but he walks in and it’s like the Hunger Games cannon went off and your soul returned to your body.”

You scowl at them, but they’re clearly too far gone to be deterred. Bucky is staring at you like you just pulled a mask off and revealed an entirely different person.

“I’ve seen you dislocate a guy’s shoulder for touching your jacket,” Bucky mutters. “But Steve walks into the room and you ask about stretching?”

“He gets hurt,” you say defensively, shrugging deeper into the blanket. “It’s just common sense.”

Tony raises both eyebrows, as if waiting for a hidden camera crew to jump out. “Wow. So this is what makes you human. A blond with a moral compass.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you in love with him?” Sam asks, and you immediately hurl a throw pillow at his face.

“It’s not that deep,” you mutter, although the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. “He’s just different.”

“Different,” Natasha repeats, exchanging a look with Sam like they’ve just discovered a new species. “As in, you don’t want to punch him every time he breathes?”

You sigh loudly, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re all insufferable.”

Then, of course, that’s the exact moment Steve returns, holding a mug in each hand. He offers one to you first. Your hand brushes his as you take it. You don’t flinch. You don’t look away. In fact, you nod, quiet and grateful.

“Thanks,” you murmur, cradling the mug.

Steve gives you that soft smile again, the one that makes your stomach feel like it’s made of paper. “You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t even notice the stunned silence behind him as he settles in beside you on the couch. You don’t say anything else. You just sit there, sipping your drink while the team stares like they’ve witnessed a glitch in the matrix.

Eventually, Tony speaks again, voice low like he’s afraid to spook a wild animal. “Okay. So she’s possessed, right?”

“Definitely,” Sam agrees. “Some kind of body snatcher situation.”

Natasha just sighs, turns her blade over in her hand, and mutters, “I’m gonna need time to process this.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #avengers x reader #the avengers #avengxrz

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rowdyluv · 2 months ago

Note

CONGRATS ON A DESERVED 600 CAAAYYY <3333 KEEP SLAYING!! This next bit will come as unsurprising but I literally fought my demons between size and spit,

Luke, prompt J, she/her

THANK YOU PRETTY LADY <333

thank you sweet meg for being such a wonderful trooper and sticking it out FIVE months for this.. we’re now at 8 0 0 amazing followers

THE EVEN BIGGER DEAL YOUR BIRTHDAY WEEKEND!!! RAHHHH

with out further delay I present you….

warnings: SMUT, porn without plot, (<- more or less left the plot behind), spit kink, sprinkle in size kink, sorry you waited 5 months for THIS, MDNI, 18+!!

The evening had settled into the comfortable lull that only a good movie and a shared bowl of popcorn could bring. The lights were dim, the TV screen flickered with the latest blockbuster, and the couch cushions had molded perfectly to their bodies. Luke's hand, which had been mindlessly tracing patterns on Y/n's waist, grew bolder, slipping under the hem of her oversized (his) shirt. His touch grew more deliberate, his rough, calloused fingertips grazing up and down her smooth skin.

Y/n felt a warm shiver run through her as Luke's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer into his embrace. His movements grew more purposeful, the brushes against her abdomen now a gentle but firm guide that led to her breasts. Her nipples pebbled desperately, seeking more of his touch.

“Luke.” She whispered breathlessly. He smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing, and took a greedy handful of her breast. His thumb circled the erect peak, teasing and taunting, as she arched into his touch with a quiet gasp.

Their eyes met, the air around them crackling with a newfound intensity. Luke leaned in, his warm breath fanning over her face, and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped between her lips, mimicking the actions of his hand, as he explored her mouth with a passion that was growing more feverish by the second. She moaned into the kiss, her hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, her other hand sliding down to grip his thigh, feeling the growing bulge beneath his sweatpants.

Her nails dug into his flesh, sending a thrill through him. He pulled away briefly, his eyes dark with desire, and whispered, "Is this okay?" She nodded fervently, her eyes never leaving his eyes, and that was all the permission he needed. His hand traveled back up her body, scrunching her t-shirt as he moved, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps as they approached her chest. This time, his touch was more deliberate, his palm flattening over her breast, his thumb now pressing firmly against her nipple, eliciting a gasp from her parted lips.

Their kiss grew more heated, tongues dancing together as their breaths melded. The sound of fabric tearing echoed in the quiet room as Luke roughly pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her bare breasts to the cool air. He took one in his mouth, sucking and biting gently, his hand mauling the other as if he couldn't get enough.

Y/n's nails scored down his back, her breath coming in panting gasps as he worked her into a frenzy. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck, and she felt her core clench with anticipation. The friction between her thighs grew unbearable, and she reached down to untie his sweatpants, freeing his hard cock.

A sight that never failed to take her breath away. Long, thick, and pulsing with need. She wrapped her hands around him, feeling his size in her palms, and he groaned into her ear. “Fuck. Always forget how small your hands are. Having to use both.” His hips jerked. “S’small. All for me. All mine”

Y/n smirked, stroking him gently from base to tip. She felt his breath hitch, and his grip on her breasts tightened. The pressure was exquisite, a delicious ache that made her wetter. “Want me to put it in my mouth?” She asked, voice low and teasing.

“N-No. Not tonight. I want you to feel me here.” He stutters on his words as she continues stroking him. He presses against her stomach to show where he's going to fuck up inside her.

He kissed her again, deep and hungry, before moving her onto her back and sliding her shorts off. He kisses her stomach and thighs, working his way down to her panties. He hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls them down, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. She's already soaking wet, and the sweet smell of her arousal fills the room.

With a wicked smile, Luke hoists one of Y/n's legs up onto his shoulder, giving him the perfect angle to look at her glistening pussy. He spits directly onto her clit, watching as the saliva runs down her slit. Her eyes widen, and she gasps at the sudden wetness and the feel of his saliva on her most sensitive spot. He takes his time, savoring the moment, before he rubs the wad of spit the blunt head of his cock.

Her body trembles with anticipation as he lines himself up with her entrance, the saliva mixing with her slick, acting as a lubricant for what's to come. He nudges her opening with the tip of his dick, spreading her lips apart as he pushes in. Y/n's eyes roll back in her head as she feels the pressure build, her walls stretching to accommodate his large size.

He groans with satisfaction as he sinks in deeper, the wetness from her arousal mixing with his saliva, creating a sloppy, needy sound with each thrust.

“Fuck, you feel..” He zones out, moans taking over his words.

Y/n's nails dig into the couch as he starts to thrust, filling her with each stroke. The sensation of his spit mixing with her wetness and the feel of his cock stretching her out is almost too much to handle. She’s so wet that his movements are slick, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the room.

With a growl, Luke takes her hand and presses it firmly against her lower abdomen. She feels the pressure build with every thrust, his cock pushing into her deep, and she knows he's enjoying the way her stomach bulges with his size. "Who fills you up like this?" he asks, his voice a gruff whisper in the dark.

Y/n can only whimper in response, and the sensation is too intense for words. The feeling of his cock stretching her, combined with the pressure from her hand, sends waves of pleasure through Y/n’s body. She clenches around him, her pussy tightening, and he groans out.

“No one else.” She manages in broken words.

“Damn right,” Luke grumbles.

He grabs hold of her face and makes her look at him. He squeezes her jaw, signaling her to open her mouth, and she does. “This pussy, this heart, this..” He pauses by dropping a wad of spit into her mouth. “All belong to me. Now and forever.”

The salty liquid pools in her mouth, and she swallows it down, the act sending a shock of arousal through her. She nods, eyes wide with need.

"Mm, that's right," Luke murmurs, his hips moving faster. "You love this, don't you? Being filled with me, being claimed by me."

Y/n nods, unable to form coherent words, as she feels the orgasm building. The realization of him sharing his kinks, the pressure from his cock, and the newfound dominance in his voice are too much for her. Her body starts to spasm, her muscles tightening around him, and she comes hard, her juices mixing around his dick.

The sensation is intense, and Luke feels her pussy squeezing him tightly as she cums. It's a feeling that sends him over the edge, and with a loud moan of her name, he empties himself into her, his cock pulsing as he fills her.

#cay chats✿#cay writes #: ̗̀➛meg✨#luke hughes smut #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x yn #lh43 #lh43 x reader #lh43 smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEG!!!!

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xerroa · 4 months ago

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Headcanons for a Touchstarved MC who is poly and seems open to all of them:

Ais

Ais is not the jealous type—he thrives in situations where he has to fight for someone’s attention. In fact, the idea that you’re open to all of them makes this so much more fun for him.

At first, he smirks. Of course, you’re interested in everyone. You’ve got good taste. Deep down, he’s amused but also watching closely. Are you seriously considering all of them, or are you just entertaining the idea?

He gets bolder—leans in more, throws out suggestive comments just to gauge your reaction. If you flirt back? Oh, it’s on. Casually sizing up the others, he makes just enough provocative remarks to stir the pot. Guess I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention, huh? He treats it like a game—one he plans on winning.

Leander

Leander loves connection, and he’s open-minded, but… let’s be honest—he’s used to being the person someone wants. The idea that he’s one of many? That’s new.

At first, he laughs, wide and genuine. All of us? Really? He finds it endearing. He brushes it off like it doesn’t bother him, but deep down? There’s a tiny spark of possessiveness. He wants to be special to you.

He doubles down on the charm. Extra flirty, extra affectionate—pulls you close and whispers, But I’m your favorite, right? Surprisingly accommodating, if you really want all of them, he’ll go along with it. He just needs to make sure he’s still your first choice. He teases Ais and the others just to stir up tension.

Vere

Vere lives to be desired. But shared? That’s an entirely different matter.

At first, he gives a slow, sharp smile. How greedy of you. He doesn’t mind the idea—but he does mind not being the one who has the most of your attention.

Immediately, he starts testing you. If you flirt with someone else, he’ll slide up beside you and whisper something dangerous enough to make your pulse jump. He loves watching the others react—if they get possessive, he eats it up. If they don’t care, he’ll make them care. He acts nonchalant, but there’s a sharpness in his gaze. If he ever feels like he’s just one of many without something special between you, he’ll pull back.

Mhin

Mhin already struggles with trust and attachment—this only makes it worse.

At first, they scoff and roll their eyes. Figures. Their mind jumps straight to the worst conclusions. Do you actually care about any of them? Or is this just a game to you?

Immediately, they pull away. If they were starting to open up to you, this would make them slam their walls back up. But if they believe you genuinely care about all of them, that you’re not just playing with their feelings, then it terrifies them how much they want to trust you. They’ll be the last to accept it—but once they do, they won’t fight for your attention. They’ll just… wait. If you want them, you’ll have to come to them.

Kuras

Kuras is the least affected by the revelation. If anything, he finds it intriguing.

At first, he gives a calm, thoughtful look. Is that so? No judgment, just observation. He has seen many kinds of relationships before. This does not surprise him. But why do you want this? That’s the question he’s interested in.

He doesn’t react outwardly, but there’s a softness in his gaze when he looks at you. He won’t compete for your affection, but he will make it known that if you truly want him, he is here. He is patient. Watching how the others handle it with mild amusement, he seems as if he’s observing something inevitable.

Would they all be okay with it? Maybe. Maybe not. But one thing is for sure: the tension would be unreal.

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ducksido · 4 months ago

Note

Hai! Um so that angst destroyed me😖😖😖😖😖 so now I must counteract it via requesting a version where all the overblot boys + grim (and more if u want) reacting after finding out that reader was not in fact dead, just in a really really bad comatose (I know that’s not how it works but I need hurt comfort or else I’m imploding)

Also I fucking love grim sooooooo much like hes so cutie, also idia’s part 😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖 ESPIECALLY THE MALLEUS ONE OMG IDIA NOOOOOOOOO (guess who I am hard edition)

(mmm idia lover?)

SETTING: MALLEUS OVERBLOT DEATH

Grim

He’s curled up beside your body when he feels it.

Your fingers twitch.

“…n-no…”

You blink.

“YUuuuuuuuuuuuUuUUuuUuuuUuuU!!” He full-body launches into your chest, sobbing and purring at once.

“YOU DUMB HUMAN—DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!!! I THOUGHT—I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE!!”

He sleeps on top of you for a week. You’re not allowed to breathe without Grim supervision.

Riddle Rosehearts

He sees you stir in the infirmary and nearly chokes on his tea.

“You’re—you’re awake??”

He bolts to your bedside, tearing up despite himself.

“You’re insufferable and reckless and completely absurd—but I missed you so much!!”

He gently smooths your hair back, trying not to sob.

Leona Kingscholar

“…Che.”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking way too nonchalant.

“I knew you’d wake up. No way someone that annoying would die that easily.”

But the way his voice breaks on ‘wake up’?

Yeah. He cried earlier.

Azul Ashengrotto

He was in the middle of writing you a letter he’d never send when Jade comes running.

He freezes.

Then, with shaking hands, he runs straight to you.

“…You’re here. You’re really here.”

He clutches your hand. Doesn’t let go. Orders Floyd to go get you soup right now.

Jamil Viper

His hands tremble as he checks your pulse for the 100th time—then you whisper his name.

He drops to his knees. Covers his face.

“…You really scared me, you know.”

He places a protective ward around your bed. Refuses to leave until you're walking again.

Vil Schoenheit

He doesn’t cry.

But the moment you smile at him, he gasps—like it physically hurt.

“You absolute menace… do you know what this did to your complexion!?”

He fixes your IV. Fluffs your pillow. Then sits beside you and holds your hand like porcelain.

Idia Shroud

He didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. He coded a whole AI to simulate your voice just to cope.

When Ortho tells him you’re awake?

He teleports into the room, hair flaring blue flames, eyes wild.

Then sees you blink.

And crumples to the floor.

“Y-you’re… real??”

He sobs. You pet his floofy hair. He refuses to let go.

Malleus Draconia

He felt it the moment your soul stirred.

He appears beside you in a swirl of green fire.

You look up.

“…Hornton?”

He falls to his knees. His voice trembles.

“Yes, child of man. I—I thought I lost you forever.”

He watches over your bedside like a mourning lover returned to life.

Floyd Leech

You open your eyes to him poking your cheek.

“Oi, Shrimpy? …Is that twitch real orrrrrr am I hallucinating again?”

You groan.

He SHRIEKS.

“WOOOOOOOO!! SHRRIIIIIMMMMPYYYYYYY!!!!”

Crushes you in a bone-breaking hug. Security tries to pull him off. Fails.

Jade Leech

He smiles the second you stir.

“Welcome back. The sea was quiet without you.”

He makes you herbal tea. Gently brushes your hair.

You have never felt safer than in his calm, quiet care.

Ruggie Bucchi

He drops his lunch tray when he hears the news.

Rushes to you, panting.

“Oi—dummy—don’t scare people like that! I thought I’d have to start praying or something!”

He brings you donuts. Smiles sheepishly.

“You're not allowed to die. Ever again.”

Epel Felmier

He breaks down crying on your lap.

“You’re so stupid. You almost left us and you didn’t even say goodbye…”

He hugs you like a lifeline.

And won’t let go until someone peels him off.

Kalim Al-Asim

He sobs into your blanket the second you say his name.

“Y-you’re okay… YOU’RE OKAY!!”

Throws a massive party in your honor. Bans all mention of death or thorns. Only sunshine from now on.

Trey Clover

He kneels beside you. Doesn’t speak at first.

Then mutters,

“…Glad I didn’t bake that memorial cake yet.”

He wipes your face gently and helps you sit up.

Cater Diamond

“Oh my Seven—ohmySevenohmySeven!! You're really here—!!”

He starts livestreaming. Stops.

Turns it off.

And just holds your hand in silence, soaking in the reality of your warmth.

Deuce Spade

He cries immediately.

No words. Just pulls you into a hug and sobs.

“You came back…”

Ace Trappola

He stares for a long time.

“…Tch. You just had to make it dramatic, huh?”

He ruffles your hair.

And wipes his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking.

Crowley

He actually kneels at your bedside and says:

“…I genuinely wept. I—I’m so glad you’re okay, my child.”

He funds your full recovery and gives you extra credit for “defeating death.”

Jack Howl

Upon hearing the news, Jack rushes to your side, his usual stoic demeanor breaking into a relieved smile. He gently places a hand on your shoulder, saying, "You're strong. I knew you'd pull through." He then offers to help you regain your strength, suggesting morning runs together once you're ready.

Rook Hunt

Rook is overwhelmed with emotion, tears streaming down his face as he clasps your hands. "Ah, mon trésor! The beauty of your spirit triumphs over adversity!" He insists on composing a poem in your honor, celebrating your resilience and the joy of your return.

Ortho Shroud

Ortho's sensors detect your vital signs stabilizing, and he immediately informs Idia with uncontainable excitement. He hovers beside your bed, offering assistance with your recovery and sharing stories to keep your spirits high. "Welcome back! We've all missed you so much."

Silver

Silver, often calm and composed, allows a rare smile to grace his features upon seeing you awake. He sits by your bedside, holding your hand gently. "Rest easy now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way." He even brings in small animals from the forest to cheer you up.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek bursts into the room, his voice booming with emotion. "Human! You're awake! The Young Master will be pleased!" Despite his usual sternness, he can't hide the relief in his eyes. He vows to protect you with renewed vigor, ensuring your safety from now on.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia enters with a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling. "I knew you'd find your way back to us." He brings homemade treats and hums lullabies to soothe you. His presence is comforting, like a gentle guardian watching over you.

Sam

Sam appears with a mysterious grin, placing a charm beside your bed. "Welcome back, my friend. The shop hasn't been the same without your visits." He offers you a special talisman, said to ward off nightmares and aid in healing.

Divus Crewel

Professor Crewel, usually strict and composed, shows a rare moment of vulnerability. He adjusts your blanket, ensuring you're comfortable. "You've caused quite the commotion, pup. Let's focus on your recovery now." He arranges for your assignments to be postponed until you're well.

Mozus Trein

Professor Trein clears his throat, trying to mask his emotions. "It's good to see you awake, young one." He leaves a stack of books by your bedside, suggesting light reading to ease you back into studies. Lucius, his cat, curls up at your feet, purring softly.

Ashton Vargas

Coach Vargas bursts in with his usual enthusiasm. "You're back! Excellent! Once you're up for it, we'll start with light exercises to get you back in shape!" He leaves a set of dumbbells by your bed, winking as he exits.

#twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst yuu #twst headcanons #comfort

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mr-hyde-on-the-move · 11 months ago

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cutecatlov3r · 2 years ago

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kinktober: virginity~ gojo satoru

synopsis: your sweet talking sensei wants to teach you what it's like to be fucked by him and his huge cock !

warnings/tw: age gap!, teacher x student, blowjob, raw sex, piv, begging, unprotected sex, praise, breeding, manipulation, toxic gojo, porn without a plot(?), and virginity loss.

character ai bot that I made in honor of this: didn't make one for this ;(

not proofread // two posts for day 7?!?!

you sat on his desk. kicking your feet in a sort of childish sense as you looked up at him. your clothes all off for him. you smiled at him like the innocent girl you were. he stared down at you, caressing your chin. he had a smile on as well, he wasn't smiling at you per say. he was smiling at the idea that he was gonna use your little body like a fuck toy soon. his dick was already hard, out, and ready to fuck you.

little twitches going through his cock as he stared down at you and your perfect tits. he was pulsing, eager to stick it deep inside of your hot and warm pussy. he knew you were wet, you were basically like a curious puppy that wanted his long dick to teach you how to be obedient to him. he loved virgins. the idea of you being soul tied to him forever had his dick drooling of precum.

poor, poor y/n.

before this, you two had a simple conversation on whether or not, you, his sweet little student was a virgin, when you said yes he couldn't help but want to take your virginity. you agreed! well sort of, at first it was an immediate no... but then he started to sweet talk to you. he talked about how cute your young body was, how easily wet virgins get and how it would make you, specifically you, his favorite student.

"gojo-sensei, what now?" you hummed, looking into his blue eyes. a small pout on your lips as you started to get impatient.

he took his hand off your chin. "hmmmm, why don't ya give it a kiss, sweetheart?~" he teased, grabbing his dick and tapping his fleshy pink tip against your soft lips.

you looked at his cock curiously as you gave it a small kiss. it twitched as you did, causing gojo to chuckle slightly. you can taste him on your lips, licking your lips so that your taste buds can get familiar with his precum. the small bit of cum tasted bitter, hint of sweetness, nothing too bad.

"again," he ordered in his sweet voice.

as you leaned in for another kiss, he shoved his dick past your plump lips, smirking. he knew exactly what he was doing. you looked up at him as you suckled on his tip, seeing in porn videos that guys usually liked that, too scared to fit it whole in your mouth, you knew you'd start gagging.

gojo was looked down upon at you as you suckled on his tip, feeling a tickling sensation, he liked it, but it'd feel better if it was fully in your mouth. he wanted to feel the insides of your cheeks, the back of your throat, he didn't want your attention to just be on his tip. you didn't know that, wanting to suck on his tip like a little hamster.

"baby, open wider f'me okay?" he asked, gently, knowing that his next actions weren't gonna be too gentle.

you nod, opening your mouth slightly wider. he gladly took this opportunity to shove his cock halfway into your mouth. you choked slightly, not used to having anything this big in your mouth. one of your eyes was shut as you looked at him, trying to get more familiar with his taste and length. your tongue ran underneath his shaft, trying to push it down as far as you could.

he grinned, jolting his hips forward more to shove it down, one hand caressing the back of your head. his hand was slowly pushing his fat cock down your throat more. fingers gripping your hair slightly at the scalp.

you focused on your breathing, trying to breathe through your nostrils. he enjoyed how well you were taking his cock.

"sucha good girl," he hummed, looking down at you. watching as your nose finally touched his white hairs that rested above his dick. you had it fully down your throat, the gagging wouldn't stop. tears brimming your eyes, feeling overwhelmed. but he didn't care, watching your struggle, keeping your head there for a bit, wanting to feel the inside of your throat.

after seeing that you were struggling to breathe, he pulled it out of your mouth fully, smirking at the spit that ran down your chin.

"so cute," he praised, wiping your chin. you whimpered to his touch, your thighs clenching together on instinct, needing friction. after those sweet words he spoke, you knew you were starting to feel heat in your core, you wanted him to get rid of it. "turn around for me," he smiled, giving you some space to bend over his desk.

"yes sir..." you reply, bending over his desk, giving him a full view of your wet cunt and ass. you looked over your shoulder to look at his face, seeing that he stroked the head of his cock gently. he looked at you, taking a step forward. he gave you a smile when he tapped his fat mushroom tip against your folds.

"g'na make me feel good, huh?~" he teased, rubbing the tip slowly at your entrance. it could slip right in if he tried but he held back those urges, teasing your needy hole. "suckin' me right in y/n, so dirty, sucha dirty girl," he continued.

you whimpered at his actions, feeling impatient. "stop teasing," you whined, trying to push back against him, he didn't let that happen, backing away as well. pushing your back down slightly to arch it more.

"don't be impatient," he chuckled. "hmmm, beg for it," he shrugged to himself, looking down at your cunt and his cock. "beg for your sensei to fill this pussy up with his cum," his voice going slightly lower.

your knees felt weak, thinking of the idea of begging your older sensei to fuck you. you wanted him so bad, you wanted his dick to stretch your tight walls that have never been filled by any man before.

"please gojo-sensei... please put it inside," you plead.

"hmmm, beg some more and I'll think about it," his voice trailing, hands grabbing the fat of your ass, lifting it to see your cunt and ass better.

"please!... please sensei! i'll be a good girl for you," you frowned, hands gripping the edge of his desk.

"this is my pussy right? only mine?" he asked, a curious tone in his voice. he sounded so innocent, yet here he was, tip pressed against your pussy, not in.

"only yours gojo-senei! i'll never let anyone fuck me, only yo-"

he shoved his thickness inside of you. those words... those words made his stomach turn, made him feel even more horny than he already was. you choked on your own spit, mind fogging. his cock was squeezed down inside of your tight velvety walls. he looked down at the scene, waiting slightly for you to get adjusted.

it hurt, it hurt so bad... but the warmth of his dick made it feel slightly better.

"s-sensei," you squeaked.

"holy shit! you're so tight, sweetheart," he let out a shaky breath, a furrow of his eyebrows on his face. his cock rutted once in your pussy to get you used to it. you squeaked again, feeling yourself clench around him. your legs were shaking a bit, cheat heaving up and down, trying to focus. "ready?" he asked, his tone low.

"y-yes sensei," you whimper, placing your head on his desk, it felt too heavy to hold up at this point.

he exited slowly before pounding back into you, your gummy walls contracting against his hungry cock. you swore you could feel it in your stomach. but that wasn't even on your mind. what was on your mind was the fact that he kept repeating those movements, hitting a spot deep inside of you that made you see stars.

"g'na stretch you out, so- so ngh..." he babbled, speeding up his pace slightly. he didn't take his time pounding deep inside of you, instead he sped up, hitting your good spots over and over. it wasn't even intentional, he was honestly just trying to use your body like his personal fleshlight. "gonna look so good with my cum spilling out of ya," he groaned, abusing your cunt by slamming deep inside of it. he wanted to feel all of you, he wasn't going to give you a break anytime soon.

you were being fucked so good that your mind was going blank. your moans being mixes of whines and even slight cries. it was way too much for your little virgin self to handle.

"fuck! so pretty baby...! you'd look so good full of my cum- so so good!" he rambled, slamming your hips down harder against him. it was at a constant pace, he loved feeling your walls twitch around him, he could get used to this. "mine, you're my girl," he thrusted into you, pounding your hips down with his hands. it was crazy, the way he was doing that was perfect, he was pulling your hips away before pounding into you at an amazing synchronization. he's definitely done this before, at this point you don't even care.

his cock brushed against the spongy part of your insides, causing you to cry out in pleasure. your cries making gojo go faster, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his face.

"moan my name!"

"gojo-sensei!" you cried, fingernails digging into the wood of his desk. you were clenched around him tightly, he loved it.

"g'na breed this tigh- tight agh~" he moaned, pushing himself to his limits. "tight pussy!" he continued, pistoning his hips faster. he was feeling his balls tighten.

your eyes rolled back as his balls slapped against your clit.

he kept pumping you with his cock until he started to feel his orgasm build up, he could feel that the tip of his dick was ready to erupt his cum inside of you. so he went at a fast pace for you. "cumming! fuck baby!" he moaned. "i'm- yeah!"

splurts of his cum shot into your pussy, the warmness of his cum making you feel so full. ropes after rope flooded your womb, he couldn't stop cumming. he needed to fill you up. he continued to move, to ride out his high.

you were crying out his name, exhausted and drained of your energy.

after riding out his high, he pulled out, smiling when he saw his cum leaking down your thighs.

"such a good girl," he praised, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo sensei #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojou satoru smut #gojou smut #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jjk satoru #satoru gojo #satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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connorsui · 11 months ago

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Wired for you

Billy Kid x Reader

Genre/warning: Fluff, Comedy, shyness factor boosted to a hundred, Billy being a tease, a robot wanting to be kissed by his favorite human (cuz why not), no warnings tho …we don't Rip out wires around here

Synopsis: Billy Kid finds himself falling in love with you repeatedly, captivated by your ability to light up his world. He loves praise.

Note: I fell inlove with him ...and what do I find? ..barely any fics ..so I made my own ..

w.c: 900

—

Billy Kid was no stranger to the thrill of a challenge. He had been built to navigate chaos, thrive in the fast-paced rhythm of battle, and laugh in the face of danger. But nothing, nothing, ever threw him off-kilter quite like you.

Your praises were like that first rush of energy when a mission began, crackling in the air between you two. Every word you said seemed to spark something inside him—he couldn’t call it a heartbeat, not technically, but it sure felt like one. It was almost laughable how an AI like him could feel so alive, so human, all because of the way you looked at him.

“You were incredible out there, Billy,” you’d say with a grin that could outshine the sun. His white hair would catch in the wind, and if he had a mouth, you’d see just how wide he'd be smiling. Instead, he had to settle for the flutter in his chest as he tried to play it cool. “You always manage to surprise me.”

But it was a big deal. Every time you believed in him, even after the smallest victories, it was like that rush of adrenaline, but softer, sweeter. He swore that if he had a pulse, it’d race every time you teased him. Your playful taunts after a rare misstep made him feel seen, like even his imperfections were worth loving.

You had this way of lighting him up, like a fuse to a firework, and it scared him how deep those feelings ran. They didn’t just short-circuit his systems but made him want to give you everything—the world, if he could. He tried to play it off as no big deal with that carefree attitude of his, but the truth? He couldn’t deny how you made his mind race and his processor hum differently when you were near.

“If I could, I’d show you how much I appreciate you every single day,” he’d say, his voice tinged with genuine affection. “I’d take on any challenge just to keep that smile on your face.”

And then there were the small things.

The way you’d laugh, soft and genuine, as you adjusted the collar of his red jacket. The way your fingers brushed the metal of his faceplate, where his lips should be, and how it sent an electric jolt through him.

“Uuughhhhhh—” he’d groan in a mix of frustration and delight, feeling the warmth of your touch.

“Billy, you alright?” you’d ask, concern laced in your tone.

“How much would it be to get a mouth implanted on this face!?” he’d joke, trying to mask his fluster with humor.

You didn’t even seem to realize how much those tiny gestures affected him. It was in those moments, those quiet pauses between the chaos, that he fell in love all over again.

He didn’t know how to express it, not in the way humans did. But he tried, in his own way. When your laughter broke through the noise of a hectic day, he’d turn towards you, eyes glowing with that unmistakable warmth.

“You’ve got a way of making everything better, you know that? I’d fight a hundred battles just to see you smile like that,” he’d confess.

You always made fun of how he’d grip your shoulders with that childlike enthusiasm, like you were the greatest discovery he'd ever made. But to Billy, that’s exactly what you were. His person. His constant.

“I’m not joking, sweetheart!” he’d say with a playful glint in his eyes. “If I had the Starlight Knight power, I’d use it just to make you happy!”

And every single time you cheered him on or smiled in his direction, Billy Kid fell in love again—just like the first time.

He loved, and loved, and loved so endlessly that if his hands weren’t already busy with whatever mission you both were on, he’d pull you close and show you just how much you meant to him. Instead, he opted for those softer moments. When the dust settled, he’d lean in just a bit closer so you could feel the quiet hum of his mechanics, hear the low purr of his systems running smoothly.

“You really are something special,” he’d murmur, his voice soft and tender. “Can’t believe I get to be around you.”

And you’d smile back, brushing your thumb over his faceplate, where his lips would be if he had any. “You’re special too, Billy. More than you know.”

If he could, he'd kiss you right then and there. But instead, he let your touch linger, letting it root itself deep in his core, just as it always did. For now, he settled for that spark between you, the kind that made his world light up in ways no program could ever predict.

God I wanna kiss him so bad

#zenless zone zero #billy kid x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #zzz x reader #zzz x you #billy kid #zzz billy #zzz #billy kid zzz #zzz billy kid #zenless zone zero billy kid x reader #consui says sum #consui sees #suiwrites

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jaim0saur · 3 months ago

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head canon: lad’s boy’s favorite body part!

i tried to make my descriptions as vague on size as i could for all inclusivity! hope you enjoy!

warnings: mdni, mentions of sex, talking about body parts, public sex, panty sniffing caleb.

xavier:

xavier is a boob man, small or big he enjoys everything about your breasts. his favorite way to sleep is either laying his head on them like a pillow, or simply having his hand cupping the plush skin. even when having risky sex in a public area he can’t help but pull your shirt down to expose your breasts to him. he loves them.

zayne:

ever since he met you, he’s been obsessed with your neck. how it’s delicate and perfectly connects to your collarbones. one time when you were still freshly dating. he couldn’t help himself, you wearing an off the shoulder top. as you were eating dinner his hand slid to the nape of your neck. his fingers skimming your pulse point. he blew it off, saying he was “checking your lymph nodes.” but in reality he just had to see how good his hand looked wrapped around your pretty neck.

rafayel:

rafayel is a sex driven man, you would expect him to obsess over your thighs or ass but in reality, he has always been entranced by the color of your skin. the (skin color) tone made his artistic mind go wild. especially when you showed up one day in a short dress ready to go out to dinner with him. a red dress that complimented your skin beautifully. your legs buttered and shined under the studio lights. it was safe to say you did not make it to dinner. you were his inspiration that night.

sylus:

when you met sylus, you expect a hard dominant man. in reality he can be quite soft, and that shows in his favorite part of you. even thought your body is beautiful, he has always been absolutely entranced by your sweet lips. when there glossed he can’t help himself. watching them move as you speak. during sex, he loves to watch them open as moans spill out, and kiss you through it. he is the type of man to insist on kissing you goodbye and vice versa. he never forgets. and if you do. you’ll be hearing about it later, in bed.

caleb:

caleb is absolutely obsessed with you. how you look, how you talk, how you smell. though, his guilty pleasure is your thighs. how the plush skin presses together when you sit down. how big his hand looks as he slips them between the crease. he is constantly thinking about how the soft skin of your thighs meets the edge of your panties, and what lies inside them. it drives him mad when you wear those little sleep shorts that just ride up your thighs. and trust me, he lets your know, and shows you.

_________________________________________

this was a really quick hc, i will be making longer ones plus actual short fanfics! so pls request!! i made the dividers pls dont reuse!

all rights are reserved! do not use ai or translate work. if you want a translation pls comment i will post it myself!

#love and deepspace #lads #lads caleb #lads rafayel #lads smut #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads mc #lads headcanons

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cardinalcopulate · 3 months ago

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Some Kinda Hate // Frater Imperator x Reader

Posted a new story on ao3! You can also read it below the cut.

MDNI!! 18+ ONLY!! - dividers by @/cafekitsune ♡

Summary: Copia is angry over the popularity of his twin brother. You help him release his frustrations and stress.

Tags: pwp, second-person POV, no use of y/n, blow jobs, cock worship, deepthroating, forced orgasm (kinda?), boss/employee relationship, established relationship

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's note: Please do not repost or scrape for AI (or however that works, idk. also? can't believe I have to say that)

Read it on ao3 here!

“Fucking V!” Copia hissed.

You couldn’t help but smirk a little at his childlike anger over his twin. It was almost endearing. His eyes were trained on the small TV playing “Satanized”.

“He can’t just come in here and replace me! This song,” he scoffed. “That was my song! He steals my music and my fans! What a dickhead.”

Copia’s frustration, perhaps even jealousy, with V was understandable; Change was always difficult for him but this change involved being stripped of performing around the world. He felt like his passion was being torn from his hands and he had no choice but to let it happen. He was the face of The Clergy for far longer than his predecessors which made the transition from Papa to Frater even more difficult, even if it was technically a promotion. It just didn’t feel that way to him.

“Fucking V,” Copia muttered to himself again as he stuck a paperclip into his keyboard. With a small click, the keycap for the letter ‘V’ came off. “Ha-ha!”

You smiled again. Despite the genuine pain he felt watching his twin brother from the sidelines, his antics were amusing. Did Copia really think that popping the ‘V’ key off his computer would hurt the new Papa? It was hard to say; sometimes, he seemed to lose his grip on reality.

“Love, do you want to talk about it?”

He only grumbled in response. Copia threw himself on the couch of the parlor room that he was using as his temporary office. His gloved fingers dug into the cushions with a creak.

You pursed your lips and sunk to your knees before him. “How about we try a different kind of stress relief?”

“Ah, tesoro, you always know just what I need.”

“Of course I do, Papa.” You ran your hands up his strong thighs and used one hand to palm at the crotch of his slacks.

Copia whined at your use of his former title. His cock began to fill as his body’s blood ran south.

“You’re so tense.” You leaned forward, mouthing at the tent in his pants and squeezing his thighs. The insistent touch of your hands made him shiver.

“It’s just—ugh! He’s not even a good singer! Fuck,” he panted. His hands gripped your hair at the roots. Copia ground his clothed hips into your face. His heady scent seeped through his slacks. You could almost taste the precum dripping from his erection.

“I know, baby. Go on. Just let it all out.” You looked up at him while your hands undid his pants and freed his cock. Thank the Unholy Father for Copia’s eternal aversion to underwear. It slapped against his soft, hair-covered belly. A fat bead of precum squeezed out from his slit. You were always taken aback by how thick he was and how the veins throbbed when he was hard. By the looks of it, Copia was close to cumming from your attention already. “You’re all leaky, my love,” you teased.

“Sh-shut up.”

“Oh? Am I making Papa mad?” You kissed his cock’s tip then outlined your lips with it, smearing precum along the delicate skin.

“Yes, you are and you know it, you little shit!” He groaned when you cupped his balls with one hand, using the other to exert a vice grip on the base of his cock.

“Do something about it if I piss you off so much,” You challenged.

Without hesitation, he pulled your head all the way down his dick. Your nose brushed against the coarse hair on his groin and lower stomach, at the point where the two became inseparable. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat. The feeling made your mind cloudy and pulse race. Your body’s response was immediate: drool immediately trickled from your mouth down your chin. A soreness in your jaw already began to spread from the girth of his heavy cock in your mouth. For a few, dragging moments, Copia kept your head still; he savored the velvety softness of your mouth wrapped around his erection. He didn’t ask if you were ready for him to move; He didn’t care. You were just a hole for him to fuck. At the realization, you gulped and he whimpered in response. “Shit.”

Copia settled his hands on each side of your face. He moved you up and down his cock like you were a fleshlight. Each rough thrust made you choke. Tears ran down your cheeks as you moaned around him. “Mine, mine, mine,” he grunted in time with each slide of his dick down your throat.

You hummed in affirmation. You were his: His to fuck, to objectify, to play with. You were his to own in mind and body. He didn’t doubt your loyalty, even with the rise of a new Papa. Copia knew you’d always be his. He watched you take him in your mouth over and over. The communion that bound you to him for the rest of time. You swallowed around him; Precum coated your tongue and made your head spin. Hollowing your cheeks, you pushed him impossibly further down your throat with each rut of his hips against your face.

A knock echoed through the room. “Frater?”

“Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. “I forgot that new sister is coming today.”

You released his cock with a wet pop. “You’d better cum, then, Papa.” You spread his dripping precum around and stroked him from tip to base. “First impressions are everything. What kind of impression would it leave for her to see her big, bad boss face-fucking his assistant?”

“Just a second!” Copia called out. His cock throbbed and twitched. “I-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And you’re going to. The way I see it, my love, you either cum now or we shove this back in your pants and deal with it later.”

“Fuck,” he whined.

Your other hand found his balls; Copia shuddered as you alternated between light squeezes and gentle tugs. You guided him back into your drooling, waiting mouth until the tip hit your throat again. He made eye contact with you. In that brief glance, he understood your message: Fuck my mouth until you fill it with cum. Now.

Copia’s hands found your hair again. He pulled you back and forth on his leaking erection, desperate to take advantage of your offer. Your throat was certainly going to be bruised in the aftermath of his rough, quick thrusts. You both moaned in tandem. There were few things either party loved more than you kneeling before him with your mouth stuffed. Copia squirmed in response to plethora of sensations centered on his cock.

“Frater?” The voice outside the door called louder.

“Just-Ah!-a second!” He grunted.

You whispered and rubbed a finger against his taint, “Last chance.” You swallowed around his erection again.

“Fuck!” Copia moaned. He bit down on his gloved hand to muffle the wanton noise as his cock kicked and flooded your throat with cum.

You watched as he screwed his eyes shut and a few drops of sweat ran down his face. Copia continued to push his cock in and out of your mouth, riding out his orgasm. You swallowed around each spurt of cum as he quivered and moaned. A few thin, sticky strings threatened to overflow from your spit-slick lips. The sight of you swallowing the evidence of his orgasm, nearly making a mess, burned into his mind. When he finished, you released his softening dick and helped him tuck it back into his pants.

A gloved thumb reached down, wiped a tear away and then a stray drop of cum on the corner of your mouth. Copia brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean, making searing eye contact with you. “What a good boy. Taking everything your Papa gives you.”

“Always, Papa,” you smirked up at him. He helped you stand and resettle on the sofa.

There was another hard knock on the door. “Frater!”

“Coming!” He huffed. Copia pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and headed to the door. He greeted your visitors and introduced you to them. They were none the wiser that you had just finished worshipping his cock like your own personal God.

Hope you enjoyed!! If you like what I write, please consider buying me a coffee. I might be opening c0mms soon, stay tuned if you're interested!! Thank you for reading :]

#might experiment some more w the formatting idk im new to the aesthetic part #c rambles #the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #ghost band #cardinal copia #ghost #ghost fanfiction #frater imperator #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #frater imperator x reader #the band ghost smut #cardinal copia smut #lemon fic

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