#a plant controlling bullet

[midavalanche]

It works off intent. It can shoot lasers that match the power Jason actually wants to use to hit something. Jason wanting to freak out a sibling? It shoots a harmless beam of light. A sibling or teammate getting on his nerves? Doesn’t do lasting harm, but will sting with direct correlation to how annoyed he is. He wants to dramatically shoot out a light? The lightbulb is the only part that is broken without any other damage. The Joker decides to get in line of sight? The clown and the three walls behind him no longer exist.

I’m also thinking it works at various levels for the different bats. It works the best for Jason because a) it was made for him and b) he has spent the most time dead. Damian gets the next best results, followed by Cass and Bruce. Dick and Stephanie can barely get something stronger than harmless light (as they were only dead for a few seconds before reviving). Tim and Barbra can rarely get it to work at all. Duke also can’t fire the gun, but he has deflected a couple of shots away from him, and the reflected shot has no reliable pattern on how strong it is.

It takes the batclan an embarrassingly long time to figure out the reason for the difference in power levels. Especially since there is a cartoon ghost on the butt of the gun.

Barbra is the first one to call out the lack of gun safety and then to attempt to shoot it.

Jason has a favorite Pointing Gun (i.e. a gun he uses to wildly gesticulate with during conversation and frightens others over the lack of gun safety).

His new favorite one is from this small company called FentonWorks.

[helaintoloki]

Misunderstanding

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader

warnings/notes: angst, reader is described as timid/shy, fluff

a/n: this prompt was sent in as a request! hope you all enjoy <3

summary: you accept Bucky’s invitation to attend Tony’s charity gala as his date, but your night quickly turns sour when you find out about his bet with Natasha

Your hands tremble as you raise the gun towards your target and fixate your aim on the bullseye. You’ve never handled a weapon like this before, but your novice status in the shooting range isn’t what has you feeling so nervous.

“Relax your arms a bit,” Bucky suggests, his hands gently resting on your biceps as he positions them in the correct form. His chest is pressed against your back, strong arms encasing you against him while he uses his leg to gently nudge your own into the proper stance. His metal hand comes to rest on yours and adjust your aim so that it’s aligned with the target across the way from you both. You hope he can’t hear the rapid beating of your heart or feel the growing perspiration resulting from being so close to the man, and you hope he doesn’t take notice of the fact that your powers are slowly manifesting themselves around you in result of your emotions.

You’ve been an Avenger for a few months now, having joined the team after they’d been sent to investigate an environmental disturbance in a quiet California town. You had just developed your powers after becoming an unwilling test subject for your father’s experiments and had little to no control over your ability to manipulate the flora around you. The city had been turned into your own arboretum overrun with a multitude of different plants, some more dangerous than others, and it was only with their help had you been able to clean up the mess.

Your first months training had been spent solely focusing on controlling your powers, managing your emotions to prevent plants from popping up in places they didn’t belong, but this was easier said than done. Your abilities still had the tendency to activate even when you didn’t want them to, but you were doing much better now with practice. Your regime had slowly begun to include more practical elements like hand-to-hand combat, stealth, and weaponry. That’s how you ended up alone in the shooting range with Bucky who had been more than happy to help you learn.

“Now when you’re ready, pull the trigger,” his encouraging voice sounds in your ear.

You clicked with Bucky almost immediately after joining the team. As a victim of scientific experimentation himself, he understood the trepidation you held towards your abilities and the loss of autonomy you were experiencing. He was a calming presence that provided you with comfort every time you felt like your body was turning against you, and it wasn’t long before he decided to take you under his wing. You’d become fast friends in no time, and it was a rare occurrence at the tower to see one of you without the other.

Calming your nerves, you let out a slow exhale before pulling the trigger. You watch anxiously as the bullet flies out of the barrel and hits your target dead on.

“Right on the mark!” Bucky compliments proudly before removing himself from you. You find yourself already missing the closeness, but you play it cool by flashing him a bashful smile. Your joy has already begun to present itself as tiny daisies bloom at your feet, but the super soldier doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “See, wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I just got lucky,” you admit with a sheepish shrug. Bucky laughs before giving you an encouraging pat on the back.

“You just need some practice. I’m sure you’ll be able to start shooting at moving targets in no time.”

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” A third voice chimes. You turn your heads to find Natasha standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face as she greets you two with a nod before settling her gaze on Bucky. “Steve’s asking for you. Wants to talk strategy for the mission you two were assigned.”

“Right,” Bucky sighs before turning to you. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. Will you be alright without me?”

“I’ll manage,” you joke with a halfhearted smile that Bucky is quick to match. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest from the way his blue eyes stare down at you, and you hope neither he nor Natasha can pick up on your nerves.

“Don’t worry, Barnes,” Natasha quips as she comes to wrap an arm around your frame, “she’ll be in good hands while you’re gone.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he affirms with a nod, bidding you both a goodbye before making his way to Steve.

You’d been holding back your powers for as long as you could in Bucky’s presence, so once the man is gone you let out a sigh of relief and finally release the tension within you. Red carnations bloom in a circle around you before quickly wilting once you will them away with a wave of your hand. You wish your abilities weren’t so intertwined with your thoughts, and you wish you weren’t so infatuated with your teammate.

“Rough day of training?” Natasha prompts with a raised brow.

“Just overwhelmed, I guess,” you offer with a weak shrug before gesturing to your surroundings, “and a bit intimidated by all of this.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” she assures you with a faint smile. “It just takes time.”

You settle into a comfortable silence as you begin to clean up the mess left behind from your training session. Natasha simply watches on in silence, but you can tell by the look on her face that she’s heavily contemplating her next words.

“So you and Barnes?” She finally prompts, acting as inconspicuously as possible. You stiffen slightly at the question but immediately regain your composure as you unload your gun.

“What about me and Barnes?” You retort as nonchalantly as possible, though the mere mention of the man has your heart skipping a beat.

“You guys have gotten awfully close these last few months.”

“He’s a good friend,” you retort defensively, but it’s clear that Natasha isn’t buying your story. Her gaze suddenly becomes fixated on your head, and you watch with uncertainty as she reaches forward and lightly plucks something out of your hair. You blanch at the sight of the rosebud in her hand and try to avoid her knowing stare.

“You like him, don’t you?” She says with a coy smile.

“God, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg her in earnest while snatching the flower away, eyes full of panic and desperation. You thought you were doing well at hiding your little crush on Bucky, but you should have known better than to think an amateur like you could fool a top agent like Natasha.

“My lips are sealed, but even if I wanted to tell I think these flowers would end up blowing your cover before I could.”

“I can’t help it!” You exclaim in exasperation. “Wanda has been helping me learn to control my thoughts, but it’s like that all goes out the window whenever I’m with him.”

“Have you ever considered telling him?” She asks with a raised brow as if it’s the most obvious solution.

“Are you crazy? I think I’d rather die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffs with an amused roll of her eyes. “What’s the harm in playing the field?”

“I doubt there’s any part of him that sees me as more than the new teammate he has to babysit,” you denote woefully, clearly having already accepted defeat in your predicament. “Why risk making things horribly awkward for everyone?”

“It’ll only be horribly awkward if he actually rejects you,” Natasha reminds you thoughtfully, “and he won’t. But, Bucky also won’t make the first move either, so you have to.”

“Fat chance,” you murmur under your breath before turning to the armory to return your gun. You miss the look of determination that flashes across her features as she mulls over your conversation. It’s clear to her that your feelings for Bucky aren’t something that can just be swept under the rug, and she’s well aware of the fact that you won’t be able to muster up the courage to voice your feelings.

It seems it’ll be up to her to make the first move on your behalf.

~~~

“Y/n, just the person I wanted to see!” Tony’s voice calls, prompting you to halt in your tracks and remove your headphones. You’d just finished a workout session with Thor and were dying to let your aching muscles relax under a hot shower, but it seems your teammate had other plans.

“What is it?” You press gently while slowing your brisk pace so that Tony can walk alongside you in the hall. You watch with piqued interest as he pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it over to you.

“This, my dear, is an invitation to your very first charity gala,” he replies proudly. “I’ve already taken the liberty of RSVPing for you, so consider this as more of a formality than anything.”

“Charity gala?” You retort with a raised brow.

“Stark Industries throws one every year to raise money for good causes around the world, and it’s customary that every Avenger attends.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl nervously, already anxious at the thought of a huge party full of random strangers who know you as the girl that almost turned the state of California into an uninhabitable forest.

“You’re an Avenger now, sweetheart,” Tony reminds you thoughtfully, “and this will be a great way to introduce our newest member to the public and let them get to know you more. You wouldn’t say no to charity, would you?”

“No,” you sigh in defeat, clearly bested by Tony’s guilt tripping. You will yourself to open the envelope and take in the extravagant detailing on the card listing the time and date for the event. You’re not exactly the most extroverted person on the team, but you figure if you can fight world ending threats with no problem then you should be able to stomach one night of being paraded around like a show pony. “I guess I better find something to wear.”

“There’s the spirit,” Tony grins cheekily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet before producing his credit card. “You know what, since this is your first event why don’t you take my card and buy something new. Sky’s the limit.”

You look at him stunned before hesitantly pocketing the card and thanking the man for his generosity. You never imagined that one day you’d be able to have access to Tony Stark’s credit card, but then again, you also never imagined you’d be living under the same roof as Captain America and Black Widow.

After your conversation with Tony, you finally make your way back to your own room and step into the shower to freshen up. You spend most of it anxiously mulling over the upcoming gala and worrying about how you’re going to present yourself. You hate being perceived by strangers, but you suppose that’s what happens when you become a public figure.

Once you make yourself presentable again, you roam the tower in search of Wanda to seek out some guidance for your attire. You make your way through the hallways hoping to run into her after finding her bedroom empty, but you instead stumble upon a hushed conversation taking place in the kitchen. You falter slightly at the sound of Natasha’s voice, and though you can’t make out what she says you’re curious to know what she could be speaking so secretively about. Not wanting to eavesdrop, you make your presence known by rounding the corner only to be met with the startled faces of Nat and Bucky.

“Bucky?” You retort in surprise, stomach already twisting with nerveous knots the moment you meet his eyes. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Just got back an hour ago,” he explains with a tired smile, but you don’t miss the way he subtly shoots a glance at Natasha before returning his gaze to you. The two look suspicious, almost as if you’d caught them in the middle of something you weren’t mean to be privy of, and though you tried to ignore it you felt unnerved. You didn’t think your teammates capable of keeping secrets from you, especially not Bucky or Natasha, but it seemed apparent that they knew something you didn’t and intended to keep it that way.

“I’m glad you made it back safe,” you offer with a timid smile, swallowing down your nerves to keep your powers at bay. You can feel the itchiness on your palms resulting from a flower attempting to bloom and decide it’s best to make your exit as quickly as possible. “I, uh… I guess I’ll leave you two alone now.”

“You don’t have to go,” Bucky assures you with a frown, but you quickly shake your head and already begin making your exit before he can argue further.

“I have to find Wanda,” you answer almost breathlessly. You quicken your pace before either of them can stop you, your heart pounding in your chest and thorn covered vines trailing in your wake at the sudden emotional discomfort you’re experiencing.

You can’t help but to think you’d accidentally walked in on an intimate moment between the two and perhaps discovered a secret bond they shared. Your stomach flipped violently at the thought. Surely Bucky and Natasha weren’t involved romantically, were they? You knew she could be harsh, but you don’t think she’d be cruel enough to fill your head with encouragement to pursue Bucky just to end up pursing him herself.

You give up on your plans to find Wanda and instead shut yourself into your room for the remainder of the evening to wallow in your ruminative overthinking. You’re left to your own devices for a good hour before a knock sounds at your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you call out quietly. You watch on in interest as your door slowly creeps open so Bucky can peek his head inside.

“You got a minute?” He asks with a bashful smile that makes it impossible to deny him. You give him a small nod and watch as the man makes his way into your room before timidly seating himself on the edge of your bed. “I wanted to talk to you earlier but you sort of just bolted out of there.”

“Sorry,” you reply with a meek smile, eyes glancing away towards the floor. “I was feeling a little overwhelmed about Tony’s charity gala. Plus, it looked like you and Natasha were having a pretty intense conversation…”

“Right, that,” Bucky says with a sigh.

You muster up the courage to peek over at him and ask, “Are you two…?”

“What? No, of course not,” he quickly interjects, and despite the subtle guilt that arises within you, you feel relieved to hear him say this. “I know it might have looked suspect, but I was actually talking to her about you.”

“Me?” You repeat in surprise, shifting closer to the soldier and hanging onto his every word. A fond smile washes over him as he sets his eyes upon you and carefully reaches for your hand.

“I wanted to know if I’d have a shot at being your date to Tony’s charity gala,” Bucky admits with a charming grin. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you can’t help the sudden triggering of your powers as bushes of roses plant themselves around your bed. Your face heats with embarrassment at the display, but the giddy smile on your face says otherwise as you look to Bucky with wide eyes.

“You want to be my date?” You repeat in disbelief, nearly swooning when Bucky carefully picks a rose from beside him and hands it to you.

“I’d be honored if you’ll have me,” he utters sincerely, voice gentle and eyes full of admiration as he gazes upon your flushed face.

“Of course I’ll have you!” You exclaim, all inhibitions thrown out the window as you fling yourself into his arms and tightly embrace the super soldier. He lets out a soft laugh before gently wrapping his arms around your figure and encasing you against him. You never would have dreamed that Bucky would be hugging you so tightly in your room, that you’d ever be going to a charity gala as his date, or that he’d ever return your affections so sweetly as he was now. You’re overjoyed, a multitude of colorful flowers blooming around you much to Bucky’s amusement.

You suddenly find that you’re not so nervous now about Tony’s party.

~~~

“Hold still,” Wanda scolds lightly as she carefully swipes the makeup brush across your eyelids.

“I can’t help it, it tickles!” You retort defensively only for the witch to roll her eyes in amusement.

The night of the gala had finally arrived, and you were grateful for the fact that Wanda had been more than thrilled to handle your makeup for you. You worried your nerves would prevent you from creating a flawless look, and you entrusted her steady hands much more than your own trembling ones. You had purchased the perfect dress and jewelry to match, and all you were missing was a pair of heels to go along with it.

“I found them,” Natasha’s voice announces as she enters the room with the shoes she’d offered to lend you. “These should fit perfect for you.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you gush in earnest, earning a pleased smile from her in response.

“Barnes is going to lose his mind when he sees you tonight,” she compliments with a wink.

“I had a feeling about you two,” Wanda adds teasingly as she puts the finishing touches on your makeup. “I’ve caught him thinking about you when you’re not around. He’s smitten.”

You smile bashfully at the floor in response to their comments and nervously rub your arm as you think about Bucky. You’ve been waiting for this night for weeks, and now that it’s here you couldn’t be more excited. You were finally going to spend a romantic evening with the man you’d harbored feelings for since joining the team, and you had high hopes that the night would end with your friendship becoming something more.

After Wanda finishes your makeup and Natasha helps you learn how to balance in the heels, you make your way downstairs where Bucky waits patiently in his best suit and tie. His eyes brighten when they land on you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh when he releases a long whistle at the sight of you.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he compliments in earnest before taking your hand in his own and prompting you to twirl. “Come on, give me a little spin.”

You do as requested and giggle in delight at the attention you’re receiving. You always thought yourself to be fairly pretty, but Bucky makes you feel like you’re the most gorgeous woman on the planet. His eyes rake over your figure and admire every detail of your ensemble while still managing to be respectful of your person. You never thought the man who always appeared so solemn and reserved on the outside could be so romantically sweet.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” You ask meekly, somewhat apprehensive about your look. This isn’t how you’d typically style yourself, and though you enjoy the glamour and excitement that come with attending the gala you’re worried about how the public will perceive your image as the newest Avenger.

“I think you look perfect,” Bucky assures you before opening your door and helping you into the car. The drive is filled with quiet conversation as he informs you on what to expect at a Stark party and how to expertly avoid nosy reporters. You’re absolutely enamored by the Winter Soldier, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt as secure as you do now alongside Bucky.

Just as Bucky had warned you, a gaggle of journalists surround your car as you arrive at the party. You feel the nerves beginning to overtake you, but Bucky’s gentle touch against your arm brings you back down to earth as he assures you he’s got your back. He helps you out of the car and allows you to take his arm before guiding you up the stairs into the building. You’re blinded by the flash of cameras and overwhelmed by the multitude of voices that try to get your attention, something Bucky can sense by the way your grip on his arm tightens.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath fan against your ear as he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

You feel your heart nearly burst from the gentleness of the words and the way he lovingly gaze down at you. Everything around you seems to melt away when your eyes meet his own blue ones, and all your mind can comprehend is Bucky- the smell of his cologne, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile, the softness of his touch. You’re completely enamored, and you hope he feels as strongly as you do.

Despite your initial apprehension towards the charity gala, the night almost seems to go seamlessly for you and the Avengers. Tony is able to secure generous donations from his richest guests, your teammates are able to relax for a rare night of festivities, and since gaining your powers you’re finally able to feel comfortable in your own skin.

Halfway through the party you end up on the dance floor with Bucky, your head resting against his shoulder as he holds you close and gently sways you in time to the slow song being played by the band. Despite the excitement you feel, you’ve been able to keep your powers at bay the entire night.

“You having a good time?” Bucky asks after twirling you on the dance floor. You smile as he immediately pulls you back into his arms, finding solace in him as you drape your arms around his neck.

“It’s not as scary as I thought it would be,” you admit with a sheepish smile. “I was afraid I’d mess it all up, but Tony says the journalists loved me.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Bucky says adamantly. “You’re sweet and funny and so strong.”

“You really mean that?”

“Course I do,” he assures you with a charming wink. You let out a quiet laugh and bashfully look away only for Bucky to gently grab your chin and redirect your gaze back to his own. “You’re the prettiest girl in this entire room, and I’m the luckiest guy to get to have you on my arm tonight.”

You swallow nervously as you meet his intense stare, unused to having him look upon you in such a way. Bucky had always been sweet on you, but you assumed his kindness was a result of platonic affection and understanding for the new girl on the team. You were vulnerable and alone when you first joined the Avengers, and you assumed the extra care he gave you was merely him trying to smoothen your transition into the life of a hero. But now, with eyes boring into your soul while his metal hand gently presses against the small of your back to bring you closer to him, it seems as if your hopes for his affection are finally coming true.

“Bucky?” You murmur softly, stomach twisting itself into nervous knots.

“Yeah, doll?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that I… well, I-“

“Mind if I cut in?” A voice interrupts, startling you both out of the moment as you turn to meet Natasha’s expectant gaze. She looks between you both with a raised before asking, “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, not at all,” you quickly interject before Bucky can answer. You look to the man with an apologetic smile in search of approval. “I’ll find you after this dance, okay?”

“Sure,” he relents with an understanding nod, “I’ll get us some drinks in the meantime.”

You watch his figure disappear into the crowd before allowing Natasha to pull you in for a dance. You shamelessly let her take the lead as she guides your steps to match with hers, and she wears a knowing smirk on her face as she looks to you. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the moment, but I wanted to see how things were going.”

“I’m kind of glad you did,” you offer with a despondent sigh. “I almost told him how I feel.”

“What? That’s great!” Natasha retorts, confusion clearly etched on her features. “I feel like you should be more upset with me than you are right now.”

“I’m just afraid of the possibility that I could be reading it all wrong. I mean, I know he asked me to be his date, but what if this is just a one-night only type of deal? Steve said Bucky was a charmer back in his day, so maybe he’s just trying to be nice and show me a good time.”

“Wow,” the redhead breathes out with a shake of her head. “You really are dense.”

“Natasha!” You exclaim in offense only to receive an eye roll in response.

“If you can’t see how completely enamored that man is with you then I can’t help you,” she states bluntly. In a gentler tone now, Natasha gives your hip an encouraging squeeze before continuing, “I have never seen you as sure or confident in yourself as you’ve been tonight, so don’t be so quick to revert back to doubting your worth. You deserve to get what you want.”

Despite the initial harshness of her words, you know that Natasha is right. You’ve worked hard these last few months to earn your spot on the team, to prove your capabilities, and to force yourself out of your protective shell. Gaining your powers and overrunning an entire city with plants had been terrifying but you’d gotten through it, so there was no reason to believe you couldn’t handle putting yourself out there and sharing with Bucky the feelings you’d been harboring for him. His actions tonight were clear indicators that the possibility of him viewing you in more than a platonic lens was real, and if a woman like Natasha who’d been trained to easily read others could clearly see his interest in you, then you shouldn’t have any ounce of doubt left within you.

“You’re right,” you utter undauntedly with a firm nod of your head. “I should just get over my fears and tell him how I feel.”

“There’s the spirit,” Natasha retorts with a proud smirk. She releases you once your dance is over and sends you off with a wink, watching on proudly as you leave to search for Bucky. “Good luck!”

You manage to push your way through the crowded banquet halls towards the bar, but Bucky isn’t there. Your eyes anxiously scan the room for any sign of your date, and you’re barely able to catch sight of him stepping out onto the patio with Steve and Sam. You smile in relief before briskly making your way over to him. You’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be, and your body feels as if it’s vibrating with the exhilaration you feel at finally taking charge in your life for once. You don’t want to be the shy or timid Avenger your teammates know you as any longer; you want to be seen as someone who knows what she wants and is sure in her ability to achieve it, and you hope that after tonight you’ll be able to prove that.

The cool night air sends immediate shivers across your bare arms as you reach the doorway to the patio. The three men have their backs turned to you as they converse amongst one another away from the crowded party, enjoying a moment of peace free of reporters and fanatic guests. You know that you should make yourself known instead of eavesdropping, yet you can’t help but falter when you hear your name arise in the conversation.

“So you and y/n?” Steve prompts with a pleased smile. “You two looked like you were having a lot of fun out on the dance floor.”

“She’s great, isn’t she?” Bucky voices, admiration present in his tone. You feel your heart swell with bliss at hearing the way he talks so fondly of you when he thinks you’re not around, and it only makes you more sure of your decision to tell him how you feel.

“I like you two together,” his friend says with sincerity. “I think you’ve both helped each other come out of your shells.”

“Not to mention she makes you less grumpy,” Sam notes with a playful smirk. “I just can’t believe you managed to pull off getting her to agree to come as your date tonight. She’s gorgeous and clearly way out of your league.”

You muffle your quiet laugh with your hand and decide that now is probably a good time to reveal yourself to save Bucky from Sam’s teasing, but his next words have you stopped dead in your tracks.

“Well, it wasn’t really my idea,” he explains while uncomfortably running a hand through his hair. “Natasha put me up to it.”

You can practically feel your heart sinking in your chest as the words settle into your mind. Your lips part in quiet shock and your stomach tightens in disgust at the reality you’re met with.

“Natasha?” Steve retorts with a raised brow. Bucky nods.

“We made a deal that she’d take over my next field assignment for me if I got y/n to be my date to Tony’s party.”

You slowly shake your head in disbelief and begin to back away as the weight of his confession sinks down onto your mind. You thought that Bucky was finally beginning to see you the way you see him, that he meant it when he said how lucky he was to have you on his arm tonight, that you were finally crossing over from being platonic friends to something more.

But it had all been a lie.

Sam turns to set his glass on a nearby table only to freeze when he sees you standing there. He takes in your trembling figure and wide eyes and is quickly able to piece together the fact that you’d heard everything.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, garnering the attention of both men as all three now turn to find you lingering in the doorway. Bucky’s face falls as he makes contact with your glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Y/n,” he utters remorsefully, taking a step towards you only for you to step back.

“I can’t believe you,” you manage to get out in a quivering voice, holding back a sob before quickly turning and making your exit.

You’re overwhelmed by the music that now feels like it’s blaring in your ears and the suffocation that overtakes you as you push through the crowded hall. You feel like you can’t breathe, and all you want is to get out of this party as fast as possible so you can return to the tower.

“Y/n, wait!” Bucky’s voice calls after, garnering the attention of a few onlookers who pause their conversations to watch the super soldier chase after you. He finally catches up to you once you make it to the front room away from the party, gently grasping onto your hand to halt your frenzied escape. “Doll, let me explain-“

“Explain what?” You spit harshly despite the tears that fall down your cheeks. “That you lied to me? That you only brought me here because of some stupid bet?!”

“It’s not like that,” he insists only for you to yank your hand away with a frustrated groan.

“Really? Because that’s what it sounded like to me,” you utter in quiet disbelief. “I can’t believe I actually fell for it.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Bucky pleads gently before carefully reaching out for your arm. His words only infuriate you further, prompting thorns to sprout from your skin and protect you from his touch.

“Oh, right, because that makes it better,” you retort sarcastically. “I actually thought that you could like me the way I like you… I let you make me believe that I was the prettiest girl in the room and that you could actually want to be with me.”

Your shoulders tremble as you let out a quiet sob, and Bucky can only watch on in despair as he tries to remedy the situation he’d created. He never meant to hurt you, and he hated to see you cry as a result of his own actions.

“Y/n, come on,” he urges you softly, now using his metal hand to try and reach for you. “Let me fix this, let me explain everything and I promise-“

“You want to fix this?” You interrupt in a shaky voice, swallowing down another sob that threatens to fall before backing away from the man. “Then leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you.”

“Y/n…”

“Congratulations on winning your bet,” you utter despondently before slamming the doors shut behind you and leaving Bucky to ruminate in the mess he’d created.

It was never supposed to be like this.

~~~

You haven’t left your room since returning from the party last night.

Your evening of glamour and excitement had come crashing down after your argument, and once you got home you immediately rid yourself of all remnants of the charity gala. You initially had been filled with anger and rage, but all you felt now was an embarrassing sadness. Natasha had filled your head with fantasies and gotten your hopes up about Bucky only for you to end up humiliated. A rational part of you knew she must have meant well by bribing Bucky into taking you to the charity gala as his date, but you wished she never would have meddled in the first place.

You don’t think you can ever stand to be around him let alone even look at him after hearing him talk about your night as if it was something less tedious to be done in comparison to being sent out into the field. You thought you were worth more to him than a stupid bet to be made, but his words had clearly proven you wrong.

No one has attempted to enter your room since last night, though it’s not like they could even if they tried considering you’d barricaded your door with a wall of prickling vines and thorn bushes to block their path. You didn’t want to see or speak to anyone, even if you knew that eventually you’d have to face your teammates at some point.

As you try to pass the time by tending to the plants littered around the room, a knock at the door interrupts the peaceful atmosphere you’ve created. You’re honestly surprised someone had managed to pull it off considering the multitude of thorns should have stopped them from doing so, but you make no move to answer it.

“Y/n, it’s me,” Bucky’s voice sounds, prompting you to bristle with unease. The thorns on the outside grow larger, but this does not deter the super soldier who uses his metal arm to knock against them. “Please talk to me. You have no idea how much this is killing me.”

“I told you I want nothing to do with you,” you shout back wrathfully. “Leave me alone!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that doll.”

“Why don’t you go make another deal with Natasha and bet you can get me to open the door,” you retort sarcastically much to Bucky’s dismay. The quiet and timid girl he’d been so used to was nowhere to be found now, and you weren’t about to let him win you over again with charming flatteries.

Bucky groans in frustration, moving to walk away only to halt in his steps and turn back towards your door. He’s determined to get through to you, and despite the cold shoulder you’re giving him he’s not going to give up until you hear him out.

“Fine, you don’t have to open the door,” he says calmly, hands raised in surrender as he ceases his pounding. "I’ll just talk to you from here.”

You roll your eyes at his statement and try to block out his voice as you water your plants, but you can’t help the part inside of you that desperately wants to know why he would ever stoop so low to use you as leverage in a bet. You adored him, but he’d broken your heart, and you felt you did deserve an answer even if you didn’t want to hear it. You don’t respond to his proclamation, but you also don’t interrupt him, and Bucky takes this as a sign to keep going.

“I know I screwed up, and I shouldn’t have agreed to making that deal, but you have to understand that I didn’t ask you out just to get out of a field assignment,” Bucky says earnestly, prompting you to pause your ministrations and set your watering can aside as you slowly make your way closer to the door. “I worded it all wrong when I was telling Steve and Sam, and you didn’t give me the chance to explain myself.”

“When I came home from my mission with Steve, Natasha cornered me in the kitchen to talk to me about Tony’s charity gala. I had no plans to attend whatsoever until she warned me that if I didn’t go, some other guy would get the chance to sweep you off your feet instead. And I realized… I realized I didn’t want that to happen.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly at his confession before furrowing in confusion. You recalled the night you’d stumbled upon him with Nat in the kitchen, and you remember he had explicitly told you they’d been discussing you. You hadn’t been able to hear anything said between the two, and you were now finally learning for the first time what they’d been so secretively conversing about.

“She said I didn’t have the guts to man up and ask you out,” he says quietly, features forlorn as he leans back against the wall. “She bet I’d be too scared to ever make the first move, and I wanted to prove her wrong. I didn’t make that deal because I thought it would be an easy way to get out of work or to humiliate you. I did it because I like you, and I would hate for Natasha to be right about me letting some other lucky guy win you over all because I was too scared to open my mouth and tell you how I feel.”

A heavy silence fills the hallway as Bucky stands with bated breath before your door and waits for any sort of response from the other side. A part of him fears that you hadn’t heard a word he’d said, or even worse, had heard everything and simply chose to ignore it. However, just when he feels like giving up and finally leaving you alone, the vines guarding your room slowly begin to rescind until there’s nothing left. The door slides open and reveals your hesitant figure standing on the other side. Neither of you speaks at first, too nervous to make the first move, but after a moment you finally work up the nerve to talk.

“You said you wanted to tell me how you feel,” you utter softly, taking a nervous swallow before continuing, “so tell me.”

Bucky can’t help but to smile after finally being able to see you again, and you watch in uncertainty as he takes a step towards you and carefully takes your hands in his.

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day you touched my metal arm and accidentally made daises bloom around it,” he voices with an affectionate grin. “You make me want to be a better man every time I’m around you, and I know that if you gave me the chance I’d do everything in my power to be the guy you deserve.”

You bite back the tears that begin to well at his confession, a smile playing upon your trembling lips as you listen to Bucky say the words you’ve only ever dreamed about hearing. You can see the sincerity swimming in his eyes and know that he isn’t lying to make you feel better. What he says is real, and he means it with every fiber of his being.

“I believe you,” you relent quietly, “and I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to apologize.”

“I’m the idiot who should be apologizing,” Bucky avows with a chuckle while giving your hands a gentle squeeze. “I shouldn’t have needed a bet to tell you how I feel. Will you still have me, doll? Even after how stupid I’ve been?”

You giggle quietly as you pull him closer and prompt him to wrap his strong arms around your figure. You peer up to meet his loving gaze while gently placing a hand on his cheek, heart thrumming rapidly in your chest when he immediately melts at the feel of your touch. “Of course I’ll have you.”

Bucky bites back a smile, holding you close as he leans down to meet your lips in a kiss. Your arms find their way around his neck while his hands press against your back to hold you tightly against him as if he never wants to let you go again. The doorway once covered in thorns now blooms with beautiful roses, signifying your reconciliation with the man you adore.

Maybe that bet wasn’t so bad after all.

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ 'i'm sorry' - logan x gn!reader

summary: logan would never hurt you, but in his nightmares he's often not able to control his claws - he's hurt you, the one thing he never wanted to do. (1k) tags: vivid descriptions of nightmares, war, slight blood, vague mention of suicidal thoughts, reader comforts logan, traumatised logan, hurt/comfort, angsty, established relationship, for the 'claws' prompt for logan promptober.

his dreams are seldom peaceful, even with you by his side. it's war, it's blood, it's loss. it's the same every damn night.

the visions drag him under, flashes of bright light, the rattle of ricocheting bullets, comrades screaming his name, pleading to the man who survives it all yet prays to god for it to end.

he's snarling, trapped, cornered like prey. he's a warrior, a soldier, a brother, aimed like a gun and twice as deadly. he's seen bloodshed, seen victory, stared death in the eye and watched it walk away. all claws and teeth, anger flowing like a steady river with no clear purpose.

it's not real, he tries to remind himself, yet it is, it was. it was once all he knew.

a scream and it fades away to black, his voice piercing the very fabric of his nightmare, dragging him back to reality. his claws are extended, ready, primed. it's an all too familiar feeling, but one he has never grown used to, waking up like this.

it's then you come into his view as if suddenly appearing, perched on the edge of the bed cradling your arm. your eyes are wide, your rate of breathing matching his quickened pace. logan is disorientated, one foot planted in reality and the other firmly stuck in his dream. it's not until the crimson-red liquid begins to drip along the length of your arm that he realises what he's done.

no.

"it's okay," you reassure him quickly though your voice shakes as you see the colour drain from his face, "baby, you didn't mean it, it's okay."

but he's already tearing himself apart, guilt eating him alive and spitting him back out. how many times does he have to learn this lesson before he locks himself away like he should? how many people is he going to hurt in a blind haze?

you can tell by the look on his face that he's falling apart, purposefully beating himself up inside that metal skull of his. "hey," you whisper, inching closer - but he flinches backwards.

"n. . . no," logan barks and shakes his head, "stay away, i. . ."

it breaks your heart to see him this way, he'd never hurt you intentionally. though he's known so much violence, he treats you with the tenderness only a man who's known loss can provide. you know he's not a monster, not the one he's told he is, not the one they built him to be.

"it's alright, logan," you whisper softly, inching closer, "you didn't mean it, i know that - it's alright, you're awake now."

he eyes you with a frightened gaze, the whites of his eyes prominent as he attempts to slow his breathing. he's tense, almost as though he's preparing to flee.

all he wants is your comfort, but he won't allow himself to have it.

"logan," you speak again in that same tone, "look, it's only a little cut. . ." you outstretch your arm for him to see. his eyes flit down to your wound, his body reluctantly and gingerly moving a little closer. you're right, it's not deep, the bleeding is lessening and it won't even scar. but it doesn't matter, because he still hurt you.

his lip quivers, a sight that has your breath hitching in your throat. he keeps his gaze on the blood as he takes your arm in his hands, "i'm. . . i'm so sorry," logan whispers shakily, unable to express the depth of remorse he feels. the calloused pads of his fingers trace across your skin, each touch a tender apology.

you shake your head, reaching out to cup his chin and tilt his head up as he surrenders to your touch, tears falling from his deep hazel eyes. "i forgive you."

those three words pierce him, he doesn't think he deserves it, doesn't deserve your forgiveness. you should run, run from the untamed animal locked inside him that rears its ugly head in the night. but you don't, you stay with the beast though he could break you. because you know he won't.

he breaks, nuzzling himself down into the safety of your chest as you hold him. "shhh," you coo, "that's it, it's alright. . ."

logan can't describe the security and serenity he feels in your arms. your voice can always reach him through the storm in his mind, the never-ending relentless torrent of thoughts and memories. you wade through, to find him at the edge of it all and bring him back. and he's always grateful.

he wants nothing more than to promise you that he'll never hurt you ever again, but he can't. you both know that. you accepted this the moment you fell in love, you'd walk through hell and back for him, and more.

and so would he, for you.

his body curls, seeking your warmth as he melds into your shape while you both lay back on the sheets. you run your fingers through his hair, your other hand tracing small shapes on his arm he has wrapped tightly around your waist.

"love you," he mumbles into your skin, breathing in your scent and letting it fill him, soothe him. god, he'd never get tired of saying that.

and as his chin tilts up, his gaze meeting yours above him, he melts in your embrace. he sees that love reflected in your eyes, so much of it. so much so that it overwhelms him in the best way.

"i love you too," you smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead as his eyes flutter shut. he reluctantly allows himself to fall back into the realm of slumber, encouraged by your soothing presence.

this time, he dreams of you, your future, the future he wants to create with you.

he dreams of waking up peacefully with you in his arms, of the morning sunlight rays seeping into the moment as it washes across you both. and he prays that this world will allow him this, prays to a god he no longer believes in, begs to be given the opportunity to simply exist with you.

he wants nothing more than that. the opportunity to love you for as long as he can, as long as you want him. and he hopes you want him for a while longer, because he's not sure if he'll ever know how to let you go.

[tourturestarradio]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬?"

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mutant reader

Prompt: He knew not to get attached, he knew better than that but he couldn't help himself, it always ended the same.

Warnings: typical violence stuff, blood, angst/ slight (???) comfort, character death, code name for reader is Venus (it won't be used a lot)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

Staring at the flower Bucky reached out to touch the petal, it was a Cyclamen flower. The petals were soft to the touch, taking in a deep breath he pulled his eyes away from the flower hearing Steve call out to him "Buck! come on" taking one last look at the flower he walked away a heavy feeling in his chest that didn't go unnoticed by Steve.

After that Bucky seemed off, like something was wrong. Overall he just seemed preoccupied, but he needed to clear his head asap seeing as it was putting the mission in jeopardy.

By the end of it they had just barely gotten the job done. Now Steve wasn't going to get all up and angry at him Bucky already seemed upset so he'll speak to him later when he feels more relaxed.

Upon getting back to Avengers headquarters, Steve glanced at Bucky "Buck" he called out, he looked back at his friend, a look of sadness still lingering on his face.

"Are you alright? You seemed distracted" he asked, Bucky paused thinking for a moment "yeah i'm fine" he answered, Steve looked at him "Bucky i've known you a long time, I know when you're lying" he pressed, Bucky let out a sigh "just seen something that reminded me of someone" he explained.

Steve focused his attention onto Bucky hoping he'd explain further but he didn't, "it was that flower wasn't it?" he asked, Bucky snapped his head over "thought I didn't notice" Steve said raising a brow, Bucky clicked his tongue "what type of flower was it?" he asked.

Bucky looked away but still answered "cyclamen flower" he muttered, "it was a flower someone I used to know used to grow" he explained, Steve tilted his head hoping he would explain further, "it was while I was under HYDRA's control" he added.

Steve nodded "do you want to talk about it?" he said crossing his arms, shaking his head Bucky walked away.

Entering his room Bucky sat running his hands through his hair memories of his days with HYDRA washing over him, well not HYDRA but his memories of you.

Venus, well that was your code name due to your mutation, you could grow and manipulate any life form that had a plant cell in it. That wasn't quite it though, that isn't where you got that name from though, it was an add on to your mutation.

You could split your face open, revealing a row of sharp teeth just waiting for the right person to stick their nose where it didn't belong and snap your jaw, well face shut like a Venus flytrap would.

Despite the brutal nature of your ability, you were the nicest agent among HYDRA, now don't be mistaken you weren't working for them willingly, you had no choice.

You'd destroy that place from the inside out if you could, but they quite literally had your heart in their hands. And the other soldiers liked you. So they'd let you patch up or heal the other super soldiers due to your ability.

After no matter if it was the tiniest cut or a bullet wound the winter soldier, would be back in your clinic. He just wanted a reason to be around you, which was a case for a lot of the other super soldiers. He wouldn't speak, but he'd still listen to what you told him, as you worked on him like it was a normal conversation.

You wouldn't pester him about his mission, and if he completed it or not, you'd do your job and take care of him. You didn't ever seem frightened or nervous to be around him like everyone else, you didn't hold your breath every time he moved.

Now you were nice but that didn't mean you were an idiot. You had encounters where a soldier tried to kill you more than once, so if a soldier got a little too rowdy you puff a decent amount of lavender powder into their face to keep them calm while you worked.

You always keep your guard up around everyone...except Bucky. You trusted him. No matter how many times he asked you the answer was always the same "you've given me no reason to distrust you." to you it was a simple answer.

But to him it meant the world, you knew all the wrong doings he did and yet you still trusted him. And it showed. If he was okay with it you'd stand close to him and go about your regular work.

If he'd asked to stay in the room with you for a little while longer you'd let him without question. There was so many times he could have killed you all the perfect opportunities and yet you'd still let him go close to you.

But you trusted him.

You cared for him.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, he'd returned from a tough mission limping into your clinic weakly calling out to you.

You grew out some tree vines to help him stay up, you cursed under your breath "I told them not to send you on another mission." you muttered, a few aconites growing out of your head as you tried to calm yourself.

Placing him down, you glanced up at his eyes "I'm taking this off okay?" you muttered, carefully you tugged off his tactical gear he muttered a small pained "okay" you cut off his blood stained shirt, Bucky groaned in pain you looked over the few bullet holes he had scattered across his torso.

To distract himself from the pain he glanced up at you "talk, please" he groaned, you thought to yourself for a moment before speaking "there's a plant called the corpse flower, it's the largest flower in the world it's about 10 feet tall and 3 feet wide if I remember correctly." you explain, taking out the bullets placing them aside.

"Why's...it called a corpse flower?" he asked, you took the last bullet out. You began cleaning the wound "well because when it blooms it smells like a corpse" you chuckled, grabbing a needle and thread you grew a lavender flower out of your palm "this'll hurt a bit, wanna go under for a bit?" you asked, Bucky shook his head "no, just keep talking" he stated.

You nodded placing the flower aside, "okay" you started patching him up "ya'know when I grow things I get a little connection to them, I can feel what they feel for a moment" you hummed, Bucky glanced at you for a second but he didn't say anything.

"You got a favorite flower?" you asked, he shook his head he could barely remember the flowers you'd talk about but he remembered what they looked like, you'd grow them and tell him what each flower symbolized. There was one and only one flower he'd remembered.

"Hellebores" He muttered, it was a flower that could bloom even in the winter time.

You looked a little shocked for a moment muttering "you remembered..." a small smile gracing your face. It was very rare for any of the soldiers to remember any of your previous conversations, so to you, you wanted to jump for joy but you'd have to keep calm for now.

You walked away for a moment, grabbing some bandages "okay snowflake sit up for me please" you commanded, Bucky never understood why you called him that so he finally mustered up the courage to ask "why do you call me that?" he asked, slowly sitting up.

Standing in between his legs you started wrapping a bandage around his torso, letting him smell the faint scent of dirt and flowers coming off of you."Well um, I don't like calling you a soldier or winter soldier. It feels dehumanizing, like you're nothing but a weapon." you explain.

Looking at his tense blue eyes before looking back down "ya'know? I know it sounds stupid, but I just think it's wrong, and I like snowflake better" you finished, a smile gracing your face.

Your smile was so soft, welcoming, you were standing so close to him. He could observe you, he could see the faint light in your eye the way you lightly bit your lip as you focused on wrapping him up. He was so close he could just-

"hm-um Snowflake?" you blinked, feeling his flesh hand touching your face, his fingertips running over cheek. Once he realized what he was doing he yanked his hand away as if you'd burned him.

He muttered a small "sorry" to which you replied "it's okay" simply. Though you made a note of how comfortable he was enough to touch you.

He stared at you his heart thumping faster, you were about to move backwards when he grabbed onto you, not want you to move away just yet.

"Oh!...do you need something?" you asked, blinking he let go "grow me a flower." he commanded, you tilted your head "that's now how you ask" you say, putting away your things, the soldier sighed.

This is what he means, you treat him like he was just a regular person like a...friend. He was a super soldier, and you were making him say 'please' like he was a child.

You crossed your arms waiting for him to say it, it got to a point where you were both having a stare down before he inevitably gave up "grow me a flower...please." he mumbled, you smiled "there you go sweetpea." you hummed, holding out both your hands Bucky saw a misty glow come from your palms a large flower growing before blooming into a pink camellia.

"What does this one mean" he asked, running his hand over the petals, you plucked the flower from your hands "it...means to live a good life" you lied through your teeth placing the flower aside.

Bucky stood up "why'd you pick that flower?" he asked, You gulped trying to subvert the conversation "well you're a lot more talkative today" you hummed, you knew it was wrong, you shouldn't grow so attached but you couldn't help yourself.

Bucky made a face but before he could press further, before the door to your clinic burst open "Soldier on your feet" one of the men said, Bucky turned his attention towards the handlers, standing up without hesitation.

"You'll be flying out tomorrow, prepare yourself" he spoke loud and clear, you snapped your attention towards the group of men.

Before Bucky could leave thorn vines shot out to block his path "no he will not." you stated, the men looked over "and what position do you think you have to stop him?" he stated, cocking his head to the side.

"He needs time to heal. He barely made it out of his last mission before sending him on another one. He may be a super soldier but he's still a fucking human" you state a disgusted look on your face. The thorns growing sharper.

Orange lilies and tansy flowers growing around you the more irritated you got. The men knew not to push you too far you were friendly but were still a mutant, and you weren't very fond of the handlers, scientist, and agents that worked for HYDRA. You only gave a form of sympathy to the soldiers.

Who knows what horrors you would do when you were angry. The main man clenched his fists "he gets a week to recover." he stated before turning his heel and leaving "damn mutant" he spat.

You relaxed your posture, your thorn vines disappearing "sorry bout that Snowflake" you stated, Bucky didn't pay attention still thinking back to what you'd said earlier.

He's still a human?

He's still just a human.

You placed your hand on his arm snapping him out of his state "are you alright? You can stay here for the night if you want" you offer, Bucky shook his head "no." he stated, "are you sure..." you asked, concerned about how he seemed so stern again.

'We were just starting to make progress...' you thought to yourself, Bucky grabbed his things "i'll be going" he stated silently, you looked at him with a worried expression watching him go so suddenly.

Bucky knew he shouldn't get close to you, it would only cause trouble. He knew better, but he felt human around you, he could forget his troubles just for a moment. Just for a second.

But he knew it was wrong, it always ends the same...

And as much as he would like to be proven wrong, he knew he'd never know peace, or tranquility.

Not after the sins he faced, the lives he's taken, the lives he's ruined.

He couldn't taint you too, you were the last piece of hope he had at feeling whole, but he knew it would all come crashing down even if he wanted it to or not.

You were a lush green forest that thrived so well, and he was a forest fire waiting to turn you into ash.

And he proved himself right.

Soldiers had been going missing left and right, and the scientist that tortured them suddenly going missing as well.

While the soldiers weren't seen again the scientist bodies being found as an obvious warning. Someone was threatening them, and it was all too obvious who it was behind this.

Bursting into your office your head looked up a smile that graced your face upon seeing Bucky but disappearing as you realized he was brainwashed again, you'd been found out.

'Shit.'

Getting up quickly you grew enough thorn vines to wrap around him stopping him in his tracks.

Throwing him out of your office you quickly escaped out using your ability you created a wall of sturdy tree branches blocking the soldiers and Bucky from getting to you.

But it was futile as the wall was set aflame, you could feel the prickling heat burn your skin, but you kept moving despite the agony you felt.

Through the burning you felt something shoot through your abdomen, making you tumble into the ground. The pain almost made you vomit as you looked up seeing Bucky.

No, no that wasn't Bucky, nor Snowflake. That was the winter soldier staring you in the face, you created a wall surrounding you.

Bucky ripped the wall apart, you could have put up a fight if this was anyone else, but it wasn't anyone else.

You didn't want to hurt him.

The trust you built between each other slowly crumbled as he grabbed you by the throat squeezing hard "c-come on...Snowflake...it's me" you muttered through strained breaths.

He only tightened his grip, his cold blue eyes stared into your watery ones "please don't make me do this..." you whispered, that look in his eyes faltered for just a moment.

You were slowly getting through to him but your vision was growing blurry, you didn't have time to talk him down, so without missing a beat you spit a powdery substance into his face before kicking him sternly in the chest.

He dropped you trying to wipe the powder off but it started to burn. Catching your breath you scrambled up on your feet running for the exit, you could hear him yelled out in pain as the gimpy gimpy powder started to set in.

You felt horrible but you had to escape, you did all you could by setting those new super soldiers free, that was your only goal and if you hadn't been discovered you'd continue on. You'd tell them where to go and who to find for help.

Before you could make it out you heard another gun shot ring out. this time closer to your heart making you collapse onto the ground, another super soldier grabbed you slamming you through a wall making you land outside.

The soldier pointed their gun at you muttering "traitor" but before they could pull the trigger a tree branch stabbed through their chest. You dropped your hand making the tree branch fall under your command.

Releasing a shaky breath you crawled further into the forest dragging yourself away, you could feel yourself getting weaker by the second.

Pulling yourself against a tree you tried healing yourself but your powers were unstable, you were unstable, gulping you felt a pit form in your stomach. Was this how you die? Shot by a man you wished to call your lover?

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you heard a twig snap, your tired eyes were wide open now seeing Bucky standing in front of you. You trembled in your place "please Snowflake..." you whimpered.

Holding his gun up you squeezed your eyes shut, and a gun shot rang out into the forest. But you didn't feel anything, looking beside you, you saw the tree had a bullet hole in it. Looking back you only heard Bucky mutter "don't move." you listened and made your body as limp as possible.

"Did you kill the traitor?" on the other soldiers asked, "yes." he said coldly, you dared not make a peep listening as the soldier walked away "mission complete" he stated.

Leaving only Bucky and you, slowly opening your eyes you looked at him "why did you-" "Go. Go and never come back" he stated, you gave him a small but tired smile "I couldn't even if I wanted to Snowflake" you say, lifting your shirt enough to show him the bullet wounds.

His eyes went wide.

No, this can't be happening...

You shuffle to sip up "this is the end of the line for me" you mutter, watching Bucky walk closer to you "Venus-" "Y/n....just call me Y/n" you sighed, Bucky tried to pick you up but your used your tree vines to pull him back "stop it, it's a waste I've lost too much blood" you explain.

He shakes his head "help. I'll get you help" he stated, he ignored your words guilt washing over him as he tried to suppress the heavy feeling in his chest.

You waved him off "Bucky it's fine, i'm right where I want to be, if I die I get to die where I belong, not in that horrid place." you hummed, running your hands over the dirt.

Bucky grabbed you again trying to move you "s-stop, stop! It'll be okay Snowflake, just know I lied about what the pink camellia meant" you chuckled.

This was no time to be laughing, Bucky cradled your face in his hands "...Y/n...I'm-I'm sorry" he muttered, you shook your head feeling how his hands trembled.

"that wasn't you, it's okay, just never forget no matter how hard they try to make it seem... you're not just a soldier, you aren't a weapon, you aren't a monster, you are your own person" you said, blood spilling from your lips.

The light in your eye that Bucky grew to love was slowly fading, mimicking his and there was nothing he could do. His eyes were glossed over "...please don't..." Bucky whispered, a hammering feeling in his heart.

He dropped his head not wanting to face this harsh reality. But you carefully raised his head, your once warm hands now cold and clasping his. "Snowflake please, please look at me" you called out.

He slowly lifted his head up "it'll be okay...you know my favorite flower is a cyclamen flower, I don't think I ever told you that" you muttered, cyclamens started to grow up and out of you covering you're body as Bucky tried to swat them away.

"Snowflake...come here" you muttered your grip on him growing weaker he leaned closer, you used the last bit of your ability to push yourself forward pressing a small kiss to his forehead.

"I love you...please don't forget me..."

And just like that.

You were gone.

The one person who made him feel safe, was gone. That cold feeling washing over him again, laying you backwards against the tree he noticed your smiled stayed in place while your body became one with the earth around you.

-★-

Peeling his eyes open he could feel something wet touching his face, quickly wiping his face he realized a few tears had fallen, with a sigh he looked to the potted flower that was on his nightstand touching the petals he wished you could see how far he's come.

He looked at the pink camellia, knowing you'd be happy to see him taking care of one of your favorite flowers.

Getting up he walked out missing the way the flower subtly moved to feel his touch again.

.

.

.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

A/n: Expect more Bucky stories, the amount of research I had to do to figure out what different flowers meant, ughhh anyway I have plans that I cannot share with you right now *insert that one freaky sonic meme* anyway thanks for reading!!!! Have a good day/night!

[kngrose]

Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

includes caitlyn jayce victor vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : decided to pair these guys up because there was sooooo many requests for them! ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change.  The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near. 

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more. 

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with.  You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval. 

 The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

 Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

 The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

 At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

 You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

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[gingernut1314]

Touch Me and I'll Break Your Hand

Summary: How part 3 Jotaro likes to be touched.

Content: Jotaro Kujo x GN!Reader, Takes place during JJBA part 3, slight spoilers for the ending of JJBA part 3 (nothing really mentioned), threats to break hands, slight manhandling??, cuddles, misuse of Stands, struggle to show emotions, Joatro struggling with a bit of PTSD (I don't really go into it, just implied)

Word Count: HC: 1K , Drabbles: 440+ & 330, Total: 1.9K

Taglist: @cinnbar-bun @lostfirefly

A/N: I love him so yeah--I think it'll be fun to see how he changes in regards to touch during different parts! (Updated style to match more recent fics May. 12th, 2025. No words have been changed)

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This guy is a big walking warning sign that glares “Do Not Touch”

You’ll go to touch him for the first time and he’ll grab your wrist faster than you can blink, his teeth bared and eyes full of icy murder

“Touch me and I’ll break your goddamn hand.” (Sigh….so romantic) 

No one touches him and you are included….for a time

You respect his boundaries

And you hold back your desire to touch him even when your fingers and heart itch to feel over his skin

But damn does he make it hard because why is he one of the clingiest assholes you’ve ever met?

He’ll grumble and huff and hiss at you to stop touching him

But then he’s got his hands on you like they might just be another part of him

Is his touch necessarily romantic in the typical sense?

Hell no

But he’ll be pushing you out of the way of danger or of someone not paying attention on the sidewalk

He’ll shove your head down in the heat of battle

He’ll wrap his body around you to shield you from harm

He’s grabbing your upper arm and guiding (pulling) you around

Grabbing the back of your neck to do the same thing

IF, and that’s a very big if, he grabs your hand it's gonna be a little too tight and it’s only going to happen so you don’t fall off a cliff or stumble into the road

He’ll brush his arm against yours, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, as you two walk side by side

You feel the chill of his fingers brush over yours as he passes you something

He is pretty much the decider on when the two of you touch

But he’ll allow you to pick his hat up during the rare moments it's knocked off

He’ll even let you put it back on (but if the other Crusaders are teasing him too much, his hat will be snatched from your hand and hand swatted away)

He lets you straighten his jacket and dust it off

He will grumble the whole time you do so

But guys he’s the biggest softy on the inside, it's a fact

And you know who the literal embodiment of his soul is?

Star Platinum 

Expect Star Platinum to actually be the clingiest 

like he beats Polnareff for the most sappy partner award

Star Platinum can almost always be found holding your hand, hugging you tight, and nuzzling his face into your neck

Get ready for kisses planted to your lips and cheeks and forehead from the Stand

Kisses you are unfortunately almost always knocked onto your ass by because the big guy doesn’t understand you can’t spot him as he’s whizzing up to you faster than any bullet

Platinum brings you little gifts he finds, holding your hands in his before revealing it to you

Jotaro hisses and snaps at his Stand to leave you the hell alone….but it doesn’t have any real bite to it

Because he can feel you through Platinum’s touches and it makes his stomach all fluttery like he’s some love-sick idiot

Jotaro watches as Star Platinum nuzzles your cheek with his nose, pulling a wonderful giggle from your lips. He grits his teeth in annoyance as he watches his Stand wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you off your feet like he’s an overgrown toddler. 

It was embarrassing. 

Jotaro had been able to gain complete and utter control over his Stand in the short time he appeared, yet here he was completely and utterly out of control of the damn thing. 

Jotaro thanked whatever god might be floating around up there that none of the other Crusaders were around to witness another one of Platinum's disturbances. To watch you run a hand over Platinum’s cheek and nuzzle him right back. 

Touches Joatro could feel ghosted over his skin. Touches he was growing more and more pissed off were being gifted to his fucking Stand. 

The line in the sand was when your lips pressed an overly, smooching kiss to Platinum’s cheek. It sent Jotaro into an angered frenzy. 

He stormed over, grabbing you a little too roughly out of Platinum’s grip and all but wrestling the damn thing to disappear back into himself. 

“Jotaro--he wasn’t doing anything--”

“Would you shut the hell up?” He hissed, grabbing your cheeks in his hand and forcing you to look up at him. You felt your breath halt in your throat at the beauty of Joatro's face. A beauty that only was amplified by his sharp, green eyes bearing down into you. “Platinum needs to learn some fucking manners.” And then he was letting you go. The absence of his strong hold and presence left you feeling a little disappointed, but you only smiled Joatro’s way teasingly.

“Oh…I see.” You murmured, crossing your arms behind your back as you turned on your heels, starting for the location where you were meant to meet the others. Joatro was quiet as you walked. Quiet until he was grabbing your upper arm and pulling you to a stop in a way that made your heart begin to flutter all over again. 

“See what?” He demanded, that ice beginning to fill his eyes. Ice and that look you had seen only moments ago. You smiled, bringing a hand up to smooth down his jacket which had gotten a little ruffled. 

“You’re just jealous of the poor lug,” Joatro growled, letting you go quickly. 

“Good freakin’ grief.” He huffed, pushing past you in a way that allowed his arm to brush along yours. You couldn’t help but giggle at him, quickening your pace so that you could walk beside him. To keep your arm brushing against his here and there. 

“Yep. Jealous.” 

If you are ever paired up with him and Kakyoin at a hotel, he’s going to be up in your grill and blame it on the close quarters (you all literally almost have a whole suite like--he can lie to himself but you see what he’s doing)

While you brush your teeth he’s going to brush his teeth and he’s going to have his chest pressed against your back to “let Kakyoin move around behind him” 

He’ll roughly scrub toothpaste off your lips if there is ever any and grumble about how messy you are 

Kakyoin doesn’t say much about the stolen touches he witnesses Jotaro give your way

He’ll just smile and chuckle softly (and definitely will throw you a thumbs up while Jotaro has his back turned)

A debate about who is sleeping where is going to happen and you're going to have to convince Jotaro to just sleep with you instead of on the floor

 Again, he’ll grumble out a “good grief” or two as he pulls himself into bed, arms crossed over his chest and back turned to you

But throughout the night, he’ll gruffly turn around

his leg will press against yours

His arms will uncross and his fingers will play with the edge of your shirt until he works up enough nerve to toss his arm around your waist

Then he’ll be shameless in tugging you against his chest and holding you protectively

His chin will rest on top of your head 

And with his new openness, you’ll be allowed to wrap your arms as best you can around his hulking form

Please run your fingers over his shoulders and back

Please wrap your legs around his

Pleaseeee run your fingers through his wavy hair and over his cheek

It’s the only time he’s going to let you touch him so blatantly so take as much of it as you can

He will fall asleep against your smoothing touches and unfortunately will become like a cinderblock 

Don’t expect to be able to escape his arms, I hope you used the bathroom before going to bed

You stir awake with a soft inhale of breath. Your body was held oh so tight against the solid form of Joatro, who you found once you fluttered your eyes open. A face so soft in the early hours of the morning and whose green eyes were already open and watching you. 

His eyes shifted from a look that was filled with such love it took your breath away back to their usual guarded hardness. You could only feel grateful you had been able to catch the look. One you so rarely saw but felt through his actions every day. 

“Morning.” You whispered softly, grip around his large frame growing tighter as you felt him begin to shift. You knew you would only get so many more seconds on this before he was rising from bed, grumbling about how clingy you were and clingy you would be until he did so. 

“You gonna let go?” He huffed, hands finding their way to your waist to shove you away. You shook your head, scooting ever closer. So close you could nuzzle your nose against his in a way that made him all but hiss. 

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’. “Kakyoin is still asleep, no one is gonna see me snuggling you.” You said quietly as to not wake your friend up in the other bed. Joatro said your name in warning, but you could tell he didn’t mean any of it. Not when he had stopped trying to pull you off of him, muscles relaxing as you splayed your fingers over his back. 

“Just a little longer…I’m still asleep, see.” You said, pretending to fall back asleep. Jotaro sighed through his nose but said nothing further. Said nothing as he rewrapped his arms back around you, pulling you tight against his chest. 

“Five more minutes and that’s it.” You smiled against the gray shirt he wore, breathing in his scent as you savored every last bit of this you could. 

You two will only kiss in private 

Like far away from the other Crusaders and behind a locked door private

He will not be caught kissing you at this stage in his life 

It’s not because of you at all (though sometimes it can feel like it), it’s because he’s honestly so nervous and trying to keep his tough guy “I don’t give two shits” persona up

And while he’s kissing you, even if it's a simple kiss to the cheek, he can’t promise himself that persona isn’t going to slip

After the events with DIO and his Stand Users, Jotaro has changed

You all have

He’s seen death--been death

So expect him to hold your hand now

Expect him to hold your hand and hold you close so that he can keep you safe

Expect hugs that could last hours while no one is looking

Expect to wipe burning tears that somehow escape his eyes away from his flushing cheeks as he tries to keep himself composed--to not think of everything that had happened in Egypt

Will call you in the middle of the night and beg you in his own, gruffingly unique way to come over so that he can sleep next to you (But expect to wake up before the sun ever rises and get kicked out so his mother doesn’t find out)

He’ll let you touch him whenever you wish now

You’ll be able to rub his back and caress his cheeks and brush that strand of hair out of his eyes

Your touch helps keep him grounded and in this reality

Helps him remember that you are still alive 

Will still 100% grumble and keep that tough persona up (might even bat your hand away but there is no backing to it at all, just a reflex)

But you get away with much much more now

More like this: Touch Me, Please (Polnareff x gn!reader) ⋆ Touch Me...If You Want, Of Course (Kakyoin x gn!reader)

[vin-taege]

Hiii, if you're willing to, could I request a chishiya x reader where reader gets seriously injured and knocked unconscious during a game and chishiya carries you out of there and treat your wounds, and they only find out about it when they wake up and kuina tells them (+bonus points if they just assume someone else like ann or anyone else really was the responsible for letting you live🙏🏽) just had this thought and was like aaaaa👉🏽👈🏽🤔

Flesh Wound

Summary: Your body is aching all over when you wake up, but you have no idea who put the bandages on you.

Genre: fluff

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 2k

Note: I got carried away aGAIN ; O; This is set during the five of spades game :>>

The wind blew against a lock of your hair softly. Chishiya leaned over the railing beside you, looking expressionless as always. Three stories below, you could see the Horse Mask empty another round of bullets into two poor souls—the girls who might have been friends. They stilled for a second, probably gauging their surroundings. Suddenly, they looked up, the front of their mask pointed directly towards you.

Chishiya swiftly grabbed your arm, pulling you down as he ducked. You shared a held breath, though you stubbornly peeked from behind the concrete. Horse Mask was unmoving, until they finally tore their gaze away and went back to loading their gun. After cocking it, they trudged slowly down the hallway. 

“It has a blind spot,” you told him. In response, he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the right a little. “It didn’t see us, I think. Kept on going the same direction.”

“That’ll come in handy later. I’m still figuring out where exactly the safe zone could be.” He leaned back against the concrete barrier, eyes scanning the night sky above you before landing on your own. You tensed up, but for a different reason this time.

Don’t let him intimidate you, Kuina had told you before you entered the game. This was the first time you and Chishiya went to a game together. Kuina usually went with you, and your trio was granted the same group each time. But ever since the tension with the militants grew, Hatter had to reshuffle the groupings in an attempt to quell Aguni’s temper. 

You opened your mouth in response, words caught in your throat as you heard another bout of gunfire. Carefully, the two of you peeked over the rails again, eyes drawn to a scraggly mop of hair poking from behind one of the lower floors. You craned your neck, trying to get a glimpse of were Horse Mask might be.

Chishiya tapped your shoulder to gain your attention. “It’s below us. The noise came from our area.”

“We need to move out then,” you muttered, getting ready to stand up. Chishiya stopped you with another tug on your arm. His eyebrows were furrowed a little, gaze transfixed on the spot Horse Mask shot at.

“It’s that room,” he nodded towards the bullethole-riddled door. The kid with messy hair dragged a man wearing a cap away from it, no doubt to seek a safe spot. “The tagger wouldn’t have shot at them from far away if it wasn’t.”

Without a second thought, you leaned over the railings and shouted as loud as you can, “Fourth floor, sixth door!”

Almost immediately, heavy boots smacked against the staircase on your far right. Shifting his hand to wrap around your wrist, Chishiya steered you toward the left-wing staircase. Your feet padded against the steps, heart beating rapidly. You let Chishiya lead you through turns and stairwells until you found yourselves back on the fourth floor.

You stopped momentarily, planting your hands on your knees to catch your breath. Chishiya panted next to you, though he tried to control his breathing more. In any situation, he’d never fail to keep up the mask of calmness.

“Let’s end this. I’m so hungry,” you attempted to banter. Despite having played several games together, you still didn’t know where you stood with him. At times he would act uncharacteristically… nice. Getting you meals unprompted, bringing you back trinkets he’d find lying around—like the hair tie that held your hair right now. And other times he’d be so withdrawn, going for days without a single conversation with you, as if he’s deliberately trying to ignore you.

Like now. He glanced at you blankly, eyes flicking for the briefest second towards your lips. Or maybe you imagined it?

“Let’s go.” Without another word, he peered around the corner before walking in like he owned the place. You were left to trail after him, anxiously glancing at the upper floors surrounding you. Sensing your nerves, Chishiya turned his head towards you. “We’ll hear the tagger coming because of his shoes. Don’t worry your pretty head too much about it.”

Oh! Pretty? Did he just call you pretty? 

Thankfully, you were behind him, meaning you’d be able to hide your cheeks heating up. To distract yourself, you looked up only to find the same mop of messy hair and a cap trailing behind him. Chishiya spoke first before you could. 

“You figured it out too, huh?” He said, almost as a challenge. 

The boy nodded at him, saying how he also noticed the tagger’s protectiveness over that one specific door. He watched the taller man grip the door knob. Chishiya leaned against the wall, voice cool as ever. “What puzzles me is why the tagger isn’t here yet.”

You perked up, and you could tell that the other two players were intrigued by this statement as well. For a moment, everyone was silent. You turned your head towards Chishiya. “That means…”

“We don’t have time,” he cut you off, eyes meeting yours. He flashed his phone, showing the timer counting down from three minutes. His gaze never left yours, a silent plead for you to keep quiet in the meantime. You glared back at him, having a bad feeling that this was one of his tricks again.

“Arisu, he’s right. We need to finish this now.” The man in the cap whispered to who you now know as Arisu. 

Arisu nodded back at him. He took a deep breath, then swung the door open. The four of you peered from the doorframe, scanning the inside of the apartment. Suddenly, gunfire started once again. This time, you felt a bullet graze your calf. All at once, everyone yelled, ducking into the safety of the apartment. You squeezed your eyes shut, letting yourself fall forward into the darkness. 

When you opened your eyes, you were met with Chishiya’s chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around your back, and you could hear him try to stifle his heavy breathing. Slowly, you tilted your head to meet his gaze. His eyes widened a little, realizing the position you were in. He quickly retracted his hold over you, as if you were hot metal.

With the moment broken, you rolled off him with a grimace. You muttered, “Thanks for—Arisu!”

Behind the apartment door, a second tagger emerged from the shadows, shotgun trained on the back of Arisu. He whipped his head back upon hearing you, dodging just in time as you pushed the gun out of line. 

The tagger thrashed against you, bringing in a leg to kick at your stomach. With a step back, you managed to dodge them, taking the opening to knee them in the torso. Your fingers still wrapped around the barrel of the gun, struggling to point it towards the ground.

From behind you, Chishiya lunged at the tagger. The charge of his tazer broke through the air, the man driving its points deep into the tagger’s leg. The tagger let out a pained yell, their leg giving out. They managed to catch themselves on their other foot. With the sudden shift in position, the gun slipped from your grasp. The tagger brought their arm back, bringing the butt of the gun on the side of your forehead.

The room spun around you. It felt like your head was dunked inside a fish tank, with all the noise sounding so muffled. Through the bleariness of your vision, you saw another spark in the dark—probably from Chishiya’s tazer again. Before you fully blacked out, you could recall Chishiya calling after you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You woke up with a groan, not even bothering to sit up because of all the pain. There was a light throbbing in your head, and your legs felt incredibly sore. You squinted your eyes, letting them adjust to the light. When your vision cleared up, you recognized the room you were in to be yours.

There was a blanket covering you from the hips down.  A wide bandage was wrapped over your head. Gauze was wrapped around your forearm, held in place by medical tape, a faint red mark seeping through the light fabric. You hadn’t even felt that injury from the game.

The game!

Does this mean you won? Is Chishiya okay? What happened to that Arisu kid and the man in the cap? Before you could stand up and get answers for yourself, a soft knock on your door echoed in your room.

“Come in,” you called out softly. Your voice was hoarse, and if you had spoken any louder, it would start up the headache again. 

Kuina walked into the room, a bread basket slung on her arm. Chishiya shuffled in behind her, his gaze trained on the floor. They brought out some of the hotel chairs in your suite, sitting on either side of you. With a smile, Kuina proudly plopped the bread basket on the empty space of your bed.

“Where’d you even get that?” you chuckled lightly.

“Chishiya nabbed it on the way home,” she wiggled her eyebrows, a teasing smirk on her face. Across her, Chishiya scoffed, eyes not leaving the carpet. “He was very worried you know. It was the first time I saw him shaking in his flip-flops.”

“She’s pulling your leg. Not that it’s been injured already,” he replied curtly. 

Through the pain, a smile made its way to your lips. With your uninjured arm, you gingerly ran your fingers across the basketweave. Your eyes found their way to Chishiya, his face framed by loose strands of hair. 

“Thank you, for getting me out and for the bread.”

“I didn’t say I got you out,” he narrowed your eyes at you, though a smirk quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“I know, but you’ll never admit it anyway,” you grinned. Bringing your attention back to Kuina, you nudged the basket closer to her. “Here. I want you guys to have some too. Oh, and please bring some for Ann down in her dungeon as well.”

Kuina raised her eyebrows in confusion. “What for?”

“For patching me up,” you shrugged, gesturing to your bandage-riddled body. Kuina still looked partly surprised, before a wave of realization washed over her. 

“Ah… I see.” She shot a knowing look toward Chishiya. It almost looked like he had a small pout. You could sense him starting to deflate a little in his seat, one of his knees starting to bounce repeatedly. “You know what, Ann isn’t the only person in the medical field here.”

With a wink, she grabbed two muffins and waltzed towards the door. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll drop this off at Ann’s too. To thank her for her ‘help’.” She emphasized with air quotes.

With a soft click, the door shut, leaving the two of you in silence once more.

You broke the silence first this time. 

“Chishiya?”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

“Who treated my wounds?”

He stayed silent for a moment, too stubborn to meet your gaze. Finally, he let out a long sigh and still his knee. “I used to be a doctor in the other life.”

It was a non-admission, but an admission nonetheless. He had this way of things where he’d never say anything directly. He loved puzzles so much, that he became one. But you were getting used to his hints. And over time, you were learning how to piece together his thoughts. 

“‘Shiya.” He finally looked at you. No one’s called him that since his mom. 

You shuffled to the side, patting the space you made. Hesitantly, he crawled beneath the covers with you. You laid down in now comfortable silence. Slowly, you placed your hand above his. 

He tensed for a moment before turning his palm up and enveloping yours. Your thumb traced his knuckle.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You turned your head to face him. “Way better.”

He thickly swallowed, turning his head to face you. In the softest voice, he said, “I’m happy you are.”

The throbbing in your head faded. With that one small sentence, you understood most of the things he wanted to say, bubbling just beneath the surface. Over time, he’d be able to fully let his walls down. You just needed to trust that he will.

[yawnderu]

Tortured, assaulted, beaten, kidnapped; stripped of everything that made him human. Simon had been through hell and back ever since he was born, yet not a single one of those things made him feel as anxious as he is now, staring at the pregnancy test his girlfriend showed him. He looked down at the test for the nth time, hoping for the result to change, yet it still read the same: positive.

''Fuckin' hell, love...'' He sighs, face held on his hands as he looks down. He isn't angry or upset at you, he's upset at his horny self for wanting to fuck you raw. One time. One time was all it took for your birth control to fail and for him to impregnate you. Just his fucking luck.

''I could... get an abortion, if you want.'' You offer softly and his heart feels like it's about to break. It's not like he doesn't want a kid with you, it's just that he's scared. Scared he won't be here to protect you when you're most vulnerable, unable to keep his fucked up brain from creating images of you with a bullet on your head, the same way he found his family all those years ago.

He lifts his head, gaze softening immediately as he gets up from the couch and wraps his arms around you, allowing you to crumble down in his hold the same way you've done many times in the past. He plants a gentle kiss on your head, rubbing your back as you sob.

''What do you want to do?'' He asks gently once you've calmed down enough to speak, barely managing to hear the muffled ''I want to keep it'' that comes out of your lips, voice hoarse thanks to all the tears that seem to keep falling out of your eyes nonstop.

He takes a deep breath, nodding his head. His bare hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him as his forehead presses against yours.

''Then we'll keep it. We'll figure it out, together.'' He can't help the way his eyes get slightly glossy, pupils dilating at the idea of forming a family with who he knows is the love of his life. He hasn't fully processed it yet, but he's slowly coming to terms with the idea of your pregnancy.

''Together.'' You repeat, managing to give him a small smile that he immediately returns.

[mangooes]

Fast, Fatal, and Flirty

The ticking of the bomb was the only thing (Name) heard in that moment. Her hands moved swiftly, steady fingers dancing between wires as her mind calculated every possible detonation trigger. A drop of sweat slid down her temple as she whispered,

“Red, green, blue—definitely not yellow… unless this guy’s color blind, which—”

Snip.

The countdown froze at three seconds.

She exhaled. “Boom, you’re disarmed, sweetheart,” she muttered, brushing her fingers along the side of the explosive. “Not today.”

She straightened, only to nearly choke when a familiar voice drawled casually from behind.

“Well, well. Look what my pretty kitten’s been up to.”

(Name) spun around. “SYLUS?!”

Leaning against the rusted frame of the abandoned warehouse door, in his signature jacket and leather pants, stood her husband, grinning like he’d just stepped out of a vacation brochure titled ‘How to Look Sinisterly Sexy While Crashing Your Wife’s Job.’

He tilted his head. “You didn’t invite me to the party?”

“You—how the hell—why are you here?!”

“I was in the neighborhood.” He glanced at the disarmed bomb. “And my wife was playing with fireworks. Thought I’d stop by before you got yourself turned into confetti.”

“Pfft, confetti? I’m flattered. I had it all under control.”

Sylus shrugged, walking toward her. “You say that, but I just saw you nearly blow your face off.”

“Three seconds left! That’s called flair!”

“More like playing with death.”

Before she could throw a wrench at him, a burst of gunfire cracked through the warehouse walls.

“Oh for the love of—” (Name) grabbed Sylus’s wrist and bolted. “Not the time! Move your ass big guy!”

Outside, a sleek black getaway car idled a block away. (Name) practically threw Sylus into the passenger seat, jumped into the driver’s side, and hit the gas.

Tires screamed as the car surged forward, bullets pinging off the rear bumper. The side mirror shattered. (Name) gritted her teeth.

Sylus turned to her mid-chase, the city blurring outside the window, and smirked. “Is it wrong that I’m kind of enjoying this?”

(Name) kicked him.

“Ow? You wound me sweetie.”

“This is not a date, Sysy!”

He just laughed, the wind tousling his white hair. “Admit it, kitten. It’s fun when we do it together.”

Behind them, two black SUVs swerved in, engines roaring. (Name) cursed and jerked the wheel, drifting between narrow alleyways.

“They’re tailing us hard,” Sylus noted, tone a little too cheerful for someone in a high-speed chase.

“You think?!” She stuck her head out the window for a moment. “Damn it, I’m gonna need a better angle—“

Without a word, (Name) kicked her heel off, propped her foot onto the wheel to steer (what kind of ungodly core strength—) and climbed halfway out the window, dual pistols raised.

“Sweetie, I know you’re a badass, but this isn’t—holy shit—”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Shots rang through the night. The first SUV swerved, smoke billowing from the engine. The second clipped a fire hydrant, water geysering as it spun out.

(Name) flipped her hair over her shoulder as she slid back into the seat, still steering with one leg.

Sylus stared at her, absolutely delighted. “That was the hottest thing I’ve seen all month.”

She gave him side-eye. “Oh so you think I’m not hot everyday?”

“That’s not what I meant, kitten.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled him down, one hand on the steering wheel. Leaning toward him as she was about to plant him a sweet treat, Sylus immediately pulled her head toward his chest as a stray bullet brushed past them, hitting the car window.

“Oh, someone’s eager to die.” His brows furrowed, a frown on his face.

More gunfire. A third car appeared.

“I’m ending this,” Sylus muttered, cracking his knuckles.

Before (Name) could stop him, he slipped out the window—because of course he did—and vanished mid-air in a swirl of black and crimson mist.

“SYLUS!” she shouted. “I SWEAR TO—”

BOOM.

The third car suddenly flipped, landing on its roof. One heartbeat later, Sylus reappeared in the passenger seat, dusting off his jacket with all the calm of a man who just walked out of a bakery.

“Taken care of.”

“You reckless idiot!” (Name) snapped, slamming on the brakes to drift the car into a side alley.

“You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t have to teleport onto a moving car! What if you missed?! What if your timing was off by one second?!”

Sylus looked so smug. “Please. I’m offended you think I’d miss. Besides, I wasn’t about to let you hog all the fun.” Hands moving up in a surrender motion.

(Name) pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing. “I am never letting you come on my missions again.”

“Sure, kitten.” He grinned. “Right after we continue where we left off earlier. Kiss me.”

“Ugh, shut up.” But her cheeks flushed despite herself.

Sylus leaned in, voice low. “Come on now, you weren’t this shy earlier.”

“What?”

“I make a good getaway partner. I got rid of the bug disturbing us. Shouldn’t I get a reward for being such a good boy—”

Before Sylus could finish his sentence, a warm sensation washed over him as the feeling of soft lips pressed against his in a gentle manner.

As they pulled apart, she smiled at him.

“…Thank you,” she muttered.

He chuckled and slung an arm over her shoulder. “You’re always welcome, sweetie. I’ve told you to use me as you please, no?”

And as the two of them sped into the night, back toward safety and another probable argument involving hidden explosives and missed briefings, Sylus was already planning how to crash her next mission—just for the thrill of hearing her yell and the reward of that rare, breathless laugh that only she gave him.

UM HAVE U GUYS SEEN THE NEW MAIN STORY SYLUS OH MY GOD I SCREAMED IM AKJANKJENIEHBRIRBI HES SO HOT OMG SYLUS RAFGH RAFGH AAAAAAAAAA TAKE ME ON A JOYRIDE PLS SYLUS JUST ONE CHANCE MY BABY SHAYLA

[kingkatsuki]

Thinking about Bakugou fucking you with one of those lovense vibes inside you and he can’t handle the vibrations and cums instantly😩

This has been in my drafts for so long I don’t even remember writing it.

Warnings: 18+, toys.

“Aww, you poor baby,” Bakugou practically sneers as his thumb glides against his phone screen, “Is it too much?”

Even without the intense vibrations humming inside you, the sight in front of you may have been enough to have you wondering whether you’d reached the pearly gates. His heavy cock hangs low, the tip tinted a violent crimson as it leaks glistening beads of pre. Sat back on his haunches between your thighs for the perfect view of the new tiny pink vibrator that sat nestled against your g-spot.

“Fuck,” Your voice echoes much like the vibrations that pulse inside you while Bakugou controls the power, a conniving grin spread across his cheeks as he presses a calloused thumb against your puffy clit. The sudden movement has you jolting as your thighs try to clamp shut, the hulking wall of muscle you call your boyfriend is enough to prevent it as he begins pressing taut circles against the sensitive bud, “Katsuki, I can’t.”

“That’s not what you were sayin’ earlier when you were begging me to try it,” He scoffs, ignoring your pleas as he drops the phone to focus on you, “Textin’ me at work about how desperate you were to be fucked— Please, Daddy I wanna cum.”

“I did not say that, don’t lie.” You flush at the pet name.

“Yeah, ya did,” Bakugou presses, “Thinkin’ about me bending you over while I’m out on patrol.”

The debauched rasp to his voice has your cunt clenching around the small bullet as your toes began to curl, the harsh vibrations paired with the constant attention against your clit has you woozy. It doesn’t help that he’s still got black charcoal around his eyes from where his hero mask once sat, the cloth now pushed up over his forehead to push the messy blond spikes away from his face. Barely enough time to change before you’d cornered him.

“You still with me, sweets?” Bakugou hums, squeezing the plush of your thigh with his palm.

But you can’t bring yourself to respond, the euphoria consumes you whole. Teary eyes rolling back into your skull as you succumb to the pleasure, hips bucking wildly as Bakugou’s hand follows your motions. The other moves to push against your hip to pin your body to the bed as he helps you through your climax.

“That’s it— fuck, baby. You look so hot like this.” He groans, the leaky tip of his cock streaking against your inner thigh as he hovers over you, “Didn’t even last five fuckin’ minutes.”

“Yes I did,” You huff, your palms reach down between your bodies to tug his wrist away from your cunt as the sensation becomes too overwhelming, too intense.

“Nah, you didn’t.” He scoffs, giving a playful swat to your messy folds as you mewl in response.

“You try it then, it’s a-ahh, it’s a lot.” You try to steady your breathing but it’s difficult with the consistent vibrations, enough to slur your words as Bakugou shakes his head.

“Don’t even think about it, sweetheart. You ain’t stickin’ that in my ass.” He circles his cock in a fist as he begins to jerk it languidly, his other hand stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“I didn’t mean that,” You began, although the idea was now firmly planted in your head for later, “I meant fuck me—“

“What?” Bakugou’s cock twitched in his palm, “Of course I’m gonna fuck ya, baby.”

“No, I mean with the toy— inside.”

“You think I’ll fit.” He glowers, pressing the fat tip of his cock through your messy folds as he coats himself in your slick.

“It’s not that big,” You sigh, your walls pulsing around it, hungry for more, “If you think you can handle it.”

“Course I can fuckin’ handle it,” Bakugou snorts indignantly as he lines himself up with your fluttering hole, “I’ve fucked you with that wand pressed against your clit enough times—“

But you could tell from the deep, guttural whine that left his throat as his jaw went lax that this was certainly not the same. Bakugou hadn’t expected you to be so tight with a tiny bullet inside you, the vibrations strong and constant, pressing against the side of his cock. Sending a pleasurable pulse all the way down to his balls as he tries to steady himself, holding his breath which just seems to make everything worse. The sensation was intense, borderline numbing as he tried to focus on anything other than the rumble of the little pink toy against his cock.

You buck your hips, desperate for some kind of relief as you felt incredibly full, biting down on your bottom lip as you watched your boyfriend statuesque in front of you.

“Katsuki, move—” You whine, but it was too late.

“Fuckin’ shit,” The sound slips from between clenched teeth as he finally exhales, letting go of the breath he was holding as his entire body convulses. The pulsing enough to have his heavy balls emptying inside your tight cunt as he grunts in satisfaction. The lack of oxygen to his brain clouds his vision, making the orgasm even more intense as he gives a few sloppy thrusts into your tight heat as he coats your walls with his spunk. Pulling out to try and escape the powerful sensation as a few more globs of cum land on your cunt and pelvis, his messy cock still twitching from pleasure.

“I thought you said you could handle it?” You smile as you look up at the blissed out expression on Bakugou’s face, stunned that a toy had made him cum like a randy teenager, “What was that? Thirty seconds?”

Bakugou’s chest heaves as he glares down at you with furrowed brows, giving the side of your thigh a playful swat as he reaches for his cell phone. His thumb glides across the screen as he turns the vibrations to the max setting, “Let’s see how you like it huh, ya little brat.”

[whisperedmeg]

BLIND CONTOUR ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part x

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: an HR training forces her to reckon with how it all began — the softness she offered, the power she didn’t realize she held. then a prison lockdown leaves her bloodied, trembling, and safe only in his arms. he holds her like something he never wants to erase.

genre: hurt/comfort, smut

w/c: 3.6k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, discussion of power dynamics/imbalance, prison lockdown, mentions of blood/injury, sort of a hostage situation, shower scene, unprotected p in v (unprotected as in no condom but it’s established she’s on bc and don’t worry this isn’t a setup for an unplanned pregnancy trope I promise lmao), crying during sex, multiple orgasms, aftercare/cuddling

a/n: this chapter is kind of all over the place, but I think it’s an important one for a bunch of reasons. as always, I appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! thank you sm to everyone who has followed the series so far 🫶🏼 part 11 is coming sometime next week. can’t believe there’s only 3 more chapters left 🥲

series masterlist

The PowerPoint projected onto the wall said Ethical Conduct in Correctional Health Settings, but it might as well have said This Will Ruin Your Morning.

I sat in the breakroom with lukewarm coffee and five other nurses while a representative from HR clicked through slides that felt vaguely threatening. Phrases like dual relationships and over-identification floated across the screen in dull font, all framed in neutral language that still made my stomach twist.

“Inmate patients often misinterpret kindness as romantic or personal interest,” the presenter said. “This can lead to inappropriate attachment behaviors, especially if boundaries aren’t clear.”

I stared at my coffee. It had gone cold.

The slide changed. Power Dynamics in Clinical Encounters. A list of bullet points followed — positional authority, dependency for care, zone of helpfulness.

And all I could think about was Spencer.

Not the version of him now — not my Spencer, folded into our shared Saturday mornings eating yogurt with the foil lid still attached. No, the version from Millburn. Hollow-eyed. Quiet. Clever, even when he didn’t speak. The man who used a chessboard to communicate and didn’t smile often, but when he did, it made me weak in the knees.

I thought about the first time he beat me in Scrabble. He used words like flybys and zymurgy and quixotic so casually, as if that was something normal people did during a concussion screening. I thought about how I’d smiled at him like a secret. About how he’d looked at me like I was oxygen.

I’d always let him stay in the infirmary longer than he needed to. I’d played games with him, let him talk to me, given him back a piece of control over his time, his choices. It had felt harmless. Gentle, even. But the truth was, I had been the one holding all the power, even when I thought I was just showing him kindness.

He hadn’t been allowed to decide anything about his own life back then — not what he wore, or when he ate, or where he slept. So I let him decide whether we played chess or Scrabble. I let him talk to me like he was a person instead of a number, and I told myself that meant we were equal. But we weren’t. I was the one who got to walk out at the end of the day. I was the one with the badge, the authority, the agency.

I wasn’t ashamed of loving him. But for the first time, I realized how much of that love had started when he had no other choice but to trust the only softness available. I wasn’t wrong to care for him. But I hadn’t seen just how deeply the system had narrowed his options — or how easily love can grow toward the only open window, like a tiny plant stuck in the shadows, stretching desperately towards the sun.

The session ended. Someone made a joke about how none of us had time for “romantic inmate drama” anyway. Everyone laughed. But I felt sick.

—

When I got to Spencer’s place after my shift, he was on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, a book open on his lap. His glasses had slipped down his nose and his curls were in full rebellion.

“Hey,” he said, looking up. “You okay?”

I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes. “Yeah. Just work stuff.”

He watched me cross the room and then set his book aside. I sat down and curled in beside him, resting my head on his shoulder.

I thought about how people — people like Spencer — study faces. I’d spent so many hours trying to read Spencer’s back then, trying to interpret the distance in his gaze, the calculation in his stillness. And now, watching him beside me, I realized I wanted to be read, too.

After a moment, I said, “Will you draw me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Like in an art class. Blind contour. You don’t look down. You don’t lift your pen. You just draw what you see.”

“Baby,” he said, trying not to laugh, “I can’t draw.”

“I’m not asking for a masterpiece, Spence. I’m asking for an absolutely terrible line drawing of my face.”

He tilted his head. “Where is this coming from?”

I hesitated. “I think I just want to know how you see me. Not the polished version. Just… whatever comes through. Plus, it might be funny.”

He looked at me for a long beat. “Okay,” he said finally. “But only if I get to keep it.”

We rummaged for pencils and a sketchbook. He sat cross-legged on the couch, turned towards me as I sat against the other end.

“No peeking at the paper,” I warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For the next few minutes, he was completely focused. Every now and then he’d mutter things like, “I think this is your eyebrow, but it might be your nose,” or “I might’ve accidentally given you a third eye”

I couldn’t stop smiling, and his eyes never left my face.

When he was done, he turned the pad around.

It was tragically awful. My right eye sat closer to my chin than my forehead and I was pretty sure I counted four nostrils.

I laughed. “Wow. That’s even worse than I imagined.”

He grinned. “It’s strange how hard it is to get something right when you’re trying desperately not to mess it up.”

The words landed differently than he meant them to. I swallowed. “My turn.”

—

Drawing him was harder than I thought it would be. Not because of the exercise, but because of what it brought up. His face had changed since prison — softer in some ways, older in others. But there were pieces of him I still remembered vividly. How angular he looked in fluorescent light. How his hands trembled when he’d first get brought in by the COs.

I traced the curve of his nose in my mind. Let the pencil follow.

When I finished, I looked down at the paper and burst into laughter. I’d drawn his eyes almost on top of one another, so he ended up looking more like a cyclops than a human. His ears were so crooked you could barely tell I’d even intended for them to be ears. I handed him the monstrosity, still giggling. “It’s so bad,” I said. “And somehow also completely you.”

He held the page gently, as if it was fine art.

“I love it,” he asserted with a wide grin.

After a long moment of silence, I raised a quiet question, my mind still stuck on the HR slides from earlier. “Do you ever think about how little choice you had?”

Spencer looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“When we met. I could’ve walked away. You couldn’t.”

He blinked. His posture shifted, like he wasn’t sure whether this was a memory or a minefield.

“I sat through a training this morning,” I explained. “They were talking about power dynamics. About how inmates might misinterpret kindness. About how health care providers can become too emotionally involved. And all I could think about was you and me.”

He was silent, listening.

“I remember every time I let you stay longer in the infirmary. Every game of chess. Every smile you gave me like it was something you weren’t supposed to hand over. And I realized — even when it felt mutual, it wasn’t.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I kept going.

“I always saw you as my equal, but you weren’t. Not really. I didn’t realize how unfair that was to you until today.”

Spencer took a slow breath.

“I’m not saying what we have isn’t real,” I added quickly. “God, Spence, I know it is. And you didn’t ever misinterpret anything. You didn’t misread the signs I was giving you. But I still can’t stop thinking about how little agency you had. How I might’ve inadvertently taken advantage of the position you were in, flirting with you when you didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

His gaze held mine. “You were the only person in there who treated me like I wasn’t broken. If there was a power imbalance, it didn’t come from you.”

“But it was there,” I said. “And you still fell in love with me.”

He reached across the couch, resting his fingers lightly on my knee.

“I didn’t fall in love with you in prison. I survived because of you in prison. I had a crush on you, of course. But I fell in love with you after. After you showed up at my apartment and didn’t look back.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“You made me feel like I was worth knowing again,” he said.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his.

“I’m still sorry,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to be.”

Later that night, we curled up on the couch, a blanket tossed over our legs. Our hideous drawings sat side by side on the coffee table.

He traced slow circles on the inside of my wrist.

“We should frame them,” he murmured.

I laughed. “Seriously?”

“They’re terrible,” he admitted. “But they’re honest.”

I smiled, watching the curve of his mouth as he looked at the drawings.

“They’re us,” I whispered.

“Exactly.”

—

I went back to work the next day, giggling at the sight of the drawings on the coffee table before I left his apartment.

It was a normal shift at first — charting, two medication rounds, a sprained ankle from rec time. Spencer had kissed my forehead that morning like nothing in the world could go wrong.

But it happened fast. A snapped broomstick turned into a shiv. A hallway scuffle flared into chaos. And then everything locked down.

Sirens screamed overhead as the COs bolted every entry. The intercom crackled something about securing infirmary staff, but I was already on the wrong side of the door.

I’d stepped out to grab more gauze from the supply room. One second I was rounding the corner near Block C, and the next, I was face to face with an inmate I didn’t recognize — bleeding from the forehead, shirt torn, wild-eyed and twitchy like he hadn’t slept in days.

He had a sharpened toothbrush in one hand.

My mouth went dry.

“There’s nowhere to go,” he said, voice too calm. “They locked us in.”

I didn’t run. I couldn’t. My body was all instinct and slow breath. I raised my hands.

“Okay,” I said softly, carefully. “Let’s sit. I’ll help you with that cut, alright?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared — eyes glassy and unpredictable. I registered the tremble in his hand, the way the makeshift weapon hovered at his side. He wasn’t threatening me, not directly. But he wasn’t stable either.

“I’m a nurse,” I said. “You’re hurt. Let me help.”

A long beat passed. Then, slowly, he nodded.

I sat cross-legged against the wall, heart thudding in my ears. When he crouched beside me, I fought the urge to flinch.

I didn’t have gloves. I didn’t have anything but the gauze I’d been holding. I pressed it gently to his temple. Blood welled beneath it, and it soaked through quickly — onto my hands, into the cuff of my sleeve. I just kept applying pressure, steady and firm.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice thin.

A pause. “Tony.”

“Hi, Tony. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep breathing.”

We sat like that for what felt like hours — no clocks, no guards, just distant shouts and the thunder of fists on bars. I could hear the static of CO radios, barked orders, the sound of something heavy slamming into steel. Somewhere, someone was crying. Somewhere else, someone was laughing — manic and unhinged.

Tony kept the shiv in his lap. I tried not to look at it.

Every few minutes, his hands would twitch. Once, he stood up suddenly, pacing a few feet before crouching again. I didn’t move.

The second time he stood, I braced for the worst — and then he just sat back down with a sigh and pressed the gauze tighter to his head.

“I didn’t mean to be here,” he muttered. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t.

Eventually, a CO found us and barked for Tony to stand. He dropped the toothbrush without protest. I watched them zip-tie his wrists and haul him down the corridor, blood crusted at his temple. I still don’t know what he’d done. I just knew he didn’t hurt me.

But he could have.

That’s what stuck.

My hands didn’t stop shaking, not even when I scrubbed them raw in the infirmary sink. I could still see the red stain of his blood on my scrubs, dried now, crusted at the seams. And I couldn’t get the image of that plastic handle out of my mind — the way it had gleamed under the flickering light. The way it reminded me, viscerally, that kindness doesn’t always protect you.

I wasn’t able to check my phone until I was cleared to leave two hours later.

Twelve missed calls. Seven texts. Three voicemails.

All from Spencer.

—

When I finally got to his apartment, the door opened before I even had the chance to fumble with my keys. Spencer stood there in the doorway, looking panicked and sleep-deprived and like he’d run through every possible worst-case scenario a thousand times.

His hands flew to my face like he didn’t believe I was real. “God, are you okay?”

I nodded, barely.

“I saw it on the news. You weren’t answering. I—I couldn’t reach you. I had Garcia hack into Millburn’s internal system. She got me CO radio traffic and timestamped movement logs, but we couldn’t find anything about you, there was nothing—” His voice cracked. “I thought—I thought something had happened to you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. You could’ve gotten in trouble with the Bureau for abusing their systems,” I whispered, too shocked and touched to mean it.

“I don’t care,” he said firmly. “I had to try and find you.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest so tight it almost hurt. I felt the tremor in his shoulders before I heard the heavy breath he sucked in.

I closed my eyes and let myself shake.

—

The shower was his idea.

“You’re covered in someone else’s blood,” he said gently. “Let me help.”

We undressed slowly, almost clinically. He reached for the faucet, tested the water with his hand, then stepped aside, waiting like he was afraid to rush me.

The moment I stepped under the spray, I broke.

Not loud. Not sobbing. Just a quiet, unstoppable unraveling — muscles trembling, jaw clenched, eyes burning. The adrenaline was gone, and all that was left was fear, thick in my throat.

Spencer stepped in behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist like a bandage pulled snug. He didn’t say anything. Just held me, chest pressed to my back, hands splayed over my ribs like he was trying to count each one and make sure none had splintered without him noticing.

I leaned into him and let the water wash over us.

When he reached for the shampoo, his fingers threaded through my hair with tenderness. He massaged my scalp slowly, carefully, like he was afraid I might flinch if he moved too fast. I stood still while he rinsed it out, then turned to face him.

He cupped my jaw and kissed my forehead. Then he reached for the washcloth, lathered it between his palms, and began to wash my body — my arms, my shoulders, my chest, down to my stomach, my legs. Gentle, thorough, like he was scrubbing off the fear and replacing it with his love.

“I was so afraid something happened to you,” he said finally, voice ragged.

“I know,” I whispered. “But it didn’t. I’m right here.”

He exhaled shakily, something cracking open in his expression.

“I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he said. “I kept thinking, what if I never got to touch you again? What if I didn’t say I love you enough?”

My throat tightened. I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together under the stream. “You did. You do.”

There was a long, trembling pause.

Then came the shift. Like something soft giving way under the weight of too much feeling. He let the cloth fall and leaned in to kiss me — slow, steady, and full of ache.

There was no urgency — not yet. Just the quiet gravity of skin and memory. His hands found my waist, and mine threaded into his damp curls. We kissed under the spray until the water went cold.

When we stepped out, he dried me gently, then himself. We made our way to the bed wrapped in towels, in silence, in something close to reverence.

He laid me down like something precious. Crawled over me like he didn’t want to miss a single breath.

“I need you,” he said softly. “Need to feel you.”

I nodded, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ve got me. I need you, too.”

His hand went to the nightstand for a condom, but I stopped him.

“You… you don’t have to,” I said softly, and Spencer looked down at me like a deer in headlights. “I’m on the pill. You know I take it religiously. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it.”

He froze. “You’re sure?”

I held his gaze. “I’m sure,” I whispered.

His face shifted — awe, want, disbelief. Then he kissed me again, deeper now.

When he pushed inside me, it felt like coming home. He moved slowly and carefully until we were fully joined then stilled there, breath shaking. We both gasped — even after everything, this closeness still had the power to undo us.

He pressed his forehead to mine. Our noses brushed. Our hands found each other and held tight.

We started to move together, slow at first — long, deep strokes that made my body arch into his without thinking. My legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to me.

He groaned against my mouth, kissed me hard. “You have no idea how scared I was,” he said, voice broken.

I whimpered softly, fingertips digging into his back. “Shhh. I don’t want to talk about that right now. Just focus on this,” I begged.

We moved like that — like we were rediscovering each other, like every thrust was a tether, pulling us tighter. The pleasure built sharp and slow, pulled from something deeper than just sensation.

His pace quickened, just slightly. His lips traced my jaw, my throat, the shell of my ear. “I need you to let go for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

I moaned, body trembling. “Touch me,” I breathed. “Please.”

His hand slipped between us, thumb circling just right. I broke with a gasp, hips bucking, body clenching tight around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, holding me through it. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.”

My breath caught in my throat. My eyes stung. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he kissed the tears from my cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He shifted slowly, gently guiding me onto my side and curling around me from behind. He slid back in with a low groan, burying his face in the curve of my neck.

This angle — this closeness — was unbearable in the best way. He moved deeper, slower, like he needed to feel every inch of me, like anything faster would be too much.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, hand over my heart. “You’re safe.”

I turned my head just enough to kiss his cheek, and it was then I noticed the glistening tear streaks running down his face, too. “Only because you’re here.”

He moaned softly, his arm tightening around my waist, his rhythm stuttering as I pushed back against him. His fingers found mine again and held tight, grounding us both. The pleasure unfurled once more in my belly, deeper this time. A slow rise toward something bright and breaking.

“I love you,” he said hoarsely. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” I breathed — and then I was coming again, shuddering around him, everything inside me tightening and releasing in slow, rolling waves. My back arched, my breath caught, and I felt him everywhere.

He buried his face in my shoulder and let go with me. His whole body shook as he came, a raw, wrecked sound tearing from his throat. I felt it — the pulse of him deep inside, the heat, the staggering intensity of it.

He clung to me like he might fall apart without something to hold, and I held him just as tightly.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He wrapped the blanket around us, tucked his body close, kept himself buried inside me like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

“Promise me I’m never going to lose you,” he whispered, still shaking.

“‘M not going anywhere,” I replied softly, my voice loose and sleepy and in love. I reached for his hand and looped our pinkies together. “Promise.”

We lay there for a long time. Quiet. Still. The worst of the day behind us. The fear, the waiting, the helplessness.

Now there was only this — the warmth of skin, the hush of steady breath, the outline of two people who’d almost come undone.

Not perfect. Not polished.

Just two messy shapes drawn in unbroken lines — holding each other together.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part xi

[cbeargyu]

跡継ぎの妻 – the heir’s wife – EPILOGUE

summary: you marry a stranger in silk—his lips stained with blood and tradition. what starts as a marriage of convenience between a yakuza heir and a public figure spirals into something neither of you were prepared for: protection that tastes like devotion, duty twisted with longing, and kisses that come too late to be innocent. in a world where bullets speak louder than hearts, love might be the most dangerous vow of all.

pairing: yakuza!yuta x model fem!reader

genre: mafia/yakuza au, arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, romance, family legacy, redemption arc, emotional healing, found family, power couple dynamic, smut-heavy, character-driven

warnings: explicit smut (multiple scenes), dom/sub dynamics, power play, breeding kink, degradation praise, spanking, explicit dirty talk, creampie, possessiveness, worship kink, rough sex, emotionally charged sex, soft aftercare, public display of dominance, mature themes, violence, blood, weapons, death of a sibling (mentioned), grief, guilt, trauma processing, complex power dynamics, yakuza activity (organized crime themes), arranged marriage (turned consensual), emotional manipulation, emotional dependency, toxic loyalty, gender roles (challenged), parenthood, tattoos/irezumi (traditional), symbolic death/rebirth, canon-typical violence, knife imagery, psychological tension.

wc: 2,3k

part i. part ii.

taglist: special dedication to this anon.

@beestvng @bamtor1sss @turtash @amazinggraxia @rubiiisyeon @doiestars @7dreambaby @joepomonerof @hanxxz @sunghoonsgfreal @evebionc @unlikelyeaglegirl @hyucksnctzen

by 2004, the house felt different.

not smaller, not quieter — just fuller. the halls that once echoed with tension now hummed with the sounds of daily life: children’s footsteps chasing one another down the engawa, the murmur of a radio left on in the kitchen, the rustle of sliding doors pulled open and shut by hands that had never known violence. it was the same house, the same bones, the same garden just outside — now blooming again with early summer peonies and camellias — but something had shifted permanently. there was warmth where once there had only been steel.

yuta had changed too.

not softened — never that. he still ruled with precision, still carried the weight of his name and history with that quiet, dangerous grace that made men straighten their spines when he entered a room. but he had grown into something more. not just the oyabun of a clan that had expanded and stabilized under his leadership, but a man who no longer ran from his past — a man who returned to the shrine every year on the same date, with a boy at his side whose hand fit almost perfectly in his own.

shotaro was seven now.

sharp-eyed, quiet like his father, though he laughed easier, with a crooked grin he hadn’t inherited from either of you. he asked questions constantly — about honor, about names, about the tattoos he was not yet old enough to understand. yuta answered them all, never speaking down to him, never sugarcoating. and when he’d asked last winter, in the soft hush of snowfall outside, why he was named after someone in the ground, yuta had knelt, placed a hand on his shoulder, and simply said, “because the man you’re named after taught me what it means to protect something. and now that name belongs to you.”

and then there was tsubaki.

your daughter had arrived two springs ago, born under the bloom of the tree you had planted after your wedding. her name meant “camellia,” a flower symbolic of strength, love, and resilience — one that thrived even in cold seasons, blooming when others withered. and she lived up to every syllable of it. bright, fearless, stubborn as rain — with your eyes and your temper, and yuta’s impossible ability to control a room without speaking. she had already declared, at the age of two, that she would marry no one unless they brought her three swords and a horse, which shotaro immediately promised to steal for her. neither of you corrected them.

riku still came by every sunday.

he had changed the most — at least on the surface. now living in a glass-and-gold penthouse high above namba, he had risen through the clan ranks with that same street-born cunning and loyalty that had once earned him the right to drive your car in silence. he wore imported suits now, changed women like watches, and arrived smelling of expensive cologne and nights without sleep. but he never missed a visit to his mother, never missed a birthday, never looked at your children without that same big-brother warmth that had once shielded you both from the world outside.

the clan had grown too.

under yuta’s leadership, it had evolved — not sanitized, never clean, but refined. operations were quieter now, more surgical, layered with strategy and diplomacy that reached far beyond osaka. territories were protected, alliances kept in balance, and his name no longer needed to be shouted to be known. in meetings, he still sat in silence more than he spoke, but when he did, the room fell still. and you — you were still at his side. not as a shadow, but as his reflection. you handled affairs that didn’t touch violence directly: the security of the women, the education of the next generation, the negotiation of small conflicts before they became large ones. sometimes your word alone was enough to prevent bloodshed. you had learned how to wield power without raising your voice.

tonight, the house was quiet again, the kind of quiet that only came after everyone had gone to sleep. the children had been tucked in hours ago, shotaro with his wooden sword beside the futon, tsubaki curled up with her face in your old wedding kimono — the red silk wrapped around her like a dragon’s embrace. you had lingered a moment longer in their room, brushing her hair back from her forehead, listening to the way yuta’s footsteps slowed outside the door before continuing on.

now, he waited for you in the bedroom, already half-undressed, the soft glow of paper lanterns casting long shadows across his back. the tattoos were still vivid, still beautiful, age only adding depth to the black and gray lines that curled over his shoulder blades like the memory of fire. his robe hung loose around his waist, his hands resting in his lap. when you entered, he looked up and smiled — not the smirk he gave the world, not the careful calm he used with the clan, but something smaller. reserved only for you.

“they asleep?” he asked.

you nodded, untying your robe.

“both,” you said. “though tsubaki was threatening to lead a coup if we didn’t let her sleep in our bed again.”

he laughed under his breath, eyes following the silk as it slipped from your shoulders.

“she gets that from you.”

“i get the blame for everything.”

“you get the credit, too,” he said, rising, crossing the room toward you. “for this house. for the way i survived myself. for both of them.”

he stopped in front of you, hands coming to your hips, mouth brushing your jaw.

“for making me want more than survival.”

you leaned into him, pressing your palms against his bare chest.

“and what do you want now, nakamoto?”

he didn’t answer with words.

he pushed you gently back onto the bed, his body following yours, one knee parting your thighs as his lips dragged across your collarbone, slow and unhurried. he worshipped you as he had that very first night — with a hunger honed by time, shaped by memory. his hands roamed the map of your body like it was the territory he had built everything on, his tongue tracing the edge of your tattoo before sinking lower.

“mine,” he whispered, voice low, rough. “still. always.”

you gasped as he filled you — deep and claiming — his pace slow but punishing, each thrust purposeful, each breath a promise. he didn’t have to ask permission anymore. you gave him everything long ago. but tonight, he still earned it, inch by inch, word by word.

“i’ll fill you up again,” he growled against your neck. “mark you from the inside this time. want to see it drip from you, want to watch it take.”

you whimpered, the sound lost between kisses and heat, your body arching as he pressed harder, faster, claiming you like only he could.

“gonna make you beg,” he hissed, grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head. “show you who you belong to.”

“you,” you gasped. “only you.”

he smiled — dark, triumphant, adoring — and fucked you harder, deeper, until your cries turned into broken syllables and your body trembled beneath his. when you came, it was with his name on your tongue, and when he followed, spilling into you with a low growl, it was with his hands cradling your face like you were the only thing still holding him to the earth.

afterward, he didn’t move from you for a long time.

just held you, your legs tangled, your breathing slow, your bodies sticky and warm and still joined.

“we made something beautiful,” he murmured, his hand on your stomach, your heart, your life.

“we did,” you whispered back, lips brushing his.

and outside the window, beneath the stars, the camellia tree swayed — blooming, still, after all these years.

you had left modeling the year after the ceremony.

not the wedding — that had been for politics, for tradition, for the sake of appearances. but the second one, the real one, the one held in the temple courtyard with your hand in yuta’s and the clan kneeling before you in reverent silence — that was when everything shifted. after that, the camera no longer felt like a doorway to your future. it felt like a relic. a different skin you had already shed.

there were reasons, of course. you were now the wife of an oyabun, a woman of weight and presence in a house watched by too many eyes. the responsibilities were real, and heavy, and sometimes they left little room for dreams you once chased across magazine pages and studio lights. you stepped down without bitterness. not because the dream had died — but because it had simply evolved. power, after all, had many forms. and now yours wore silk, moved quietly, and negotiated the survival of families with a single glance across a tatami room.

still, from time to time, the itch returned — subtle, low beneath your skin. so every few seasons, you would indulge it. a private session. a camera. sometimes a friend from your past came to shoot, someone who understood that this wasn’t for publications, for fame, for the market. these photos weren’t meant for the world. they were for you. and for him.

you posed in lace, in silk, in shadows. sometimes wearing only his haori, your tattoos catching the light in deliberate contrast to the softness of your skin. you never smiled in those pictures. only stared into the lens like you were daring it to forget who you had become.

yuta never watched you shoot. he always let you have that space — but he waited outside the room like a man expecting something sacred. and later, once the photos were printed and arranged in the quiet privacy of your study, he kept them. not hidden. just protected. a lacquered album on the highest shelf, filled with his wife — his woman — arching across bedsheets, eyes half-lidded with power, with pride. he opened it on long nights sometimes, when the house was quiet and the city below dared to forget who ruled it. he’d look through the pages slowly, fingers brushing each image like a prayer.

“mine,” he would whisper. “mine forever.”

in the summer of that year, shotaro turned eight.

he asked to visit the shrine again.

this time, you let him go alone with yuta. you stayed behind with tsubaki, brushing her hair on the veranda, the scent of roasted barley tea drifting from the kitchen. she sat still for once, curious eyes turned toward the mountain path that had taken her brother and father out of sight.

at the shrine, yuta let shotaro walk ahead.

the boy moved with quiet steps, his hands respectfully tucked into the sleeves of his light jinbei, the dragon-embroidered sandals scraping softly against the stone. he carried a single flower — a white camellia, picked from the tree you had planted years ago. he had asked why it mattered. you had told him, “because it blooms even in the cold, and some names are meant to live forever.”

when they reached the grave, yuta didn’t speak. he watched as his son knelt before the stone, bowed deeply, and placed the flower carefully at the base.

“thank you,” the boy said quietly. “for my name. for my father.”

he bowed again.

and somewhere, just behind the trees, the wind moved like a breath held and released.

that fall, you watched tsubaki from the doorway of the meeting hall.

she was barefoot, small but composed, standing at the edge of the gathering like she belonged to it. she didn’t speak. didn’t fidget. just stood with her arms behind her back, head tilted slightly — listening.

the men watched her, but no one dared correct her presence.

not with you in the room.

not with yuta at the head of the table, his eyes flickering to his daughter only once before returning to the conversation about territory, expansion, diplomacy.

afterwards, she ran to you.

“they listen to you,” she said with a child’s solemnity. “and they listen to papa. so one day, they’ll listen to me.”

you smiled faintly and knelt beside her.

“and what will you say when they do?”

she considered the question, frowning slightly.

“i’ll say that peace doesn’t mean softness. it means knowing where to place your blade.”

you didn’t laugh. only kissed the top of her head.

“good girl.”

years from now, perhaps it would all change. perhaps shotaro would take over the clan or tsubaki would carve her own empire from the bones of your name. perhaps the city would grow beyond your reach. but for now, in the golden hush of late afternoon, your legacy was safe. not in money. not in territory. but in the way your son placed his hand on his sister’s shoulder when she spoke. in the way yuta looked at you like nothing else had ever made sense before you. in the way your story — once marked by silence and fire and fear — now unfolded in softness, in laughter, in roots that stretched deeper than any wound.

one night, when the children were asleep and the world outside was too loud to hear, yuta pulled you into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. he didn’t speak. just kissed you slow. deep. hands finding the familiar path of your hips, your breasts, the soft bend of your knees.

he made love to you the way a man remembers — every scar, every sound, every place you had once trembled. and when he came inside you, forehead pressed to yours, whispering your name like an incantation, he didn’t ask for permission or forgiveness.

he simply said:

“thank you for staying. thank you for becoming everything i never knew how to ask for.”

and you smiled, the weight of time and joy and sorrow pooled between your bodies, and answered:

“thank you for giving me a name worth carrying.”

outside, the wind moved through the camellia tree again — still blooming.

always blooming.

just like you.

[dollfacefantasy]

INFECTED WITH INFATUATION ♡

pairing: carlos oliveira x fem!reader

summary: you and carlos are out on a mission when you come into contact with an unfamiliar plant specimen. the effects are unexpected to say the least.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dubcon (cause of the pollen), sex pollen, breeding kink, overstimulation

wc: 6k

a/n: omggg kinktober already over halfway done. crazyyy. i hope you guys like this one. it was fun to write so thank you to the person who requested. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 17 - sex pollen

"Carlos, watch out!" you shout.

Your partner, the man you called out to, takes heed of your warning as soon as it hits his ears. He ducks down, giving you a clear shot at the overgrown spider crawling down the hedged corridor at the two of you. The moment you have a lock on the target, you shoot. You never hesitate in the field. It only took you one day of dealing with bioweapons to learn that lesson.

Your finger presses down on the trigger of your gun hard, firing multiple rounds right at the creature. The bullets tear through its flesh. Its limbs fumble, and it crumples to the ground. Your heart slows down a little. The sight of its death helps to calm your nerves.

Carlos pops back up, his black hair swishing out of his face with the motion. He turns to you with an approving smirk across his lips.

"Nice work, sharpshooter," he says.

You roll your eyes at the nickname. He'd given it to you after your first mission together in which you encountered an infected dog and managed to miss every single shot you fired at the thing. It had been first day nerves you insisted, and so far, that had proven to be true. But that wouldn't stop Carlos from making fun of you.

The two of you walk over to the deceased organism. You silently thank every possible higher power that this mission is almost over. There's only one more sector after this one, and then the two of you are done for a few weeks.

You hesitate to get too close to the arachnid. Even though it lies there motionless, some sort of innate survival instinct told you no. Your eyes scan it with disgust, looking at the coarse hairs and the multitude of eyes. Gross. You would just have to step around the thing.

With extreme caution, you traverse over its large legs. You wonder what kind of psychopath would want to engineer spiders and make them this big. Your feet land firmly on the ground with every stride you take. The absolute worst case scenario here would be falling over onto it and finding out it still has some life left. Another few steps though, and you're in the clear.

However, your partner apparently does not possess the same inherent fear of spiders you do. He walks over the dead thing without any extra care. In the process, his boot catches on the end of its thorax.

You watch as a baby spider bursts from it and bolts away from the body, making a beeline towards you. And you know it's ridiculous. You know it's humiliating. But you scream.

You're not sure if it's because it's tinier and faster or because it's appearance is so sudden. Either way, you shriek. You recoil before you can control your reaction. Shooting at it would probably be smarter, but in your panic, you don't want to blow a hole through Carlos's foot. You just jerk back and accidentally send yourself tumbling into a bush.

Luckily, he's quick to get to it, not discharging his weapon at all. He simply stomps on it with his large boot. It squishes beneath the sole and splatters on the dirt. His eyes then turn to you in the foliage.

Laughing a little, he heads over to you and parts the leaves. He looks at you with that same smug expression and extends a hand.

"Need some help down there?" he asks.

You glare at him but still accept the offer. It would be easier to get out of this mess of branches and little pink flowers with his aid. You reach out and wrap your fingers around his palm, feeling the warmth of it in your grasp. He pulls you up, and you shamefully watch his bicep flex as he does.

On the way to your feet though, he hisses in pain.

"Ah, fuck," he mutters, letting go of you as soon as you're upright.

He pulls back and brings his arm to his body, holding it there and examining the source of pain. You step closer to try and look too. Your eyes catch the sight of the injury almost right away. It would be hard for anyone to miss.

A red stripe spans from the outer side of his forearm to up just past his elbow. The ending of the cut seems like a deep gash while the beginning is only a thin line. Blood already begins to trickle onto his skin. It looks like a thorn had snagged him while helping you off the ground.

You pull a small cloth from the pouch attached to your belt.

"Here, let me see," you offer, your voice softer as your mind snaps into a more caring frame. It's the one you used to use everyday when you worked as a medic. Before you had been roped into this mess with mercenaries.

He offers his limb up to you without resistance. If there was anyone he trusted to look at him, it was you. After most missions, he stayed with the doctors Umbrella provided for the mandatory observation period, but you were the one to actually patch him up. With you, there were no ulterior motives or chances of being double-crossed. You wanted to help people, and that's what you did for him.

You do it right now as you take the small piece of material and dab up the crimson fluid seeping from his wound. He grunts as you get closer to the source.

"Sorry," you say. You try extra to remain gentle, lightly swiping at the edges of the injury. "Looks like a piece of the plant caught you. I can take a better look at it later, but for now, you should be fine. You're not bleeding too much," you tell him.

He nods and gets back to holding his weapon in the proper position. The two of you continue onward in the direction of your target. You only hope you've seen the last of those spiders.

Fortunately, your wish had been granted. You and Carlos hadn't encountered any more spiders, big or small, for the rest of the mission. The path to the objective from the sight of the last one had been pretty easy, presenting no real challenges.

The two of you made it back to the nearest Umbrella base for the night following a short ride there. You had to get checked out first and now stay overnight for the waiting period as was the procedure for all field operatives. The idea was to ensure you all didn't harbor any infections that remained undetected during the examination. But after that, you'd be home free.

You'd already completed the mandatory screening with the doctor. After finding nothing out of the ordinary, you headed to the assigned room they'd given you for the next twelve hours. It was pretty small, just a bed, table, chair, and shelf. You didn't need anything more though.

You change out of your grimy cargo pants and black sweater and pull on a much more comfortable pair of gray sweats and a t-shirt matching in color. Laying on the stiff mattress, you take a few moments to decompress from the earlier events. Your body seems to hold a dull ache all over, something you attribute to the heightened stress you experienced for hours on end. Your adrenaline has started to wear off, and as it recedes, the ability to feel in entirety returns.

Some time goes by, and Carlos knocks on the frame of your door. It feels like only moments have passed, but in reality, you're sure it's closer to thirty minutes. You look up at him with curious eyes.

"You need something?" you ask.

He walks in, and you see he's also changed. A charcoal t-shirt covers his upper body while gray sweatpants adorn his waist. You try to keep your gaze casual although it would be obvious to anyone with eyes that he looks statuesque in them.

"I was wondering if you're too tired to take another look?" he asks.

Sitting up, you pat the space next to you on the small bed. "Never too tired for my favorite patient," you answer with a small smile.

He returns the fond expression and takes a seat. You take your medical pouch off the table next to the bed. Unzipping it, you pull out the few things you predict you'll need. He rolls up his sleeve even though it's not necessary, allowing you to see his arm in full glory.

"You know they do have doctors here. Ones with much better equipment than me," you say teasingly as you rip open a small cleaning wipe.

He looks at you and shrugs. "I doubt they'd know how to use it as well," he says.

You shake your head and rub the alcohol-soaked patch across his wound. He hisses from the sting but manages to hold still. Your fingers work as quickly as they can, not wanting to prolong his suffering. You clean the dried blood off and make sure the open cut has been completely tended to. But your eyes narrow as you look at his skin.

"The doctors did look at you, right?" you ask.

"Yeah, why?" he responds.

"They cleared you?" you check.

And he nods. Maybe he was right not to trust them.

"Well, this doesn't really look normal," you say with uncertainty, "You have some discoloration around the cut. Your veins look a bit darker than they should. It could be an infection."

His eyes find yours. You can see in his stare that he's looking for reassurance.

"Does it hurt at all?" you continue.

"No. I mean, a little. Feels like I have a giant scrape on my arm. But not more than normal," he says.

A puff of air leaves your nose as you try to think. "Hm. You might be ok then, could be just some abnormal pigmentation," you offer, "I've never seen an infection manifest this fast, but if it were already showing, you'd probably have some symptoms too."

"So you think I'll live?" he jokes.

You scoff and nudge his arm away, putting up a playful front. 

"Don't ask me that," you say. 

In truth, you didn't want to think about Carlos dying. You'd seen so many people die since joining this task force. Your worst fear when coming into work was seeing that happen to the one you care most about.

"Alright," he concedes and surrenders, but his attitude doesn't dampen any.

You pull up your small roll of gauze next and begin to bandage him up. With careful hands, you rotate the thin material around his forearm, making sure to cover the entire scratch in a durable layer. The room is so quiet. There's no sounds except for the two of you breathing. You're tempted to say something and cut through the silence, but you don't. The moment feels intimate. It feels wrong to try and interrupt it.

When you finish wrapping his arm, you tear the gauze and tuck it under to keep it in place. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder and give him another sweet smile.

"All done," you say.

"Do I get a reward for being so well-behaved?" he asks. His voice lowers, and he leans in the slightest bit closer to you.

Heat blooms in your stomach and spreads up to your chest, but you'd never let him see the effect he has on you.

"Get outta here," you say and give him a light push.

He laughs and rises to his feet. He heads over to the door but doesn't leave before turning back to look at you again.

"Thanks, sharpshooter," he says.

"You got it, soldier," you respond with a small mock salute.

He shuts the door behind him after that. You put your things back in your pouch and lay back in bed again. A sudden wave of tiredness crashes into you. Sighing, you rub your face and yawn. Tonight it didn't seem like you'd have any trouble sleeping, a rare blessing as of late.

Rolling over, you wince as you feel a small burst of pain in the back of your thigh. You're so exhausted though that you chalk it up to a pulled muscle and resign to check it out when you wake. All you really want to do right now is knock out until the sun is up and the transport vehicle is ready to drop you off at the airport to go home.

It's still dark out when your eyes flutter open. The lids feel heavy with sleep. Your brain wants to be unconscious again, but something has pulled you from the comfort of sleep. It might be the fact that you're burning up.

Your entire body feels as though fire rages within it. Sweat coats your skin and causes your t-shirt to stick to you. You can feel your pillowcase beneath your head damp with it. You sit up, but you have to do so slowly because of how the simple motion causes the room to spin. You try to blink the dizziness away to no avail.

Once you're upright, you feel more conscious though. You're able to better assess your symptoms and maybe pinpoint the cause. You register that you feel tingly. Fizzling sparks rampage all throughout your body; though, the most intense area seems to be the back of your thigh. You peel down your sweats a bit and arch your back to try and get a look.

Your eyes widen as you find a puncture wound with the same discoloration you saw on Carlos.

Fuck, you must have landed on a thorn in that bush and not realized it with everything else going on. Panic rushes through you at the thought of being infected with something that shows symptoms so fast, but a more intense surge of it floods you when you realize that this means Carlos has it too.

You try to get out of bed to go inform him of your discovery, but a round of cramps doubles you over and has you curling up on the twin-sized mattress to ride out the pain. Small whimpers exit your lips. They were so intense, worse than any period cramps or stomach aches you'd ever experienced.

They start to ease up after about a minute, but it's then that you begin to notice the constant throbbing between your thighs. In the midst of all this other stuff coming to light in your groggy condition, you hadn't really noted how consistent it was, but it seems to have grown stronger after that bout of pain.

A strong pulse emanates from your clit. You whine and shove your hand in your panties to try and rub it away. A few strokes bring little pleasure, but not enough to ward it off for good.

You realize your breasts feel heavy too. With every breath you take, they call out for a pair of hands to cup them and squeeze them, to fondle them and toy with your nipples. Just some form of stimulation.

Your legs bend up to your chest while your hand still fruitlessly fumbles around between your thighs. You whimper in frustration now. These symptoms are unlike any of the infections you've encountered in your career. You're not sure what to do.

As you're trying to formulate some sort of plan, your door opens. Carlos stumbles in. He looks to be in the same condition as you. The gray fabric of his t-shirt is soaked in sweat at the underarms and neckline. His skin glimmers in the dim light while he looks at you with hooded eyes. The door shuts behind him, and the air between you feels thick. His scent drifts to you across the room, making you squeeze your thighs together hard with desire.

It takes everything you have to not lunge across the room and pounce on him like an animal in heat. From the strained expression on his face, it's not a wild guess to imagine he feels similar. He's panting, leaning against the wall for support.

"Safe to say we're infected with something, huh?" he chokes out.

You turn your head and nod against your pillow, unable to bring yourself to look at him anymore. If you did that, you wouldn't be able to control your reaction.

"What should we do?" he asks.

You have no clue how he's managing to stand or speak or even think through these questions. All your mind can conjure at the moment are visions of him on top of you. They're so vivid you can almost feel the sensations of them. You see him above you with your legs over his shoulders, plowing into your cunt with no reserve or hesitation. Visions of you on your stomach also flash through your mind. You picture him with an iron grip on your hips, pumping his thick, meaty cock into your dripping hole over and over and over.

It's enough to bring a moan out of you. Carlos winces at the sound, and he approaches your bed. You're visibly faring worse than him. Maybe it's because you have a puncture wound, and he has a simple scratch. Or maybe it's just a difference in your biology. You're not sure, and there's no way you're going to figure it out while you feel like this.

He cautiously lays a hand on your arm, and you moan again. But this time the sound is so much needier. It echoes between the four walls of this small bedroom, the volume enough to cause concern that you would wake other employees here. He pulls his hand back and looks down at you. Your hips rock on your hand, humping it desperately in an attempt for friction.

Your eyes crack open and cast onto him. You intend to look up at his face, but with where he's standing, right at eye level is the huge tent in his pants.

His cock strains against the gray material. You can see the outline perfectly. The sight makes your mouth water. You don't know what's happening with you. Sure, you'd always found Carlos attractive. Maybe you could say you have a little crush on him, but it was never anything so raw. You thought he was charming more than anything. Never before had you just wanted to tear off both your own and his clothes and start going at it.

He sees where your eyes lock on, and he feels a strong burst of arousal in his stomach.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," he instructs and pushes you by the shoulder onto your back.

You look up into his eyes. Your mind finds peace in them. They're serene and calm and offer a sense of comfort despite every other part of your body going haywire.

Your own hand reaches up and wraps around his wrist. You tug his palm down onto your breast. His brows raise, but he makes no move to pull it away. Instead, he gives the mound a squeeze, relishing the way you arch your back and mewl for him.

"Wait," he tries to resist, tries to be the responsible one, "Are you sure we should... do this kind of stuff? What if it makes this worse? We don't know what's happening yet."

If you weren't so wound up, you'd probably laugh at the way he poses the question. The man who could flirt with you like there was no tomorrow asking if you should do "stuff." But you don't laugh because "stuff" is all you want to do.

"I don't know what's happening. All I know is I need you," you rasp and start pulling his arm more, trying to get his entire body on top of your own.

He half indulges you, beginning to climb on the bed before stopping above you. Looking down at your lust-stricken form, he wants you so bad. His cock leaks precum with the urge to just slip inside. But at the same time, Carlos does like you. Really likes you. It isn't a maybe with him - he has a crush on you. And while thoughts of you spread beneath him happen to be what he jerks off to each morning in the shower, part of him can't help worrying that if he takes advantage of this, things between you two will shift and fracture.

"Are... are you sure?" he asks. Words are hard when your scent clouds the air around him and you look up at him with needy eyes like this.

You want to tell him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless already, but your lust-stricken brain seems to comprehend that in order to get fucked dumb, you have to handle his concerns first.

"I want it. I need you inside me. Please just give it to me," you whine. Your legs squirm, and you tug on him again. He's still hesitant. Looking into his eyes, you whimper, "You'll still be my favorite."

And that's apparently good enough for him. That brief statement of reassurance shatters the thin pane of resistance he had left. After hearing those words, he collapses on top of you in a flurry of passion. His lips collide with yours. He pants against your face and squeezes your hips.

Your tongues meet and slide against each other as your mouths move. One of your hands slides around the back of his head to grip his shaggy, dark locks. He groans and bucks his hips against your thigh. Your other hand rubs his chest, fingers digging into the muscle with desire.

He leans back for a split second and rips off his shirt. Under more delicate circumstances, you probably would have admired his sculpted figure. You would have traced your fingertips along the defined lines of his abs, swirled the delicate pads around his nipples and up to his collarbone. 

But not right now.

You don't possess the ability to move with that much focus or care right now. Instead, you reach out and pull him back down again, almost crushing yourself with his bulky frame. It's worth it though because you lick up his happy trail, tracing your tongue over the contours of his muscles. He moans from the light touch before scooting down so he can remove your shirt and have access to your breasts.

"Look at these. Fuck," he says in awe. He gropes them, hands rough as they feel up the plump flesh.

He lowers himself on top of you again and kisses down your collarbone to your chest. You whimper as his mouth glides over the swells of your breasts before latching onto one nipple. He sucks with fervor, eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the task. You gasp and moan. Between your legs, he ruts against the mattress.

His tongue swirls around your stiffening bud. He laves the smooth wetness over it a few times before switching to the other and giving it the same treatment.

"Been wanting to see these tits so fuckin' bad," he mumbles.

"You have?" you whimper, still squirming from the attention directed at your chest.

"Course I have. Those tight little sweaters you wear, the way they bounce every time you fucking move. God, drives me crazy," he mutters.

He spends some more time on your breasts before relenting and shoving down his sweats. His cock all but jumps out, eager for some attention as well.

"I've been wanting to see that so bad," you breathe.

You have to rub your thighs together once you get a look at his length. It's long and meaty just like you predicted. There are prominent veins spanning from the base upward. The tip is already leaking for you, oozing sticky white precum. His heavy balls hang below. All you can think about is how bad you need them drained inside of you.

He tears off your soaked panties and wastes no time slotting himself at your wanting hole. With both of you in frenzies of carnality, there's no teasing. He doesn't rub it over your folds or work himself in. No. In one go, he slams himself inside. A deep, guttural sound rumbles in his chest while a breathy whine erupts from you.

Your eyes roll back while your toes curl down below. You nearly cum from that stroke alone. He just fits you so perfectly. Even through the amorous fog that clouds your mind, you can't help wondering why you didn't do this sooner.

Just like in the flashes you saw minutes ago, his hands clamp around your waist. He doesn't take time to set a pace or give you a few moments to adjust to the girth of him. As soon as he's had the first taste of that warm, wet heat, he's slamming in and out of your little pussy with no thought.

His hot skin slaps against yours. Both of you pant with exertion while the cot below you scrapes against the concrete floor. Your legs bend upwards and you hold them to make sure nothing gets in the way of his thrusts.

Each time his cock slides all the way in, you think you see heaven. Your vision blots with white and then splotches of color. Your brain feels as though it's melting out your ears in the most blissful sensation. You're pretty sure you don't actually need thoughts anymore. Why would you when this seems like the only thing you'll wanna do ever again?

You bounce around with his strength pounding against you. Your head bobbles while your tits sway up and down. His head has been tilted back for a while, but he drops it now to look at the sight of you before him.

"Fuck, baby. You take my dick like you were made for it," he grunts.

Your walls squeeze him tight as a reward for saying that. He groans and fucks into you harder. The rhythm breaks for a moment. He has to slow down to deliver the small collection of particularly harsh thrusts.

With each one, his tip rams further inside you. The fourth one strikes some trigger inside you that rips a yelp from you and rockets you over the edge. Your body shudders hard beneath him while your walls spasm desperately.

"Hnghhh- Carlos- ah! You're fuckinmesogood," you babble out, eyes drooping so much they're practically closed.

You hear him growl above you and then feel his weight collapse onto your body. Your thighs are smooshed between the two of you, keeping you bent in half. He's as deep as physically possible now. That you're certain of. His cock kisses the opening of your womb with each jolt of his pelvis, making you cry out in an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain.

His head closes in on yours, connecting the two of you in a sloppy kiss. You move without sense. Every action stems from a place of pure desire.

He knows he's getting close. And he also knows he should pull out. But he honestly doesn't know if he can right now. He's burning so hot for you that in his head, the loss of your tight walls wrapped around him may seriously result in death. It doesn't just feel good, it's pure euphoria. He's not even at the peak yet, but this feeling right now is more intense than any orgasm he's had before.

"Fuck-" he growls, trying to work up the will to slide back and burst on your stomach instead. His mouth falls away from yours, landing against the crook of your neck. "You're making this so hard for me, sweetheart," he grumbles.

You're so shaky and blissed out that the words almost pass you by, but his close proximity allows you to catch them. You know what he means without him having to say it because you feel it too. A deep yearning in the most carnal recesses of your soul, a craving for him to sate the most base desire burning within you.

"Just do it," you whimper, lazily rolling your hips up, "Cum inside."

His muscles tense. You can feel them twitching against you.

"Don't say that," he breathes.

A petulant whine seeps from between your lips. You pull him closer by the shoulders with more force, digging your nails into the skin.

"Finish inside, Carlos. Pleaseeeeee," you try again, "I'll worry about it later. Just need you to fill me up so fucking bad."

His resolve chips away piece by piece with each strike from your pleas. Reasons to detach from you that had seemed logical moments ago lose whatever little appeal they had. His mind feels overcome by the desire to pump you full of his release, to fuck his seed deep inside your awaiting cunt, to let it take.

With a rough snap, he throws his head back and groans. His fingers dig into the plush flesh of your hips. The high overcomes him in a powerful blow, whisking the air from his lungs. It makes him feel lightheaded, actions completely guided by impulse created under the influence of whatever that plant had sapped into the two of you.

Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot against your inner walls. You whine at the sensation, eyes fluttering and rolling back in satisfaction. He works it into you over and over till the urge is sated.

Finally, he feels like he won't lose all capability to function if he pulls out. He eases his hips back, slowly freeing himself from the sinful confines of your slick walls. Every inch he reveals shimmers with the combined gloss of his and your fluids. It coats the area between your thighs thoroughly, marking the site of your connection.

While the throbbing in your clit and the burning throughout your bones has lessened, dull remnants of them remain. Your chest puffs up and down as you catch your breath and recover from the intensity of before. The air still feels thick, just less like a landmine than before.

But when you gaze down between the two of you, your eyes land on his cock. He's still fully hard. The shaft stands forward proudly while the tip remains darkened in color. His need for more of you plainly visible to anyone who looked.

Your eyes flit from it up to his eyes, connecting in a tentative stare. The question between the two of you is left unspoken. Neither of you really need the words to understand that you both want more.

His hands fly to your waist again and flip you over onto your stomach. Your face squishes against the pillows as he boosts your hips to the right angle and slides right back inside. You whine at the intrusion, fingers gripping the pillow for some way to ground yourself.

He gives your ass a firm smack before leaning forward and boxing you in beneath him. You have no way of knowing for sure, but you're almost certain the thrusts reach deeper now. He's moving at the same frantic pace from before, yet every stroke feels like it bumps a sweet spot within you. That or you're just more sensitive from your previous release.

You can hear him panting in your ear as he pounds you into the mattress. Every small grunt and soft growl drifts out behind your head.

"Fuck... think we should just do this till we're all better," he murmurs and nips at your shoulder.

"Mhm," you whine, arching your back and pushing your hips against him further. The next set of words comes out slurred and muffled both from your position against the pillow and the blurry state of your mind. "Never wanna stop. Just want you all the time."

He huffs out a laugh. "Yeah? That's what you wanna do, huh? Let me fuck you nonstop? Use you till you can't fucking move anymore? Breed you till I've had my fill?"

You mewl sharply and nod eagerly. "Uh huh, give it all to me till- ah! mmm... till we're both better," you whimper.

Skin continues slapping against skin in the otherwise quiet of the room. In the back of your mind, you wonder how far down the hall the sound echoes. It's a fleeting thought though, quickly overwhelmed by the repeated thoughts of how good you feel.

"Yeah? Maybe a baby in your belly is what you need. Maybe that's what we're supposed to do. Can't get this thing out of our system till we meet nature's demands," he rasps.

He doesn't even know what he's saying. He assumes the sudden desire to procreate comes from the infection, but the words feel as though they blossom from somewhere deeper. Whatever the case, it's obvious you like them. You clamp around his cock like you're trying to drain him dry.

"I'd probably fuck you like this every night if I saw you nice and round with my baby, sweetheart. Fuck, you'd look so good. Swollen in all the right places, aching for me to take care of you," he mumbles out.

"Give it to me. Want it so bad. Wanna... mmm fuck," you trail off, panting out the lasts of your desires.

The peak builds much faster for you two this time around. You squeeze around him till your rhythmic convulsions devolve into a burst of spasms. His thrusts land hard throughout his high, but you feel his muscles tense as he pumps another load into you.

Drops of his spend leak from your cunt and smear against both of your skin. This time he doesn't even bother pulling out. He knows he's still hard and that he has one, if not more, rounds in him. He keeps fucking you hard, through your cries of overstimulation and desperate squirming.

The rest of the night is a blur. You don't count how many times you go at it or keep track of the variety of positions you do it in. You know at one point you were on top, at another your head dangled off the edge of the mattress and bobbled around like that of a doll's. The intense passion and lust pervades all memories and casts the experience in a hazy fog.

All you're sure of is that now you feel better. For the moment, the two of you are satisfied, your bodies no longer alive with an electric craving for one another. Your head rests on his chest while the rest of you presses against his side. His hand rubs up and down your back in lazy, thoughtless strokes.

Neither of you say anything. Dashes of sunlight begin to shine through the windows that sit high on the wall. Both of you bask in the calm of the moment as you grapple with what happened.

"You think that cured us?" he asks softly after a while.

You pause before shrugging. "Can't say for sure, we'll have to wait and see," you say, looking up at him.

Somewhere inside of you, you believe that was it. That was the magic fix. You're almost certain that you fucked whatever that was out of your systems, but you want to be honest with him. Still, you can't help offering a little reassurance.

"We'll be ok," you say with a small smile.

He returns it. "If you're the one taking care of me, I don't doubt that," he teases.

You hum and squeeze your arms around his waist. Questions of a changed relationship status or potential future together going forward plague your mind, but you know it's not the time. If your supervisors hadn't heard the racket coming from in here, they'd realize something was up as soon as you and Carlos emerged from the same bedroom. You decide to take what semblance of peace with him you can get before having to face a possible onslaught of hazmat suits and probing tests.

Your eyes flutter shut as the beating of his heart lulls you into a state of peace. Even without the confirmation, you aren't worried about your connection. You're pretty confident that he'll be more than just your favorite patient in the coming weeks.

[symbiomancy]

be aware wolf —werewolf

—summary: you venture into the woods to hunt for werewolves | 1.5k | AO3 | monster masterlist

—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, p in v sex, knotting, creampie, stomach bulge, mounting, outdoor sex, implied voyeurism

It’s a simple cycle. Enter the woods. Keep the local werewolf population under control. Retrieve any animal carcasses you come across in the woods. Make pelts out of said carcasses. Keep them or sell them. Receive payment from the town for your hard work. Pack your things and find the next town with a werewolf problem.

There are quite a few steps, but it’s a simple, straightforward cycle.

You sling your shotgun onto your back and place a hand onto the handgun at your hip. Your other hand rests on the belt of silver bullets around your hips. The ground is dry and this place hasn’t seen rain in weeks. There are no tracks to go off so you settle for scouting tufts of fur.

Something catches in the corner of your eye as you step around a grand oak.

You whip your head to the side and meet the pair of yellow eyes from the distance. It’s late August, and the blessing of the summer solstice only lasts so long. The sun is long gone and the full moon has crested. Darkness creeps around you, the tall trees shielding you from the moon’s glow. A cool breeze caresses your bare arms. You can just about make out the creature’s outline in the shadows. It’s large, maybe about 6 feet tall.

Slowly, you slip the shotgun from your shoulder and raise the barrel in the wolf’s direction. You whistle.

“Here boy,” you call. The pair of eyes blink at you languidly. “C’mere. I got treats for ya.” Indeed, you do; an opened pack of beef jerky in your back pocket. “C’mon, I have a whole pack of you to hunt tonight and I like to be efficient with my time.”

The werewolf rises onto its hind legs. Oh, great, you think, there’s different species in the same genus for these fucks. Perhaps 8 feet tall is more accurate.

You adjust your hold and cock the shotgun.

The werewolf is gone in a blink.

Your pulse picks up and you whirl on your heel, shotgun still raised. These things are fast, always are but they’re also big. How hard is it to shoot one?

The sound of a branch breaking has you whirling around, finger on the trigger to take the shot —

A claw strikes out at you and catches on your belt, ripping it like it’s paper. Your belt and the bullets in their holster disappear from your waist, your pants ripped and a superficial gash in your hip. You lose your footing on a protruding root and fall onto your back, barely keeping your head from slamming against a thick root.

The werewolf drops onto all fours legs, standing over you, its front paws planted on either side of your head. Its warm breath fans against your face, your arms. Its teeth are bared. Saliva dribbles from its maw.

You spare a glance away from its face to assess your situation — maybe there’s a way to roll out from underneath it and scramble towards your shotgun, wherever it landed. Instead, you find yourself staring at its bulbous member, fully erect. It’s long and thick, precum glistening on its tip. You look away, heat flooding to your cheeks and cunt. In your defense, it looked at you first.

You slowly draw your foot back and strike out, hit the beast’s hind leg. It howls in pain and you scramble out from underneath it, roll onto your stomach and stumble upright. Your shotgun is just a few steps to the right.

A heavy weight slams into you from behind and sends you onto the ground. Your jaw collides with the ground and your teeth snap together. You groan, rest your weight on one elbow and place your free hand against your jaw, pressing against the sore muscles. Hot breath fans the back of your exposed neck and something heavy and slick presses against the flesh of your hip. U kick again and scramble forward, your gun just about in reach. Claws swipe at ur body, snag on your shirt and tatter ur barely intact pants.

The cool night air hits your throbbing cunt. You try to ignore it, want to ignore it so bad, to finish the job and go take care of yourself — the werewolf shoves its fanged snout against the back of your neck. You still, heart leaping in your chest. Its heavy member rests on the swell of your ass, hips rocking back and forth, shallow thrusts as if it’s looking for a warm hole. Your pussy clenches at the thought.

It finds that warm hole, pressing its cock against your entrance, just barely breaching it, and you groan. It’s not going to fit but damned if the beast won’t try to make it fit. Maybe it will fit. The wolf grabs your waist — fuck, it’s hand is big enough to nearly wrap around your entire torso — and jerks its hips forward. You gasp as it pushes in all at once, filling you so completely, so deliciously that you nearly see stars. It’s so big and thick, you swear you can feel every vein and ridge of it.

The wolf snarls, beads of saliva dripping onto the back of your neck and thrusts forward shallowly. You struggle onto your knees. It pulls out shallowly and thrusts back in until the bulb at the bottom of its shaft nudges against your pussy.

Heat pools in your stomach as the werewolf drags its cock in and out of your hot cunt. The ridges and veins of his cock feel like bliss, have you gasping for air. Its furry hips connect with yours, the sound of your bodies colliding muffled by his coat. But you’re so wet, every thrust into your sopping cunt is nothing but a wet squelch. It thrusts in without resistance, going in all the way and pulling out with ease. It pushes so deep into you, drags against your walls like nobody ever has. Your thighs are wet, almost shaking at the strain of holding yourself up on all fours.

Your hand slips out from underneath you and your shoulder collides with the ground. The werewolf presses forward — it mounts you, places a clawed hand next to your head for balance and drives in with newfound vigor. The tip of its cock hit so deep in you that you nearly see stars, try to blabber something, something incoherent between ‘no’ and ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘please please please please’. The wolf pistons in and out of our shopping cunt. Its tongue lolls out of its mouth, slobbers onto the back of your neck. The bulb at his crotch nudges against our opening with every thrust and dives slightly in each time. It’s wide and big and you gasp a pitiful sound when it slips into you with a painful stretch. It’s too much and too little at the same time. You try to clench around it.

The werewolf pauses and you want to cry out, beg it to keep going, to bully its way into your pussy until you can take its knot. You’re so full, so full, this thing is everywhere, in your pussy, in your guts, in the back of your throat. All you can manage is a pitiful croak before the beast is back on you again, resting its weight on your back. It picks up the pace, ruthlessly pistoning into you, bullying your throbbing, leaking pussy, rutting his bulb against it, almost stuffing it inside. It places one large clawed hand onto your thigh and pulls it to the side like that will give it more room. Perhaps it does but the stretch of your cunt and your thighs is too overwhelming to not focus on.

You press back against him as much as u can from your contorted position, meet his hips with urs in a frantic attempt to get your release. Your chest heaves as you attempt to match his pace, pressure building in the pit of your stomach. You’re babbling now, you absolutely are, begging for it to push you over the edge and stuff you full. It speeds up as if it understands you, pressing its weight on top you. Your cheek scrapes against the ground and in the corner of your eye, you can make out the bulge in your stomach as the werewolf thrusts in. It’s too much, too good, too deep, rubbing against that spot, knocking the breath from your lungs with every thrust.

You come with a wail, pussy throbbing and clenching around its cock, sucking it back in to keep it there. The wolf howls, head thrown back and buries its knot inside you. Its cock spasms and spills into you. Rope after rope of hot cum coasts your insides until you’re full, and then some. You feel it slide down your thighs, dribble from your pussy. You try to adjust yourself to get a look and clench involuntarily around the beast when you spot the shape of his cock protruding from your stomach.

The cool night air feels pleasant against your heated skin.

You look away from the unholy sight buried in your guts and let your eyes unfocus to bask in your post-orgasmic bliss.

One, two, three, four —

There are at least four pairs of yellow eyes observing you from the darkness.

note: I'm open to hearing about dead batteries!! be as graphic or non-graphic as you'd like:)

banner & divider by @/cafekitsune

[sadesluvr]

BULLSEYE.

It just so happens that your mission with Tangerine is to take down Sergei Kravinoff (NSFW).

w/c: 1.8k a/n: Just a quick thing I've had in the drafts for a min lol. They work pretty well together ;)

“Excuse me, Miss. Reception’s requested that you see to them immediately.” 

Unamused, you instinctively opened your mouth to protest the waiter before closing it abruptly, opting for a subtle eye roll. The waiter wasn’t a waiter at all, instead your assignment partner Tangerine, who wore a smirk as smug as ever.  

Sighing, you politely turned to the man you were dining with – the target, to be exact – a well-spoken, slightly rugged but neatly dressed man by the name of Sergei Kravinoff, who just so happened to be a vigilante. On the surface it seemed like quite the predicament but was rather common in the world of assassins. 

Sergei waved a hand, letting you go rather cooly as you scooted out of the booth; Tangerine’s icy blue eyes burning holes into the back of your head. Once you’d made it up to the private room, he let you have it. 

“You know, Lemon – the poor sod – is writhing in bed with a bloody fever, and you’re pushing some hundred-dollar gourmet shit around a plate. What the fuck happened to the plan?” he exclaimed, his lips pursed, and hands planted solidly on his hips. 

“There is no plan, Tangerine,” you huffed. “You should’ve stayed with him. This was my mission, I had it under control!” 

“Well, you could’ve fooled me. It looked well different from where I was standing.” 

You knew what he was implying. 

“How is this any different from what you’ve done? I’ve seen you flirt on the job.”  “Means to an end,” he said bluntly, with a shrug.  “I usually get the job done after an hour.” 

“So, I was supposed to put a bullet in him right in the middle of a crowded restaurant?” 

“I would’ve spiked his drink, but I’m not one to doubt your skills, love.” 

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose before flopping onto the bed. Tangerine, who looked as dandy as ever, seemed a little worse for wear. In the short amount of time since you'd entered the room, he'd unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his sleeves – not to mention his fingers itching for a cigarette. Usually, you didn’t like to stress your fellow assassin, but Tangerine was well known for being a hot head. 

It wasn’t as if you’d asked him to show up anyway. 

“Those wouldn’t have worked,” you continued, looking at the British man earnestly. “I’m telling you, he’s different.” 

“Oh really? How’d you know that then?” 

You shifted, subtly adjusting the hem of your clothes. Moments passed before you spoke, only planting a feeling that Tangerine was all too unfamiliar with – he was uncomfortable. Unbearably so. 

“We shared a sleeper train a few years back...It was my first day on the job --” 

“Alright, I think I’ve heard enough -” the man said abruptly, sniffing and rubbing his nose. He was looking down at you inexplicably, as if he were disappointed, and a part of you felt awful about it.  

It hadn’t really been evident until now, but Tangerine had started to gain feelings for you, having grown closer over every mission. You hadn’t replaced Lemon – no one would – but you filled a different hole that no one had in a while. The nature of the job was lonely, and it was nice to have a constant, even if you tended to dip in and out of their lives. 

Knock, knock.  

Strong knuckles collided with the hard wood. You buried your face in your hands as Tangerine glanced at you, composing himself before cocking his gun, holding it up beside him as he stared down the peephole. 

“It’s that arsehole.” 

“You know I can hear you, right?” The voice said, its American accent clear as day.  

You snorted, giving the Brit a pointed look as you swept past him, opening the door. As expected, it was Sergei, who strolled into the room with a demeanour that rivalled Tangerine’s. Glaring, Tangerine wiped his moustache, lowering his gun but keeping his hand on the trigger.  

It was silent for a moment, until Sergei’s brown eyes locked with your own. 

“Good to see you again,” he grinned, nodding at you. “Didn’t think you’d leave me for a waiter.” 

“We were just finishing up,” Tangerine interjected, stepping between you. “I think it’s time for you to go, alright fella?” 

“Relax, my father owns the place. I know you don’t really work here,” The American replied smugly. 

Tangerine winced. 

“Fine,” he huffed. “I guess the charade is up.” 

It wasn’t long before he fired his gun, aiming it towards Sergei’s face, despite your protests. To his dismay, the man moved quick - certainly faster than any human should’ve been able to – scaling the walls with ease to disarm the famed assassin, knocking him to the ground. 

Tangerine shook his head, wiping the adrenaline from his body. His usually perfectly styled locks were now unruly, and if he hadn’t smoothed his hair back you wouldn’t have seen the fury in his eyes. 

“You didn’t tell him?” 

“I was getting to that part…” you murmured, watching as the man got to his feet. 

Sergei cleared his throat.  

“I apologise that we got off on the wrong foot,” he began, outstretching a hand. “The names Sergei. So-called vigilante with the strength of a lion.” 

“Fucking unreal.” 

He brushed the comment off.  

“Your partner and I have a history. We were well acquainted.” 

“It was a long time ago, really —“you stammered, nervously glancing between the two men. Other than each-others brutality, it was very much a turn on at the idea that they were fighting over you. They were so similar, yet utterly different. 

“Not long enough. You were having dinner with him.” 

“It was a catch up between old friends,” the man interjected. “You don’t think I know what she does for a living? She wouldn’t have reached out otherwise. She hasn’t in years.” 

You swallowed. Was that wrong? You didn’t feel like you owed him anything – it was all a brief fling. At the end of the day you would’ve have done the job. You were one of the only people who could’ve been his weakness. 

“Well, that makes me feel better then, don’t it?” Tangerine said sarcastically. “We’ve got a couple million or so on the line, so how’s this gonna end?” 

“I could get you that million myself. You don’t need to kill me to do it.” 

“What if I want to, eh?” The Brit sneered. 

“I’m sure she doesn’t want that,” Sergei said cooly, nodding to you, and you suddenly felt the temperature rise as they locked their gaze on you, staring into your soul…but mainly undressing you with their eyes.  

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” 

It turned out that the solution to Tangerines ‘problem’ was solved when Sergei kissed you, one arm planted firmly around your waist as he lowered you to the edge of the bed. Tangerine shifted his weight, seemingly hesitant as he slumped his shoulders, watching like a hawk from the distance. 

He’d read about this kind of thing, in his old literature books of course. 

Sergei wasted no time in snaking a hand down your clothes, pawing at your breasts as he took them out, placing them on display for Tangerine to see. 

“You should probably get in on this,” he shrugged. “Might fix your image, seeing as I knocked you to the floor and all…” 

“Sergei —“ 

“Don’t bother, love,” Tangerine said, stripping off his blazer. “I’ll show you why that bastard is old news.” 

The bearded man grinned in amusement at the challenge; eyes locked on the way you took the Brit’s face in your hands before your lips met. Your kiss with Tangerine was so different; gentler, more longing, compared to Sergei’s which was out of pure passion. You were hungry for them, as were they, but there was a delayed gratification to Tangerine’s lust. 

It wasn’t long before your clothes were shed, leaving you totally exposed as your nipples hardened under the air conditioning.  

The moustached man had made his way down between your legs, fingers pumping in and out of your wet pussy as you coated the rings on his finger. His cheeks were flush, eyes darting between your sex and your open mouth, where Sergei was unbuckling his trousers. 

“Fuck, Tan…” you whispered. “I-It’s so good…” 

“I’m flattered, love, but I’ve barely touched you,” he grinned, corners of his eyes crinkling up as he did. It was at that moment that Sergei took his cock out, giving it a few languid strokes before he guided you towards his genitals, throwing his head back in relief at the sensation.  

He was as thick and heavy as you remembered, leaving you adjust your neck and mouth as you moved along his shaft, working your hand in tandem. 

“You’ve got us wrapped around your finger, полевой цветок (wildflower),” the Russian remarked amidst a moan. “Gorgeous.” 

It was heaven as Tangerine spread your thighs with his hands, diving head first into your pussy with his tongue. His groomed moustache tickled your clit as he lapped at your folds, his eye contact unwavering as he did. Not only did he want to see what he was doing to you, but he wanted to show Sergei that he could make you feel better than he ever would. 

Sergei’s grip on your cheek was firm, but not rough, holding you in place as he bobbed you up and down his cock, trails of spit coating his dick in a shiny sheen. 

You moaned their names between the heat of passion; mind foggy and a swelling in your core as you tan your fingers through Tangerine’s brown roots, gripping his hair as you bucked your hips against his face.  

“Eager, are we love?” He said, voice rumbling into your sex. “If I’d known you wanted me this bad, I’d have made my move on that trip in Nice.” 

You whined, momentarily pulling away from the man’s cock to catch your breath. In response, his hand snaked down towards your tits, giving them another squeeze before he reentered you, fucking your mouth at a steady pace. 

Your eyes were watering now. Tangerine had started to use his hands, one holding your outer lips open whilst the other held down on your lower stomach, your core pulsing as he did. Both men were skilled, and they were working their best to get you off whilst not-so subtly trying to one up the other. 

Nearing your orgasm, you were about to come when Tangerine abruptly pulled away, causing you to look up at him in shock. 

“What’s the problem?” Sergei teased. “Can’t handle the heat?” 

“Don’t you worry your little Yankee brain about me,” he replied. Once he stood to his feet you could see the visible bulge that had grown in his slacks. It was unlikely he’d be bigger than Sergei…but he’d certainly know how to use it. Maybe even better than him.  

Popping his cock through the zipper, he gave his shaft – shades of a healthy pink and wanting – a quick tug and nodding towards your exposed sex. 

“D’ya mind sitting out on this one, mate? I’m sure she can take care of you after. That is, if she ain’t too tired, if you know what I mean…” 

[am-i-interrupting]

silco request: him and maybe reader adopting isha or jinx brings her home and they find out

you can skip this if you don't like it

thanks anyways

Ankle Biters

You were the de facto nurse. Jinx had ran to get you all the supplies you need right after she ran to you with Silco in her arms.

He was filled with holes and covered in blood. It coated his lips red as it came up to his mouth. You had done what you could to stabilize him and then right off to the Doctor you went.

You and Jinx both had been kicked out immediately.

As soon as he was out of her sight, her calm demeanor switched instantly. She started heaving breaths. Her hands went to her head and pulled at the base of her hair. She started muttering her apologies as she shook violently.

You wrapped your arms around her and whispered sweet words. You knew even though she was the one to pull the trigger, Silco wouldn’t blame her for the bullets in his skin.

“It’s alright,” you told her.

Your hands went to hers and loosened her death grip. Your forehead pressed against her own. You looked into her eyes, pink and vibrant full of hurt and pain and guilt.

“We’re going to make it through this, Jinx.”

The two of you sat side by side on the outside of the Doctor’s door. Your hands were intertwined. Your heads rested atop one another.

You’d both dozed off when a scream startled you.

Instantly Jinx was on her feet with a speed that wasn’t natural. You were still on the ground. Your body was twisted toward the door. Your hand was planted firmly on the ground, the only thing keeping you stable.

Jinx wrapped her hands around the metal handle of the door. She pulled on it. It shook once then twice but didn’t budge. She kicked the door but still nothing.

She let out a scream with tears in her eyes.

You pushed yourself up. Your arms shook now. You stumbled, barely able to catch yourself.

“Jinx,” you said softly as you gripped her arms. You stood between her and the door. “He’ll make it through this.”

His scream rang out through the air. It was coarse and hurt to hear. He never screamed, much less in pain. Your fingers twitched, gripping onto her life a lifeline.

“He’s too stubborn not to. We just have to wait it out.”

She looked behind you. Her nostrils flared. Her lips curved downward into a frown. Her head bowed and fell onto your shoulder.

“I did this,” she said, voice cracking.

She wrapped her arms around you. Her nails scratched you through the fabric of your shirt. You hugged her back just as tightly. Her tears wetted your shoulder. You didn’t mind because yours did the same.

Hours later, the door opened. You and Jinx both looked up to see Singed. He held the door open for you.

Silco’s eye was barely open. His red one was a deeper, more red tinted color, almost maroon. That is not what you first noticed though. It was the fact that he was breathing.

His head lulled towards the noise of your footsteps.

Jinx’s lip was pulled beneath her teeth. Her hands hovered at her torso. Her head was bowed. Her eyes kept flickering to and away from him.

He lifted his hand. It fell like dead weight almost immediately but caught on her fingers. She squeezed softly. His lip curled upward. His eyes flickered from her to you. He squeezed her hand back and his body slumped, completely still other than his breathing.

It’d been a month since then. You were still playing nurse, not that you minded too terribly.

Jinx had been spending most of her time in her hideout. She couldn’t look Silco in the eyes. Her guilt festering up and consuming her.

He was doing much better though. He could move his torso without ripping his scabs and stitches open.

You were laying in bed with him. Your head was carefully nestled on his shoulder. He had a book propped up on his stomach. His voice was low and rumbled in his chest as he read aloud.

It was an activity which gave him some control and you so comfort. You’d been busy with Sevika taking up his position temporarily in the public eye on top of making sure that he took his medication and didn’t strain himself too bad.

The public didn’t know what happened but they were able to guess Silco wasn’t doing well. He liked to make spectacles even if he didn’t leave much for things other than chem baron meetings and making examples. Within the month they’d noticed his absence.

There were rumors that he was dead but those were cleared away when people who needed to saw his signature. He was bed bound to paper work.

The Doctor was insistent that once he was up on his feet properly again, then he would be feeling better than ever. You believed him, of course, because when had he been wrong yet?

The door creaked open. The creak was purposeful. Never once had Silco ever spoken of getting it fixed no matter how much you knew it to grate in his nerves.

You didn’t look up as you knew the footsteps. Heavy and clanking, giving the false idea of someone big and brawling but what would be revealed would be Jinx.

Silently you opened your arms as you moved over. She crawled into the bed. She kicked off her shoes and curled beneath your arm and against Silco. Her head went where yours had been moments before.

With the absence of her footsteps, you realized a second pair had been concealed. A little girl had been behind her.

She had short, wild brown hair. Her skin was slightly tanned. Her eyes were warm like the sun.

Jinx patted the bed beside her, a small place between her and Silco. “Come on, Isha,” she said, her voice small.

The girl looked at you and then Silco. His reading stopped momentarily but he continued on. You have the kid a small smile.

She took that as an okay to take off her own shoes and maneuver herself onto the bed.

She bent her arm. It landed atop Jinx’s hip. She rested her head there. Her body was carefully placed to just be touching Jinx, even though it certainly looked uncomfortable to do so.

Jinx’s hand went and began to play with Isha’s hair. She twirled it around her finger. Her feet nudged beneath Isha’s legs prompting her to lift them. Jinx moved her legs so they sprawled across Silco’s and thus guided Isha’s own to do the same.

Nothing was said for a while. Not until both the girls were asleep.

Silco closed the book as he finished a chapter.

“Look what our girl brought in,” you said.

“I see them very clearly,” he said.

He ran his fingers over Jinx’s braids which were scattered all across the bed. It was a miracle they hadn’t twisted and choked her or someone else.

His eyes met your own overtop of her head.

Jinx snored while Isha let out a small whistle what seemed to be every other breath. She was small and covered in dirt and grim. She took on what most all kids in the Undercity did, a clearly malnourished physique.

Maybe it was simply because Jinx was back and she wasn’t acting near as skittish as she had been but it felt right. Like this. Four instead of three.

“We’ve already raised one ankle biter,” Silco said, his hand went from Jinx’s hair to Isha’s, “what’s another?”

You smiled and so did he.