#what if its about the shadow monsters... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

danysdaughter · 14 days ago

Text

Сетка

pairing | civil!war!bucky x widow!reader

word count | 10.4k words

summary | when you, a former red room widow crosses paths with the man who once trained you—now a ghost of the monster you remember—your collision reignites memories neither of you can outrun. in a world that only ever taught you two to survive, you find something you were never trained for: each other.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, intimate sex, enemies to companions to lovers, angst, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort, winter soldier triggers, protective!reader, protective!bucky, mutual obsession, feral love, soft intimacy, violence, reader only speaks russian, bucky speaks english, emotionally devastated bucky barnes, shit translated russian (probably), reader does not play about her man

a/n | IMPORTANT TO NOTE: the events of black widow happen before ca:cw in this. Based on this request. (I'm posting this from work lol)

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Москва, 2003 — Красная комната

Moscow, 2003 — The Red Room

The walls were too white.

Sterile. Silent. Watching.

That was the first thing you noticed—that kind of white that felt wrong. Like it had been bleached so many times, even the ghosts had nowhere left to hide. Even the steel doors looked polished, like they were proud of what happened here.

You sat shoulder to shoulder with the others—seven girls, fifteen on average. Not children. Not soldiers. Not yet.

The floor was colder than ice, and it bled through your thin uniform. But none of you shivered. That had been trained out early—along with tears, questions, and the word нет.[no.]

The air reeked of antiseptic and metal. Underneath it, sweat clung to the walls like memory. Like shame.

Footsteps echoed.

Three sets.

Two sharp. One heavy.

No one turned to look. That was lesson one. Looking got you noticed. Being noticed got you hurt.

But you felt him before you saw him.

The shift in the atmosphere—immediate and suffocating. Like gravity got heavier. Like breath didn’t work the same anymore.

Он пришёл. [He’s here.]

You didn’t flinch, but your muscles locked up. Your knuckles pressed into your knees until they went white.

Then: silence.

Not peace.

The kind of silence that held a knife behind its back.

“Смотри вперёд,” Madam B’s voice cut cleanly through the air. [Eyes forward.]

You obeyed. All of you did. Like clockwork. Chins lifted. Spines straight.

He stood beside her. Taller than you remembered from the rumors. Broader. Real.

Зимний солдат.

The Winter Soldier

His face was half-shadow under the fluorescents, but his eyes—those eyes—were unmistakable. Dead, pale things. A shade too light. Like they’d been bleached, too.

He didn’t look at you. Or at anyone. His stare drifted somewhere behind the wall, like even he didn’t want to be in his body anymore.

That metal arm glinted under the lights. Thick at the shoulder. Seamless. Inhuman.

Madam B clasped her hands in front of her. Her posture was perfect. Her smile was poisonous.

“Ваши инструкторы научили вас дисциплине, послушанию, терпению боли,” she said. [Your instructors have taught you discipline, obedience, pain tolerance.]

“Точность.” [Precision.]

She nodded toward him.

“Теперь вы узнаете страх.” [Now… you will learn fear.]

He moved without signal. No countdown. No command.

Just violence.

One second, stillness.

The next—he was on Yulia.

The smallest one. The quietest. The one who tried to hum to herself when the lights went out.

Her back hit the wall with a sickening crack. His left arm—that arm—pressed into her throat. Just enough to choke. Not enough to kill.

Her boots scraped the tile. A soft panic-sound left her lips—then cut off as her training kicked in.

She stopped fighting. That was lesson two.

You didn't move. Not even your eyes.

Yulia turned her head slowly. Her gaze found you. Desperate. Wild. The kind of fear none of you were allowed to show.

You didn’t blink.

“Вы будете тренироваться с ним,” Madam B continued, like this was nothing. [You will train with him.]

“Вы выучите его методы. Его инстинкты.”

[You will learn his methods. His instincts.]

Yulia let out a breath that sounded like breaking glass.

And the Soldier?

He still didn’t look at her. Or at you. Or at anyone.

Because you weren’t people. Not to him.

Just shapes to break. Dolls to test.

Madam B’s smile never wavered.

“Если вы выживете.” [If you survive.]

────────────────────────

Красная комната — Тренировка, 2003

The Red Room — Training, 2003

The floor wasn’t white.

It was concrete—cracked, stained, pitted with impact. The kind of surface that remembered every body that ever hit it.

The air in the training room was humid with breath and blood. The walls sweated under the heat of fluorescent lights, buzzing like flies in your ears.

You stood alone at the center.

The others were pressed against the wall—backs straight, eyes forward, silent as statues.

Your breathing was even. Measured.

Your fists curled tight, knuckles aching with pressure.

You didn’t shake. You never shook.

You’d already lost blood on this floor. Skin. Teeth. You’d learned how to fall without sound.

But this was different.

He stepped into the ring.

Black tactical gear. Combat boots. Gloves pulled tight. His metal arm caught the light—chrome and shadow. It wasn’t a limb. It was a threat.

He didn’t speak. He never did.

Not even a command.

Madam B stood off to the side, clipboard cradled in one arm, her pen already moving.

She didn’t call a start. She didn’t have to.

The moment his weight shifted—you moved.

You struck first.

Open palm to the throat. Hook to the ribs. Low kick toward the knee.

They were survival strikes. Precise. Fast. Smart.

He swatted them away like you were nothing.

Effortless. Mechanical. Indifferent.

Then he hit back.

His fist caught the edge of your jaw—crack—and your skull snapped sideways. Your vision pulsed white for half a second, but you stayed upright.

You had to stay upright.

Then came the sweep. His left leg scythed yours out from under you, and before you even hit the floor, the metal arm slammed across your chest.

You went down hard.

Concrete kissed your back. The air tore from your lungs.

And then—pressure.

He was on top of you. One knee against your ribs, hand to your throat.

That arm. Cold. Absolute.

He wasn’t holding you down.

He was claiming the ground beneath you.

You didn’t fight it. Not yet.

You stared up into his face, and for the first time—saw him. Not as the ghost of a myth. Not as the whispered fear behind training drills.

But as a man.

A machine.

Both.

His expression was blank. But that blankness said everything.

This wasn’t a lesson.

This was a warning.

You don’t win.

You survive.

So you reached for his sidearm.

His hand snapped around your wrist. That sound—metal joints locking down on bone.

It should have crushed you. But it didn’t.

You kneed him in the stomach—your knee landing against Kevlar with a jolt. You twisted, shoved your shoulder down, and used his own momentum to roll you both.

It wasn’t elegant.

It was smart.

Calculated. Ruthless.

You weren’t bigger. Or stronger.

But you were sharp.

You learned.

He came at you again, and this time you didn’t flinch.

You dropped beneath the punch, spun inside his reach, and used his arm like a fulcrum—flipped over his shoulder.

You landed wrong.

Your elbow scraped open.

But you were standing.

There was no applause. No approval. Only the scratch of Madam B’s pen.

The Soldier didn’t react.

He reset.

No emotion. No hesitation. Just reset. Like you hadn’t earned a single thing.

But you saw it.

The twitch of his fingers. The micro-adjustment in how his feet planted. The pause—barely a pause—as his eyes followed your stance like he was filing it away.

He wouldn’t remember your name.

You didn’t have one here.

But that day? He noticed you.

────────────────────────

Красная комната — через шесть месяцев

Red Room — Six Months Later

The mat was stained with old sweat and old blood.

You stood barefoot at the center. Bruised. Breathing steady.

Fifteen years old. One of the last still standing.

You didn’t know what day it was. Didn’t need to. You measured time in bruises, in blood dried under fingernails, in how long it took for your ribs to stop aching.

This was your fourth session with the Soldat in six days.

They were testing something.

Durability, maybe. Threshold. Obedience.

Or maybe they just wanted to see if you’d finally break.

Above, behind the black glass, Madam B watched. Her voice came cold over the intercom.

“Начали.” [Begin.]

You moved instantly.

A blur across the mat. Feint left, then up—elbow aimed for the hinge of his jaw.

His metal hand caught your arm mid-strike. Effortless. Inevitable.

He twisted. Spun you. Drove a knee into your side.

You blocked—barely. The pain reverberated through your ribcage like splintering glass.

But you didn’t grunt.

Didn’t cry out.

You never made a sound.

Pain didn’t mean stop.

Pain meant continue.

The room rang with impact. Bare feet sliding. Fists connecting. Breath coming sharp between attacks.

He was bigger. Stronger. His reach eclipsed yours, his strikes heavier, colder.

But you were faster. You had studied him. Memorized every tick, every tell. He never led with his right. The metal arm always came second—the trap after the bait.

You slid low under a hook, came up behind him, and kicked the back of his knee.

He faltered.

A grunt left his mouth—barely audible, but real.

You didn’t pause.

You spun, forearm tucked in, and drove it up under his ribs. You connected.

His breath hitched.

Your chest rose once—sharp.

You’d drawn breath from the Soldat.

His hand snapped out—metal fingers closing around your throat.

You slammed into the wall with a thud that rattled through your spine.

His grip tightened.

But you didn’t fight it. You didn’t blink.

Your stare locked with his—blank to blank.

Two weapons mid-calibration.

He leaned in. Not far. Just enough to study you.

His eyes weren’t flat. Not fully.

Something behind them… ticked.

Then—he spoke.

Low. Controlled.

Almost quiet enough not to register.

“Хватит.” [Enough.]

Your body stilled.

Muscles stopped firing. Breath locked. Every cell in you responded like a command had been entered in your bones.

That word—from him—meant stop.

Session over.

He released you.

You dropped—not from failure, not from injury, but from the vacuum left by adrenaline. Your knees hit the mat. Your hand splayed out to catch balance.

Your chest heaved. Hot. Controlled. Like a furnace behind your ribs.

He watched you.

Still silent. Still unreadable.

But his fists were clenched.

And this time… he didn’t walk away immediately.

He looked at you.

Really looked.

Not like an opponent. Not like an assignment.

Like something had clicked. Like a new file was being written in his mind.

Not fear. Not even memory.

Interest.

────────────────────────

After Hydra took back the Soldat, the others gave you a nickname.

Сетка.

[The Web.]

You weren’t the strongest.

You weren’t the fastest.

But you were the only one—aside from the one they called Romanova—to hold your ground against the Soldat.

You weren’t known for brute force.

You were known for calculated strikes.

For how you waited. For how you wrapped your opponents in silence and then struck.

You didn’t earn it through survival.

You earned it through stillness.

Through how, when the Winter Soldat looked at you—he paused.

Румыния, Бухарест, 2016

Romania, Bucharest, 2016

The world was too big.

You hadn’t realized that until you were freed.

Not with fanfare. Not with chains breaking on a concrete floor. Just… the chemicals gone. The fog lifted. Like smoke peeling away after the fire’s already eaten everything it wanted.

You were free.

And you didn’t know what to do with it.

No one gave you instructions. No handler. No target. No voice in your ear.

So you drifted.

Trains. Buses. The back of a truck once, when it didn’t matter where you ended up. Countries blurred. Time warped. Faces forgotten before they were registered.

You didn’t speak.

Not because you couldn’t.

Because your voice didn’t sound like yours yet. It sounded like property. Like training. Like the echo of someone else’s weaponized breath.

When you did speak, it was only in Russian. A comfort. A shield.

If they couldn’t understand you, they couldn’t own you.

Now—

Bucharest.

A city wrapped in damp air and dull concrete. A sky so overcast it looked like someone had smudged out the sun.

You didn’t pick it.

It just happened.

Like most things now.

No mission brought you here. No ghost pulled you.

Just the weight of motion finally running out of road.

You sat at the corner table of a café so small the world didn’t seem to notice it existed. A chipped white mug sat between your hands. Coffee, cooled and untouched. You hadn’t tasted anything in days, but the smell was something. Bitter. Familiar.

Across the street, a man adjusted a bike chain. His hands were black with grease. Someone shouted upstairs in Romanian. A dog barked. The faint crack of an egg hitting a pan cut through the air.

It should have felt normal.

And maybe that’s what made it unbearable.

You weren’t made for peace.

Peace had no rules. No orders.

Peace expected you to feel.

But you didn’t feel human.

You didn’t feel anything at all.

Just a hum in your chest where panic used to live. Just silence where purpose used to be.

Your fingertips curled against the ceramic like you were checking to see if you were still real.

Maybe you were. Maybe not.

You watched the sky for signs of rain.

And thought: Maybe tomorrow, you’ll leave.

────────────────────────

Несколько дней спустя

A Few Days Later

It started with the color of his eyes.

You didn’t recognize the rest of him at first—he moved differently now. Civilian clothes. Hair tied back. Slower, softer posture. Almost… human.

But then he turned toward the sun.

And you saw them.

That shade. That steel blue.

Unnatural. Icy.

Dead things wearing a face.

And suddenly, the world tilted sideways.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

Солдат. [Soldat.]

The market noise dulled to a hum in your ears. Just smells and motion. Heat and light. Someone was selling tomatoes. Someone else bartered for lamb. Shoes scuffed pavement.

You didn’t blink.

Your feet were already moving.

He spotted you seconds later. His brows knit in confusion—not fear. Recognition hovered behind his expression, but distant. Faded. Like trying to remember the lyrics to a song he only half-heard.

Then—your eyes met.

His mouth opened, confused.

You lunged.

He moved just in time—sidestepped, arm up, deflecting your first strike. You twisted under him, elbow jabbing into his ribs. He caught your wrist.

“Wait—who the hell are—?”

You dropped your weight, flipped him over your hip. He hit the cobblestone with a grunt, rolled, sprang to his feet.

A vendor screamed. Then another.

Crates of fruit crashed around you. Splinters of wood. Apples underfoot.

He tried to disengage—hands up, defensive, careful.

“I don’t want to fight you—!”

You weren’t listening.

Your fist slammed toward his face. He blocked. You kicked at his thigh, drove your knee up toward his gut.

He grunted, staggered. Caught your leg mid-air.

You spun inside the hold, using the capture, and flipped over his shoulders.

Your knees slammed down on his collarbones.

He stumbled.

You slammed your palm into the back of his skull, forcing him toward the ground.

He rolled, bringing you down with him. The two of you crashed through a vendor’s table, shattering it into splinters and cloth.

“Чёрт—who are you?”

[Damn it—]

You didn’t answer. You wouldn’t.

His face twisted—half in frustration, half in dawning memory. But you weren’t a memory. You were now.

He blocked a knife-hand strike. Caught your other wrist. You twisted under, slammed your head toward his jaw.

It connected. His lip split. A child screamed nearby.

He shoved you off—but not to hurt. To breathe.

“I’m not him,” he rasped. “Not anymore.”

Your heart pounded. Your knees bent. You were ready to kill.

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Every second he breathed in your presence felt like failure.

You were fifteen again. You were on the mat. You were under the metal arm.

You struck low—shin to his knee. He buckled slightly, but rebounded quick, grabbing your arm and twisting. You followed it, using the torque to throw yourself up and over him, body flipping above his head. He ducked, but not fast enough.

Your heel scraped his temple.

He staggered.

You hit the ground in a crouch, surged forward, fists flying—open-palm strikes, throat jabs, knife-hand to his kidney. He blocked most. Absorbed some.

But you were faster.

You always had been.

Around you, the market dissolved. Stalls crushed. People scattered. Screams and panic thick in the air. Vendors grabbed their children and ran. Tomatoes exploded underfoot like bloodstains.

He was breathing heavier now.

You could see the calculation behind his eyes—how he wasn’t hitting back.

Because he knew. He knew the precision in your strikes. He knew where you’d learned them.

“Why are you doing this?” he ground out, catching your arm again, ducking under a punch and shoving you backward into a stack of crates. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

You snapped forward, wrapped your legs around his neck, pulled.

He fell—slammed hard on the ground with you on top. You straddled his chest, brought your elbow up, and—

He caught your wrist. Locked it. Twisted just enough to force the momentum off. Rolled.

Now you were beneath him.

His knees pinned your thighs. His hand gripped your wrist above your head. Metal arm pressed against your collarbone—not choking, just holding.

Your breathing came fast. Harsh. Chest rising and falling in panic, fury, fire.

His hair hung loose now. Lip bleeding. Chest heaving.

And his eyes—

They weren’t dead. They weren’t his. They weren’t the Soldat’s.

His voice came low. Guttural.

“I’m not him.” His hand didn’t tighten. He didn’t shake. “I don't want to hurt you.”

You wanted to fight. Your body ached to.

But your eyes locked with his. And something fractured. Because the eyes that looked back at you now—they weren’t hollow. They weren’t blank.

They were human. Still haunted. Still carrying every sin etched into his bones. But there was no order in them. No command. No programming.

Just… regret.

Your body didn’t relax. But it stopped resisting.

Just slightly. Just enough.

Your breath caught in your throat—not because you were scared, but because you didn’t know what to do with stillness.

Your body had stopped moving, but everything inside was still screaming.

His grip didn’t loosen.

He was still above you, pinning you down—not aggressively. Just… securing the chaos.

You stared up at him, and he stared back, his brow furrowed like he was searching for a word he’d forgotten in a language he hadn’t spoken in years.

And then—

sirens.

Not close yet, but coming. Sharp. Rising.

His head snapped to the side. You tensed beneath him again. His eyes flicked back to you. Jaw tight. Conflicted.

Then, in a movement that felt more instinct than decision—he pulled you up.

You didn’t resist. Not out of trust. Out of confusion.

He didn’t let go of your wrist. Didn’t shove you.

He just moved—guiding you fast into a narrow alley between buildings. The noise of the street dimmed behind you. Fabric flapped on a laundry line above. The pavement here was cracked, lined with moss and cigarette butts.

He stopped. Pulled you behind him.

Pressed your back against the wall, one hand splayed across your stomach to keep you behind his frame.

You should’ve fought him again. You should’ve broken his arm. But you didn’t.

His other hand came up—not touching you, just hovering slightly, as if to say stay.

You both stayed frozen. You could feel his breath against your temple. Still steady. But his hand—

It was shaking. Not from fear. From memory.

Like his body remembered something his mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

He didn’t look back at you. But he stayed there.

And for now, so did you.

The sirens faded.

The city noise returned in slow motion—honking, voices, the far-off clatter of trams and tires. The chaos in the market had been swallowed again by the buzz of ordinary life, like the fight never happened.

Bucky shifted. Just slightly.

His hand eased away from your stomach, the other dropping to his side. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

But you did.

You turned your head—slowly—and shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut through bone.

You shoved his chest with both hands. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to get space between you. Your expression was blank, but your body radiated heat and fury.

He didn’t resist. He let you push him.

And you turned.

No words. No explanation. No retreat. Just your back as you walked away—shoulders squared, movements clipped, hair tangled from the fight. You didn’t run.

You didn’t need to.

“…Hey,” he called after you, stepping out of the alley. “Hey—wait.”

You didn’t pause.

Your boots clapped against the wet pavement, turning down another street without looking back.

“Where are you going?” No answer.

He caught up, boots scuffing beside yours. He wasn’t panting anymore, but he was confused. Disarmed in the way only survivors could disarm each other.

“You just tried to kill me,” he said. “You started that. You could’ve—”

He stopped. Regrouped. “Who the hell are you?”

You didn’t even glance at him.

Just one subtle shift in your jaw. Tension in your neck.

That was all he got.

He caught up beside you. Tried to get in front of you. You side-stepped him like he was furniture.

“You speak?” he pushed, breath hitching with disbelief. “You got a name? Or just fists?”

Still nothing.

You barely acknowledged his existence now. That alone made his pulse spike.

“Did we know each other?” he demanded, frustration creeping into his voice. “I mean—really know each other? Because something about you feels… I don’t know.”

You stopped. Just once. You turned your head slightly.

And said, flatly, with razor-edged indifference, “Он умер.” [He’s dead.]

Then kept walking.

The words froze him. Just for a second.

The Soldat.

Dead.

Killed in your eyes the second he hesitated. The second he showed mercy. The second he didn’t fight back.

He kept following. Not at a sprint. Not with force.

Just… there.

A shadow a few steps behind. Close enough to be felt. Not close enough to touch.

You turned corners like the city owed you space. Didn’t rush. Didn’t look back. But you knew he was behind you. Every step. Every breath.

And still—you didn’t stop.

You passed shopfronts. Faded yellow walls. Posters curling off the bricks. A cracked tile underfoot. The stink of wet bread and exhaust in the air.

“Why are you running from me?” he asked, not breathless—just bitter. “You came at me. Remember that?”

You didn’t respond.

He didn’t expect you to.

“I don’t remember everything, alright?” he pushed, his voice clipping at the edge. “There are gaps. Big ones. I don’t know who I hurt. Who I—”

You rolled your eyes.

The noise he made in frustration wasn’t a sound of anger.

It was need.

“Just—just tell me your name,” he said. “Please. I don’t care what you were trying to do. Just give me that.”

You stopped again.

Slow.

Turned slightly.

Your face unreadable.

Voice low. “Сетка.”

His brow furrowed.

“Setka?” he repeated. “That’s not a name.”

You tilted your head—just a fraction. And then you looked at him like he was insects. Not worth a fight.

Just an irritation buzzing too close to your ear.

You turned back. Started walking again.

He followed.

“Is that a code name? What is that? Russian? Hydra?” He caught up beside you, walking now shoulder to shoulder. “Did I know you?”

You gave him nothing.

But his eyes stayed on you.

And you?

You just kept walking.

Not because you were done with him.

Because you were done with what he used to be.

────────────────────────

You ducked into the café like it owed you something.

Not the same one from before—this one was smaller, grittier. Glass smudged with fingerprints. Fluorescent light overhead flickering like a dying star. But the pastries in the case were fresh, warm, and dusted with powdered sugar.

That’s all that mattered.

You didn’t look back to check if he was still following.

You knew he was.

You ordered with a short nod, pointed at what you wanted. Paid in crumpled bills. And sat by the window, legs crossed, posture casual—like this was your place and the world was just visiting.

A sweet bun sat in front of you, golden, soft, still steaming.

You tore into it with precision. First bite was deliberate—slow chew, eyes half-lidded in genuine pleasure.

And then—

He walked in.

You didn’t look up. Not at first.

You licked a smear of sugar off your thumb, eyes fixed on the glass.

He ordered something. You didn’t care what. Until he slid into the seat across from you.

Boots heavy. Posture coiled. Forearms resting on the edge of the table like he was ready to fight if the cutlery moved.

He stared at you.

That stare. Cold. Sharp. Brow low. Eyes locked in.

The kind of look that made grown men flinch. You took another bite of your pastry.

Chewed. Swallowed. Licked your lips. And looked up slowly.

Your gaze met his.Unblinking. Flat. Not intimidated. Just... annoyed.

He stared harder.

You raised an eyebrow—just one.

Bit into the pastry again with a kind of exaggerated grace. Sugar dusted your bottom lip.

He leaned forward a bit.

You leaned back, leisurely, like the air between you bored you.

The silence was so thick it should’ve collapsed the table.

Still, you said nothing. Because you didn’t need to. You’d already won.

He shifted. You didn’t. His jaw flexed. Then—

He moved.

Slowly, reluctantly, like it physically pained him to do it, Bucky brought his hand up and extended it across the table. Palm open. Fingers slightly curled. That awkward, stilted kind of offer people made when they weren’t sure they were allowed to touch the world yet.

“I’m Bucky,” he said.

The words didn’t come easy. They stuck to the back of his throat. “Bucky.” Like he was still trying the name on. Still figuring out if it fit.

You looked at his hand. Not quickly. Not dramatically.

Just… down. Like you were glancing at a smear on your table.

Then you looked back up at him. Dead stare. Cold.

“Мне всё равно,” you said softly.

[I don’t care.]

The words landed heavier than a bullet. You didn’t spit them. You didn’t hiss them. You just meant them.

His hand hovered for another second—like he thought maybe he’d misheard, misunderstood, anything. Then he slowly pulled it back. Fingers flexing once before curling into a loose fist on the table.

You went back to your pastry. He didn’t move again.

────────────────────────

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink when he stared at you across the table. Didn’t soften when he introduced himself. Didn’t care.

He’d held out his hand like it meant something—like the name Bucky still belonged to him—and you looked at it like it was rotting.

“Мне всё равно.” [I don’t care.]

That should’ve been the end of it.

He should’ve let you walk. Let you disappear like every other phantom in his half-formed memory. But—

He couldn’t.

You were like smoke in a room with no fire.

Wrong. Out of place. But present.

Cold. Controlled. Eyes like winter steel and hands trained for death.

You weren't avoiding him like he was dangerous. You acted like he was a fly. An inconvenience.

And still…

He couldn’t stop watching you.

He found out you stayed three blocks away from him, in a run-down building that looked like it had never seen heat. No lights on past midnight. You came and went like habit—not avoidance.

No weapons drawn. Just… presence.

And it started happening before he noticed it: He’d time his walks to cross your path. He’d change course just to track where you ended up. Not to hurt you. Not even to corner you.

Just to exist near you.

Because somehow, somehow—he felt more alive around you than he had in years.

Not safe. Not comfortable. Alive.

Like the weight wasn’t pressing quite as hard against his chest when you were in the room. Even if you never looked at him. Even if you never said a word.

There was something about you.

Not just the way you moved—efficient, brutal, graceful like a damn blade in water. But the way you carried herself.

Like you didn’t owe the world a thing.

You were impenetrable. And it made him feel human.

────────────────────────

Несколько дней спустя

Some Days Later

You were sitting on the edge of a crumbling fountain, half a pastry in one hand, your boot tapping against the stone.

Same coat. Same deadpan stare. Same indifference like it was armor stitched into your skin.

Bucky stood across the square, watching.

Again.

You didn’t look at him, but he knew you saw him.

You always did.

This time, he walked straight over.

No subtlety. No circling. No waiting for a moment that wouldn’t come.

You didn’t move. Didn’t shift.

Just kept eating, like the man you tried to murder in a marketplace last week wasn’t about to sit beside you.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the fountain—not too close. Close enough.

You still didn’t look at him.

“I’m not following you,” he said quietly.

You raised a brow but said nothing. The flake of pastry lingered on your lip. You didn’t wipe it away.

“I just need to know…” He sighed, hand curling over his knee. “Setka. What that name means. Who are you?”

No response.

A pause.

Then, at last, your voice—quiet, flat, “Ты думаешь, ты хочешь знать.”

[You think you want to know, but you dont]

You met his eyes. Still unreadable. Still so, so tired.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, low.

His voice was raw now—not just tired, but unraveling.

“I just… need to know.”

A pause.

“Did I hurt you?”

Your chewing stopped.

You looked forward, eyes tracking something only you could see. Your fingers flexed once on the crumpled pastry paper. Then, softly, “да.” [Yes.]

A beat.

And then, quieter still—

“Но ты также научил меня не умирать.”

[But you also taught me not to die.*]

The words hit him like a blow to the chest.

His throat worked. His fingers twitched against his thigh. He wanted to ask what you meant—but couldn’t even form the question.

So he looked at you. Not with suspicion.

But with that kind of desperate, quiet plea in his eyes—the kind that asked without sound.

Please. I need more.

You finally sighed. A long, slow exhale through your nose. Tired. Annoyed.

Like explaining this was beneath you, but his stare was loud enough to warrant an answer.

“Красная комната,” you said flatly.

[The Red Room.]

His brows furrowed.

“Гидра отдала тебя им.”

[Hydra gave you to them.]

You finally looked at him.

Your face was unreadable. Not cruel. Not soft. Just matter-of-fact. “Ты… обучал нас.”

[You trained us.]

And there it was. The fracture in his expression. Shock, but not surprise.

Like you'd just said something he already knew, deep in his bones—but didn’t want to hear aloud.

He blinked. Swallowed.

“You were a widow,” he said, mostly to himself.

Your silence was confirmation. And for the first time since he met you, you didn’t look like a ghost.

He sat there, silent. Trying to make sense of what you'd just given him. And still—he needed more.

“How…” he said quietly, carefully, “how did you get out?”

You didn’t look at him.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. That specific kind of sigh. The one that said you’re annoying, but I’ll answer because I want you to stop talking.

Then, cool and clipped, “Наталия Романова. И Елена Белова.”

[Natalia Romanova. And Yelena Belova.]

You didn’t elaborate. You didn’t soften. You tossed the empty pastry wrapper into the bin beside the fountain and stood.

Then added, almost as an afterthought:

“Слишком поздно для большинства.”

[Too late for most of us.]

And without a glance back, you turned and walked away. Boots clicking against the stone. Shoulders squared. Back straight.

Leaving him there with a realization that the only person who might know who he was still didn’t care who he is.

You heard his steps before you saw him.

You always did.

He didn’t walk like a civilian. Not even when he tried.

His boots were too heavy. His presence too loud. Even in silence.

You didn’t turn when he entered the courtyard, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he didn’t mean to be there.

But you knew better.

You were sitting on a low wall, picking at the crust of a tart. Raspberry filling on your thumb. The sun was barely up.

And there he was. Again.

You didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll your eyes. This time, you just… watched. Not with annoyance. Just observation.

He sat a few feet away. Close enough to talk. Far enough not to press.

He looked tired.

More than usual.

Like he hadn’t slept. Like being in his skin had worn him raw.

And for the first time, you wondered.

Not what he wanted.

But why he kept wanting.

You let the silence hang for a moment longer, then tilted your head just slightly.

Voice soft. Even.

“Что ты хочешь от меня?”

[What do you want from me?]

He blinked.

Then smirked—dry, thin, almost embarrassed.

“Your name,” he said. “For one.”

You gave him a look. Half-bored, half-knowing.

“и…?” you prompted, arching a brow. [And…]

That’s when he faltered.

He shifted on the wall. Looked down at his hands. Flexed the metal one like he didn’t trust it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Not bitter. Not confused. Just honest.

“I don’t know why I keep looking for you. I just—”

He hesitated.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense. And you don’t even like me.”

You blinked at him. Then returned your gaze forward. Back to the rising sun. And said nothing.

But for once, you didn’t get up and leave.

You stayed.

────────────────────────

The fountain was silent, just a hollowed-out shell of stone, stained with rust and time. You sat perched on the rim, arms resting against your knees, watching the last light of day catch in the cracks of the broken tiles. The warmth of the sun was soft on your face, but the air was already turning cold.

You felt him arrive before he spoke.

He moved like someone who didn’t want to be noticed, but was too heavy with memory not to be felt.

He sat beside you—not too close, but not far. He didn’t speak. Not yet. And you didn’t turn your head to acknowledge him. It wasn’t necessary.

You’d started sharing silence like it belonged to both of you.

Minutes passed.

You listened to the slow creak of birds returning to the rooftops, the faint echo of footsteps on distant concrete. The world had quieted around you, and he hadn’t left.

Eventually, his voice broke through, rough and low.

“I don’t think I'll ever stop waiting.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. The words hung in the air, weightless and unfinished, and part of you wondered if he even expected a reply. Your gaze stayed fixed ahead, tracking the fractured pattern of shadows stretching across the courtyard.

And then, maybe without knowing why—you spoke.

Your name left your mouth quieter than you intended, like it had to sneak past the years of silence it had been buried under.

He turned to you. “What?”

You looked at him.

Met his eyes.

And said it again.

Clear. Certain. Yours.

The way he blinked told you he hadn’t expected it—not tonight, maybe not ever. He repeated it under his breath, carefully, like the syllables might dissolve if he held them too tightly. He said it like he was tasting something real for the first time in years.

Then he gave a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching into something soft.

“Nice to meet you,” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, giving him the same look you’d used on a hundred fools who thought they’d earned something for no reason.

His smile grew—not smug, but amused. Quiet. Unforced.

For a moment, you didn’t mind that he was there.

───────────────────────

You always took the same seat—back corner, right by the window, where the sunlight slanted across the table in late morning like gold dust.

Your coffee was always lukewarm by the time you drank it, and your pastries were always sweet. The music in your ears pulsed soft and steady, a low hum only you could hear. You never shared what you were listening to, and you never offered to.

He never asked.

But he noticed.

He noticed that when you chewed slowly, your head tilted slightly to one side—just enough to catch a particular note. He noticed that you tapped your fingers on the table sometimes, in rhythm with whatever beat lived under your skin.

It wasn’t much.

But it was yours.

And you noticed him too.

He always had the same notebook—small, black, worn at the edges, the kind that could be slipped into a coat pocket without a second thought. He never let anyone else see inside. But he wrote in it often, sometimes mid-sentence, like a thought might escape if he didn’t pin it down fast enough.

You didn’t speak for a long time.

Until one morning, when he was scribbling again inside it, you leaned slightly forward, voice low, words rolling off your tongue like it belonged there.

“Что ты там всё время пишешь?”

[What do you keep writing in there?]

He glanced up, blinking like he hadn’t realized you were watching him.

“Stuff I remember,” he answered, softly. “Names. Places. Dreams. I forget a lot, so I write it down.”

He didn’t ask what you were listening to.

But his gaze flicked toward the earbud still nestled in your ear, and you knew he was thinking it.

You didn’t offer it.

But you didn’t hide it, either.

Later that morning, you both reached for the last almond tart at the same time.

Your hand got there first.

You raised a brow. He huffed out a laugh through his nose and motioned for you to take it.

You did.

You broke it in half and pushed the other piece across the table.

He didn’t thank you. But he ate it.

That was the day you stopped sitting across from each other.

And started sitting side by side.

────────────────────────

The café was nearly empty, just the soft clink of ceramic and the distant hum of an old radio behind the counter. The pastry case had been picked clean, and the overhead light above your usual table flickered faintly, but neither of you moved to find another seat.

You sat beside him this time—shoulder to shoulder, one knee pulled up onto the booth seat, your arm resting lazily along the back of the bench. The hood of your coat was down, loose pieces of hair falling over your face. You didn’t bother fixing them.

You were listening to something again—earbuds in, eyes half-lidded.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He didn’t speak. He didn’t want to break whatever this was. The fact that you were still here meant something.

You shifted suddenly.

Not much—just a lean, just enough that your shoulder pressed into his arm, your head tipping to the side until it rested against him. Light. Casual. Like it was accidental. Like he wasn’t even there.

His breath hitched slightly—but he didn’t move.

You didn’t look at him.

But you reached up, plucked one of the earbuds from your ear, and—without looking—held it out toward him.

An offering.

No words.

No eye contact.

Just choice.

He hesitated—then took it.

David Bowie’s voice filtered in, old and warm and ghostlike. Something about changes, about time bending and slipping through fingers. The kind of song that made the city feel like it was holding its breath.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t smile.

But your head stayed against his shoulder.

And when the song ended, you didn’t take the earbud back.

You just let it stay.

Несколько месяцев спустя

A Few Months Later

He was on the floor again.

The mattress had been too soft. The air too still. He needed edges. Needed cold.

But even here—against the hard wood, spine pressed into the earth like punishment—it wasn’t enough to keep the dreams out.

They started like they always did.

Flashes of corridors. Screams without mouths. His own hands soaked in red. Russian commands slicing through the dark like razors.

He heard bones snap. He heard a girl scream—

No, not a girl. You.

But the Soldat didn’t stop.

His own voice—flat, mechanized—spoke a language he couldn’t feel, barking orders at children.

And then—

He was drowning in snow. Arms bound. Blood freezing.

He gasped awake like something had clawed through his chest.

His breath came ragged. Sharp. Cold sweat clung to every inch of skin, and the room felt like it was collapsing.

But then—

A hand.

Soft.

Warm against his chest.

Not sudden. Not a jolt. Just there—pressed gently over his heart like it had been holding him for hours.

“Тише…” [Easy now…]

Your voice was the first thing to cut through the fog. Low, steady, threaded with sleep but utterly sure.

His eyes snapped to you.

Darkness wrapped around the room like cloth, but he could see you in the low amber spill from the window. You were curled against him, body bare and familiar, skin pressed to skin. Your thigh hooked over his, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other tracing slow, grounding circles over his chest.

You didn’t flinch at his shaking.

You just held him.

“Это не сейчас,” you whispered again, softer.

[It’s not now.]

And he breathed like he hadn’t in days.

Hands found your back—clutching, clinging, greedy in the way that had nothing to do with sex. Like you were oxygen. Like his fingers didn’t know how to stop searching for the edges of you.

You didn’t pull away. You let him take. You let him need.

His breath stayed ragged for a long time, chest heaving beneath your hand like it couldn’t find its rhythm. His fingers clutched at your back, shifting slightly to your waist, to your shoulder, back again—like he needed to make sure you were real every few seconds.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just kept your arm over his chest, anchoring him.

Eventually, his head turned slightly against your temple. His mouth brushed your hair when he spoke, the words low, scratchy, like they were being dragged out of his ribs one by one.

“I saw them again.”

You said nothing.

“I was holding one of them down. I don’t even think she was older than fifteen. She looked like you. I think—I think maybe it was you.”

You pressed your lips against his jaw.

Not a kiss. Not an answer.

Just pressure.

“I can’t always tell if it’s memory or something Hydra put here,” he muttered, voice splintering at the edges. “Sometimes I remember things I know I didn’t do. And other times—I know it was me. The worst ones… I know it was me.”

His hand moved to your stomach. Held you there like gravity.

“I hear screaming in Russian, and I can’t tell if it’s my voice or someone else’s. I keep thinking I’ll get used to it. That it’ll fade. But it’s like it’s burned into the back of my eyelids.”

You shifted, just slightly, fingers brushing the line of his jaw, guiding his face closer until your foreheads touched.

He exhaled like it hurt.

“I don’t know who I am outside of what they made me,” he said. “But when I’m with you, it’s the first time I don’t feel like a ghost in my own body.”

Your hand slipped behind his neck, fingertips resting just beneath his hairline.

“Ты не призрак.” [You’re not a ghost.]

The words didn’t feel like comfort.

They felt like truth.

And when his breath caught again—quiet, uneven, almost broken—you stayed exactly where you were.

Not fixing him. Not saving him. Just with him.

Because at some point, without meaning to, he had become the only thing in this world that mattered.

The room was still dark, the sky outside only just beginning to tint at the edges. You were still lying there, skin warm against his, your breath a steady rhythm he’d started to match. His body had gone still again—not tense, not panicked. Just quiet. Contained.

But his hand was still at your waist. His fingers drawing soft, slow shapes into your side like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

And you let him.

Because it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t hungry.

It was careful.

His breath brushed the space just behind your ear when he spoke again.

“You’re the only thing I feel like I don’t need to apologize for.”

You shifted slightly—chest to chest now, one leg brushing between his. Your palm moved up to his shoulder, then trailed along the line of his throat, slow and exploratory. Not a seduction.

A recognition.

The intimacy didn’t build like a fire—it simmered, low and inevitable. He leaned into you like someone who had forgotten how to reach for warmth. His hand moved to your back, spreading wide across your spine, holding you there—not hard, not desperate, but present.

And then—

He kissed you.

Not rough. Not fast.

Just his mouth against yours, slow and searching. His breath shaky, his fingers tightening just a little in your hair.

You kissed him back. Not because you were trying to fix him. Not because you owed him anything.

But because he felt real beneath your hands, and that was enough.

When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, his voice barely more than breath:

“Please…”

You didn’t ask what he was asking for.

Because you already knew.

Bucky's forehead stayed pressed to yours, his breath warm where it spilled between your lips, ragged in the quiet. His eyes were still closed. Like he couldn't bear to look at you yet—like the weight of being seen might break him.

You moved first.

Your hand slid slowly from the nape of his neck down to his shoulder, tracing the edge of his scars with deliberate softness. His skin twitched under your touch, not from fear—from hunger.

His metal arm lay inert beside him, but his other hand came up, slow and reverent, fingertips brushing your cheek like he still wasn’t sure you were real. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip. His mouth followed.

This kiss was different.

No panic. No desperation.

Just need, thick and quiet and sharp.

You shifted, straddling his hips, your thighs bracketing his waist, your palms splayed flat against his chest. His skin was warm under yours, heartbeat hammering as though his body was still catching up to the permission he'd finally given himself—to want.

His hands found your waist. Traced the line of your spine. One stayed there, grounding himself in the curve of you, while the other slid up your side, fingers memorizing the shape of your ribs like he was trying to draw you blind.

When your hips pressed down against him, his breath caught sharply in his throat. He met your gaze then—fully, finally.

Not as the Soldat.

Not as a ghost.

As himself.

And you saw it—that flicker of reverence buried under the heat. Like even now, even wanting you, he didn’t feel like he deserved to have you.

So you kissed him again.

Not to reassure him.

To claim him.

His mouth opened under yours, hands gripping tighter now, pulling you down, closer, deeper. You rocked together slow, controlled, your rhythm deliberate, the pace of two people not trying to lose themselves—but trying to find themselves in each other.

You whispered between kisses—soft sounds only meant for him. He didn’t understand some of the words, but he held on to the tone, the way you said his name like it didn’t belong to anyone else.

When you sank down onto him, his whole body shuddered under you. His hands gripped your thighs, not guiding—begging. His lips trailed your throat, jaw, shoulder, anything he could reach, like touch was the only language he trusted.

You moved together slowly at first—bodies adjusting, memorizing, matching breath for breath, sound for sound. Every shift brought a deeper connection, every sigh a new thread stitched between skin and soul.

By the time your pace quickened, the air around you had changed. The city had faded. The world narrowed down to this room, this moment, this need.

He moaned your name against your neck like it was a prayer.

You held him like you were anchoring a man about to fall through the floor.

When release came, it wasn’t just pleasure. It was relief. A crashing, dissolving quiet that left you tangled together, chest to chest, sweat-slicked and breathless, your pulse finally syncing to something steady.

You didn't let go.

And neither did he.

Just stayed inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, arms locked around you like the world outside your bodies had ceased to exist.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

You had this.

────────────────────────

Следующее утро

The Next Morning

The market was quiet in the way city mornings could be. Early light filtered between rusted awnings, the smell of spices and stone settling into the cracks of the pavement. You walked beside him, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of his arm near yours.

He was holding plums.

Inspecting them like they were treasure.

You watched him quietly, a faint, unreadable smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It was absurd—how gentle he looked now, murmuring something about ripeness in Romanian under his breath. You didn't understand every word, but the tone was enough.

Then—

Something shifted.

A sharp prick under your skin.

Like static.

Like danger.

You didn’t know where it came from. A glance. A tension in the air. A silence that cut through background chatter too cleanly.

Your eyes tracked the source—an older man, just across the way, holding a folded newspaper in stiff fingers. He wasn’t watching the stand. He was watching him.

You followed the man’s line of sight, moving slowly, deliberately toward the stand. The vendor was distracted. You picked up a copy of the paper.

Front page.

Explosion at UN Assembly. Dozens dead. Suspect at large.

And beneath the headline—

His face.

Your stomach flipped. You turned sharply, plums forgotten. Walked straight to him.

Bucky looked up just as you shoved the newspaper into his chest.

He blinked. Then froze.

You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t run. You just leaned in, eyes locked with his.

“Нам нужно уходить. Сейчас.”

[We need to leave. Now.]

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t argue. His fingers clenched the paper.

And together, without another word, you turned and disappeared into the crowd.

────────────────────────

Берлин — Безопасный объект хранения

Berlin — Secure Holding Facility

You hadn't left his side since the arrest.

When the guards cuffed him, you didn’t fight them—not yet. You walked behind him, eyes narrowed, body coiled, your presence like a blade just waiting to be unsheathed.

No one could talk to you.

The blonde one had tried—gentle voice, soft posture, his hands open like that meant anything.

You stared at him like he was furniture.

His friend had watched you carefully, tension in his jaw, waiting for you to snap.

You didn’t.

You just stood closer to Bucky.

Then there was him.

The one in black. The Panther.

The moment he tried to approach, your hand twitched toward your hip. You had no weapon. Didn’t need one. Your body was a weapon. The look in your eyes alone was enough to make one of his guards step between you.

They tried to separate you.

You didn’t let them.

You didn’t speak a word—not in English, not in Russian. You were a storm in the room, silent and immovable. And even Bucky, tired and cuffed and quiet, looked at you with something just shy of awe.

Then the elevator opened.

She stepped out.

Red hair. Calm stride. Cold eyes that knew.

You didn’t need her name.

She didn’t need yours.

Natasha Romanoff approached slowly. Not cautiously. Respectfully.

She spoke in Russian, voice smooth but even.

“Мы никогда не встречались, но я знаю, кто ты.”

[We never met, but I know who you are.]

You said nothing.

She stopped a few feet away.

“Ты Сетка.” [You’re The Web.]

Still, no answer. But your gaze softened—fractionally.

Because you knew her too.

Not from missions. Not from photos.

From whispers in hallways. From training drills where instructors used her name like a warning.

Natalia Romanova. The Black Widow.

The one who escaped.

The one who survived.

“Он этого не делал,” you said finally.

[He didn’t do it.]

Your voice was low. Flat. Carved from certainty.

Natasha studied you. Something passed behind her eyes.

“I believe you,” she answered.

Then, more carefully:

“Но тебе нужно это сказать в суде.”

[But you need to say that in court.]

You stared at her.

Eyes hard.

“You’re his only alibi,” she added. “Without you, they’ll tear him apart.”

The thought made your stomach twist.

You clenched your jaw. Glanced at the camera behind Natasha—at Bucky, sitting in a metal chair, hands cuffed, head bowed.

You gave a slow nod.

And for the first time since his arrest—your eyes left him.

────────────────────────

The lights died without warning.

A loud click. A sharp hum.

Then—darkness.

Shouts echoed down the corridors. Metal scraped. Radios crackled with confusion. Power was down, systems offline, backup still lagging behind.

People froze. You didn’t.

You moved.

No hesitation. No questions.

The moment the lights dropped, your body remembered.

Because this kind of darkness only ever meant one thing.

You sprinted through the corridor like blood in a vein, bypassing the agents stumbling toward emergency protocols, your feet silent, lethal. Every step was muscle memory. Every twist and turn of the hallway a reflex carved into you long before freedom ever tasted real.

The door to the security wing came into view.

Ten guards. No time.

The first went down with a strike to the throat, his flashlight bouncing twice against the wall before silence claimed him.

The second reached for his radio—he didn’t get the chance. You broke his wrist, then slammed his head against the concrete.

They didn’t scream.

You didn’t give them the chance.

Three. Four. Five.

A baton cracked across your ribs—you spun and caught the next one mid-swing, driving his weapon into his own throat. The others hesitated.

That was their mistake.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Blood sprayed against the wall, glistening in the emergency red light now blinking to life.

Nine and ten dropped nearly at once—one from your heel, the other from your elbow, the weight of him crumbling against the wall with a breathless grunt.

You didn’t stop moving.

Not for breath. Not for pain. Not for blood.

You reached the holding cell just as the red emergency lights revealed him through the glass.

Bucky.

No. Not Bucky.

The Soldat.

His expression was blank. Eyes lifeless. Shoulders squared in that familiar, bone-deep way.

Inside the glass room, a man stood calmly—his voice rhythmic, deliberate.

“…Грузовой автомобиль.. Отчет—м…”

[Freight car... Mission report—m…]

You moved. Fast. You didn’t shout. You didn’t warn.

You slammed into the door controls, cracked them open with a guard’s badge, and dove through just as the man turned.

Your fist collided with his jaw before the last word could leave his mouth. He hit the floor, unconscious, blood blooming from his temple.

And then—

Silence.

Just the sound of the red lights humming.

You turned slowly. And looked at him.

Not Bucky. Not anymore.

Those eyes—the ones you’d let kiss your neck, trace your waist, breathe your name like it was prayer—were gone.

What stared back at you now was him.

The Soldat.

Empty. Programmed. Cold.

Your chest rose and fell with sharp, silent breaths. Not from exhaustion—but from adrenaline. From the ache that started deep behind your ribs and crept outward the moment he turned and looked at you with those eyes.

Cold. Vacant. Not his.

Your fingers curled slightly, tension trembling just beneath your skin.

You took one step forward.

“Бакки,” you said softly. [Bucky]

Nothing.

Not even a blink.

Another step.

“Бакки,” you tried again. [Bucky]

Still nothing.

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t let it show.

Then—voice quieter, firmer, the way you’d been taught to never say unless you meant it—

“Солдат.” [Soldat]

His body shifted. Barely.

But his head tilted, just slightly, like the command lodged itself where language became law.

“Готов к выполнению.”

[Ready to comply.]

You closed your eyes for half a second. Just long enough to breathe.

And then you moved toward him. Hands raised.

No fear now. Not anymore. Not after all this time. Not after all the nights he’d held you like you were the only thing in the world that stopped him from drowning.

“Это не ты,” you murmured, approaching slowly. [This isn’t you.]

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

You laid your palms on his chest, feeling the warmth there—his heartbeat still steady, still human. You let your fingers spread, grounding yourself in the body you knew like your own.

“Ты не он.” [You’re not him.]

Your hands slid upward—over his collarbone, along his jaw, up to the sides of his face.

His eyes didn’t change. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t react.

“Посмотри на меня.” [Look at me.]

Your thumbs traced just beneath his eyes. Soft. Intentional.

“Вернись ко мне.” [Come back to me.]

Stillness. And then—

A flicker. Just a breath. The barest crack behind his gaze.

His lips parted slightly, brows knitting, as if a noise were caught in his throat—something unsaid, something struggling to be remembered.

Your voice stayed low. Calm.

“Ты со мной сейчас.” [You’re with me now.]

His breath was just beginning to shift. Something in his face softening, eyes twitching with confusion—recognition pulling like a thread through fog.

Then—

Footsteps.

Boots on tile. Raised voices. Weapons ready.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Steve’s voice broke through first. “Bucky—!”

And in an instant, the tension returned.

Bucky’s body went rigid beneath your hands. His spine snapped straight, jaw locked, breath shallow and clipped. The softness vanished like it had never been there.

You felt the shift. Felt the Soldat rising again.

“Нет,” you whispered, voice firm, thumb still pressed to his cheekbone. “Нет.” [No.]

His hands twitched at his sides. You didn’t flinch.

You pressed closer, chest against his, forehead nearly touching his now. Then—

Movement behind you.

A shuffle of armor. The slight drag of a weapon’s safety clicking off.

You turned your head sharply—just enough to meet them.

Steve. Sam. T’Challa, face hard with fury, muscles taut with the restraint of a man who wanted to strike.

You stepped slightly in front of Bucky, still keeping one hand on his chest like you were holding a live wire.

Your eyes burned into all of them.

Then you pointed down at the unconscious man—Zemo, still bleeding from where you struck him.

“Вот ваш подрывник,” you spat, low and lethal. [There’s your bomber.]

None of them moved. Not yet.

Steve looked between you and Bucky, guilt bleeding into his features. Sam lowered his weapon just slightly. T’Challa’s jaw worked, but his eyes flicked to the man on the floor. Realisation behind his misplaced anger.

You didn’t wait for them to speak. You turned back to Bucky. Hands on his face again.

“Ты здесь,” you whispered, not begging—commanding. [You’re here.]

His breathing slowed. Not calm. But contained.

The emergency power roared back to life.

Lights flickered overhead, harsh and unforgiving. Cameras reactivated. Screens across the control room sparked awake, broadcasting every inch of the cell.

Security forces tensed.

Steve took a step forward—halted only by the look you shot him.

Deadly. Final. And then.

You turned back. Everyone was watching. But none of it mattered.

You pressed your hand gently to Bucky’s chest again, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt like you were anchoring him there—in this moment, in this body.

His face twitched. Brows drew together in pain. His jaw clenched. The lines of the Soldat’s posture—so rigid, so familiar—began to shake.

You stepped closer still, voice low, Russian rolling like smoke from your lips. Words meant for him and no one else.

“Ты здесь. Это прошло. Это я. Только я.”

[You’re here. It’s over. It’s me. Only me.]

You said it like a vow. Like something you’d carve into him if you had to.

He blinked once. A flinch. Barely visible. Then his eyes met yours. Not hollow. Not gone.

Still struggling. Still fighting. But there.

His breathing hitched—once, then twice—and then with something like agony, he let out a sound low in his throat.

He bowed his head. And leaned into you.

Forehead against your shoulder, arms rising slowly—tentative at first, then tighter, until he was holding you with a force that felt like drowning. Like if he didn’t hold you, he’d disappear.

Your hands slid into his hair, your fingers cradling the back of his skull.

Not protectively. Possessively.

He wasn’t a soldier anymore. He wasn’t a ghost. He was yours.

You didn’t look up. Not at Steve. Not at T’challa. Not at the dozens of cameras now recording this moment in real time, every politician, every soldier, every damned spectator watching the Soldat become Bucky Barnes again in the arms of the only person who knew how to bring him back.

And inside, rage burned in you like wildfire.

Not at him. At them. All of them.

For letting this happen to him. For dragging him back into it. For daring to treat him like a threat when he was barely holding himself together.

You hated them. Every last one of them.

But him?

You buried your face in his neck, whispering words no one else would ever hear.

He was the only thing you loved in this broken world.

The best way i can describe Bucky and Reader : Docile Dog and Feral Cat

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut

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pebbleetea · 5 months ago

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Lizzies Life Series Shadow-curse

Since Lizzies last life memories began, shes had this... curse. It grows and shrinks as it pleases, and as she also notices, fluctuates with strong emotion, especially stress, fear and anger.. She has trouble seeing out of her right eye, some days better than others. When it grows quickly it burns her skin, often weakening her senses. If emotions are strong but not outward, it simmers and itches with a slight burn feeling. Its appearance is almost otherworldly, not being affected by shadow or light easily. Its texture is easily indistinguishable from her skin and hair texture, but lacking in pores and imperfections.

Last Life

In last life, after discovering this, she shares it with her closest companions, Cleo, Ren and BigB, and when she eventually has a falling out with the fairy fort, she becomes paranoid and terrified her secret will surface and she will be viewed as a monster. She becomes terrified of her allies and when she reaches her red life she runs from Ren, severing their bond.

Secret Life

In Secret Life Lizzie decided that getting close to NO ONE was better than losing anyone. Having less allies and no group members made her feel more safe... but also more lonely. She realized this made her curse bubble up more, so she tried to host a party, but only Joel showed up. That would be it. No friends then. But no friends also meant no one to have her back. While trying to complete her task, she fell into the void on her last life, being the first to break the cycle of dying first. Her body was overtaken by the curse, seething in dark silent pain until wild life. She doesn't talk much about what happened in the void. All that is known is the darkness and pain. Was there more?

Wild Life

Lizzie can't deal with the pain alone. In the beginning she searches for a team that she can hopefully make friends with and finds Scar and Jimmy who enthusiastically accept her into their group, forming the bamboozlers. Lizzie begins to exhibit 'random' flare ups that she can t judge. Trying to hide her curse from Jimmy and Scar might prove difficult ....

#life series #traffic series #ldshadowlady #hermitcraft #last life #secret life #wildlife #bamboozlers #fairy fort #jimmy solidarity #smallishbeans #renlizzie #shadowrot

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monstersholygrail · 3 months ago

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Something New

A Free Use City Universe Fic

Deer Hybrid x fem!reader— drugs, sex toys, sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, aphrodisiac potion, fingering, aftercare

You had found yourself into quite the sticky situation. Having sex with your sexual drug dealer was possibly a new all time low for you. You would’ve said you have officially hit rock bottom but knowing you… there was probably a bit more to fall.

Living in Free Use City has been the dream you always thought it was going to be. No, in fact, it was even better. The sex was endless and you’ve never felt more desired and needed in your entire life.

But the problem with having constant sex is just that. You’re having constant sex and it can get… boring. You were bored with normal sex. You did it everywhere you could. In front of others, with others, watching others, and you did every little dirty and depraved thing you could think of. You tried the roughest of toys and the riskiest most mind blowing positions.

No matter what you did you couldn’t stop the creeping sensation of boredom from clawing its way through your body like a tentacle monster sliding their entire length inside you till they made you their human sex kebab. Literally.

You needed more but you didn’t have a clue what. Even the regular drugs at the clubs you frequent were beginning to bore you. The high always the same, the impact on sex hitting you in the exact same way.

Now tonight you find yourself back into your usual habit. Drink, dance, take drugs, and find someone to fuck. Tonight your club of choice is a favorite of yours, The Hunter’s Harvest, the most popular night club in Free Use City.

The world around you is a blur as you go through the motions. Somehow finding yourself riding an admittedly sexy ass Orc in the back of the club. When suddenly a familiar Naga comes slithering up to you two. Out of all the drug dealers that supply to the club his venom had to be the best. But tonight it just wasn’t working for you.

“How’s that venom treating you, pretty?” He hisses in your ear, reaching out tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. While completely ignoring the Orc beneath you. Honestly you were too.

All you have to do is purse your lips and give a drunken shake of your heads and the Naga understands all. A wicked gleam passes over his expression but he’s leaning back in before you can pick up on it. Not that you would in your current state anyway.

“Want something new? Something stronger,” he rasps into your ear again, causing sparks to zap down your spine.

And that’s how you found yourself in some strange back room of the club having no idea where you really are. You see dancers, waitresses, and monsters in dark scary looking suits pass by the room but no one spares a glance at you as you both lay down on the couch.

In exchange for a new drug they were testing out, a drug to enhance the sexual experience, you were to try it out with him before anyone. Said he wanted to be your first because he can swear you’ve never been fucked like this before. Yeah, you’ll just have to see about that. The challenge in his tone was more the reason why you agreed to this than the actual drug. But hey, if it finally brought some thrill back to sex, you’d take it.

Naga Drug Dealer settles between your hips and you can feel the hard bulges of his cocks rest hotly against you. It was a comforting sensation but nothing new. No, what was really new was the pretty orange vial he slips out of his pocket as he shakes off his clothing. You stare at it in awe, lips already parted, and head tilted back. Wanting so badly to experience something new.

“Enough!” A loud voice booms, breaking the tension like they took a hammer to glass.

You and the Naga jump a part, a bit of the vial splashing out and landing right in your mouth. Though his focus isn’t on you when you see his eyes go wide in terror. The man literally starts shaking before you. And that’s when your eyes catch onto the shadows of the wall behind him. A tall figure stands behind you with two long twisting horns.

It’s him. The Demon Drug Lord of Free Use City.

“S-sir, I’m- I can explain, you see. This is all just a big misunderstanding,” the Naga stammers over his words, sweating bullets.

Drug Lord Deer Hybrid storms into the room, ignoring the Naga’s stuttering words. You feel his touch before you see him as he pinches your chin and with one swift jerk of his hand brings your gaze to his. Your eyes widen as instead of a demon before you it’s a Deer Hybrid. His simmering grey eyes searing into you.

“Tell me, sweetheart, did you drink any of the vial?” His smooth deep voice seeps into ears and courses through your bloodstream, making you shiver into his touch.

All you can do is nod dumbly, caught like a deer in the headlights, too busy getting lost in his eyes. He curses under his breath, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Tsk— stupid girl. Come with me,” he orders, giving no room for argument.

And he doesn’t give you room to even consider arguing as before you can even stand he’s picking up your curvy frame with an insane amount of ease. Your lips part, wanting to protest. You’re totally able to walk on your own. But… he’s also so warm. Very comfortable. Something about him feeling strangely safe despite his dangerous aura and the reputation that proves it true.

Without so much as a word to your drug dealer, Drug Lord Deer Hybrid whisks you out of that room and down the darkened hall. You can’t see much of anything in front of you, left completely at this man’s mercy. And you don’t think he has that much. At least not normally.

The weight of your body begins to tip forward and you get the strange feeling he’s walking up stairs. You quickly steady yourself, placing your hands on his back. Not even trying to fight him off. You know who he is, you’re not stupid enough to do that.

But suddenly as he reaches the top, a wave of heat begins to wash over you. The world seems to slow down and grow hazy, everything in your vision blurring. You can faintly see he’s brought you into a lowly lit office— his office, you assume.

With all the gentleness of a falling feather, he carefully places you down on another couch. This one most softer and you assume a lot cleaner too. His thumb brushes along your jaw and a trail of fire is left in its wake. He tilts your head back, forcing your glazed eyes to fall on him.

“How much got in this mouth, baby?” He murmurs low, voice sounding like slow sex on nice Sunday morning.

Light tingles ignite throughout your face as he swipes a finger across your bottom lip. Effectively sucking out all the air from your lungs. You fight off a shiver, trying to preserve a little of your dignity.

“Just a few drops.”

He closes his eyes, the muscle in his jaw twitching. When they open back up they’re about several shades darker, a conflicting storm of emotions passing through them.

“You’re about to get really hot, sweetheart. But it’ll be ok. You’re gonna need to cum. A lot. And I’ll be close by to help you through it,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper. If only he knew how much hotter that just made you. But you’d refuse to admit it to him.

With a heavy sigh he pushes up off the couch, his tall and imposing form towering over you. For a second you expect him to pop open his belt and let you go to town on him. But then he’s turning his back to you to open a nearby closet, bringing back with him a box of toys.

“Here, these will help you get through the worst of the heat. It’s better to start sooner rather than later. And even when you cum, just keep going. Don’t let the heat build too much or you won’t be able to move.” His eyes never once leave yours as he speaks, his tone demanding obedience. He then slaps a suction cup dildo on the ground and you practically cum in your already soaked panties.

Everything about him has you caught up in a trance. All you can focus on is him and the raging heat building up from your core that grows stronger the longer you focus on him. But his words manage to register in your mind soon enough that you’re still able to speak.

“But I want you,” you reply stubbornly, a scowl decorating your face.

He raises a brow at you and merely holds out a vibrator for you to take. When you don’t, crossing your arms instead, his face drops. His eyes flicker over your frame in assessment and it has your belly clenching with desire and need. You can barely read a thing on his face but when he crouches down in front of the toys you dare to have hope.

“I’ll stay, okay? But I won’t touch you. That will have to be enough,” he responds, though both of you know it won’t be.

But still, you’ll take what you can get. Your body is so hot you almost wanna crawl out of your skin for some relief. Though shedding your clothes does help. You don’t even have the mind to be shy or embarrassed, needing to cum so bad. There was no room for that here.

Your pussy was dripping down your thighs, you didn’t even need to be prepped. You see his back straighten, eyes intent on your glistening folds. If you weren’t so desperate you’d have put on a little show for him, anything to get him inside you. And as you sink down on the thick dildo you imagine it’s actually his cock and you immediately moan in pleasure. The toy filling you up so perfectly.

Drug Lord Deer Hybrid falls to his knees before you, his expression giving away nothing of the emotions lying underneath. He doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing as he watches you get the dildo all slick with your juices before riding on it like you’ve gone mad.

He talks you through your next dozen orgasms, the time passing in the blink of an eye. He tells you just how to ride his toys, when to roll your hips, and how to touch your clit. And he’s right every time, bringing you to the most intense and existence transcending orgasms of your life. All while never touching you. But it’s his gaze that turns you on more than anyone ever has before. You can’t get enough of it.

You watch him watching you, his eyes nearly swallowed up by his pupils. Every muscle in his body is tense like he’s trying to hold off pouncing on you as much as you are to him. His voice growing more raspy and feral with each orgasm he brings out of you.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself cum for me. Rub your clit, just like that— nuh uh uh— don’t change speed. Do it— yes— do it hard, just like you like,” he demands in a low growl and you are far too weak to deny him.

Following his instructions you’re not surprised anymore as the cord in the belly snaps and you’re gushing liquid onto the deep red carpets. You figure they’re meant to hide something, why not your cum? He knows your body far too well for someone who has only introduced to it a few hours ago. Or has it been days? It’s hard to tell given the room has no windows.

You don’t know how long it’s been but you’ve effectively fucked yourself to exhaustion. The heat all but dissipated out of you with your final climax. Unable to hold your body up any longer, you start toward the floor and you don’t have the strength to stop yourself from the fall.

Right before your face makes contact, his arms are curling underneath your pits and hauling you up. Touching you for the first time since he carried you in here. He gathers you in his arms, laying you down all snug in his lap.

Your mind and body are way too gone to react right now but if you could you’d be seriously freaking out. He leans back enough to look down at you, his eyes somehow even more intense and full of conflict. Like he doesn’t know quite what to do with you. But after a moments hesitation he lifts a hand and pets the back of your head, the action surprisingly soothing.

Before you know it your eyelids are growing heavy and you’re melting into him. Everything in you, even your damn body, screamed that it trusts him. You should believe in your gut. If your guts always right or not is to be debated. But… things felt so good right now you didn’t want to try and open your eyes and insist you get going now.

No, you wanted to stay. Tonight was beyond anything you’ve ever experienced and you’ve done it all. And you have a feeling it had nothing to do with the drug.

Read Version Two here on my Patreon!!

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rosemaryhoney27 · 3 months ago

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Ghost of a Chance

Gotham was not a city known for its kindness. Rain slicked the alleyways like a second skin, and shadows crept where sunlight dared not linger. Alfred Pennyworth had seen a great many things in this city. Muggers, monsters, and masked madmen were just part of the nightly routine. What he hadn't expected, however, was to be saved by a ghost.

Or something very much like one.

It was supposed to be a quick errand—a quiet evening walk to clear his head. But halfway down Burnside, three desperate men with more bravado than brains cornered him. Alfred had been ready to disarm the first and disable the second, but he never got the chance. A blur of white and black swooped in, accompanied by the distant, bone-deep hum of unnatural power. The muggers were down in seconds—one frozen to the wall, another knocked out cold, and the third suspended midair by a glowing hand that flickered green.

The boy was there and gone just as fast. Alfred barely had time to register the tattered hoodie, the hollow cheeks, the white hair and green eyes that didn’t seem quite human.

"Wait—!" Alfred had called, but the boy was already gone, melting into the shadows like smoke.

The encounter would’ve ended there—just another strange chapter in Gotham’s nightbook—if it hadn’t kept happening.

Twice more, the mysterious young man appeared. Once to stop a purse snatcher near the theater. Another time to drag a lost child out of a crumbling building during a fire. Always fast, always silent. Always gone before Alfred could properly speak to him.

And always too thin.

It was the kind of thin that spoke of long nights without food. Hollow cheeks, knobby elbows, a belt cinched too tight around jeans that barely stayed up. It reminded Alfred of the early days—of Dick, of Jason, of Tim, of Damian. Of boys who had learned to survive instead of live.

Alfred Pennyworth had a rule: no one went hungry on his watch.

And so began his campaign.

At first, it was subtle. A wrapped sandwich left behind after one of the ghost-boy’s heroic appearances. A thermos of hot tea left conveniently near a rooftop perch. A backpack, clean and durable, filled with protein bars and fresh socks. Most of it vanished, though Alfred never saw it happen.

Then came the note, scrawled in messy, tired handwriting:

“Thanks. You didn’t have to. I’m not sticking around though. It’s safer for you if I don’t.”

The next day, Alfred left a response tucked in the same spot:

“You are not a danger, young man. I’ve seen far worse, and fed far worse. If you insist on continuing your streak of rooftop chivalry, I insist you do so on a full stomach.”

He added a slice of quiche. It was gone by morning.

Bruce raised an eyebrow the first time he caught Alfred baking two loaves of banana bread instead of one. Tim said nothing when the supply order mysteriously included a half dozen extra protein shakes and thermal gloves in medium size. Damian made a snide comment—something about stray ghosts haunting the pantry—but Alfred didn’t dignify it with a reply.

Then came the night it changed.

A patrol gone wrong. Batman caught in a collapsing parking garage. The comms went dead. Nightwing was too far. Red Hood was tracking Penguin. The only one nearby—untraceable, unregistered, and undeniably powerful—was the boy Alfred had been feeding for weeks.

He left the beacon on the rooftop.

“Help him. Please. –A.P.”

Within minutes, Bruce stumbled through the Batcave entrance, soot-smudged and breathing, but alive. Behind him, almost hidden in the shadows, was the boy. White hair. Green eyes. Shivering slightly, but still on his feet.

“I didn’t do it for favors,” the boy said. His voice was hoarse, too young for his haunted face. “I just... couldn’t let him die.”

“I know,” Alfred said gently. “Which is precisely why the offer of dinner still stands.”

“…I shouldn’t.” But his eyes drifted toward the warm lights of the manor beyond the cave, toward the smell of fresh bread and something sweet baking in the oven.

“No one escapes me forever, dear boy,” Alfred said with a small smile. “Not even slippery ghosts.”

The boy stared at him for a long moment. Then finally, like a candle burning out, he sagged.

“…Okay. Just for tonight.”

“Of course,” Alfred said, already turning toward the kitchen. “We’ll start with soup.”

Behind him, the boy whispered a name like an afterthought—like something long buried finally being said aloud.

“Danny. My name’s Danny.”

“Well then, Master Danny,” Alfred said, with the same fondness he reserved for all his wayward sons, “welcome home.”

#danny fenton #danny phantom #alfred pennyworth #dpxdc

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fleurbly · 1 month ago

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HEAVEN HELP THE HUNTED

summary: a hunt through the woods turns deadly when the man you swore to kill finally finds you — your back to the bark, his mouth at your ear, and no line left between hate and heat.

warnings: explicit sexual content, subtle dub-con, power imbalance, possessive/obsessive behaviour, toxic relationship dynamics, stalking, violence/physical aggression (subtle).

pairing: softdark!remmick x hunter!reader

word count: 3k+

DNI IF TAGS AFFECT YOU, MDNI

The heat of the night was thick enough to drown in, the kind of heat that pressed heavy on your skin and stuck to the back of your neck like a curse. The woods around you breathed slow and deep, every twig snap and rustle a reminder you were never alone. You hated that—the way this place held its secrets tight and whispered them only to those who dared listen.

Your dress, the blue one you wore to church Sunday—delicate, soft, and too pretty for a night like this—was soaked with sweat. The ruffles at the collar clung to your throat, the silk stockings beneath your skirt stuck wet behind your knees. You didn’t care. You’d worn it anyway. You always did. It made you feel sharp, like sugar wrapped in a razor blade.

Your pistol pressed cold against your thigh, tucked beneath your garter, and your knife rested silently in your boot. You were ready—always ready. For him.

You’d been hunting Remmick for months now, stalking the woods and fields where the shadows ran deep, following the trail of whispers and blood. You knew his hunger, his cruelty, but also the way he watched you with eyes that burned brighter than any fire. You hated him for what he’d done. Hated him for killing your brother—the only family you had left—because you’d refused him one too many times.

And yet, here you were, chasing ghosts through the night.

The moon was a thin sliver above, barely cutting through the canopy of trees. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and your careful footsteps in the damp earth. Then—a voice. Low, smooth, and thick with that cruel amusement that made your blood run cold.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just full o’ surprises.”

You whirled around, pistol raised, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He stood there, leaning against an old oak, his skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. That crooked smile—sharp as a blade—spread slow and sure across his lips.

“You always show up where I least want you,” you spat, voice steady but laced with ice. “Thought I told you to stay away.”

Remmick pushed off the tree, coming forward with a lazy step, hands tucked in his pockets like he owned the damn woods. “And I told you, sugar, I ain’t never leavin’ your side. Not ‘til you’re mine.”

You snorted, tightening your grip on the pistol. “You killed my brother. You’re not ‘mine’ anything. You’re a monster.”

The smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened. “He was just another step. You kept pushin’ me away, turnin’ your back when all I wanted was to hold you close.”

“Hold me close?” Your voice cracked with fury. “You think I could ever want you after that?”

He stopped just inches from you, gaze like a hunger that never died. “You want me more than you admit. You don’t dress like a fragile flower in these woods for nothing. You like the thrill. The danger. The taste of darkness just beneath your skin.”

You laughed, bitter and raw. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?” He leaned down so close you could smell the iron on his breath, the faint scent of something ancient and wild. “I know the fire in your eyes when you aim that pistol. I know the way your hands tremble when you’re mad. And I know how you dream about me when the night’s too quiet.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

“Stop,” you whispered, stepping back, trying to steady yourself.

“But I won’t,” he said, voice soft now, dangerously sweet. “I dream about you too. Dream about the day you’ll stop running.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I won’t.”

He laughed—dark and low, like a promise you weren’t sure you wanted to keep. “We’ll see, darlin’. I always come back. You’re mine whether you want to be or not.”

The night held its breath, and the woods seemed to lean in close, waiting.

You lifted your pistol again, aiming for his chest.

“Say it,” you hissed. “Say you’re leaving.”

He didn’t flinch. “Not a chance.”

Remmick’s grin deepened, eyes dragging over you like he was peeling layers off with a glance. He tilted his head slightly, that wolfish amusement curling slow at the corners of his mouth.

“Tell me somethin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, stepping just close enough that your finger tensed on the trigger. “You ever stop thinkin’ ‘bout that night in the barn?”

You stiffened.

He caught it—of course he did. His smirk turned wicked.

“Didn’t seem like much of a mistake when you had your legs wrapped ‘round my waist, beggin’ me not to stop,” he murmured, voice velvet-slick. “Hell, you damn near clawed my back open, remember? Still got the marks.”

You flushed—not from shame, but fury. Rage surged through your chest like wildfire.

“That was a mistake,” you snapped.

He chuckled. “Then it was the sweetest mistake I ever tasted. You said my name like a prayer and a curse in one breath. Thought the hayloft’d fall down with the way you—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your fist cracked against his cheekbone with a satisfying smack, knuckles singing from the impact. His head snapped to the side with a grunt.

He froze for a moment, then slowly turned back to you.

His thumb wiped the blood blooming at his lip. He stared at it, then looked at you from under his lashes.

The smile he gave you wasn’t crooked anymore. It was sharp.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d hit me again,” he murmured.

You took a step back, pistol rising again.

But he moved forward.

One step. Then another.

No words. Just heat and purpose.

Until the barrel met the center of his chest. You could feel how still he went beneath it—unnaturally still.

“You gonna shoot me this time, sugar?” he asked, voice like velvet smoke. “Or just keep pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Try me,” you hissed.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“I already did,” he whispered. “In that barn. Twice.”

You shoved the barrel harder into his chest.

He didn’t flinch. He let the silence answer for him.

“I’ve been through your fire before, sugar. A couple of times, in fact. Nights you don’t wanna remember, but I sure do.” His voice dipped low. “Hell, I might’ve even lost count.”

You tightened your grip. “That all changed. Before, maybe I was a fool.”

Remmick’s eyes flickered. “You think that changed everything? Nah. It just made the game more interesting. You want to believe I’m the villain, but darlin’—you got shadows too.”

Your finger twitched. The sweat on your palm made the grip slippery. You didn’t know if it was fury or the bitter truth sliding down your spine like ice.

“I’m done,” you said. “Done with the nights I begged you to stop and the mornings I woke to silence.”

He stepped closer, voice low and cutting. “Funny. I thought you liked those nights—the way you fought, the way you gave in. You don’t wanna admit it, but part of you still craves that fire. Maybe that’s why you never pulled the trigger.”

You shook your head. “You don’t get to own me. Not now. Not ever.”

His grin twisted, darker. “Maybe not. But I’m still here. Still the shadow that follows you.”

Your laugh broke like a splinter, raw and tired. “Try me,” you repeated.

He cocked his head, almost admiring. “Been tryin’ all this time, sweetheart. And I ain’t done yet.”

You pressed the barrel harder.

Then suddenly—his hand snapped around your wrist. The gun clattered to the dirt.

Before you could react, he grabbed your arm and spun you, slamming your back into the bark of the oak. The impact jarred your spine, and the rough bark scraped through your dress like claws.

His weight pinned you, hot and heavy. The heat between your bodies was stifling, his breath grazing your neck.

“You think you’re in control?” he growled.

Your body fought his hold, but his grip was iron.

“You don’t get to decide,” he said low. “Not anymore.”

You pressed harder into the bark, as if it could anchor you. Your heartbeat thundered in your throat.

His hand slid down your arm—slow, possessive.

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel it,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours.

You shoved against him, wild and desperate. He didn’t move. Just watched you.

“See?” he whispered, thumb brushing your jaw. “You’re fightin’ me. But you ain’t fightin’ it. Not really.”

Your breath hitched. You shut your eyes, chasing any clarity in the chaos.

But when you opened them, he was still there. Still too close.

“Let me go,” you whispered.

“Why would I do that,” he murmured, “when I’ve finally got you where I want you?”

He leaned in, lips ghosting your ear.

“You came for me, darlin’. Deep down, you always knew you would.”

His hand slid down your jaw, tracing a searing path along your collarbone, his fingers brushing the damp silk of your dress. “You dress like this,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin, “for me. You wear these pretty clothes, you carry that gun, all to tease me, to drive me crazy. But you don’t get to play with fire and not expect to get burned.”

His hand moved lower, palm flat against your stomach, fingers splaying wide. You could feel the calluses on his hands, rough and real, a stark contrast to the smooth silk of your dress. His touch burned through the thin fabric, branding your skin. Your breath hitched as his hand grabbed onto the skirt of the dress, pulling the fabric tight against your abdomen.

“You want me to let you go?” he whispered, his voice a low growl. Or do you want me to show you just how deep this game goes?”

You refused to respond, to give him any satisfaction. But your body betrayed you, hips pressing forward slightly, seeking more of his touch. His smile widened, a victorious smirk that made you want to both slap him and kiss him.

His hand slid lower, fingers brushing against the wet lace of your underwear. You gasped, the sound ripped from your throat, raw and desperate. His touch was electric, igniting a fire that scorched through your veins. “You’re soaked,” he said, voice thick with desire. “And it’s not just from the heat.”

His fingers hooked into the lace, tugging it to the side. His fingers found your entrance, slipping inside with a slow deliberate thrust. “You’re tight,” he murmured, voice strained. “So tight and wet. You want this darlin’. Don’t deny it.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to escape. His fingers moved inside you, stroking, teasing, driving you to the edge of madness. Your hips moved in time with his fingers thrusting into you, betraying your body’s desperate need.

His thumb found your clit, circling it with a pressure that made your vision swim. You were so close, so damn close. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your skin and that was it. You came undone, your body shuddering against his, a cry torn from your throat.

He held you there, fingers deep inside you, thumb still circling your clit, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. When you finally went still, and as your dress slowly fell back down to your legs, he pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What do you say, darlin’?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “You gonna run from me again? Or are you finally ready to admit you’re mine?”

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving against his as you tried to regain some semblance of control. But Remmick gave you no quarter, his body pressing into yours, his eyes burning with a hunger that matched the fire still licking at your nerves.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. “But not from fear. You want more, don’t you darlin’? You want me to fill you, to fuck you right here against this tree.”

His words were crude, filthy, but they sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over you. You tired to push him away, but your hands were shaking, your body betraying you at every turn. He caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, his grip iron and unyielding.

With his other hand, he hiked up the skirt of your dress again, the damp fabric whispering against your thighs. His fingers found your entrance again, teasing, tormentating, but not giving you what you craved.

“You’re so wet,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “So ready. But you’re gonna have to ask for it, sugar. You’re gonna have to beg.”

You shook your head, a desperate denial. But your body arched against his, seeking more of his heat. He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Go on darlin’,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

His fingers slipped inside you, slow and deep, his thumb circling your clit. You moaned, the sound torn from your throat raw and desperate. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice a harsh command. “Say you want me.”

You hesitated, the words lodged in your throat like a bitter pill. But his fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder, and you found yourself chanting his name, a desperate litany that spilled from your lips like a secret prayer.

“Please Remmick,” you begged, your voice a ragged whisper. “Please, I need you. I need you to–”

“To what?” he cut you off, his voice low. “Tell me what you need.”

His fingers slipped from you, leaving you empty and aching. You cried out, a sound out of pure frustration, but he just smiled, a slow, cruel curve of his lips. “Tell me,” he repeated, his hand moving to the front of his pants. You watched, breath held, as he unbuttoned them, revealing the thick length of his cock, hard and straining.

“You want this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “You want me to fill you, to stretch you, to fuck you until you don’t even know your damn name.”

His hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking slow and steady, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the beads of moisture gathering at the tip, could see the way his breath hitched. And you knew, with a certainty that shook you to your core, that you wanted it. You wanted him.

“Yes, “ you whispered, the word torn from your throat. “Yes, I want it. I want you.”

Remmick’s smile widened, a victorious smirk that made your heart pound. He stepped closer, his body pressing into yours, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. You could feel the heat of him, the power, the sheer masculine strength that seemed to radiate from his every pore.

"You're mine, darlin'," he growled. "Mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to fuck. Say it." You hesitated, the words a chokehold around your throat. But his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, and you found yourself nodding, a desperate, jerky movement.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a ragged admission. "Yes, I'm yours." Remmick's smile was slow and cruel, a triumphant curve of his lips that sent a shiver down your spine. He released your chin, his hand moving to your thigh, hitching your leg up around his hip.

You could feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent, a promise of what was to come. "You're so wet, darlin'," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "So ready for me. But this is gonna hurt, been long since i’ve been in this pussy. You understand?"

You nodded, a jerky, desperate movement. You knew what he meant. You knew the size of him, the power, the sheer masculinity that seemed to radiate from his every pore. But you also knew the pleasure, the sheer, mind-numbing ecstasy that came with taking him inside you. And you craved it. You craved him.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice a harsh command. "Tell me you understand." "Yes," you whispered, the word a ragged admission. "Yes, I understand." Remmick's smile was slow and cruel, a triumphant curve of his lips that sent a shiver down your spine.

He pressed forward, the head of his cock slipping inside you, stretching you, filling you. You gasped, the sound torn from your throat, raw and desperate. The pain was sharp, a white-hot burn that seemed to consume every nerve ending, every sense.

He paused there, his body tense, his eyes locked on yours. "You okay, darlin'?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You want me to stop?" You shook your head, a desperate denial. The pain was there, sharp and insistent, but so was the pleasure.

The sheer, mind-numbing ecstasy of having him inside you, of feeling him stretch you, fill you, claim you as his own. And you craved it. You craved him. "Keep going," you whispered, the words a ragged plea. "Please, Remmick. Don't stop.”

He pressed forward, his cock sliding deeper, filling you, claiming you. The pain was still there, a sharp, insistent burn, but it was fading, replaced by a pleasure so intense it made your vision swim.

You moaned, the sound torn from your throat, raw and desperate. Your hips moved in time with his thrusts, your body betraying your every secret. He was so deep, so hard, so fucking perfect. You could feel every inch of him, could feel the way he stretched you, filled you, claimed you as his own.

"You feel so good, darlin'," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "So tight, so wet, so fucking perfect. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to take my cock, to be fucked by me." His words were crude, filthy, but they sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over you. You couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only feel. Feel the pleasure, the pain, the sheer, mind-numbing ecstasy of having him inside you.

His thrusts grew faster, harder, more insistent. Each one sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, each one drove you closer to the edge. You could feel it building, a tension that coiled tight in your belly, a pressure that grew with every thrust, every moan, every ragged breath.

"You're gonna come for me, darlin'," he growled, his voice a harsh command. "You're gonna come all over my cock, aren't you? You're gonna scream my name, beg me for more." His words were a trigger, a spark that ignited the fire that had been building inside you. You came with a cry, your body convulsing around him, your muscles clenching tight, milking him, demanding more.

Waves of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last, each one driving you deeper into the abyss. His thrusts grew harder, faster, more desperate. He was chasing his own release, his body tensing, his muscles coiling tight. And then, with a low growl, he came, his cock pulsing inside you, his body shaking with the force of his release.

He held you there, his body pressed tight against yours, his cock still buried deep inside you. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against your chest. And you knew, with a certainty that shook you to your core, that you were his. Completely and utterly his. And he was yours.

#small fic for today 😼#remmick smut #remmick sinners #sinners #sinners 2025 #jack o'connell #remmick x reader #remmick #sinners movie #sinners fic

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smutoperator · 1 month ago

Text

The Babes & The Monster

Jung Ahyeon, Enami Asa x Male Reader

Tags: A2M, A2P, anal, bondage, clamps, creampie, cum on abs, daddy kink, discipline, dungeon torture, electric shock, facial, facefucking, fisting, flogging, footjob, mouth gag, object insertion, punishment, pussy to mouth, sex slaves, spanking, teens, vibrator

Word count: 9510

Chapter 1 - Beauty & The Beast with Ahyeon

Over the years, YG Entertainment's dungeon has acquired an infamous reputation. However, many people think its existence is just a metaphor.

But what if I told you the dungeon is pretty much real?

"Welcome to the dungeon, young lady," you say to Ahyeon as she enters it. This is the first time she has visited it, as she just turned 18 years old. "Thank you," she answers. "Are you excited?" you ask her. "Yes, but I'm a little nervous; I heard about the dungeon's reputation. I really wanted to try it, but the other girls have told me it's not an easy initiation," she says.

"Don't be afraid; get yourself comfortable. Today I'll teach you how to be a good girl," you tell Ahyeon, her eyes getting bright as she hears it. "Are you ready to be trained and become a good submissive girl?" you ask her. "Sure," she answers.

"Alright, then take off your clothes," you tell Ahyeon. The young beauty promptly obliges, getting herself naked. "Let me prepare you," you tell her as you see her beautiful, naked, young body for the first time.

You tie Ahyeon up with a rope, making sure her growing teen tits pop out. You put a vibrator close to her pussy and insert a mouth gag on her. Ahyeon's eyes jump up as she gets a little scared with the way you move. She can only see your shadow as you move to tie her into submission, since the room is quite dark.

"Baby monster, huh?" you ask Ahyeon as now she's completely tied up. "Today you'll be my baby, and I'll be your monster," you tell her. "Do you like being pleasured?" you then ask her. Ahyeon nods positively. "Are you willing to pay for it?" you keep asking, her answering with a yes. Soon, you turn the vibrator on, enjoying her moans muffled by the mouth gag.

You bring a whip and start hitting Ahyeon's body and turning her skin red. You can see the fear in her eyes as you hit her thighs, her back, her boobs, her ass, and her pussy, Ahyeon moaning in both pain and pleasure at each hit. "Your body is amazing," you say to her as you stop hitting Ahyeon, looking at her scared face and remaining silent, the only noises in the room coming from the vibrator and her moans.

You slowly pinch Ahyeon's nipples, making her moan a bit further. You keep touching her tits, enjoying playing with them, groping them at will. More whipping ensues; you are now targeting her boobs, Ahyeon's moans of pain getting louder under the mouth gag. "HMMMMMM," you can hear her scream.

The spanking only gets harder, Ahyeon's body turning completely red. You now move into her ass, enjoying hitting it hard. You move towards the table, grabbing a pair of clamps from it. "I see you like to have things in your mouth," you tease her, pointing to the mouth gag. "But you can have something much better than that," you continue. "Would you like to be facefucked?" you ask her.

Ahyeon nods and agrees with your asking as you make her look in your eyes. "Would you like this pretty throat getting fucked by a big dick? Is that what you like?" you ask her. She keeps answering positively. You ask again if she's willing to pay for it. You increase the speed of the vibrator as you clamp her nipples, pushing them down with the strong weight attached to it.

"Is that easy?" you ask Ahyeon, and she agrees, so you put an extra pair of clamps in her boobs. "Alright, that's good," you say. You grab her head, rotating her body as you take your cock out of your pants. You circle the tip around Ahyeon's mouth gag. "Keep those pretty eyes up," you command.

Ahyeon looks at you very scared. "If you do the things I said, I'll take those nipple clamps off," you blackmail her. "You just have to keep those eyes up," you tell her, circling the tip of your dick on her lips now. "You wanna taste that big fucking cock, don't you?" you ask Ahyeon. "Yes," she answers.

"Put your tongue out," you tell Ahyeon as your cock rubs on it. You slowly insert your cock in her mouth, slowly popping in and out of it as you take the nipple clamps off her. Ahyeon moans, enjoying as your cock gets deeper inside her pretty mouth. "Isn't that what you want?" you ask her.

You grab Ahyeon's hair and start fucking her face. She gags at first but quickly manages to adjust to your massive meat, even bobbing her head in its direction as she tries to take more of it. A string of saliva comes out of her mouth, you fully taking the clamps off her nipples, deeming her to have passed the test.

"Say thank you," you tell Ahyeon. "Thank you," she answers. "For what?" you ask her. "For stuffing that big fucking cock in my pretty little mouth," she replies. "Good girl, now open that mouth and beg for that cock," you tell her. "Please," Ahyeon says every time you pop your cock out of her mouth, giving her another good round of facefucking that makes her gag.

You push harder this time with Ahyeon, using her face like a fleshlight as you take your cock deeper and deeper in her warm young throat. "That's a special skill you've got there, baby, and you haven't even gotten the proper training," you tell her, pushing Ahyeon to the limit and shaping her to be the best cocksucker of her generation, your facefucking getting rougher and rougher.

"Please, please, fuck my face," Ahyeon begs and gets a good pounding in her mouth, choking on your cock to the fullest and almost losing her breath. "Please, please, I want more," she continues to beg. "Then keep your eyes open," you tell her, grabbing Ahyeon's head and making her deepthroat your cock.

"Incredible, you're gonna be a star soon," you praise Ahyeon's cocksucking skills. "Thank you," she says. "Good girl," you reply, enjoying the string of saliva coming out of your cock, her face getting covered in spit after a long, rough face-fucking session, the saliva getting all the way down to her belly as her pussy gets redder with the intense vibration down low.

"Are you ready to put that big cock in your tight little pussy?" you ask Ahyeon. "Yes, please, give it to me," she begs. You get down on the dungeon's floor, letting Ahyeon slowly sink her tight teen pussy down your pole. You give her clit a couple of hits with your whip as she moans with your cock getting inside her.

"Ride it," you command to Ahyeon as she starts bouncing as fast as she can on your cock. "Faster," you tell her, hitting her body with the whip as you enjoy her moans. "Stay all the way up; don't drop down it," you say as you order Ahyeon to stay on top of it, before spanking her and ordering her to keep riding it hard.

"I'm gonna ask you a couple of questions," you say to Ahyeon as she stops bouncing a bit before resuming her riding. "Let me see if you can be a submissive slut," you tell her, continuing the ride-and-spank session, now aiming for her nipples. "AHHHHH," she moans.

"I didn't say you could moan like that," you tell Ahyeon, punishing her as you pin a pair of clothespins in her nipples. "Sorry," she apologizes. "Now keep riding it," you command, Ahyeon obliging as you keep spanking her. "A good submissive slut must always listen to her master, be sexually avaliable and give him pleasure, do you undestand?" you ask her. "Yes, master," Ahyeon answers.

Ahyeon stops on top of your cock as you spank her clit. She moves faster than ever on your cock, yet the spanks only get hard. "I like that; the harder I spank you, the better you ride," you tell her. "That's what a good slut does: take every punishment her master hands to her for being a good slut," you say to her.

"AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH," Ahyeon loudly screams as she bounces hard on your cock. "Looks like you're asking to be punished. I said no screaming," you tell her, making Ahyeon stop her ride and toying with her nipples. "A good slut also needs to have some pace; you know how to ride, but all you know is how to go fast. You can take it slow too," you tell her, Ahyeon slowing down.

"Hard and deep, learn it; you can be fast riding too, but you need to take it hard and deep over anything," you tell Ahyeon. "Yes, sir," she answers. "Now take that fucking dick with all your strength," you command to her, spanking her body harder than ever as Ahyeon rides your cock like her life depends on it.

"FUCKKKKK," Ahyeon screams as she goes all-in, insanely bouncing on your cock to the point she loses the sights of her surroundings and exhausts herself. "Tell me what you learned from this exercise," you tell her. "I'VE GOTTA GO HARD, FAST, AND DEEP," she answers. "No," you tell her. "I learned to be a good submissive slut, sexually available and tolerant to all pain," she says. "That's what I wanted to hear," you reply.

"We have a couple more exercises to do; are you ready?" you ask Ahyeon. "Yes, always ready for my master," she answers. You bring a gym mattress for her to get on all fours. "Put your face down and ass up," you command. "Yes, sir," she answers. You start spanking her already, ass, this time with no whip needed, just your bare hands. You grab her cute little butt, looking at her incredibly tight pussy and tight asshole from up top.

"Relax," you say to Ahyeon as you keep spanking her. One of your spanks lands right on her clit, making her tremble. You circle your fingers inside her tight pussy. "This is one of the tiniest pussies I've ever taken on," you tell her, shoving your index finger deep inside it and giving it a little massage.

Ahyeon moans as you massage her pussy, enjoying your experienced hands hitting right at the perfect spots, making her body very sensitive as you start slowly fingering it. "Right there," you say. "What part of your pussy is this?" you ask her. "My g-spot?" Ahyeon asks. "Perfect," you tell her, stimulating Ahyeon right at her most sensitive spot. "Your body is telling me you like it a lot," you say to her. "Yes, I love it," Ahyeon says.

You keep stimulating Ahyeon's g-spot, her instantly jumping her body up as you pick up the pace. "OHHHHHHHHHH," she gives you long and hard moans. "Thank you for showing me where my g-spot is," she says.

"Now we are gonna show you where your cervix is once I hit it with my big dick," you say to Ahyeon. "But first, I'm gonna need you to beg for it," you continue. "Please, fuck me hard and deep with that big fucking dick," Ahyeon says. "Say it again," you tell her, Ahyeon repeating it as you rub your cock against her entrance before slowly inserting your full length in her pussy.

You grab Ahyeon's ass, taking it slow in her pussy at first. She queefs as your cock hits her G-spot, her asshole opening up with your cock going deep in her pussy. "AHHHHHHHH," she starts screaming as you finally start pushing hard, hitting all the way deep in her cervix. "AHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, UHHHHH," she continues to moan, you showing no mercy for her teen pussy, stretching it out to the fullest. You play with her asshole too, sticking your thumb inside it as you fuck Ahyeon's wonderful pink pussy.

Ahyeon starts blabbering as you fuck and spank her, a bunch of unintelligible words coming out of her mouth as she gets completely numb and dumb for your cock. "Please, have some mercy for my pussy," she tells you as you slow down a bit. "Do the work for me then," you tell her, Ahyeon obliging and moving her hips against your crotch. "That's what I want to see, long strokes on that cock, work those hips, I know you can do it," you tell her.

You grab Ahyeon's waist and push her body against your crotch. "I love the way you move those hips; you already bounce on my cock like a seasoned slut," you tell her, praising her skills. "Fuck, you've got so much potential; I haven't seen such a good slut at such a young age in maybe a decade," you tell her.

"Alright, you still need to pass one more test," you say to Ahyeon as you reinsert the gag in her mouth. "Say, Please use me, fuck my hole," you tell her. Ahyeon answers, the mouth gag muffling it as you tease her with a little rub of your tip on her clit, before a little popping in and out of her pussy.

Your cock slowly goes backside inside Ahyeon's pussy. "Look at me," you tell her, enjoying her soft moans as you fuck her pussy very slowly. "That's a good girl," you say to her, Ahyeon's moans getting more intense as you go deeper in her pussy. She looks at you with naughty eyes, getting sluttier with each thrust you give inside her.

"HMMMM, HMMMMM, HMMMMM," Aheyon loudly moans as you continue to attack her teen pink pussy. You can feel her walls clenching around your cock; you're ready to cum at any second. "Open your legs wide, show us your pretty little cunt," you tell her, Ahyeon promptly spreading her legs further for your cock.

"I wanna hear some filthy shit coming out of your mouth," you say to Ahyeon, taking the mouth gag off. "If you are a good girl, I'm gonna give you a nice reward for you to taste," you continue.

"I LOVE YOUR BIG COCK SO MUCH, I LOVE YOUR BIG COCK IN MY TIGHT LITTLE PUSSY, I JUST WANT YOU TO FUCK ME UNTIL YOU CUM, OH PLEASE, I LOVE YOUR DICK SO MUCH," Ahyeon screams as soon as her mouth is unblocked. "Yes, yes, give me more; your dick feels so good inside me," she begs as you continue to fuck her.

"Can I cum, master?" Ahyeon asks. "Yes, cum on that dick," you tell her. Ahyeon's pussy gets wetter and wetter, you moving her legs a little to the side and trying a different position as Ahyeon rolls her eyes. "I love your big cock, I love your big cock," she repeats. "OH FUCK," she screams, her pussy queefing as you push hard inside her.

"I want you to own that fucking cunt," Ahyeon begs as you put her under a mating press and choke her, slamming her body against the gym mat. "OHHH SHIT," Ahyeon screams as she gets utterly dominated, you using her like a fuckdoll and making her body shake. "OH YES, YES, YES," she screams, you fucking her like an animal and hitting her pretty face from all sides.

"Get down on your knees," you tell Ahyeon, who promptly obliges, as you hold your restraint to cum in her pussy. You stroke your cock against her pretty face, Ahyeon opening her mouth ready to receive your load. You take your cock in her mouth a couple of times, teasing her a bit. "Stick that tongue out," you command, stroking your dick hard and giving your balls for her to worship until you finally give her the rewards for being a good girl, dropping your milky cum right on her tongue for her to swallow.

"And that's what you get for being a good girl," you tell Ahyeon. "Thank you," she answers. "Now go downstairs to your dungeon cell because my next client is already coming," you tell her.

You guide Ahyeon to her cell, giving you a little spankings with your whip. "You did a great job," you tell her. Ahyeon gets locked inside her cell, looking at all the naughty drawings from the girls that went there before her and doing one of her own while you move upstairs for the next session, which will be with another young hot girl you can't wait to learn more about.

Chapter 2 - Young Oshiri with Asa

"Hello," Asa greets you as she arrives at the dungeon. "Welcome," you say to her. "Can I take a look at your beautiful body?" you ask her. Asa follows, showing it off for you, especially her pierced navel and her great ass, which will be the main course of your meal today.

"Come here," you tell Asa, taking her to a different room in the dungeon from the one you just fucked Ahyeon. The young Japanese girl follows you, looking at the massive equipment you reserved for her with scared eyes. "Damn, what are you gonna do to me?" you tell her. "You'll soon find out," you say to her.

"Put your head in there, get your face down and your ass up," you tell Asa, who follows your instructions as you trap Asa's arms and head in a wooden table with a few holes carved in it. "Damn, your ass is beautiful, better than what I expected," you say as you look at Asa's super small shorts that barely cover her big butt.

You start spanking Asa's ass, making her scream. "AHHHHHHH," she yells. Quickly, you pull her shorts down and smack her bare butt. "FUCK YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY, AHHHH," she screams as you torture her fat ass.

"Young Japanese asses, my favorite kind," you tell her. "I'm truly addicted to the oshiri," you say to Asa. You quickly prove your addiction for them as you rip Asa's panties with your bare hands, leaving her bare butt completely free of any obstruction that could hide the sights of her incredible ass. "Oh my God, look at those incredible holes," you say as you start spanking Asa around her pussy and asshole. "FUCK," Asa screams, but little does she know you're just starting.

You insert the cable of your whip inside Asa's butthole. "OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she asks, screaming. "Don't worry, I'm gonna put much thicker things up that ass today," you say to her as you keep tucking the cable up her ass. You then pull it out and start eating her asshole, tonguing deep into her tiny teen anus while you finger her clit. "AHHHHHH FUCK," she continues to scream.

"Open that ass for your master; I'm gonna teach you how to be a proper anal slut," you tell Asa, spanking her butt a few more times and making her scream. You shove your middle finger up her asshole. "Is that good, slut?" you ask her. "OH YEAH," she answers.

You keep spanking Asa's butt hard with a pair of whips while also targeting her feet too. "AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, FUCK," she keeps screaming. "I can't wait to put that cock inside that big Japanese butt," you tell her, pulling your pants down.

"Move your feet and play with my cock," you say to Asa, ordering her to give you a footjob even though she can't see anything except the dungeon of the floor. But she shows her strong spatial awareness, jerking off your shaft with her beautiful soles. "Good girl," you say, spanking her ass and putting a pair of fingers in her asshole, making her scream further.

"Keep playing with my cock, bitch," you tell Asa as she tries to keep jerking your cock off with her feet. You bring a pair of clamps and put them on her toes before hitting her ass a few more times with your whip. "You want me to fuck your ass?" you ask her. "Yes," Asa answers. "I don't hear you," you say. "YES," she screams.

"Please, please, fuck my ass," Asa begs as you continue to prepare her body to get sodomized. You cut her clothes off, exposing her perky tits too. "Oh my God, please fuck me," Asa keeps begging as you get ready to mount on top of her body and shove your cock deep in her asshole. "Oh my god, that's so tight," you say.

You pump Asa's butthole at a straight angle, making her get wet. "OH MY GOD, PLEASE, PLEASE" she screams as you stretch her tiny teen butthole out. Her screams suddenly get louder as you pick up your strongest pair of clamps and put them on her clit. "Now we're talking," you tell her.

"AHHHHHH, OH MY GOD!" Asa screams as she gets her ass destroyed and her clit hanging by those clamps. "You like that?" you ask her. "I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT," she answers as you increase the pace. "Your asshole is so tiny it tightens up as soon as I pull my cock out," you observe, leading you to make sure you stretch it out as hard as possible.

"Open that ass," you tell Asa, spitting in her butthole as you finally manage to build some gape in her butt. You really enjoy torturing that poor young thing as you grab a pair of batons and start giving her ass and her foot some electric shocks. "Oh, please, please," she begs, screaming.

"MERCY, MERCY," Asa begs after she takes a good round of electric shocks. You hit her body from top to bottom with your whip before getting back to fuck her ass like a raging bull, showcasing your domination over this young slut, destroying her ass the way it should be. "Such a great ass to fuck," you tell her.

You remove the clamps from Asa's clit, making her scream loudly as she's already extremely sensitive. "Look how fucking wet that pussy is, and I haven't even tried it yet," you say to her, rubbing the whip's cable on it and offering it for her to taste. You then hit her face a few times with the whip. "You like tasting that pussy, right?" you ask her. "I LOVE IT," she answers.

"Let's go to the next round," you tell Asa, trapping her body inside a holed box with openings for her head and her wide open legs and the front exposed to show her torso. You insert the same vibrator you used on Ahyeon through a hole, stimulating Asa's young pussy as you look at her. You hit her beautiful legs with your whip a few times before grabbing her hair. "You are too sensitive and scream too much. Are you ready for some sensitivity training?" you ask her. "Yes," she answers.

"Put your tongue out," you tell Asa, rubbing your cock all over her beautiful face, especially her lips and tongue. "You wanna suck that cock?" you ask her, Asa nodding positively. "You wanna what?" you ask her. "I wanna suck that big fat cock," she answers.

You tease Asa a bit. "Please, give it to me," Asa begs. "Come take it," you tell her, putting your cock just so she can move her neck trapped on the box as hard as possible just to suck it, Asa making a lot of effort. "You can't do better than that?" you mock her, jumping on top of the box and promptly fucking her face. "Oh my God, such a warm mouth," you say.

You pop your cock in and out of Asa's mouth. "Open your mouth; let me use it like a fucking fleshlight," you tell her, shoving your cock deeper and deeper in her throat. "See, you can do that," you tell her as Asa takes more and more of your cock. "Keep your head up," you command to Asa as you keep using her mouth, shoving your cock balls deep on it.

"I told you to keep your head up, but you didn't. Now I'm gonna punish you," you tell Asa, putting a pair of clamps on her nipples before connecting them to her mouth and using them as a stretcher. "Now I'm gonna show you how to properly take a cock in your mouth," you say to her, pounding Asa's stretched-out mouth until she gags.

"Did you like that?" you ask Asa. "Yes, sir," she answers. You add a pair of weights to her clamps, destroying her pretty young face just like you did to her asshole before, Asa closing her eyes and taking a massive pounding. "Don't fucking close it," you tell her, removing the clamps from her mouth and plugging them into her ears.

"You look so beautiful yet so stupid," you tell Asa. "But as long as I can fuck the shit out of you, I don't care," you tell Asa. She spits all over your cock. "That's good, gag on that dick," you tell her, finally removing her clamps. You turn her vibrator on and give her midriff some electric shocks. "AHHHH, PLEASE," she screams.

"OH FUCK," Asa screams as you increase the speed of the vibrator. You take advantage of her weakness and plow her mouth hard. "Spit on that cock, bitch," you say to her, before slapping your shaft in her face. "Suck that cock," you tell Asa, letting her bob her head on it.

"I'm so scared," Asa says as you show the electric shock batons in front of her face. "You don't have to be scared if you suck that cock," you tell her, giving a shock right in her cheeks. Asa is drenched down low, the vibrator wrecking her pussy down low while you wreck her mouth up top. "Are you cumming already?" you ask her as your cock is all over her mouth. "Close your eyes and suck it," you tell her, teasing her with a few more shocks before she finally cums thanks to them.

"AHHHHH," Asa screams when you put the shock baton in her body without even using it. "Why are you screaming? I didn't do anything," you tell her. "I think you're having too much fun," you say, turning off the vibrator. You really enjoy using her like a useless sex doll, spanking, choking, and fucking her. You sit on top of her face, offering your balls for her to worship, before fucking her face a couple more times.

"That was rough, but I think you've passed the test," you say to Asa, giving her a few more shocks and letting her cum one more time with an intense massage from the vibrator before freeing her from the box. "You look so pretty right now," you say as you prepare the wooden table for the next round, getting it in a standing position to put Asa's body trapped back on it.

"Are you good?" you ask Asa, pointing your cock in her face and making her kiss the tip of it. You bring a different table, stroking your cock against Asa's hands and then fucking her mouth, before slapping your cock in her face. "I love stroking that cock in those big hands," you tell her.

"Time to go to the other side," you tell Asa, spanking her ass nonstop with your bare hands. "AHHHHH," she screams. "Don't fucking move," you tell her as you keep hitting her butt. "OH MY GOD, FUCK," she screams. You finger her pussy, Asa reacting to your hard touch. "I told you not to move," you say.

"Do you want my cock?" you ask Asa. "Yes," she answers. "I don't hear you," you reply. "GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING COCK," she screams. "You want it in your butt or in your pussy?" you ask her. Asa doesn't give you an answer, so you just put it back in her ass. "Oh that feels good, that tight ass feels so fucking good, I love fucking that young japanese butt," you say, hearing Asa moan from the other side.

"Is that good?" you ask Asa as you spread her fat cheeks. "PLEASE, FUCK MY PUSSY TOO," she screams, begging. "Oh, you want it in your pussy too?" you ask her. "Then shake that ass for me," you tell her, switching from ass to pussy, enjoying her tight pink hole for the first time, giving it hard and deep thrusts. "You like that?" you ask her. "YES, I LOVE IT SO MUCH," she says.

"Keep your legs spread," you tell Asa as you continue to fuck her pussy. "You moved, stupid slut, so I'm gonna punish you with more fucking of that ass," you tell her, quickly switching holes. "I don't know which one I like more; both are so fucking tight," you say to Asa as you anally drill her.

"Such a fucking good slut, you're having a lot of fun with that cock in your butt, so I'm gonna fuck your pussy a little more," you say to Asa, switching back to her cunt. "OH MY GOD," she screams, the wooden structure making loud noises as you pound her pussy harder than ever. "There you go," you say, Asa moaning and ready to cum at any second.

"Come taste your fucking cum," you tell Asa, shoving your cock in her mouth so she can taste her pussy. You quickly use her spit to go back to her butt. "I just love that big ass you've got; it's so much better than I thought," you tell her, grabbing her butt hard and spreading her cheeks.

"Cum all over my fucking cock, you dirty young slut," you say as you pound Asa hard. "Let me feed you that fucking ass," you say, going back to the other side and taking your cock back in her mouth. "You love taking that ass in your mouth," you say as Asa deepthroats your cock to the fullest.

"One last test for you, slut," you tell Asa, tying her up against a gym mat with her legs fully spread. You put half a dozen clothespins in her nipples and a few more in her belly. "I love covering you with those pins," you tell Asa, your legs trembling. "You want me to fuck you a little more?" you ask her. "Yes, please," she begs.

You keep putting clothespins all over Asa's hot body, not sparing a single inch. "Are you ready for more cock?" you ask her, bringing back the vibrator and pointing it into her pussy, massaging her folds before you put your cock back in her asshole. "Look how tight you're getting," you say to Asa as you fuck her ass while massaging her clit.

"Show me how hard you can cum," you tell Asa, who just closes her eyes as you stimulate every inch of her body. "Oh my God, I'm gonna cum," she says, her legs trembling with your cock in her ass and your vibrator massaging her young cunt. "Don't stop, please; I love the way you fuck me like that, oh my God," Asa says, moaning.

"You're so sensitive; I love the way your pussy glows when I fuck your ass," you tell Asa, going even harder with the assfucking and the pussy vibration. "There you go, smash my cock inside that hole," you tell her. "Keep going, please don't stop," she begs you. "I'll keep going if you keep cumming all over that cock," you tell her.

"Oh yes, let lemme fuck that pussy too," you say, switching back to Asa's cunt and stimulating it both with your cock and the vibrator. "Fuck, that's so good," she moans as her walls clench all over your cock. "Yes, I fucking love it," you tell her. You keep teasing Asa, endlessly switching between her ass and her pussy. "Oh my God, that's so good," she moans. "Yes, my cock goes so easy inside your holes," you tell her.

"Where do you want me to cum?" you ask Asa. "Cum whatever you want; I'm your free-use, slutty toy," she answers. "That tight pussy is gonna make me cum at any second," you say to her. Surely the temptation to cum inside her is enticing as you pound her pussy harder than ever, but you like to show your subjects that you dominate them, painting them with your cum after a good round of fucking, and you do that to her too, pulling out of her pussy just in time to unload in her beautiful pierced midriff as you remove the clothespins from her body and admire it full of your cum.

"That was good," you tell Asa, fucking her pussy a couple more times after unloading in her tummy, before reaching inside it with your fingers and making her squirt, fisting your hand inside her mouth for her to taste. "Alright, now go to your cell upstairs; there is more to come," you tell her as she obliges.

Chapter 3 - My Two Slaves with Ahyeon, Asa

The next day comes, and the girls are still trapped in the dungeon. You check them from time to time, giving them a little bit of food and water just for them to survive. You're now fully horny, and so are the girls, as you get to Ahyeon's cell and can feel the smell of all the cum she wasted the night before.

"Hello, master," Ahyeon says. You bring some equipment to her cell, tying her up to the ceiling. You circle around her beautiful, aching body with your whip in your hands, touching it around her legs and pussy, putting some clamps on her nipples like usual. You put a heavy book in Aheyon's hands. "I want you to hold that while I fuck your pussy," you tell her.

"OH FUCK, FUCK," Ahyeon screams as you hit her with a whip. "Don't drop the book," you tell her. "Yes, Daddy," she answers as you hit her thighs and then her nipples before removing the clamps. "Shut up," you tell her, putting the gag back in her mouth just like the first time, you massaging her pussy as Ahyeon moans.

"Is the book too heavy for you? Do you prefer my cock?" you ask Ahyeon as you keep whipping her to the point she ends up dropping the book. "Oh, you dropped it," you say to her. "Now I'm gonna punish you, little young slut," you tell her, unzipping your pants and giving your cock for Ahyeon to touch.

You spank Ahyeon a few more times with the book before shoving your cock in her tight teen pussy. "I missed that pussy so much," you tell her, pounding it hard as you spank her ass. "OHHHHH, OHHHHH, OHHHHH, FUCK," she screams, muffled by the mouth gag as you hit her g-spot and her cervix countless times. "Cum on my cock, slut," you tell her, pounding Ahyeon nonstop in her cell and making your balls clap against her cheek.

"FUUUUUUCK," Ahye. "Stay there, you can't cum yet," you tell her, putting the book back in her hands and whipping her body a little more. The young beauty screams as you hit her right in the pussy and then tease her by rubbing your cock in her entrance. You grab the book and slap it against her clit. "I'm gonna teach you to be a good slut," you tell her, getting behind Ahyeon and removing her mouth gag as you fuck her.

"Take that cock," you tell Ahyeon, going back to face her as you grab her head and fuck her face. She quickly answers, bobbing her head on your cock even with her body suspended. "Thank you, Daddy," she says. "Reach for that cock," you tell her, moving your cock outside her reach until she catches it and deep throats it.

Ahyeon keeps sucking your cock, lots of saliva coming out of her mouth. "Thank you, Daddy, for that cock," she says, savoring it to the fullest. "See how you can be a good, disciplined girl?" You praise Ahyeon's cocksucking skills before going back behind her and teasing her, rubbing your shaft against her entrance.

"You want more of that cock inside you?" you ask Ahyeon. "YES, DADDY, PLEASE," she begs as your tip rubs on her clit, and you slap her entrance. "Beg harder," you tell her. "PLEASE, DADDY, I WANT IT SO BAD, GIVE ME THAT COCK, AHHHHH, FUCKKK!" Ahyeon screams, you taking it hard and deep in her young pussy from the get-go, her getting drilled. "OH MY GODDDDDD, DADDY!" she screams, barely able to keep her balance.

You cover Ahyeon's mouth and choke her as you destroy her pussy. "You're being too loud," you tell her. "Ask my permission to cum; do you wanna cum?" you ask her. "YES, DADDY, PLEASE, LET ME CUM, FUCKKKKK,' I'M CUMMING," she screams as you spread her legs, fucking Ahyeon with her completely lifted in the air as she gets fucked while suspended.

"Let's make a deal," you tell Ahyeon. "Grab the book in your hand, and when you cum, you drop it," you say. "YES, DADDY," she answers. You keep fucking her pussy hard, fingering her clit. "Don't forget to ask," you tell her. "I WANNA CUM, DADDY, PLEASE," Ahyeon begs. "You wanna cum?" you ask her. "YESSSS," Ahyeon loudly screams, dropping the book as you pound her pussy like a madman. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she screams. "You did well on your lesson; now I have to check on my other slave," you tell her as you end the quickie session and leave Ahyeon's cell.

You knock out in Asa's dorm, her still sleeping as you arrive there. "Hello," she greets you again. "Looks like you were having a lot of fun with Ahyeon; I could hear her screaming all the way from here," Asa says. "How did you know I was fucking Ahyeon?" you ask her. "Well, I know how she sounds," she answers.

"I miss that ass," you tell Asa as you start spanking her butt. You give her some kisses and spank her tits too. "That butt is begging for some punishment," you tell Asa as you keep hitting her butt and turning it red in a snap.

"Face down, ass up, just like I taught you yesterday," you tell Asa. "Yes, sir," she says, doing it as you ask to get her ass beat like a drum at a very fast pace. "That ass is so nice to spank; I love the recoil," you tell her as you keep going.

"AHHHHH," Asa screams as you bring the electric shock baton back into play and start using it on her butt. "Don't move," you tell her, punishing Asa with more whipping in her ass as she ends up disobeying you. "I SAID DON'T MOVE, BITCH!" you say as Asa reacts instinctively, and you punish her with more electric shocks.

"I have something for you; just be a good girl," you tell Asa, spitting on her butthole and bringing the vibrator back into her pussy. "You like it a lot; you feel so relaxed when I use it in your pussy," you say to her. "Yes, sir," Asa answers.

"What do you prefer?" you ask Asa as you give her some electric shocks alongside the vibrator. "THE VIBRATOR," she answers as you point the baton right in her tight anal entrance. More vibrator massage follows. "Thank you, sir, that's so fucking good," she says. "Are you gonna cum without asking for my permission?" you ask Asa. "No sir, I promise, she answers. "CAN I CUM, PLEASE, AHHHHH?" she screams as you keep using the electric shock on her.

"Is that what you want, right?" you ask Asa as you rub your cock against her holes. "Yes, sir, please, I want more cock," she says. "So you want to have Ahyeon inside your ass?" you ask her. "Yes, please," she begs.

You tease Asa, slowly pushing more and more of your cock inside of her butthole before you grab her ass and start drilling her. "OH MY GOD, IT'S SO FUCKING BIG," Asa moans as she gets anally pounded, still recovering from the drilling you gave her yesterday. "Keep going, bounce that ass on my cock," you tell her, letting Asa move her hips before you take full control.

Asa fingers her pussy hard and begs for your cock in it. "PLEASE, CAN I HAVE YOUR COCK IN IT?" she asks her. But you're all about her ass, fucking it nonstop. "Touch your pussy," you command her, Asa giggling as she gets her ass destroyed while touching herself. "I WANNA CUM, PLEASE, LET ME," Asa begs. "I WANNA CUM SO FUCKING BAD, PLEASE, GIVE IT TO ME!" she continues to beg as your hard ass-fucking continues, Asa putting her head up.

"I'M CUMMING," Asa screams as she squirts on the bedsheets. "Without my permission?" you ask her. "I'M SORRY, I COULDN'T RESIST," she screams, crying a little. "Then I'm gonna punish you tell her, pinching her nipples while she strokes your cock.

"I'm scared, sir, please, don't be too harsh," Asa begs you. "Are you scared about me?" you ask her, kissing Asa and giving her a little spank. You plug a pair of clamps on her nipples. "Keep stroking my cock," you tell her, grabbing the strings coming out of her nipples.

"Lay down, I want to fuck your throat," you tell Asa, who obliges. Your cock fits like a glove in her mouth as you admire her body while relentlessly pounding her pretty face, making her let out gagging sounds while you finger her pussy. "Yes, choke on that cock," you tell her, Asa willingly moving her head to meet your cock and getting her face ruined by the countless saliva coming out of it. She gets very messy, diving to lick your balls as well.

"You're having too much fun," you tell Asa, laying down the bed and spanking her ass with the whip while she sucks your cock, her taking it as deep as possible down her throat, you enjoying her gagging sounds. "You wanna sit on that cock?" you ask her. "Yes, sir, please," she answers, promptly sliding your wet in her ass and getting ready to ride it.

"Ride it harder," you tell Asa, giving her a couple of electric shocks in her belly as she starts to bounce on your dick. "YES SIR, AHHHH, she answers, moving as fast as she can but still getting the electric shocks anyway. "CAN I CUM ON IT, CAN I CUM ON IT, PLEASE?" Asa begs.

"No, you can't," you promptly answer her, grabbing Asa's legs and placing her under a full nelson. "Oh my God, yes, take it, take that ass, that's so good, please," she begs. You hand the vibrator to Asa, stimulating her pussy while you destroy her ass. She keeps begging you to cum. "Not yet," you tell her, enjoying the dominating anal fucking a little more.

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, I CAN'T TAKE IT, I'M CUMMING," Asa screams as she gets stimulated from all sides, your cock in her ass and the vibrator in her cunt. "MORE, MORE, MORE," she begs. "You wanna cum again?" you now ask her. "YES PLEASE, YES PLEASE," she keeps begging. "Then cum, show me how much you love that cock," you tell her.

"Oh my God, your cock feels so fucking good in my ass, yes, yes, yes," Asa moans as she gets closer and closer to her orgasm. "Ride it, earn it," you tell her, Asa bouncing hard on your cock. "AHHHHHH," she screams as you give some electric shock to her nipples. "OH YES, OH YES, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING," she screams, more electric shocks coming. You put her back in the full nelson, switching to her pussy this time. "YES, PUT IT IN THERE," she screams, her cunt getting drilled hard as she squeezes your cock.

You switch between Asa's pussy and ass, getting her ready to cum. "YES PLEASE, YES PLEASE, CAN I CUM?" Asa asks, Are you plowing her pussy hard in a pearly gates position now?" She is unable to resist the urge and squirting all over your cock, you grabbing her by the strings from her nipple clamps. "AHHHHH I'M CUMMING," she screams as you massage her tits and belly as she squirts. "Can I taste it, sir?" she asks, diving in your cock like crazy to taste her juices.

"Want to keep playing?" you ask Asa. "Yes," she answers. "Then go downstairs and bring me Ahyeon, then take her to the opposite room and start playing with her before I arrive," you command. "Yes, sir," Asa answers.

Asa takes Ahyeon out of her cell, following your orders and taking her to the room you asked her to. "So she was fucking you before I came in, and she told me I was first," Asa says to her groupmate. She then bends Ahyeon against a table, spanking her ass. "You want Daddy, you little cunt?" she asks. "AHHHHH," AHyeon screams as her friend spanks her ass.

Asa lowers Ahyeon's panties and starts fingering her pussy. "OH FUCKKKK," Ahyeon screams. "You like to be used like that?" Asa asks, kissing her and choking Ahyeon. "Touch that pussy for me," Asa says, spreading Ahyeon's ass while the youngster fingers herself. "Look at that pink pussy; is that where your daddy likes to shove his cock?" Asa asks her, putting a lot of fingers inside it.

"FUCKKKK," Ahyeon screams as Asa stretches her pussy lips. "I don't think Daddy is gonna like it that much when it's so fucking loose," she says, spitting inside Ahyeon's pussy. "Rub that little fucking cunt," Asa commands to her, shoving her ass in Ahyeon's pretty face for the youngster to eat.

"Does it smell like your daddy's cock in my ass? He just fucked it," Asa tells Ahyeon as she shakes her butt in her groupmate's face. "I want you to clean that fucking ass for me so it gets ready for him to fuck it again," Asa says before she kisses Ahyeon. "Your daddy's cock tastes so good in your lips," Asa tells her.

Asa and Ahyeon strip themselves naked as Asa continues to discipline her younger groupmate. "Don't you ever jump in front of me again," she tells Ahyeon as she keeps spanking her. "Your butt looks pretty red," Asa says, kissing Ahyeon. "Are you gonna be my toy now? Because I'm gonna play with these tight young holes," she continues, licking Ahyeon's butthole.

Ahyeon keeps moaning as Asa's spanking session keeps going until you finally arrive. "You're having too much fun disciplining her, but didn't I tell you who is the real boss?" you ask Asa, hitting her butt with a couple of whips. "Sorry, sir, it's you," she answers.

"I should be disciplining Ahyeon, not you," you tell Asa, who keeps stroking your cock. "Stank up," you tell Ahyeon. "I'm gonna discipline you instead," you tell Asa, spanking her ass hard in front of Ahyeon as she grabs your shaft, Ahyeon enjoying her friend getting spanked.

"Eat her pussy," you tell Ahyeon as she dives into Asa's pussy, you fucking the Japanese girl's face while spanking her ass with the whip. "That's good, let's team up on her," you tell Ahyeon, grabbing her head and shoving it against Asa's butt while Asa chokes on your cock.

"I'm gonna show you what I was doing to her," you say to Ahyeon, putting a few clothespins in Asa's pussy and shutting it down. "That bitch is all about her ass, right?" you ask Ahyeon. "Yes, Daddy, she's got a big ass," the young girl answers.

Ahyeon sucks your cock as you shut Asa's cunt down. "Good girl, get it wet," you say, praising the youngster while you keep spanking Asa. "Lay your face in her ass and watch," you tell Ahyeon, giving her a privileged view as you uncermously shove your cock back up Asa's butthole. "It's too tight, get it wetter," you say, fucking Ahyeon's face after a couple of thrusts, before going back inside Asa.

You keep feeding Asa's ass into Ahyeon's mouth, letting the youngster enjoy that dirty Japanese oshiri. Ahyeon stays with her tongue out at all times as you continue to fuck Asa's ass, giving a few thrusts from time to time in Ahyeon's face. You spank Asa's back as she gets anally pounded, her moving your hips in your direction to take more of that massive cock.

"OH MY GOD, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING," Asa announced. "Who told you to cum?" you ask her, spanking her butt a few times and pulling your cock out. "Spank her," you tell Ahyeon, getting fully free to fuck Asa's butt as hard as Ahyeon spanks her friend. "THAT'S SO FUCKING GOOD, THAT'S SO FUCKING GOOD, PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME," Asa screams. Ahyeon enjoys the scene, getting in front of Asa as the Japanese girl licks her neck and kisses her.

Ahyeon chokes Asa with the whip as you fuck the Japanese girl's ass. "YES, YES, YES, MORE, MORE, MORE," Asa begs as she loses all her air. "I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," she screams. You slowly take the clamps out of her cunt as you deem her to have passed the test. "Thank you for letting my pussy free," Asa says.

Asa's pussy only gets free for a couple seconds as you promptly stuff it full of your cock. Ahyeon adds some spit as she starts fisting Asa's butt. "Open that ass," you tell Asa as she now gets double stuffed with your cock and Ahyeon's hand. "Does this count as double penetration, daddy?" Ahyeon asks. "Maybe," you answer her.

"AH, AH, AH," Asa screams as you shove your cock back in her ass too for a bit. "Open that ass," you tell her. "I'm trying," Asa answers as Ahyeon increases the speed of the fisting; you are now handling Asa's cunt. "Shove it," you tell Ahyeon, letting her penetrate Asa's butt with her hand a little deeper, making the Japanese girl moan as she gets her guts rearranged by Ahyeon's right arm.

You take Ahyeon by surprise, lifting her right leg and sticking your cock in her pussy. "Keep fisting your friend; I wanna show her what I was doing to you in that dungeon," you tell her. "FUCK YES, FUCK YES," Ahyeon starts moaning as she gets her pussy pounded hard. "YES, YES, YES, YES, AHHHHHH, FUCK," Aheyon screams as you discipline her, whipping all her body, her arm never leaving Asa's butthole.

"OH MY GOD, YES, YES, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, DADDY," Ahyeon begs. You put her back on her feet and switch back to Asa. Open her mouth and make her taste her ass," you command to Ahyeon, you two doing a sort of spit-roasting on Asa as the youngster shoves her arm in her friend's mouth and then wipes it all over Asa's face, choking her and spanking her face while you fuck her pussy.

"SPANK ME, YES, YES, YES," Asa begs as you fuck her hard and Ahyeon keeps playing with her mouth. "That's what I want to see," you tell Asa, spanking her ass. "Let's do a little more fisting," you tell Ahyeon, lifting her right leg one more time as you three go back to the same position from a couple of minutes ago, performing a nice fuck train with your cock in Ahyeon's pussy and Ahyeon's fist in Asa's butt.

"AHHHHHHH," Ahyeon and Asa scream at the same time as you bring the shock batons back to the scene, scaring both girls. You give a couple shocks to Ahyeon, making her pussy clench, before you hit Asa's butt with some hits too. You two go back to double stuffing Asa, you pushing Ahyeon's arm deep in Asa's ass as you stretch her pussy out, Asa grinning her teeth. "I WANT IT, I WANT IT, I WANT IT," she screams, her face dropping down.

"Look at how much she likes being stuffed, Daddy," Ahyeon says as she increases the speed of her fisting, matching your hard thrusts in Asa's pussy. "I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING," Asa screams. "Keep playing with each other," you command, pulling out of Asa and handing to Ahyeon the duties of giving her friend an anal orgasm using just her hands.

Ahyeon succeeds in making Asa cum, her fist giving her friend a nice gape. "Good girl, I think you deserve a reward for that," you tell Ahyeon. "Yes, Daddy, what reward?" she asks. "You'll see," you tell her.

You prepare Ahyeon for the final round of fucking, laying her on the table and tying her arms behind her head. You tie her toes with a pair of strings attached to the ceiling, pushing them up as you get her in a missionary position. "Sit on her face," you tell Asa, as she fits her pussy right in Ahyeon's mouth, dancing on it much to your enjoyment, while Ahyeon sticks her tongue out as Asa has fun grinding her cunt in her pretty face.

"Keep going, I love that view," you tell Ahyeon, giving her an electric shock that makes her contract her body. "Don't move," you tell her, shoving your cock in Ahyeon's pink teen pussy and teasing Asa with some shocks on her tits that make her scream and catch her by surprise.

"Keep licking that pussy," you tell Ahyeon, Asa grinding on her face as you pound her pussy. You keep teasing the young girl with more shocks in her thighs, increasing the speed of your poundings and spanking her ass. "AHHHHH," Ahyeon screams as you give her another electric shock.

You finger Asa's pussy as you fuck Ahyeon's, making all the juices from the Japanese girl drop in Ahyeon's pretty face. "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, FUCK," Ahyeon keeps moaning. You shove your hands in Asa's mouth for her to taste her own juices. "Stay in position," you tell Asa, grabbing the strings attached to her nipple clamps. Ahyeon moans and screams, Asa grinding her ass on her face".

"OH FUCK, OH FUCK, OH FUCK," Ahyeon screams. You and Asa enjoy punishing her, sticking the shock batons in Ahyeon's tits and making her scream even louder. "AHHHHHHH," Ahyeon almost loses her voice as she gets targeted by shocks from all sides, you never pulling out of her pussy and enjoying her body contorting while she gets fucked.

"Come on," you tell Ahyeon, shocking her nonstop at her most sensitive parts: her tits, her armpits, her face, her belly, and her pussy; nothing escapes from your target. "AHHHHHHH," she screams every time. You continue to relentlessly pound her young pussy, Asa coming to help you as she fingers Ahyeon's clit and gets the young girl super wet.

"OHHHHH MY GOD, YESSSS, FUCKKK," Ahyeon moans like a baby now, you and Asa stimulating her to the fullest. "CAN I CUM PLEASE, DADDY? AHHHHHH," Ahyeon begs, closing her eyes as her walls clench hard, her never feeling this stimulating before, turning into a mess of moans and screams. You and Asa continue to massage her pussy, Asa now bringing the vibrator and making things even harder for Ahyeon, her body twisting and turning nonstop.

"Open those legs," you tell Ahyeon, you and Asa attacking her pussy like crazy. As Asa licks her pussy, you soon join her, you two using both tongues to make Ahyeon cum hard. "OH MY GOD, YEAH, YEAH," Ahyeon moans as she gets closer and closer, you whipping her tits and Asa's ass back and forth. "FUCKKKKK DADDY," she screams. You keep fucking Ahyeon's pussy, feeding your cock into Asa's mouth as she fingers her friend's already super wet clit.

"OH YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, DADDY, I'M GONNA CUM," Ahyeon screams. "She's ready to cum," Asa tells you, Ahyeon moaning and screaming. "I WANNA CUM, PLEASE, DADDY," Ahyeon continues to beg, the massage in her pussy from you and Asa getting faster and faster.

Ahyeon starts orgasming hard, intense body spasms coming out of her body. Even her being tied up can't prevent her from shaking as if she were possessed by some demon. Her already tight pussy walls completely close, gripping your cock like her life depended on it. "I want your cum inside me, daddy," Ahyeon begs. As Asa hears those words, she slides under the table, ready to catch that load as soon as it drips out of Ahyeon's pussy. You can't resist for long, emptying your balls inside Ahyeon's pink teen pussy as her walls clench around your cock to a point of no return.

Your cum drops straight from Ahyeon's pussy to Asa's mouth, you digging a bit in Ahyeon's pussy and fucking it a few more times to feed Asa. "Swap it," you tell the Japanese girl, her feeding the cum straight into Ahyeon's mouth as the two share hot kisses in your watch.

"That's it, girls, you two are free from the dungeon," you tell them.

"We'll be counting the days to come back, Daddy," Ahyeon answers, Asa giggling, agreeing with her.

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