#vision of shadows thunder and shadow

[the-pantry-of-art]

12. Cloud Spots (pl: Obłok Plamisty)

[artaintfartwarriors]

[skyscratch-wcdesigns]

Thunder (Thunderstar) - ThunderClan Leader and Founder

"I won't do this. I won't lead Frost to his death. I can't help any of you, but I can help myself and Frost. We're leaving. And neither of us is coming back." - Thunder, Thunder Rising

[rosias-warriors-project]

First design is Acorn Fur! Markings are inspired by the shape of acorns!

1/1429 (as of July 17th 2024)

[tigerlilyzero-warriorsdesigns]

“Violetkit felt numb. She stumbled after Needlepaw, Sleek-paw and Juniperpaw flanking her. Her thoughts whirled. Was it true? Had she brought only trouble to Shadow Clan?

Overwhelmed, she followed Needlepaw through the entrance tunnel. As it closed around her, she glanced back and saw the familiar dens. She was leaving another home. Was she making the right choice?

Her eye caught Rowanstar's. His gaze was as hard as ice. It's not a choice. Despair washed through her pelt. I'm not wanted here. I never truly was.”

— Thunder and Shadow pg. 177

I’ve been wanting to draw this scene for a long while now. I think I first made an attempt a few years ago but I didn’t like how it was progressing and I scrapped it. But I finally did it.

Boy, was this an experiment with perspectives and especially backgrounds. I hope it looks ok.

Cats seen, from forefront to furthest away: Needlepaw, Violetkit, Tawnypelt, Rowanstar, Tigerheart, Leafpool, Puddlepaw, Dawnpelt, Crowfrost, and Ratscar.

Puddlepaw, Crowfrost, and Ratscar are cats I’ve never drawn nor had a solid design for so I kind of just winged it. I decided for Crowfrost I’d pull from the black and white cat on the cover of Thunder and Shadow (pretty sure that it’s suppose to be Violetpaw, but I see her as being more white than black). Ratscar I just made a mean, raggedy, old looking cat (he’s one of the elders in ShadowClan that’s constantly questioning if Violetkit belongs in the Clan). Puddlepaw isn’t too special in what I came up with, but I like him anyway. Additionally, I took inspiration from PureSpiritFlower’s design of Rowanstar for mine.

[repulsivecatdoeslife]

the fact that the needletail bonus scene is barns and noble exclusive might be up their with the dumbest decisions the Erin’s ever made.

yeah, why don’t we make this backstory that is essential to one of our main characters motivations and actions exclusive to this one book store?

why don’t we ruin one of our most well written characters by not actually showing what makes her so well written?

this surely isn’t a terrible idea.

[throughdarkeningskies]

rowanstar fighting darktail at the climax of thunder and shadow

[otterwisp]

I respect the Beenose hustle, she is great and deserved better

Yes i agreed, she is very underrated and I want her to get a bit popularized. By requesting everyone that is open request design canon warrior cat characters.

[artaintfartwarriors]

[thebarneschronicles]

A Quiet Escape

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: This is barely a holiday fic with Bucky - it’s mostly smut with barely any plot. I just had a vision. Don’t consider the MCU timeline - everyone is alive and together in this. And Clint’s kids are a little older but still proper kids.

—

You told him no.

The word hit the air like a thunderclap—sharp, unexpected, and rare enough to make his icy blue eyes narrow in disbelief. Then they widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm.

Slowly, his hands retreated, leaving the curve of your waist, hot and cold pulling away at once. Arms lifted, palms open, as if surrendering to the sharp finality in your voice.

“Did I… do something?” Bucky’s voice was low, rough around the edges, his frown deepening as a steady breath expanded his chest.

“No,” you said again, firmer this time, though your heart stuttered at the flicker of hurt that crossed his features. Your gaze darted past him, locking onto the narrow crack of the door behind his towering frame. Three sets of eyes stared back, wide and unblinking, from the shadows of the barely open door.

“I don’t get it, doll,” Bucky murmured, confusion twisting his expression. His metal hand lifted toward your hip, the motion almost instinctive, only to grip empty air as you leaned back and pressed both palms flat against his solid chest.

“Bucky,” you hissed, nodding toward the door. “We’ve got company.”

He blinked, brows knitting together, before his head swiveled to follow your line of sight. The moment he turned, the door slammed shut with a loud bang, and the sound of frantic footsteps thundered away on the other side. Three pairs of little feet, retreating as fast as they’d been caught.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as realization dawned, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upward, a mix of exasperation and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Company. There was always company.

At least, there had been for the past week, ever since you’d been swept into the whirlwind that was Clint Barton’s home. What had once been a cozy haven for his family had turned into a buzzing hive of activity, packed with super-soldiers, gods, and genetically—or technologically—enhanced heroes. The Avengers had descended, and while the world might have known them as Earth’s mightiest protectors, to you, they were beginning to feel like the world’s nosiest roommates.

It was the holidays, and by some miracle—perhaps one granted by Saint Nick himself—the planet wasn’t teetering on the edge of destruction. No alien invasions, no terrorist plots, no missiles hurtling toward oblivion, and, to your immense relief, no Hydra agents lurking in the shadows.

For once, it was a somewhat normal holiday season. If you ignored the superpowers and the enhanced DNA floating around the house, that is. More importantly, you were finally getting to see Bucky in an everyday, domestic setting.

And you loved it.

You’d caught him horsing around with Clint’s kids—Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel—who had taken an almost unhealthy fascination with his metal arm. Your normally stoic, brooding boyfriend had become their favorite jungle gym. You’d walked into the living room one afternoon to find all three of them hanging off his arm like little monkeys, giggling uncontrollably as he lifted them effortlessly.

You’d marveled at the sight of him brewing your coffee in the mornings, the way his lips twitched into a subtle smile when he handed you the mug, the steam curling between you. He shoveled snow off the driveway with Clint, laughing at the older man’s dad jokes, and indulged the kids in their never-ending demands to walk the family dog. While they chattered away endlessly, he listened with that quiet patience of his, nodding and occasionally chuckling.

But as much as you adored seeing Bucky like this—calm, grounded, happy—you couldn’t help but notice one glaring downside: you hadn’t had a moment alone together.

Not one.

Between Clint’s kids, Steve dragging Bucky out for “quick” trips to the store (which were never quick), and Nat luring him into sparring sessions when she couldn’t sit still anymore, your time with him had been thoroughly hijacked. And Lila—sweet, mischievous Lila—had an uncanny knack for giving you the stink eye every time you got too close to Bucky.

You were losing your mind.

It had been a month since you’d had real time alone with him. Work had pulled you apart, his responsibilities to the team had swallowed every spare moment, and now, what you’d thought would be your chance to reconnect had turned into a holiday circus.

You’d imagined this trip differently. Romantic walks in the snow, cozy kisses by the fire, maybe even some stolen, steamy nights in the attic of Clint’s house. But those dreams had been systematically dismantled by the chaos around you.

Everyone wanted a piece of Bucky—or you—or both of you. And while the holidays were supposed to be about togetherness, you were starting to think that all this togetherness might drive you both completely insane.

You let out a frustrated sigh, closing your eyes as you leaned back against the door of your shared attic bedroom. From down the hall, the giggles of your boyfriend's three tiny shadows echoed, fading into the room they’d darted into.

The sound of your frustration pulled Bucky closer to you, his hand finding the doorknob near your hip. With a gentle turn, he pushed the door open and guided you inside. The soft glow of the moon coming in through the large window spilled across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his features as he quietly shut the door behind you both.

“Alright,” he started, his voice low but edged with concern. “You’ve been sighing like that for three days now, doll. What’s eating at you?”

You tilted your head to look at him, folding your arms. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I haven’t had you to myself in weeks. Or that every time I even think about kissing you, someone—usually under four feet tall—pops up like a whack-a-mole.”

You pointed toward the direction of the room where the kids were hidden, having interrupted you and Bucky’s rare alone time for the millionth time today alone. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile, and it just aggravated you further.

“They’re kids, sweetheart. What am I supposed to do? Ignore them?”

“No,” you grumbled, seemingly for the thousandth time, dragging your hands down your face. “But I didn’t realize signing up to be your girlfriend also meant being a full-time babysitter, snow-shoveling assistant, and third wheel to Steve freaking Rogers on your bromantic grocery runs.”

That did it—he laughed, a low, rich sound that made your annoyance falter for a moment.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious!” you snapped, shooting him a glare, dropping down at the edge of the bed, both hands sliding into your hair, a clear sign of the frustration that seemed to be pouring out of your pores.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “I get it. This… isn’t how I pictured this trip either.” He crossed the room to sit beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. His flesh hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “I miss you too, doll.”

You softened at his words but refused to let go of your irritation entirely. “Then do something about it, Barnes. You’re a super soldier, a former trained assassin, a ghost agent—surely you can figure out how to steal your girlfriend away for five minutes without someone barging in.”

His eyes gleamed mischievously. “You think I haven’t been trying? Clint’s kids are like little spies. Lila’s practically Natasha junior. And Steve? Forget it. Guy has a radar for when I’m about to kiss you.”

“Of course he does,” you groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s Captain America. Always watching. Always judging. It’s like dating a guy whose best friend is a giant Boy Scout.”

You paused, raising an eyebrow. “Wait—do you think Steve’s ever even been kissed?”

Bucky snorted, the sound so uncharacteristic it made you glance up. “What? You think I’d know that?”

The furtive way he avoided your eyes told you he did.

“C’mon, you’ve known him forever.” You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes. “He gives me virgin energy, Buck.”

“Virgin energy?” Bucky repeated, a smile spreading over his lips despite himself. “Doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m serious!” you said, barely stifling your own laugh. “The guy probably spent the ’40s too busy punching Nazis to even hold someone’s hand. And now? Forget it. I bet if you kissed me in front of him, he’d faint on the spot.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face, unable to hide his amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You know I’m right,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your foot. Your stomach tightened as his flesh hand wrapped around your ankle, tugging you closer. “It explains so much,” you went on, voice faltering slightly when he dragged his hand up your inner thigh, sending a shiver through you. “He’s probably the reason we never get a moment alone,” you added, squirming under his touch. His hand settled firmly on your hip, his chest solid against you as he laid beside you, his head propped up on his metal hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What, because he’s a cock block?” Bucky asked, voice dropping lower.

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, shifting to allow his one leg between yours, ignoring the intense burn that settled low in your belly. “Think about it—if he’s not getting any, there’s no way he’s letting anyone else get laid. Misery loves company.”

Bucky shook his head, his grin making your heart flutter. “You’ve officially lost it, doll.”

“And yet, here we are. Still not kissing,” you shot back, looking at him pointedly, lifting yourself up onto your elbows so you could tilt your head up, lips ghosting over his.

“I’m done talking about Steve and his virginity,” he said, icy blue eyes dropping to your lips, his nose dragging over yours. “And for the record, doll, you’re the only one I want to see faint when I kiss you.”

“Oh, smooth recovery, Barnes,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself, breathing shakily with his proximity.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours, voice low and rumbly in his chest, sending a surge of heat from your toes all the way to the center of your body. “How about this? Tomorrow morning, we sneak out. Just you and me. We’ll take the bike, get some coffee, and maybe… I don’t know… find a spot where no one can find us for a few hours.”

You stared up at him, your annoyance giving way to hope. “Promise?”

His frown softened into something more sincere, understanding. “Promise. I’ll even turn my phone off. No Avengers. No interruptions. Just us.”

“Okay,” you whispered, allowing yourself to relax into the idea.

But just as his lips brushed yours, the door creaked open, and a small voice called out.

“Bucky?”

You both froze, and he let out a soft curse under his breath. “Yeah, Nate?”

“Can you come read us a story? Lila said you promised!”

You turned your head, glaring at the ceiling while Bucky sighed, standing up. He glanced back at you with a sheepish smile. “Rain check?”

“Nate,” you called out, loud enough for the little boy to hear. “When you’re older, remind me to teach you about boundaries.”

His laughter followed Bucky out the door, leaving you to bury your face in the pillow, groaning dramatically.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, you were still face-down, your muffled voice rising from the comforter. “Why are you a children magnet? It’s like you’re Santa Claus, and they’re all lining up for their turn.”

Bucky chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I guess I’m just irresistible.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “You used to be scary. Remember those days? Big, brooding Winter Soldier? People crossed the street to avoid you. I miss that guy.”

He leaned down, grinning as he kissed the top of your head. “That guy never would’ve gotten you to fall for him.”

“Yeah, well, that guy wouldn’t be getting interrupted every five minutes either,” you muttered, pulling the pillow back over your head.

The first rays of sunlight peeked through the attic window, casting a warm glow over the small room. You stirred at the soft sound of movement, the creak of the floorboards familiar enough to pull you from sleep. Cracking one eye open, you saw Bucky crouched by the foot of the bed, lacing up his boots.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. The room is warm and you can smell the soap and shampoo coming out of the bathroom, the steam of Bucky’s shower still rolling out under the door even after he’d gotten out of it.

He glanced over his shoulder, wet hair dropping onto his forehead, his dog tags dangling from his neck, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You, me, the bike, and some much-needed alone time, remember?”

You blinked, processing his words, before groaning and flopping back onto the bed. “It’s too early, Barnes.”

“It’s not. You just want to stay in bed,” he teased, leaning over you, his lips brushing your temple. “C’mon, doll. Coffee awaits. And I’ve got a spot picked out where no one will find us. Not even Steve.”

“Not even Steve?” you repeated, hope warming your heart, cracking a smile despite yourself. “That’s ambitious.”

Bucky chuckled, his fingers trailing lightly over your arm. “Trust me, I’ve planned this escape like a military op. Now get dressed before Clint’s kids wake up and ruin everything.”

The mention of his tiny shadows jolted you awake. You sat up, pushing your hair out of your face. “Fine, but if one of them catches us sneaking out, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning as he stepped back to let you get ready.

Half an hour later, you were showered and wrapped in your warmest coat and scarf, perched on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle as it roared to life. The crisp morning air nipped at your cheeks as you sped away from the Barton farmhouse, the sound of the engine loud enough to drown out any lingering holiday chaos.

“Where are we going?” you shouted over the wind, your arms tightening around his waist.

“You’ll see,” he called back, his voice filled with a levity you hadn’t heard in days.

After about half an hour, he pulled off onto a narrow dirt road that wound through a dense forest. The bike came to a stop in a clearing, where a small cabin stood sturdy and welcoming, the promise of warmth, quiet, and alone time beckoning you inside.

The cabin was nestled among tall pines, their branches heavy with snow that caught the early morning light, casting a soft glow over the place. The structure was rustic, with a large stone chimney rising above the roof, smoke curling lazily into the pale blue sky. The wooden exterior, darkened by age, gave off a comforting, lived-in feel, as if it had been waiting just for this moment. The windows glowed faintly from within, a sign of the warmth that awaited inside.

Bucky killed the engine and swung off the bike, turning to help you down. “What do you think?”

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the scene, the stillness of the forest enveloping the cabin like a protective embrace. “It’s perfect,” you said, your voice full of awe.

He grabbed the large bag he’d stuck on the bike’s saddlebag and handed it to you. “Coffee, as promised. Some other things as well. And no interruptions. Just us.”

You felt the warmth seep through you, both from the shee relief you felt and the way he was looking at you, his eyes soft with affection. “Okay, Barnes. I’ll admit it. You nailed this one.”

“Damn right I did,” he said, tugging you closer, lips brushing against your temple. His arm wrapped around your shoulder as the two of you headed towards your little safe haven. A satisfied smirk played on his lips, and you could feel the tension in his body ease as you walked together, just the two of you, heading toward the cozy cabin.

When you stepped inside, the scent of wood and pine mixed with something warm and comforting. The interior was just as inviting as the outside. The open space was simple but cozy, with a stone fireplace built into one wall. There was a leather couch near the hearth, a soft rug underfoot, and shelves stacked with books and a few family heirlooms - you didn’t have to ask him who it belonged to, the pictures lining the shelves told you you and Bucky weren’t the only couple who sometimes needed a reprieve from the Barton household.

Through the large windows, you could still see the vast expanse of the snow-covered forest, but inside, it felt like you were in a world of your own.

Bucky dropped the bag at the kitchen counter and turned to you, his expression softer now that you were finally alone. “How does it feel? No Steve, no Clint, no kids…”

“Perfect,” you murmured, crossing the room to stand by the fire, arms crossed over your chest.

Bucky followed you, his hands finding your waist as he pressed himself gently against your back. The cold of his clothes from the sharp wind outside sent a shiver down your spine, but the heat of his touch, his body against yours, was enough to make your heart race. The tension between you was palpable, growing bigger with each mile you put between you and the Barton farmhouse, unwinding itself as the space grew and crackling in the air like an electric current.

His hands, one cold and one warm, were steady on your hips, anchoring you in a way that made you feel safe and desired all at once. It wasn’t just the fire in front of you that made the room warm—it was the pull between you two, the undeniable chemistry that neither of you could ignore.

You tilted your head back slightly, allowing him to place a kiss on your neck, his warmth seeping into you, the fire’s crackle making the moment feel even more intimate. “This was exactly what we needed”, you hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Exactly,” he agreed, his breath warm against your skin. “Now, where were we before we got interrupted last night?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I think you were about to make me faint.”

His amused laugh was the only sound that filled the space between you two, a low, warm chuckle that made your heart flutter. Then, before you could react, his hands turned you around gently, pulling you into him as his lips captured yours in a deep, consuming kiss. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no distractions—just the two of you, wrapped in the fire of the moment.

His tongue traced the curve of your bottom lip, a teasing stroke that made your breath hitch, and then he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. His hands slipped beneath your jacket, finding the soft, heated skin of your hip, and you sighed into his mouth, a sound full of longing and need. You melted against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, your head tilting to the side to allow him more access. The taste of him overwhelmed your senses, the familiar warmth of his mouth, the intensity of his touch, and you felt your legs grow weak, trembling with the hunger that surged between you.

Every inch of your body seemed to respond to him, to the press of his chest against yours, the way his hands moved with a quiet urgency that matched the pounding of your heart. You lost yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of his lips, his touch, as if everything outside of this moment didn’t exist. There was nothing but him and the intoxicating pull of his affection, and you knew, in that instant, that nothing else mattered but being with him—your Bucky, in the most intimate way you’d ever shared.

It had been so long—too long—since you’d been able to be this close to him, to feel his body against yours without hesitation. The longing, the quiet yearning that had built up between you, was finally starting to break free. You could feel the weight of it in every touch, in the way his fingers brushed over your skin, as if he was finally letting go of the last remnants of his walls. It was like you were rediscovering each other in this moment—his warmth, his presence—reminding you of the man he was when he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you.

His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and you could feel him trembling ever so slightly as you turned toward him, your eyes meeting his. In his gaze, you saw the storm of emotions—desire, need, love—that he rarely let others see, let alone act upon. The man you loved, the man who had once been a stranger even to himself, was now standing in front of you, and for the first time, he wasn’t pulling away. His lips hovered just above yours, the anticipation between you two thick, hanging like a breath waiting to be taken.

It hadn’t always been like this—him, so open, so ready to let you in. There was a time when he had been reluctant to trust, when the thought of giving his heart to someone had been suffocating, terrifying, downright impossible. But you had weathered the storm with him, through the nightmares, the quiet doubts, the fear that he wasn’t worthy of love. And with every touch, every word, you had proven to him that you could be his anchor. You were his safe place. His refuge. And now, he let you in, fully, in ways he had never allowed before.

His lips found yours in a longer kiss that was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but the hunger, the need, was undeniable. You could feel it in the way his hands tightened around you, the urgency behind his lips a testament to the desperation you shared throughout all the weeks you had been deprived of each other’s bodies, each other’s skin. He kissed as if he feared this moment would slip away, like so many had when friends had knocked on closed doors and children had tugged him away for a snow fight.

You responded in kind, deepening the kiss, pulling him closer, needing him just as much. The world outside, all of it faded into the background. There was only this—him, you, the electric tension that had been building for so long, and the quiet promise that this was just the beginning.

As his hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your body, you could feel the weight of everything between you both—the time it had taken to get here, the quiet moments of trust and understanding, the slow building of love. But now, in the heat of the moment, all that mattered was the connection. The way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way his touch seemed to ignite something inside you that you couldn’t explain.

He undressed you in a way that could only be described as deliberate—although his mouth was hungry, his hands took their time with every piece of clothing, hot and cold dragging over every inch of skin he managed to uncover. It was maddening, really, the calm he could have in certain moments where all you wanted was for him to lose control.

You pulled away from him slightly, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “You know,” you said, your voice low and sultry, “if you keep undressing me like that, I’m going to start thinking you’re waiting for someone to interrupt us… or that you’re torturing me on purpose.”

His grin was slow, all confidence and mischief. “Maybe I am,” he teased, his voice rougher now. “Maybe I like making you wait.”

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers running lightly down the front of his leather jacket, lingering on the zipper. “You know, I could make you wait too,” you purred, fingers pulling on the zipper until it opened, enough for you to drag your hand under the sweater he had underneath, his skin blazing.

He could’ve once been called the Winter Soldier, but there was nothing cold about Bucky. The icy blue of his eyes sent wild fires burning through your skin, his own skin always running a few degrees hotter than yours… you always joked he was your personal furnace, but it made it all the more true as you dragged your icy fingers under the thick knit that covered his torso.

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening around your waist as if he was fighting the urge to pull you closer, to devour you. “Doll–” he said in warning, the edge of longing crystal clear in his voice.

You leaned in closer, lips grazing his ear as you whispered, “Maybe… maybe I’ll make you wait. Maybe I won’t let you touch me… maybe I’ll go back to the house and leave you like you did me… desperate, warm and so wet… Let’s see how you like that…”

You could feel him shudder at the words, the tension between you two growing thicker with every second. “You have no idea, Bucky… no idea how empty I’ve been, how much I’ve been aching–”

Before you could continue, he pressed his lips back to yours, deeper this time, more urgent. He didn’t hold back, his hands roaming over your body, tugging you closer, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the fire building in both of you.

"God, I’ve missed you," Bucky breathed against your lips, his voice strained with need, his words sending a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea how much.”

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, the feel of him intoxicating. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you replied, your lips brushing over his, teasing, before pulling back slightly, your hands working quickly to push his jacket off. "But I guess we can talk about it later..."

His grip on you tightened, the words barely leaving his mouth before his lips moved to your neck, trailing hot, desperate kisses down your skin. “Later?” His voice was rough, his breath a heated whisper against your throat. "You think I can wait any longer?"

You nodded, a teasing smile curling on your lips, but it faltered when he pushed you back onto the leather couch, his lips never leaving your skin. You didn’t mind. Not one bit. This was finally your moment—just the two of you. The cabin, the fire, the stolen time, and all the teasing, the tension, the pure want that had been simmering between you two for so long.

"I want your mouth busy with something else," you gasped, voice shaking as he kissed a path lower down your skin.

Bucky's eyes darkened with desire, his lips pulling into a wicked smile as he moved, doing exactly what you suggested. "I think I like the sound of that”, his voice low and teasing. His hands had already stripped your jacket away somewhere along the way to the couch, and now they were eager, pulling your top up, inch by inch, exposing more of your skin. His mouth followed, leaving heated kisses down your stomach as his hands worked to unfasten the waistband of your pants.

Your breath caught in your throat when his teeth grazed the spot just below your belly button, and you could feel your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, and you instinctively arched your back, urging him on, breathing getting harder as he exposed the top of your knickers, the skin of your thighs, your knees, little by little until he finally took away your pants like the obstacle they have been - with a violent sway of his arm, that landed the garment in a heap across the room. “Bucky…” you whispered.

He wasn’t gentle when he maneuvered you, grabbing you by the backs of your thighs and moving your body until he was kneeling between your open legs, hands pushing your knees back until he could spread you further, eyes hooded as he took you in.

You know he could see the damp, dark spot on your knickers - the one you had purposefully picked in the hopes you’d both find a bathroom somewhere and take advantage of it - but you couldn’t be self conscious about it. Never in your wildest dreams you had expected him to find a place for you to fully enjoy each other’s bodies and as he dragged the fingers of his metal arm down your covered slit, you silently thanked Clint and Laura for having a sex drive.

“Bucky–” you repeated, whiny and desperate, eyes stuck on where he’d slipped his fingertips on the side of your bottons, gliding slowly up and down, the cold of the vibranium pressing to your heated folds and sending goosebumps all over your body. “Quit teasing me!” you gasped, breath catching as he pulled on the damp fabric until he could finally see your glistening slit, his lips parting in awe, eyes darkening and filled with promise.

He smiled, the sight making your stomach twist, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins. "Teasing you? Baby, I’m just getting started," he murmured, his hands slid up and down your thighs with deliberate slowness, savoring the way you trembled beneath his touch, his mouth pressed to the inside of your knee as he leaned in.

You shivered, your hands reaching up to tug at the back of his hair, a muffled growl leaving his lips as he traveled further down your body, until his mouth was hovering over your aching cunt. "I swear, if you don't get on me, I—"

"Or what?" he teased, leaning down to brush his lips against your slit, just barely grazing them before he pressed a kiss to your mound. "You think you can fight me?” His voice was thick with amusement, but there was a rough quality to it that made your pulse race.

“I could strangle you… with my thighs…” You threatened with no real intent behind it, eyes closed for a moment as you tried to steady yourself, swallowing thickly against a gasp when you felt his flesh fingers spread you open, exposing more of your dripping core to him.

“And I’d die a happy man”, Bucky breathes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he licks his lips. “A very happy man…” he adds before he pulls your clit between his lips with the softest of sucks.

When you first started dating, the sheer idea of having Bucky’s mouth between your legs had been comical to you. The broody super soldier, the stoic, serious, impenetrable walls he’d put up made you believe he hadn’t been capable of this kind of passion - had he even had time to learn what giving head was?

You knew he wasn’t totally oblivious - you’ve read the files, you knew he was a ladies man in the 40s, the kind to run away from armed daddies who caught him with a hand up their daughter’s skirts. But with everything he’d gone through, the many years he’d spend locked away - from his body and his mind - you had no idea how far his… sexual education (or should you say experience) had gone.

So it is an understatement to say you were shocked when he first begged to get his mouth on you… and how much he enjoyed it. Every time he did you’d praise his skill, his eagerness, his urge to please and you’d get paid double the effort, double the delight.

This time was no different, as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit, humming when his lips closed around your aching clit. He was thorough, leaving no spot untouched, tongue dipping into your weepy entrance as he buried his face closer, unashamed and unabashed.

All you can do is moan and scratch his scalp, pulling his hair whenever his cheeks hollow and he suckles harshly against you. Every time Bucky puts his mouth on you, you can’t pick what you like most: when he’s lapping at your entrance with greed or sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but either way your toes curl and you pull him closer as he feasts as if it’s his last meal.

He’s so lost in it at times, he’s almost sloppy in his technique, choosing to lie there and taste your cunt and smell you. You’re lost in the sensations when he lazily probes your entrance before he pushing two of his fingers in and spreading them, exploring you gently, and you swallow back a moan.

“Bucky, please,” you whisper, face scrunching and you bite your lip, one of your heels digging into the couch. You’re begging for him, his body, his cock, because this? This is torture.

Because you haven’t had him in weeks and you feel everything - from the insistent licking of his tongue against your clit to the scissoring of his fingers - and it’s coming quicker than you had expected. He’d been between your legs for all of five minutes, but you’re barely able to take the combination of his eagerness and your needs, all of it stretching the elastic band that is your orgasm farther and farther, until you’re ready to snap.

“I don’t—“ you gulp, trying to push him off with your foot but he grabs you by the ankle with his free hand, icy metal fingers wrapping around your ankle with a tight hold. “I— fuck me, you’re gonna make me c-cum!”

Your words are supposed to deter him - to stop the assault on your swollen cunt, to stop the ballooning of pleasure building deep in your belly from the way his fingers work you - but he presses his face closer, because that’s what he wants. He won’t be able to do this again, not when you’re in a house full of children and heroes and people who can’t seem to understand what privacy is. This is what he wants to hold with him and carry with him when he’s got a long night with you laying by his side, unable to touch you how he so desperately needs, how he’s so sure both of you want. He wants to be able to bite his lip and still find ways to taste you from his memory.

Bucky pulls away with a filthy wet noise, lowering his forehead to your thigh, his voice suddenly raw. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you,” he confessed, his hands gently spreading your thighs further, his touch reverent, as if he couldn’t believe this was finally happening. “I’ve missed being this close to you.” His lips brushed your opening, a smacking kiss making your thighs tremble before he licks deeper, more fervent than the last.

“Me too,” you cry out, hips lifting up towards his mouth, sweat slicking down the back of your neck. The urgency in your body mirrored the way he gripped you tighter, his hands firm around your hips, pulling you closer, never wanting to let go.

“Fuck, Bucky, come on–”, you cry out, both hands shooting down to grab at his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted– I want you in me”, you beg, unabashed, and he groans against you, the vibrations of it pushing you closer to the edge.

“Give me a good one,” he breathes out, pulling away for a second to nuzzle at your clit. “Just one good one and I’ll give you my cock, doll. How’s that?”

It’s a delicate negotiation, but he never falters. Not until you’re biting down hard on the heel of your hand, desperately trying to silence the scream clawing its way up your throat, shaking thighs closing around his head as he brings you to your orgasm, your other hand twisting into the shoulder of his sweater.

His fingers are just as insatiable as his mouth and you’re panting, crying out his name pulling him closer and pushing him away until the waves of pleasure, one after the other, have subsided and your vision - that had gone dark, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids - is less blurry.

“That’s it,” Bucky breathes, teeth closing on the supple skin of your thigh, his chin, nose and lips glistening with your slick. “That’s my girl.”

Your fingers are shaky but insistent as you pull him upwards, profanities leaving your mouth as he drags himself until he’s settled between your spread legs, jean covered cock pressing against your swollen cunt. He’s still wearing the damned sweater and you nearly scratch him raw in your desperate attempt to pull it off, seeking bare skin and intimacy you had been craving.

When he finally pulls it off and settles on top of you, you taste yourself on his tongue, fingers dragging over the expanse of his broad back, the kiss animalistic and unbidden. “God, I love your mouth–”, you confess, heat pinking up your cheeks at the sincerity.

“Just my mouth?”, Bucky questions, muttering against your neck. You can feel his smile on your skin and you can’t but bite into your bottom lip.

“Your stamina too,” you whisper, moaning when he ruts against your core, the shape of his cock clear even under the fabric of his pants. “Cause I’m not done with you”, you shake your head, accepting the kiss he licks into your mouth.

"You’ve waited long enough, doll”, His eyes locked with yours, a playful yet intense look in them, his lips curling into a smile that spoke of things only the two of you understood. “I’m not going to stop now.”

[skyscratch-wcdesigns]

Lightning Tail - ThunderClan Deputy

“Never come near the moor again. You'll regret it. Your kits will remember you as the cat who killed their mother. They won't follow you next time, and if any of us see you again, we'll shred you.” - Lightning Tail to Tom, The First Battle

[pisskuna]

hunger, sukuna.

sukuna x reader (fem) wc ! 3.3k / ao3 cw ! noncon / dubcon, breaking in, pet names, choking, spanking, spitting, daddy kink, fingering, forced orgasm, rough sex er ig, cervix kissing, one threat of breeding, squirting, watersports, creampie, sukuna is a piece of shit note ! where da real freaks at, the closest thing of incest you get from me is incest adjacent (ie: daddy kink), sorry for any errors, if i repeated myself i’m sawry, spite fic btw

something’s wrong. you can feel it.

it’s dark in your apartment, the only source of light being the moon filtering in through the balcony blinds. it lights up spots here and there, odd shadows dancing around the room.

every hair on your body stands on end as you slowly scan the surrounding area with your eyes, too afraid to move. it feels like every one of your senses has been heightened, putting you on edge.

then you hear it, that deep chuckle coming from your hallway. he walks in with an easy stride, stopping just close enough for you to see him in the dim lighting. suddenly, your heart hammers so hard inside your chest you can hear it in your ears.

he leans against the wall, arms folding over his chest like a normal guest inside your apartment, so casual, but you both know he’s anything but.

you both say nothing for a moment, gazes locked onto each other’s as if you’re having some sort of stand off, and you swear you could hear a pin drop with how tense and quiet it’s become. 

“what are you doing here? how did you get in?”

“thought you would’ve locked up better after last time, kitten.” he purrs, pushing off the wall with ease, rolling his shoulders back as he slowly begins approaching you. the floor groans beneath his heavy steps, a sense of dread washing over you.

saliva pools in your mouth, the urge to vomit crawls up the back of your throat with urgency. and you have to swallow down around nothing to get rid of that sick, sick feeling.

“how—you shouldn’t be here.”

he grins predatorily, teeth on display as he gets closer. you nearly trip over nothing when you back up, hand reaching out to steady yourself. you’re afraid of turning your back on him, afraid of how he’d pounce the moment you did so.

“what’s wrong, princess? not happy to see me?” he’s wearing a frown now, but you know he doesn’t mean it, not with the way his eyes glint with ill intent.

thoughts of that first encounter with him, the only encounter with him, make you shudder.

but his words earlier—“thought you would’ve locked up better after last time”—what is he talking about?

from the corner of your eye, you make out a mug you had sitting on an end table. he’s blocking the way to the exit, and you knew if you tried to make it to the balcony, then he’d catch you before you even had a chance. plus, what would you even do once you got there?

but you could run for the kitchen, whether he grabs you or not, you could reach a weapon in time. something to defend yourself with.

when he gets close enough, you a reach for the mug, throwing it at him, not with the intent to hit him but to distract him long enough to make your move.

and with that split second, you run.

bare feet skid across the floor, catching the edge of the area rug you had laid out on the living room floor. your breath hitches, and you nearly choke on your spit when you hear his thundering footsteps behind you.

you swear you can see the wooden knife block behind your eyelids every time you blink. it’s on the left hand side of the counter, pushed towards the back. not every knife is in there, some shoved into some drawers somewhere, but you always kept the chef’s knife there. that’s what you’re aiming for.

you’re there. right there.

but then your shirt jerks you back, catching on the corner of the table. no, not the table—it’s fingers. long thick fingers twist into the fabric, yanking you back til you’re slamming into a wall of hard muscle.

“nice try, princess.”

you nearly black out when your head hits the table, vision blurring and unfocusing for a second. he’s got you bent over, one arm wrenched behind your back before you can even register what’s happening. then a heavy hand falls down on your backside, causing your whole body to jerk, hand scrambling against the flat tabletop.

he’s spanking you again, the skin rising before he’s shoving your panties down til they pool around your feet. then he’s pushing your hand higher up your back, bringing your sleep tee with it, exposing your flesh to his wandering hand.

“you know,” he begins, fingers splaying across your back, and you instinctively arch away from him, pressing yourself as close against the table as possible. “after that first night, i couldn’t stop thinking about how soft you were.”

you shudder in disgust when his hand slides lower, sliding over the curve of your ass then dipping between your legs.

there’s an intense burning in your jaw, the taste of blood filling your mouth makes you think you bit your tongue when he slammed you against the table. and you’re too out of it to notice when he let go of your arm, using his free hand to grab one of your ass cheeks and spreading it wide, both your holes on display for him.

“fuck, i missed this,” he growls, spreading both cheeks apart now, you hear it before you feel, the wet sound of him spitting. it hangs for a moment, before snapping and dripping messily over your holes. then he lifts his thumb to his mouth, gives it a quick lick, and presses it against your clit.

“s-stop—” you slur, eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to clear the fog in your head.

“not a chance, sweetheart, but maybe if you ask daddy nicely, i won’t go so hard on you.”

there it is, that word.

daddy.

when you first met him, you were too drunk to really be aware of anything, only remembering his name at the time. all you knew was that you needed a good fuck to get over your ex. so you were willing to say anything if it meant you’d get what you wanted.

“i’m not—i won’t,” you spit out, blood filling the cracks on your lips.

he tuts, beginning to rub harsh circles against you clit, and your thighs tense, breath catching in your throat. “why do you have to be so difficult? be good for me.”

your lip curls in disgust, refusing to give in. that is, until he’s leaning over you, chest flush against your back. his lips drag along the shell of your ear, breath a soft tickle.

“either you say it, or i fuck you with no prep.”

and that has you shuddering, eyes rolling under their lids as you clench them shut. “i—please, be gentle, daddy. g-god, please.”

he groans—something deep, primal—almost like a purr, and you can feel it vibrate through your back.

“that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he says as he stands back to full height. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, feel just how much larger he is standing behind you.

he’s gripping your ass with both hands again, squeezing and kneading, thick fingers digging into your flesh. you know there’d be bruising tomorrow in the shape of his fingers to match the welts raised on your flesh.

“maybe i should fuck you here this time,” he says more to himself than to you, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“n-no, please, not there—” he’d split you in two even with proper prep, he’d break you. “daddy please not there.”

“i should give you what you want then, right?” and his hands are releasing you to settle on your hips. “since you said it so nicely.”

you’re nodding your head to the best of your ability, teeth sinking into your lower lip. you pray he’ll have mercy on you. you’d let him fuck you as much as you want, just not there. “please daddy.”

and he grins, fingers dipping between your folds again, dipping into the small bit of arousal and dragging it down to your clit. “i’ll be gentle,” he tells you, rubbing softly circles against your clit, causing your thighs to shake. “for now.”

his movements are slow, and careful. it makes you sick. how he’s so gentle with you, knowing he has no intention of being like this when he fucks you with his cock. if makes you shudder, and he takes this as a sign to go further, one thick digit prodding at your entrance.

you tense when it slips inside, pushing into the third knuckle. your walls instinctively clench around his finger, drawing it in further. then he’s building a steady pace, finger pushing and pulling with a squelch that makes your ears ring.

he teases a second while he grabs at your ass, spreading you wider so he can watch the way he fucks you with his fingers—watch how your hole twitches and spasms around each digit.

“doing so good, sweetheart.” your lips twist, you’re getting tired of the pet names, it makes your stomach churn—him talking to you as if you’re just a couple being intimate.

you can feel that heat building within you, and you panic. you’d rather he not make you cum, instead just use your body to get off so he can leave you to repair the broken pieces of yourself.

“s-stop—”

he notices the frantic trembling of your body, and he eases his fingers out only to tease your entrance with the careful prodding of three of them this time, and your body clenches up. “what? don’t you want to cum?”

“n-no, please don’t—just fuck me already. get it over with.” and you think for just one moment that he’s going to listen when you no longer feel the heat of his fingers against your core, but then he’s shoving all three in one brutal sweep, forcing the air from your lungs.

he’s got his free hand on your lower back, keeping you in place as his fingers plunge and curl inside of you, repeatedly stroking that one spot that has your thighs twitching, muscles jumping as he forces your body to endure the pleasure.

“w-wait—god, i’m—” you choke on a moan, cunt clenching around his fingers as your lashes flutter, eyes coming in and out of focus. your cunt spasms around his fingers as if attempting to milk them, desperate for something thicker, as much as your mind tried to deny it. he continues pumping his fingers, your cum coating the digits, the lewd sound of your cum—thick and sticky—echoing in your ears.

you barely register him pulling his fingers free, slipping them into his mouth as his free hand deftly undoes his belt, the sound of the zipper hissing open drawing your attention.

“wait—i need a minute—!” but he ignores you, shoving his pants and boxers down. you get a few seconds of him swiping his cock through your folds before he’s plunging inside in one easy drive of his hips.

you blink rapidly, trying to regulate your breathing, but he’s wrapping one arm around your waist, yanking you back against his cock.

then he slips his other arm beneath your chin, forearm against your throat, a noise of surprise leaving you before he’s hauling you upright, back arched sharply..

he sets an intense pace, not giving you time to catch your breath as he fucks into you with reckless abandon. his hips slam against your backside, cock repeatedly stroking that one spot that has you creaming on his length, eyes rolling desperately. 

“sukuna—!” you gasp, and then he's choking you harder, arm tightening around your neck as he slams into you like he’s angry. that’s when you realize that you fucked up, and you’re frantically slapping at his arm, desperate to get him to let up as your vision turns spotty.

he seems to be aware that you’ve realized your mistake, his grip around your throat loosening just enough to allow you to breathe.

“what do we say?”

“‘m sorry, d-daddy,” and you swear you can feel his cock throb harder inside of you, his hips grinding against your ass, and the ache blooming low in your belly makes you want to vomit.

“that’s it, good girl.” the name does something to you for some reason, you find yourself clawing at his arm, nails leaving red lines along the flesh. he hisses from the pain, panting roughly against your ear. “you’re enjoying this.”

“no—” and you’d shake your head if he didn’t have you by the throat.

the sound of skin slapping on skin is obscenely loud, his cock repeatedly parting your folds with a lewd squelch, and all the noises make your eyes roll. your hands grip his arm, an attempt at grounding yourself as he ruins your insides. it’s too much, you can feel your arousal dripping between your legs and his cock, thick strings snapping and forming a small spot on the flooring.

“god,” sukuna groans, arm tightening around your neck once more, forcing your neck to arch further. and you’re looking up at him, eyes hazy, focused on the way his cock stokes the fire burning in your belly. “taking daddy so well, you know that?”

and it has your jaw slack, panting breaths leaving you, eyes rolling so hard it causes your head to ache. it disgusts you, the way he has you falling apart on his cock. the way you can feel your juices drench your inner thighs due to his actions, the small burst of juices running down your legs. it makes tears fill your eyes—fat and heavy, weighing down your lashes as they build up along your waterline.

sukuna swears when he notices, arms keeping you pinned to him, hips taking on a punishing pace, and he’s forcing his length deeper inside of you, his cockhead kissing your cervix with each forceful thrust, causing your whole body to jerk and tremble in his hold.

the dam breaks, tears streaming down your face, the pain blooming in your belly becoming unbearable the longer he fucks you like this. yet you can’t do anything but take it, body seizing up as he ruins your insides, not caring for your pain or discomfort. instead he focuses on the pleasure your body brings to him.

“cryin’ for daddy?” he punctuates his question with a sharp, powerful thrust, and you swear you can feel him in your guts. he hisses, stopping to stir his cock against the deepest part of your cunt, hips flushed to your ass. “answer me.”

“y-yes daddy, ah—” and you can’t believe your body is reacting like this, desperate to milk his cock as he batters your cervix.

then your world is turning, sucking in a lungful of air when he releases you only to lose it again when he pushes your face back against the table. your arms stretch out on either side, gripping the edges.

his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock. “fuck yourself on me,” he demands, guiding you til your ass is bouncing off his hips, moving with a mind of their own.

“daddy, daddy, yes, ah—daddy. . .” you gasp, chanting breathily, moans catching between each word. you don’t even hear yourself, and you’re hoping it’s instinct and not your body wanting this. the thought has you involuntarily clenching down around his cock, though, your cunt trying desperately to milk him.

and then your arms are moving, stretching out across the table, fingers curling into the wood as you fuck yourself on his cock. and he’s gripping and groping every bit of flesh he can get his hands on, his slowly rolling to meet you halfway, and you whine when he’s hitting in deep again. it makes your hips stutter, jerking as if trying to get away from thrusts.

he’s having none of it, though, his hands settling on your hips once more as he begins rocking into you heavily, the thick drag of his cock forcing you to spread your legs wider. and when his cock repeatedly brutalizes your cervix—you lose control.

heat rushes between your legs, hot and heavy as the first gush of piss—helpless and uncontrollable—spills forth. it runs down your legs, and your body convulses, mouth dropping as humiliation burns deep within your core.

sukuna groans at the sight, gripping one of your thighs to lift your leg against the table, further embarrassing you as you piss yourself uncontrollably. “pissin’ for daddy now?”

and all you can do is sob while he fucks you through it forcing gush after gush of piss from between your thighs, splattering against the floor in a lewd display.

“d-daddy,” you sniffle, reaching blindly behind you in an attempt to push at his hips, trying to stop his intense thrusts. he just grabs your wrist, pinning your arm against your lower back.

you shudder when you finally stop pissing yourself. there’s an odd sense of relief that washes over you, body going lax and limp against the table, a fog entering your brain as you stare blankly at the counter across from you. you’re unaware that you’ve slipped two fingers in your mouth, sucking on the digits to ground yourself.

sukuna notices this, releasing your hand to lean over your back, his hips slowing to an easy drag of his cock. his nose brushes your cheek, lips trailing over your skin, across your clothed shoulder, parting to whisper soft words. “is daddy’s girl feeling good?”

you can’t say anything, but your mouth parts, heavy, stuttering breaths leaving you. sukuna keeps going, whispered words against your ear, soft murmurs of “daddy’s good girl,” “you’re doing so well,” and “daddy wants you to cum”.

it makes your cunt clench desperately around his cock, and he takes this as a sign to lean back, hands smoothing down your back as he picks up pace once more. his hips drive forward, the edge of the table digging into you with each punishing thrust. and you’re panting now, brain finally starting to come back into focus, the feeling in your stomach building to an unbearable peak.

you don’t even realize you’re cumming til your body seizes up, light flashes behind your eyelids as you clench your eyes shut—cunt gripping him so tight, as if desperate for his release as more slick gushes from between your legs, trickling down to join the puddle of piss on the floor.

sukuna’s groaning, hand on the back of your neck as he thrusts in you with brutal precision, his cock bullying your insides, turning them into mush. it’s filthy, arousal clinging to his cock, your creamy essence leaving a white ring around the base of his length. “gonna cum inside this pussy. maybe give you daddy’s baby.”

and you don’t register his words until it’s too late, his cock pushing into the hilt as he erupts. it’s warm and thick, filling your insides in heavy spurts, painting your walls white.

a deep growl erupts from his chest as his hips give a final thrust, cock pulsing where it’s nestled inside of you.

“no—” you choke out, body shuddering as his release settles within you. your leg trembles where it rests on the table, and he smooths a hand across your thigh before slowly lowering it back down. it makes you sob. the way he’s playing pretend. like he’s always this gentle with you.

“you did so good for me.” he murmurs, the sickeningly sweet sound of his voice makes you recoil, trying to inch yourself away from him. he tuts, grabbing your hips, keeping you speared on his cock. “what do you say?”

and you sob harder, fingers slipping from your mouth, lips trembling. “thank you, daddy.”

[sixeyesonathiel]

a/n: suddenly thought of cowboy satoru with bandit reader. TELL ME Y’ALL SEE THE VISION. NOW.

it was supposed to be easy.

you knew how to play your part. the desperate damsel act? flawless. all it took was a little scream, some real tears, and a good tumble to make it look like your ankle had twisted from running. you’d baited bounty hunters before—but none like him.

satoru gojo rode in like thunder itself. his horse, a sleek obsidian creature with a silver blaze down its nose, kicked up plumes of red dirt as it galloped into the clearing. he sat tall in the saddle, a figure carved from danger and confidence. white hair shone beneath the brim of a dusty black hat, whipping in the dry wind. his eyes, hidden behind dark tinted lenses, scanned the scene with a slow calculation that prickled the back of your neck.

he looked untouchable. unreadable. like he owned the whole damn west.

you almost forgot to scream.

“help! please! they’re gonna kill me!” you cried, thrashing in the dirt with all the desperation of a woman moments from death. your voice cracked perfectly, your breath hitching. dirt smeared across your cheeks, clinging to the streaks of salt tears. your dress, once neat, had torn at the hem and gathered dust in its folds. everything about you screamed fragile.

behind you, two bandits held their guns steady. they looked the part—rough beards, tattered vests, and eyes like vultures. one of them spat into the sand with a grunt, gripping your arm hard enough to bruise. they'd played this con before, sure. but this time, their mark was different.

satoru dismounted with an eerie calm, his duster coat swirling around him like wings. boots crunched against gravel and dry leaves. his fingers brushed the silver-plated hilt of his revolver, but his mouth curled into something between a smirk and a warning.

“no worries, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice smooth like aged whiskey. he walked forward with a casual swagger, like the barrels pointed at him were nothing more than flies. “i’ve got you.”

then he moved.

fast didn’t even cover it.

the first bandit dropped before his finger could even twitch. a clean shot between the eyes. the second got a savage kick to the gut, doubled over, then cried out as gojo’s blade flashed and buried itself in his thigh. he screamed, but gojo was already moving.

you fell to the ground as they dropped you, the air leaving your lungs in a whoosh. pebbles bit into your palms. dust clung to your lashes.

and then—you struck.

while his back was turned, his attention flickering to your supposed injuries, you lunged. your fingers closed around the handle of the short blade tucked in your sleeve, and you drove it upward. fast. sure. right under his ribs.

you felt the give. the shock of resistance. the rush of heat as blood spilled over your hand.

his breath hitched.

“...you,” he said, voice like gravel and disbelief.

but there was no time for more. your signal had worked.

a dozen shadows burst from the trees. wild yells. drawn weapons. boots pounding against dry soil. the trap sprung.

but satoru gojo didn’t fall.

injured. outnumbered. bleeding.

and he smiled.

he became something else entirely.

his revolvers sang, twin flashes dancing in his hands. his coat spun with his movements, slicing the air like a storm. you watched, dumbfounded, as bullets bent around him, missing by inches like the wind itself bent to his will. one man charged and was met with a fist that shattered his jaw. another tried to shoot—his weapon was ripped away by some invisible force and turned on him instead.

one by one, they dropped. screaming. bleeding. dead.

he didn’t even breathe hard.

his glasses had been lost in the chaos, revealing eyes that glowed an icy, unnatural blue—so bright they seemed to burn. divine. furious.

then came the coward’s cry:

“leave her! she’s dead weight!”

you turned, disbelief gripping your spine like a vice.

they ran. they left you.

abandoned.

just like that.

sure. just leave the girl who’s been your bait for years. the one who’s patched your wounds, dug bullets out of your back, played dead in more ditches than she can count. fine.

suddenly, the only sound left was the wind through the dry brush and the last groan of a dying man. the air smelled of smoke and blood.

and he turned to you.

his silhouette loomed, backlit by the dying sun. the light caught in his silver hair, streaked with dust and blood. his coat fluttered with each step, dark stains soaking through the fabric at his side. you scrambled back, hands finding bark and root as your back hit a gnarled tree.

he was breathing heavily now. finally. his chest rose and fell with every step, but it didn’t slow him. nothing about him felt human.

“they left you,” he murmured. his voice had dropped an octave. low. dangerous. tired. “after all that, they left you.”

his hand shot forward, fast as a striking snake. it clamped around your wrist. you yelped as he yanked you upright, slamming you into the tree behind you. bark dug into your spine. his face was inches from yours.

blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. his eyes shimmered like frozen fire.

despite the warmth gushing from his wound, his grip didn’t falter. he pinned you like you weighed nothing.

“you gonna scream again, darlin’?” he rasped, tilting his head. the sun caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shimmer of sweat and dust on his skin. “go on. give me another show.”

you snarled, breathless. furious. scared. humiliated. "fuck you."

he laughed—a dark, low rumble that curled from his throat, eyes glinting beneath the mess of blood-matted white hair.

“oh, we’ll get there,” he muttered.

his hand slid down your waist, slow and firm, fingers pressing through the fabric like he meant to bruise the memory in. his breath brushed your jaw, warm and sharp with copper.

“but first,” he said, eyes flicking to yours—flat, unreadable—“you’re gonna pay for trying to fool me.”

his grip tightened. his smirk deepened.

“and sugar, i charge interest.”

[aventurineswife]

Hihiii !!

may i request a Phainon x reader where as hes using his ult form whilst in battle, the reader gets injured (it can be anything !! like a broken ankle or they sprained their wrist handling their weapon) and Phainon insists on carrying them either still in battle even still in his ult form or after he finished obliterating the opponents that caused the injury in the first place? I dunno, but surprise me ! !(^o^)!

Feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write it, and take care of yourself!!! 🫶

A Sovereign’s Vow

Summary: During a fierce battle in the Okhema Wastes, you suffer a sudden injury that leaves you vulnerable on the battlefield. As chaos erupts around you, Phainon unleashes his ultimate form—Demiurge—becoming a celestial embodiment of light and shadow. After obliterating the enemies responsible, he finds you and insists on carrying you to safety, revealing the quiet, unwavering depth of his devotion beneath his godlike power. Between divinity and vulnerability, a bond between you shines through.

Tags: Phainon x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Battle Scene, Injured Reader, Protective Phainon, Demiurge/Ult Form, Soft!Phainon, Carrying Scene, Divine Imagery, Mutual Care, Romantic Tension, Fluff Amidst Chaos.

Warnings: Battle violence (non-graphic but intense atmosphere), Injury (sprained/broken ankle, mild pain described), Supernatural combat themes, Mild language, Emotional intensity / power imbalance themes.

A/N: HE'S BARELY OUT Y'ALL!!! 😭🙏

The air cracked with celestial energy.

Swords clashed with shadow as Phainon's Demiurge form illuminated the battlefield. One half of him burned like the heart of a star—golden and searing—while the other whispered with the void, wings of shadow curling like smoke around his form. Every movement he made carved silence into the chaos, obliterating the Titanspawn that had broken through the city walls.

And then you screamed.

You hadn't meant to—gods, you never wanted to be a distraction—but the wrong pivot, the weight of your blade, and a cruelly placed fragment of rubble wrenched your ankle at a sickening angle. You hit the ground hard, dust clouding your vision, fingers scrabbling at the uneven stone. Pain radiated up your leg, white-hot and pulsing.

Your weapon skittered a few feet away. Useless.

But they were coming. The ones who had flanked you—the Strife-bound, writhing with corrupted energy—were closing in, their snarls a cruel melody above the thunder of war.

And then everything stopped.

A wave of divine pressure swept the field. The enemies froze—not from fear, but from raw, oppressive awe.

Phainon landed between you and them in a shock of light and shadow, the impact fracturing the ground in a radiant burst. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

The next instant was a blur of annihilation.

Golden strikes that flared like sunfire tore through flesh and metal, while sweeping arcs of indigo carved silence where once stood fury. He moved like a deity who had forgotten mercy—a perfect storm of power and purpose.

And then, only the wind remained.

You winced, trying to rise.

“Don’t,” came his voice—ethereal and layered now, like it echoed from both heavens and abyss.

You blinked up through the dust. Phainon stood before you in his Demiurge form, radiant and terrifying. Yet when his eyes met yours, they softened. Still piercing, but grounding. Still divine, but real.

“I told you not to push yourself alone,” he murmured, kneeling.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you stammered, guilt washing over you.

He silenced you with a look. “You’re hurt. That’s all that matters right now.”

You tried again to stand, but he reached out—carefully, reverently—and scooped you into his arms. Even in this form, his touch was gentle, warm where the golden armor brushed your skin, cool and comforting where the indigo embraced you like dusk.

“You’re still glowing,” you said softly, half-laughing through the pain. “You’re going to blind me.”

“And yet, you still manage to tease me.”

You rested your head against his shoulder as he rose into the sky, wings of shadow fanning out, the halo above him casting ripples across the clouds. His long coattails flowed like a royal banner, divine and defiant.

“You came for me,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

“I always will,” he replied, voice a harmony of solemn vow and unspoken ache. “Even if I have to burn the stars and shadow the sun.”

As he carried you beyond the broken field, his power receded slowly—but he never let you go.

Not through the pain.

Not through the silence.

Not even when the battle ended.

[warriors-official-art]

Title: Thunder and Shadow

Arc: A Vision of Shadows

Type: cover

Country: Poland

Characters: Twigkit / Twigbranch and Violetkit / Violetshine

Artist: https://x.com/NoraPotwora

Source: https://x.com/WarriorCats_PL/status/1896908190861951044/photo/1

[deadsetobsessions]

“Did this place pick up a ghost when I was dead or something?”

Tim whipped his head towards Jason, who looked mildly perturbed.

“You too?!” Tim demanded.

“What?”

“The ghost! I kept thinking it was a hallucination, you know? But even when I laid off of the caffeine, there’d be a fucking shadow at the edge of my vision! At night! You saw it too, right?” Tim rambled, increasingly agitated. “It even moves the fucking coffee mugs! I know where I left my favorite mug, and it sure as hell wasn’t in the sink!”

Jason blinked at him, face morphing into concern.

“Replacement, when was the last time you got some sleep?”

Tim inhaled. “Jason, I swear to god I will replace all of the shampoo in your twenty six safe houses with glitter glue if you don’t tell me whether you saw it or not.”

Jason nodded immediately. In his defense, Tim grew up to be a scary motherfucker. Diabolical little shit would have been a fucking terrifying villain.

“I knew it.”

——

Danny hummed. Tim was going to freak when he found his cowl three inches to the left.

He merrily avoided all of the set up cameras by simply going invisible and intangible, save for his arms that he uses to sweep the cowl to the side.

He could hear the static on the cameras. Danny grinned. Operation Gaslight, Ghostkeep, Girlboss is on.

——

“Tim-” Dick started, only to be cut short by Tim whirling around and jabbing a painful finger into his chest.

“You owe me this, for that Arkham comment when B went missing.”

Dick raised his hands in surrender, guilt flaring.

“Drake, what kind of pointless scheme are you getting us in, now?”

“Not now, demon brat.” Jason elbows the kid. “Just go along with it.”

“Look.”

“Well. I guess we were right, yeah, Tim?” Duke muttered, eyeing the moved cowl. “My ghost-sight isn’t seeing anything. Not even wind movement.”

“What’s going on, boys?”

“B, there’s a ghost in the manor.”

“He’s freaking out because it moved his coffee mug like three times.” Steph chimed in.

——

“Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen anything weird, lately?”

Danny tilted his head. “No…?”

“Not even in the house?” Jason asked.

“Shadows? Anything?” Dick asked, eye bags prominent on the normally exuberant man. Danny snickered inwardly. They’ve been up for three days trying to “catch” the ghost.

“Uh. I mean the floorboards creak sometimes? But in terms of shadows… I think I saw them outside? Kind of looked like Batman, actually. But my eyesight gets bad at night. Why?”

Danny could see in the dark just fine.

“Nothing! Let me know if you see anything, okay?”

“Uh. Sure? Maybe you guys should… get some sleep?”

“Uh-huh.”

The bats file out of his room.

——

Danny locked glowing green eyes with Tim and Dick. He did some quick thinking and contorted his ectoplasm into something more grotesque.

“Kkkhggggghkkkkeeee!!!” He screeched.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!” The two of them screamed, both bolting and throwing things at him. It was impressive how fast they backpedaled.

“That was close,” Danny muttered. He quickly scribbled on Damian’s whiteboard with conspiracy theories and dipped before the rest of the bats came thundering.

He fell into a light sleep just as Stephanie checked up on him, work done.