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sea-lanterns · 8 months ago

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THE PURGE

synopsis: (slasher! AU) a group of purgers break into your home.

featuring: arlecchino, columbina, sandrone, signora

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, mentions of blood, vague descriptions of murder, there is a body, mentions of weapons, home invasion, masked se.x, five.some, org.y, transfem! columbina (she has a di.ck), strap ons, oral (both reader and character receiving), face sitting, fing.ering, slight exhibitio.n, may be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: high rise invasion.

Unloading the last of your groceries from the car, you closed the trunk and began walking towards the front entrance of your house. It was a somewhat chilly, somewhat warm day, March 21st to be exact. While the weather was probably enjoyable to those outside of your country, today was going to be a day of misery to many. From March 21st to March 22nd, The Purge will take place; a twelve hour period in which all crime including murder was going to be legal.

You weren’t exactly sure why your government decided to mandate such a brutal “holiday” but unfortunately as someone who didn’t participate in the Purge, this made your life a lot harder than usual. You had to take extra precaution throughout the year to not make any enemies in your life, even going as far as to shut yourself off from having any friends or close family.

‘Just twelve hours…I’ve done it several times before, I can do it again.’ You told yourself, unlocking the door to your house. ‘I’ll have to set up the security system again. Only three hours until the Purge.’

“Hey neighbor!” You heard a familiar voice call, causing you to look over at your neighbor who was perched against his fence. “Three hours until the Purge, huh?”

“Ahaha…yeah.” You were getting nervous. It was never a good idea to bring up the Purge with anyone.

“Hope you’re prepared. Lots of psychos out there who have access to the most dangerous weapons available. I even saw a woman with a chainsaw last year. Had a leather mask and everything.”

“Yeah…” you smiled, but honestly you just really wanted to get in your house.Your neighbor –although seemingly friendly– always gave you the creeps and you tried your best to be on his good side no matter what.

“Well…Hope for the best for you during this Purge!” He smiled unnervingly wide, making you shiver and fumble to open your door. “Yep! You too!” You called out quickly, shutting the door behind you as quickly as possible. You locked the door immediately and carried your groceries to the kitchen, where you proceeded to double check every exit of the house.

You went through the yearly ritual. Double checking the doors and barricading them with heavy furniture, locking every single window and drawing the blinds (you would activate the security systems later), as well as making your way down to the basement to make sure all your weaponry was secured.

…And by weaponry, you really only meant the small handgun you kept in a safe down there. You weren’t a super strong person by any means, so a handgun was probably your best suited weapon when it came to defending yourself. However, the handgun was only used as a last resort, so luckily you’ve never had to use it before on any of the previous Purges. Hopefully this year you won’t have to use it still.

You grabbed the handgun and made sure it was loaded before making your way upstairs. Due to being a member of the upper class, you had managed to reinforce your home with a special security system used for keeping your home safe during the Purge. Though it was only three hours before the Purge started, you weren’t taking any chances and activated it now.

You watched as every door and window in your house became protected beneath a large metal shutter, turning on your security cameras so you could watch whatever was happening outside from the safety of your home. You nestled into the cozy chair of your desk and mentally prepared yourself for another twelve hours of manslaughter you would have to endure.

You watched from your phone as the infamous warning for the Purge began to play. The alarm never failed to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end, the long list of rules flying over your screen as you peeked through your security cameras. So far, the only things you could see were a bunch of hooligans setting fire to a trashcan in some random alleyway. Okay, not bad. You expected a few arsonists in your neighborhood anyway…

You grabbed a bag of chips from your snack stash and opened it, continuing to watch as you stuffed your face with food like you were binging your favorite TV show. Though the Purge was a very scary time, it never directly harmed you through all the years you survived…

At least, you thought.

For the next two hours, you simply watched in the comfort of your own bedroom while people in your neighborhood were being slaughtered left and right. You winced when you watched a poor victim get a machete to the face by some woman in a hockey mask. Oof…that’s unfortunate. You heard another scream from afar as another victim got stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife by a woman wearing a ghost mask. Hm…why did they look familiar? You wonder if you’ve seen them before…

You took a sip from your drink and laid back, before nearly jumping out of your skin upon spotting a group of Purgers on your porch. Despite being masked, you could tell from their figures that they appeared to be women, with four of them in total all staring at you through the security camera.

‘Oh…shit.’ You felt your heart sink as you waited for them to say something, anything. You hadn’t expected any Purgers to actually bother you tonight, as the most that Purgers would do is knock over your trash cans and maybe graffiti your garage door.

One of the Purgers —a woman wearing a dove-themed mask— stepped forward and smiled at the camera. She raised a delicate hand, before ringing the doorbell and speaking into the camera.

“Hellooooo~ Is this (Reader)’s residence?” She sang beautifully, toying with the ends of her hair. You tried to figure out her appearance to see if she was familiar to anyone you knew or talked to, but you don’t recall ever meeting a woman with black hair and bright pink streaks.

You stayed quiet, hoping that they would just assume you couldn’t hear them and move on. This however, didn’t work as the group of women were persistent.

“Hellooooo~ I know the cutie is in there…” The dove-masked women cooed, ringing your doorbell again before one of the other Purgers got impatient. A taller, blonde woman wearing a moth-themed mask grumbled and raised her weapon, “It’s no use. Let’s just find a weak spot and break in.”

“Nooo! That’s so barbaric, we must treat a woman gently.”

“We are quite literally, purging her home.” Another woman chimed in, this time a short woman with beige-colored hair wearing a doll mask.

“Yes, but I would like her to respond before we break in.” The dove-mask pouts.

“Enough.” Finally, the fourth woman spoke up, her posture and height intimidating as she stepped to the front. This time it was a woman wearing a harlequin mask, her gaze piercing through the camera. “We know you are listening, (Reader). It isn’t polite to keep your guests waiting.”

She smirked at the camera, as if edging you to press the call button and respond. You felt as if your blood was being drained from your body, a morbid feeling of death looming over you like a cloud. You had no choice, if you didn’t respond they would just try and break in anyway, so perhaps it would be wise to try and convince them not to?

You did not think that was plausible, but Purgers were still human. Maybe they will be human just for you…

“C-Can I help you?” Fuckkkkk you did not mean to sound like a timid fast food worker working at the Drive Thru. You mentally cursed yourself as you watched the other four women smile at your compliance.

“There’s her cute voice!” The dove-mask exclaimed excitedly. “I was worried some other Purgers may have gotten to you already…”

“Can I help you?” You stated again firmly, wanting them to leave as soon as possible. “If you’re looking to rob my house, I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value.”

“Oh…sweetheart,” the harlequin-mask chuckled, sliding her hand across the handle of her bloody ax. “You’re in there.”

Oh great. Yeah why bother spending the Purge robbing stuff that is actually useful to you, when you can murder people instead. Genius.

“…Okay, I know what you are implying, but I beg of you not to kill me! I promise that after the Purge is over I will compensate for you all somehow. Whether it’d be money or anything else you’d like, I’ll do it!”

“Open those ears of yours, girl. We want you, not your house.” The moth-mask tsked, a bit of annoyance present on the edge of her voice. “We are coming in whether you like it or not. As long as you are inside, we will get in too.”

“…No need to be so mean, Signora.” You heard the dove-mask huff, folding her arms. “Just hold tight, baby. We’re coming to find you~”

You let out a small, panicked squeak of terror and cut the mic, standing up from your seat and making your way to your drawer to check on the handgun you had stashed away. You couldn’t believe that this was the year you would have to use it, and your adrenaline was pulsing like crazy.

‘All loaded’ you mentally prepared yourself for the worst, taking deep breaths and walking back to your computer monitors that displayed the cameras. You let out another panicked squeak when you saw that the Purgers had left your front porch, now scattered around your property doing god knows what.

“Why this year of all years?” You whined, keeping your handgun close to you as you kept looking through the monitors. Okay, okay, they were just circling your house, no biggie. Their weapons appeared to be of class 1 only, so it would be next to impossible for them to break down your security systems.

Really, though you were on edge, you should be relatively safe so long as the power doesn’t—

Almost as if your fate was being toyed at the hands of a God, your lights suddenly went out and the sound of your metal shutters started coming up. Oh…you were fucked now.

‘…I am dead.’ You wanted to scream, but knew better as it was time for survival. It was every woman for herself, no beating around the bush. Logistically you weren’t sure if you could take out four Purgers on your own, but if you were going to die tonight you were going to die fighting ugly.

You heard one of your windows shatter and flinched when you heard footsteps now roaming the downstairs of your house. Okay, you got this. You technically have an advantage as you have a firearm and they don’t know where you are, you should play this safe.

You held your breath and stealthily made your way downstairs, holding the gun. You saw the broken window in your living room, swallowing thickly before looking around to see if there was anyone around. Your eyes suddenly landed on a bloody trail that looked as if a body had been dragged through your house. Did they just kill someone?

You suddenly heard a thud behind you and whirled around quickly, only to accidentally let out a gasp when you saw the dead body of your neighbor just lying there on your kitchen floor. You managed to hold in a scream, but it was no use when you felt strong arms hold you from behind, a yell escaping your throat as you felt one of the Purgers’ grip on you.

“Mm…not a screamer…quite the silent one, aren’t you?” You heard a rough, raspy voice as the woman behind you grabbed your gun and tore it away with ease. Just how strong was she?! Your breath hitched when you felt the sharp end of a knife press against your throat, her voice humming with pleasure. “I like quiet girls.”

From your peripheral vision you saw that it was the Purger with the harlequin mask, her hair mostly white with a few streaks of black, yet another person you were not familiar with. Footsteps then entered the kitchen from the thick fog of darkness, a giggle leaving another one of the Purgers.

“You caught her! Heh, I guess you won this one, Arle~!” It was the Purger with the dove-mask, her cute and feminine voice not matching her appearance at all as her white dress was covered in blood. “I want to pet her!”

“Wash your hands, Columbina.” Another voice came, this time it was the doll-masked Purger who came walking out of the darkness. “I don’t want you getting blood all over her. She’ll stink.”

“A little blood won’t hurt her, Sandrone.”

You whimpered when the woman named “Columbina” walked closer to you, her sadistic smile present as she ran her fingers across your cheek. You would flinch away if not for the harlequin mask —you believe she was called Arle?— holding you in place, her muscles tightening around you and preventing you from squirming.

“Ah…how cute!” Columbina cooed. “I almost feel bad for scaring her, she looks like she’s about to cry.”

“She looks prettier that way.” Came a deeper, more mature voice, as the moth-masked woman —Signora, if you remembered correctly— came into view. You gulped when Signora strutted over to you and took your chin in her hand, admiring you from behind her mask and turning your face to look at all your angles. “Loosen your grip a bit, Arlecchino. The girl looks like she’s about to pass out from blood circulation.”

Arlecchino let out a titular hum. “And why would I do that? If I let her go, she can run off.”

“Not with us here. We all can catch her quite easily.” Sandrone said matter-of-factly.

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Arlecchino leaned down and whispered gravely into your ear. “I don’t recommend running, little one. All four of us can hunt you down quite easily, and if you ran out into the open during the Purge, well…”

She chuckled and playfully blew on your ear. “Someone else might get to you before us.”

Your body involuntarily shivered and you felt the back of your ear grow hot. Upon seeing how much of an impact she had on you, Arlecchino smirked and carefully let go of you.

You should run. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were staying in place surrounded by these murderous women. Every instinct and sense of logic in your brain was telling you to make a run for it, but another part of you knew that it was fruitless to even make it out of your house.

“You know, you should be thanking us.” Signora said coldly. “Without us here, you probably would’ve been murdered by that neighbor of yours.”

“Wh-What?”

“Oh! She speaks…” Columbina giggled. “Believe it or not, we found him messing around with some circuit box in your yard. Looks like he was the one who knocked out the power to kill you himself.”

Your eyes landed on the body of your neighbor laying on the floor. His eyes still wide open like he was stuck in time, lips parted like was in the middle of screaming before meeting his bloody demise. “Of course…we took care of him for you! Wouldn’t want our pretty girl to get hurt.”

Columbina smiled and kicked his body away like it was nothing, looking up at you like they had just done a great thing. You kept looking between the Purgers and the dead body of your neighbor, unable to cope with the fact that this would be the first Purge where you might end up like another body bag.

“…Is this where I get killed now?” You laughed weakly, cold sweat dripping down your face. “I…I’m not sure what else to do at this point, get on my knees and beg for my life?”

“Ooh. I like the kneeling and begging part.” Sandrone comments bluntly. Meanwhile, the other women chuckle at your pathetic display, with Arlecchino pulling you towards her and murmuring in your ear.

“Oh, we aren’t interested in hurting you. At least not that much.” She suddenly slid her hands up your stomach and towards your breasts, a gasp leaving your lips when she fondled them through your shirt. ”…Soft.”

“Easy now, Arlecchino. She hasn’t accepted yet.” Signora hums, gently pulling Arle’s eager hands away from your chest. Arlecchino slips out a small growl of dissatisfaction, but pulls away anyway to comply with Signora’s requests. Despite how refined Arlecchino seemed to be, you could tell she was a woman of a lot of restraint, and she had been itching to feel you up despite her calm demeanor.

“If it wasn’t obvious by Arlecchino’s…desires,” Signora comments, stroking your face, “We want your body, but not in the way that you think.”

“You’re just so pretty…especially when your bottom lip wobbles in fear,” Columbina whispers. “How could we not want you this way?”

Oh…oh.

Now you know why they haven’t killed you yet.

“Look at her face, all dumb and bewildered.” Sandrone comments, the faintest of grins appearing on her face as she took in your confused expression.

“What do you say, let us have some fun with you?” Arlecchino purrs from behind, making you shiver in anticipation and a little bit of curiosity.

“…I suppose.” You said softly, a little hesitant to agree.

“Oh my, what a promiscuous thing she is,” Signora comments, a sly smile making its way to her lips. “Wanting to take all four of us at the same time, what a whore.”

“Easy now, Signora. She can’t help how curious she is.” Columbina smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Arle~ Be a dear and carry the poor lamb upstairs. The dead guy is killing the mood.”

“Of course.” Arlecchino grinned wolfishly and took you in her arms, throwing you over her shoulder like it was nothing while going up the stairs. You could only watch helplessly as the three other women followed after you, smiling at how utterly pathetic you looked while being carried by Arlecchino with one arm.

…You weren’t sure how you got up to this point. One moment you were almost pissing your pants in fear, and the next you were suddenly thrown into your bed and surrounded by four Purgers. All of them stared down at you with a look of pure joy in their eyes, practically ravishing you on the bed with just their gaze alone.

Surprisingly, it was Sandrone that made the first move. For as quiet as she was, the woman crawled on top of you and grabbed your face for herself, pulling you into a kiss.

“Oh my! I didn’t expect Sandrone to be so eager…” Columbina giggled. Meanwhile, in the corner of your eye; you could see Arlecchino unzipping her pants and Signora taking off her gloves.

You couldn’t watch them for long, however; as Sandrone forcefully pushed you back and shoved her tongue down your mouth, turning the kiss into a more seductive dance of tongues. The doll-masked woman moaned at the taste of you, pulling you in closer to her as she aggressively pushed her hands up your shirt.

“Mm…what a sloppy kisser. I could tell you’ve never had another woman in your mouth before.” Sandrone pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your tongue with hers. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that for you.”

“Arle, no need to be so impatient. She’s still on the bed.” You heard Signora gently scold Arlecchino and looked over to see what she was doing. The harlequin woman was gritting her teeth and tugging her trousers off as fast as she could, the base of a harness and what looked to be a crimson-colored strap peeking through the gap of her zipper.

Oh…they were prepared for this.

“Hey. Don’t look at her, look at me.” Sandrone sounded annoyed and gripped your face to look at her again, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Pfft. Sandrone is getting jealous.” You felt the bed space behind you dip, and in the midst of making out with Sandrone, you felt Columbina’s lithe and petite body encircle yours. “Let’s see how good you taste.”

Columbina’s lips latched onto the back of your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin hard enough to leave a few bruises. The choked whimpers you let out made the dove-mask and doll-mask moan with pleasure, Sandrone pulling you more against herself while Columbina grinded her hips from behind.

As Sandrone’s hands fondled your breasts under your shirt, you felt something small yet hard growing under Columbina’s dress. It was clear the two women were getting heavily turned on, with how Sandrone was starting to tug off your shirt and Columbina grinding faster against you.

“Let’s put that sloppy tongue to use.” Sandrone comments bluntly, lowering you down against the bed as she raises her dress to pull off her panties. Columbina takes her position between your legs, pulling your pants off and eagerly wanting to stuff her face in your cunt. “No teeth now. Try to be a good girl.” Sandrone slides her panties off and spreads her legs over your awaiting mouth, using her fingers to give you quite the show of her sweet pussy glistening with juices. The doll-masked woman didn’t wait for another second and took her place at her rightful seat, letting you taste the sweet tang of her cunt smothering your lips.

Meanwhile, Columbina was eagerly pulling your own panties down with her hands, her tongue —which was freakishly long— swiped at her bottom lip the moment she saw your bare entrance. “Mm…Gotta make sure you’re wet enough to take Arle’s strap.” She whispered, parting your legs gently –though her nails were digging into your thighs– and licking a long stripe across your clit.

“Nnnh–!” You moaned into Sandrone’s own clit, causing her to buck her hips needily. “Fuck…her tongue feels so good.”

“I can only imagine,” Columbina coos, smothering her face deeper and darting her hot tongue out quickly. Her hands trailed down to her dress and began lightly jerking herself off while she ate you out, moaning into your thighs as she ravished your insides. You hadn’t expected to be double teamed so easily, but you didn’t mind, eating out Sandrone and tasting her folds more thoroughly while Columbina masturbated to the taste of you.

“Are you– mmppgh…guys ready?” Sandrone moans out sweetly, riding your face harder as she looks back at Arlecchino and Signora. Both women had stripped out of their festive Purger outfits, with Arlecchino wearing nothing but a thick, girthy strapon and Signora dressed in the prettiest lingerie you had ever seen. “Oh come on Signora, that’s– fuck, overkill for the Purge, isn’t it?”

“The girl likes it.” Signora tuts, casting you a smirk beneath her mask. “Is she wet enough, Columbina?”

“Nope!” Columbina pulls her head away from between your thighs, her face smeared in all your juices while your thighs are left a trembling mess.

“Liar.”

“She needs to be wetter! Let me eat her out more!”

“Columbina.” Arlecchino finally makes her presence known, crawling over to the bed and pulling her hair back, forcefully pulling her away from your cunt. Columbina whined and gave Arlecchino a glare, not quite finished with eating you out yet. “Arle, I said she needed to be wetter.”

You couldn’t believe you had four women in your bed, all fighting for you during the Purge. You would voice your concerns if not for Sandrone still whining and grinding on your face so roughly. Though the woman was a small, seemingly gentle woman, it was obvious she was one of the more desperate ones of the group.

“Suck on her tits or something. I want her tight cunt swallowing my strap.” Arlecchino growled, possessively stroking your thigh while Columbina huffed. “Fine.” She gave your inner thigh one last bite, causing you to jolt and accidentally make Sandrone come from the sudden movement.

“Oh– nnngh!” Sandrone’s little legs trembled greatly, her orgasm washing over her as she ground her hips more firmly. The sweet, succulent taste of her cum washed down your throat, making your eyes flutter shut in how good Sandrone tasted. “Was her tongue game that good, Sandrone?” Columbina purred, suddenly taking an interest in your mouth. “Yeah, her movements are amateaur at best, but somehow feel really good?”

“Heh, good enough for me.” Columbina proceeded to shove Sandrone off and take her place, dangling her small, yet very eager cock in front of your lips. “Let’s get those pretty lips sucking me off, hm?” She smiled and caressed your cheek before slipping her tip inside, watching with satisfaction as you took all of her length so easily. Meanwhile, Arlecchino and Signora were more occupied on your raw pussy, which was twitching with need after being neglected for too long. Signora cooed and pressed a teasing kiss to your clit, lightly blowing on it before rising to focus on your breasts.

“Poor baby is feeling neglected up here, huh?” She teased, the blonde woman leaning in to lick a long stripe across your tits before latching one nipple in her mouth. She took pleasure in the way your back arched off the bed, the Fair Lady’s tongue swirling around hungrily as her fingers swirled around your clit. “Give me some lube, Arle. I want to finger her for a bit before you start.”

You heard the sound of growl before Arlecchino reluctantly obliged. “Make it quick, I want to fold her into the mattress myself.” She gave Signora a bottle of lube and you could only moan when you felt the Fair Lady’s cold fingers circle your entrance with a slimy substance coating them. When you moaned however, you choked on Columbina’s cock, causing her to groan and buck her hips. “Goodness her throat is…quite tight.”

Signora chuckled at that and pressed her fingers deeper into your entrance, watching with great pleasure as they sunk in with little to no resistance. “And quite wet. You did a good job of loosening her up, Columbina.” Signora proceeded to finger you to see just how far you could take her. Her fingers –which were very long and thin– stretching you out and brushing up against all your tender spots to see which ones would make you squirm.

As this was happening, you felt Columbina’s tiny cock start twitching in your mouth, signaling that she was getting close. Unable to keep your moans to yourself, you stifled a small whine and traced the underside of her shaft with your tongue, watching as her face made all sorts of lewd expressions. “Oh f-fu– I’m gonna come…” she whimpered, riding your face faster before shooting a hot load down your throat and throwing her head back.

“Oh? What a good girl, making two of us orgasm already.” Signora hummed, pulling her fingers out and licking them clean. “I guess it’s time to get to the main event now.”

Columbina tiredly got off you and went to join Sandrone, who was lying blissfully on the bed and watching how you took the final two women. The taste of sex and cum lingered on the back of your tongue, yet you were now hooked. You gazed at Arlecchino who had been waiting impatiently at the foot of the bed, stroking her fat strap and making sure you saw.

“Hold her down, Signora.” Arlecchino commanded, watching as you were manhandled to switch positions. No longer were you lying flat on your back, as you were now sat up against Signora with her chest against your back, bare breasts and stomach pressed against your skin and making you shiver. “Such a good girl, letting us manhandle you as we please…” Signora’s deep, husky voice whispered in your ear, her hands making their way down to your thighs and keeping them spread for Arlecchino. “Have fun with her, Arle.”

Arlecchino didn’t need to be told twice. She crawled on top of you and angled her strap to brush against your entrance. Her eyes narrowed as she saw how needy your pussy was after going through three women, seeing how twitchy and puffy it was. “You three really did a number on her.” She mumbled, brushing the tip of her strap between your folds. When you trembled and let out a gasp at the feeling, both Arle and Signora smirked, with Signora trailing her hands down to pull your folds apart.

“Do your worst. She wants it.”

Arlecchino grinned and sandwiched you against Signora, slowly pushing her strap into you and watching as you were speared open on her faux cock. “Fuck– she’s tight still…” She grumbled, enjoying the way your pussy gripped the silicone so roughly.

“Well you did buy a girthy one.” Sandrone says matter-of-factly.

“I know, but she seems to enjoy it anyways.” Arlecchino laughed wolfishly and continued to spear you open while your cunt struggled to accommodate her girth. You had never felt so full before when taking a toy, letting out sweet whimpers as the smallest beads of tears formed at your lashes.

“Oh, don’t cry…” Signora hummed behind you, licking your tears away. “It’ll feel so good soon~”

The harlequin let out a grunt as she pushed her hips further, watching as her strap finally nestled itself comfortably inside you. She could see the slightest bit of arousal pool at the base of her strap, and that only spurred her on more, starting to thrust at a shallow pace. You threw your head back against Signora’s shoulder, feeling her soft lips press kisses on your tear-dotted face. Arlecchino was just so deep, filling your insides on just her girth alone while she thrusted.

“My…what a peculiar sight.” Arlecchino chuckled, her eyes filled with pure desire as she saw you trembling beneath her. Your legs pathetically squirming yet being held down, clearly overstimulated now that you had to go through the fourth Purger.

“I haven’t even bottomed out yet.” She smiled wickedly, pinning you in place while she nearly folded you in half. If not for Signora sitting there behind you, you were sure she would have pushed you into a full on mating press into the mattress. “Hold her tighter, I’m going all in.”

Every woman in the room watched with interest as Arlecchino took a deep breath and slowly inched herself deeper until your cunt hit her harness. With each inch, you felt a loud whine rip through you, the fat tip of Arle’s strap pushing against your walls and forming a slight belly bulge. “Oh my…” Signora’s eyes glazed over with lust, trailing her hand up to rest atop the bulge. “Look how deep you are in her, Arle.”

“How cuteee!” Columbina cooed. “I wanna give her a belly bulge too!”

“Maybe another time. The poor girl looks as if she’ll pass out after this round.”

All four women leered at you hungrily before Arlecchino pulled out and slammed back in. They took great pleasure in watching Arle ravage your insides, wet smacks filling the air as your expressions formed into even lewder ones. Signora looked the most ecstatic, her hand gently pushing down on the bulge each time Arle bottomed out and thrusted back into you.

The extra force of Signora pushing down on your stomach and Arlecchino fucking you like an animal was almost too much to handle. Each punctuated thrust of Arlecchino’s hips made your poor body bounce rather weakly, your legs scrambling to pull away from Signora’s grip and latch around the harlequin’s waist.

“She’s getting close. I can feel it…” Arlecchino growled, craving to see your cum form a ring around her base. “Come for me…I know you can do it.”

She held onto your ankle and gave it a small kiss, looking down at you as you writhed around like a worm. The way your leg twitched and the tears trailed down your face was enough to make all the girls swoon over you harder. You were just too cute, they were glad they broke in to get you.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you felt your pussy tense up before cumming all over Arlecchino’s strap. The harlequin groaned at the sight and started thrusting even faster, going feral at the sight of your cum drenching her faux cock and helping you ride out your orgasm. The other woman in the room giggled at the sight of you reduced to a whining, babbling mess, Arlecchino finally pulling out and admiring how soaked you made her strap.

“Goddamn…” she grunted, dropping your legs to the bed and watching as you collapsed against Signora, too tired to even keep your eyes open.

“Look at her, barely able to stay awake.” Sandrone comments, gently massaging one of your thighs. “We really did a number on her.”

“Awww, I really wanted to fuck her too.” Columbina pouts, tracing the hickies and bite marks the women left on your body.

“Maybe when she wakes up. For now, let’s let the poor girl rest.” Signora gently caressed your cheek and gave you a small kiss. “Close your eyes, little one. We will keep you safe throughout the rest of the Purge.”

Arlecchino crawls up to join you by your side, pulling you against her while all the other women adjust to snuggle around you, essentially turning this into one big cuddle pile. “Rest well,” Arlecchino whispers huskily, your eyes growing heavier as you bask in the embrace of the four Purgers who broke into your home, yet showed you the best way to celebrate the gory holiday.

“Happy Purge.”

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

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HELLO MY BESTIE!! 🫶🏻 ihope everything is going well!

the guy who has been in a relationship for a long time but kept it secret so that no one knows, had a football match again. it was a very important and crowded match. victorrryyy at the end of the match!! after all, the same football player who showed off his girlfriend with great excitement at the end of the match. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE... maybe a hug or a kiss scene in the heat of the moment?? CAN I ESPECIALLY REQUEST THE ITOSHI BROTHERS?? if it's a problem for you, no problem at all!! have a good day <3

“𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞”

a/n: HIII LOVE! everything is going good and i hope it's the same, if not better, for you, too! have a good day as well and thank you for your request ❤️🤭

(don't know art credits so sorry)

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae

itoshi rin

you’d always known rin was quiet about his personal life. not just private, but secretive. he never gave the media anything. not a crumb. you could be sitting on his lap feeding him strawberries and he’d still deny your existence to the press with a deadpan, “no comment.”

so when you sit in the VIP seats of his final championship match, hood up, cap on, sunglasses hiding half your face, you think it’ll end the way it always does. he wins. waves to the crowd. vanishes into the tunnel. sends you a text later like “u here?”

because rin itoshi is not the type to cause a scene.

but today, apparently, is different.

his team scores the winning goal in the last five minutes. the stadium erupts. he’s crowned man of the match, carried on shoulders, chants of his name bouncing off the walls. you stand up, clapping, heart full, proud and bursting and still tucked behind anonymity.

until he finds you.

like, actually finds you.

your head turns when you hear his voice call your name. and not softly. not like a whisper. he yells it over the cheers, over the camera shutters. the crowd around you turns too, confused.

and then he’s there. sweaty, flushed, glowing under stadium lights, grinning like he just broke every rule in the itoshi handbook.

“come here,” he breathes.

you hesitate. “rin?”

he doesn’t let you finish. just pulls you into his arms like he’s been waiting years to do it. his hands lock around your waist, and your cap nearly falls off when he kisses you right in front of everyone.

you swear time freezes.

the camera flashes go wild. someone screams. a lady next to you gasps like she’s watching a k-drama in real time.

rin pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “i’m not hiding you anymore,” he says. “they can deal with it.”

you blink. “are you okay?”

he smirks. “never been better.”

itoshi sae

sae’s always been impossible to read. calm, cold, untouchable. the kind of guy who could be in love with you for ten years and still say “i don’t do PDA” like it’s a religion.

which is why dating him has always felt like walking on a balance beam. you’ve learned to exist in the sidelines, in shadows. private dinners, blurry phone calls from different time zones, hidden hotel rooms.

but tonight?

tonight is the champions league final.

and you’re in the stands again, just like always, not cheering too loudly, not standing out. you’d made peace with being invisible, because loving sae was worth it.

his team wins 3–2. the stadium explodes with excitement. the players are hugging, crying, jumping all over each other.

you expect him to smile slightly, do a post-match interview, maybe flick his hair and leave.

but instead he walks right toward you.

he cuts through security like it’s nothing. your eyes widen as he reaches the edge of the stands, and for a second, you think, nah. no way. not sae.

“you,” he says, pointing straight at you. “come here.”

you blink, frozen. “what–”

he hops the barrier. climbs the damn rail. he doesn’t care about the fans yelling, or the staff chasing after him. he’s walking with tunnel vision, focused only on you.

“sae, what are you doing–”

“i won,” he says, pulling you down by the hand. “but i only want you.”

and then, with the entire world watching, he wraps his arms around you and kisses you so hard, your brain short-circuits.

his fingers grip your face like you’re the most important thing in the universe. like you were the goal all along.

when he pulls away, the camera crews are practically drooling.

he just shrugs. “if they didn’t know, now they do.”

you stare at him, stunned. “you realize they’re going to replay that a thousand times, right?”

he smirks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “good. maybe they’ll finally stop asking if i’m single.”

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi brothers #itoshi siblings #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #man of my life

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xoln04f1xo · 2 months ago

Text

Dark Fic

Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: Emotional manipulation, obsessive behaviour, surveillance, kidnapping?, captivity, gaslighting, and psychological abuse, mentions of drugging

WC: 3.1k

Y/N POV

There was a time when you loved mornings.

They started slow with the smell of clean sheets and the low hum of the ocean behind double-glazed windows. When Monaco was still just a dream - when he was still just a boy with a bright future and a gentle voice - mornings meant croissants, cracked knuckles over sudoku, and sunlight kissing the side of his jaw. You used to trace it with your eyes. Memorize it.

Oscar.

At first, he was quiet in the way that made you curious. Still water, you told your best friend once. “But I don’t think he runs deep. I think he runs cold.” You were wrong. He wasn’t cold. He was calculating. But back then, it was easy to mistake that for control. Discipline. Precision.

The kind of man who measured his words like lap times.

Your first trip with him was to Melbourne - a Grand Prix weekend wrapped in jetlag and adrenaline. You stayed in a high-rise suite where everything smelled like leather and lemon cleaner. He let you wear one of his team hoodies, snapped a photo when you weren’t looking, and later posted it with a soft caption:

"My favourite part of the track isn't on it."

Thousands of likes. You remember how your phone exploded. Friends congratulating you, joking about marrying rich. But there was something in Oscar’s eyes when you laughed at the comments. Like a flicker. A shutter snapping closed.

“You like that attention?” he asked that night.

You thought he was teasing.

You kissed him on the shoulder. “It’s harmless.”

He didn’t smile.

Two weeks later, you noticed your DMs had been cleared. No more message requests. Even your best friend's old photos had disappeared from your tagged feed. You asked him, offhandedly, if he’d seen anything weird on your phone.

“Probably just a bug,” he said, eyes not leaving his screen. “iOS has been trash lately.”

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You weren’t hiding anything. Maybe it was good he cared enough to look. Most men didn't. Most men forgot anniversaries, birthdays, everything. Oscar remembered it all.

Even your dentist appointment.

He called you after it ended - before you even texted him. “So? Did it hurt?”

You laughed nervously. “You have my calendar notifications?”

A pause. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

It was easy to let it slide, because being with Oscar felt like being in a parallel world. Where everything was faster, brighter, but somehow… smaller. Your social circle narrowed. Nights out turned into quiet evenings in. Messages from friends were always “forgotten,” plans always postponed. You convinced yourself it was just the nature of dating someone famous.

He needed privacy. You were just protecting him.

Right?

The first time you noticed the lock on your apartment door had been changed without asking, Oscar handed you a new key before you could even open your mouth.

“Upgraded the security,” he said, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Don’t want anyone sneaking in.”

You stared at the old key in your palm.

“And you... didn’t think to tell me?”

He blinked, as if confused by your question. Then smiled. “Telling you now, aren’t I?”

It escalated slowly. The way thunder rolls in before a storm.

At first, he asked about your day. Then who you saw. Then why you saw them. Eventually, it became easier not to go anywhere. Easier to let him track your phone, check your DMs, read your texts.

“It’s not control,” he once said. “It’s trust. You wouldn’t hide anything if you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

And the worst part?

A small part of you agreed.

You’re not sure when exactly things changed.

Not really.

You just remember waking up one morning, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets, in an apartment you didn’t recognize - with windows that didn’t open, and doors that only locked from the outside.

Oscar was already dressed. Black t-shirt, watch glinting on his wrist. Calm as ever.

“Morning,” he said, placing a coffee by your bedside. “Welcome home.”

The coffee is your favourite kind - hazelnut roast, one sugar, oat milk - but it’s cold.

You sit up slowly, blanket falling from your shoulders, heart pounding before you know why. There’s a hum beneath your skin, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet. Your phone’s on the nightstand, but it’s face down. That’s not how you left it.

You glance at Oscar.

He’s standing by the window, looking out at the harbor with the sort of quiet intensity that used to feel elegant. Now, it feels like silence before a verdict.

“Where are we?” you ask.

He turns. Smiles. “Our place.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t your flat. It’s - this is… new. When did we come here?”

“Last night.”

You don’t remember last night.

You remember a conversation. You remember saying you needed space - not in an angry way, not even in a final way. Just clarity. Time. He had nodded, like he understood. Said he’d be patient. Said he’d take care of things in the meantime.

Apparently, this is what he meant.

“Oscar,” your voice cracks slightly, “I want to leave.”

He doesn’t react. Just tilts his head.

“You are home.”

The words land like weights.

You slide your feet to the floor, test the edge of the room. The door is shut. Not locked - not obviously - but something about the way he watches you makes you feel like a mouse eyeing the trap.

“Where are my keys?” you try. “My stuff?”

“It’s all here,” he says, like that solves everything. “You don’t need to worry about those things anymore.”

You stare at him.

His calmness is unbearable.

“Why would you do this?”

He finally turns to you, arms crossed. “Because you’re not thinking clearly. You say you want space, but you don’t mean it. Not really. You’re confused, and the world out there - it feeds on that confusion. I’m the only one who knows how to protect you from yourself.”

You blink. “That’s not protection. That’s prison.”

Oscar exhales through his nose. “You always say the most dramatic things when you’re overwhelmed.”

The first 48 hours blur.

You learn the apartment has no physical address. No working intercom. The windows are made of reinforced glass and don’t open - you try, of course. The locks on every external door have electronic access, fingerprint-only.

Yours doesn’t work.

You can move through the apartment freely. Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. But that’s it.

No balcony.

No outside line.

He brings you meals. Watches you eat. Talks to you like nothing is wrong - asks about your sleep, offers to put on movies, gives you “little projects” to stay occupied. Once, he brings a jigsaw puzzle. A thousand pieces. You stare at the cover image for an hour before opening it.

It’s a photo of you two.

You don’t remember it being taken.

He gives you your phone back on the third day.

You stare at it, hesitant. “It’s been wiped.”

“No,” he says evenly, “it’s been cleaned.”

You open the messages. Every contact is gone except one.

Oscar 💖

Your heart races. “What did you do?”

“I backed up everything,” he says. “Sorted through the stuff that didn’t matter. Cleared the noise. It’s better this way. You only need one person.”

You almost scream. Instead, you speak through clenched teeth.

“You’re insane.”

He doesn’t flinch.

He walks to you, kneels in front of the couch, and looks you dead in the eyes.

“No,” he says. “I’m focused. And the world calls people like me insane because they can’t understand loyalty like this.”

So...insane... you thought

Later, when you’re alone, you test the bathroom for privacy.

There are no visible cameras. But you know better. You take a glass from the sink and hold it up to the walls, listening.

Nothing.

Still, when you whisper, you do it directly into the drain.

“If anyone can hear me… I need help.”

Every time he leaves, you check the door. Still locked.

The only other way out is the guest bathroom window - too narrow, but you measure it anyway. He notices the bruises on your arms the next morning.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, voice flat.

“You’re hurting me,” you whisper.

His eyes soften — not with guilt, but something worse. Pity.

“I’m saving you.”

You start to unravel differently after that. Less like breaking, more like… peeling. Each day strips away another layer of resistance. Not because you want to give in, but because you can’t afford to feel anymore. Emotions are too loud. Too risky.

So you fake it.

You let him read to you at night. Let him hold your hand. Let him tuck your hair behind your ear like nothing’s wrong.

You wait.

And watch.

Because the only way to escape is to make him think you never wanted to.

It happens on the eleventh day.

You stop counting them on purpose. Let time dissolve into quiet rituals - eat when he eats, smile when he smiles. Let him believe you’ve softened. Let him think the edges have dulled.

You start asking for things. Small, domestic, harmless.

A book here. A specific kind of tea there. Music.

He obliges, pleased. Always so pleased when you ask. It reinforces the idea that you're dependent. That he's essential. It’s exactly what he wants.

So you let him believe it.

But while he scrolls through his phone on the couch, you trace the layout of the apartment in your head. Memorize his routines. When he showers. When he charges his phone. When he paces on the balcony that only he can access.

He never locks the guest bathroom door from the inside.

You begin testing the window more aggressively now, bruising your shoulders, your ribs. It’s tight, but you can almost get through - if you turn sideways and push hard. It opens onto a sheer wall, no ledge. But there’s a drainage pipe, two meters to the left.

It’s stupid. It’s dangerous.

But it’s a way out.

The opportunity comes after midnight. You feign a migraine, lock the bathroom door, turn on the faucet. Let it run as cover.

You open the window slowly, silently.

Pull yourself up.

You don’t look down.

Your ribs scrape the frame. You stifle a cry. You’re halfway through when your shirt catches on the hinge. You panic and twist...

Then you hear the click.

The bathroom door opens behind you.

You don’t turn around.

“Don’t,” he says.

You freeze. His voice is calm. Flat. Not angry.

Worse.

“Come down,” he says. “You’ll fall.”

You stay still.

“I said...” There’s a pause. You hear him take a breath. “If you jump, I won’t catch you.”

That gets you. A tremble runs down your back.

He steps forward slowly, but not too close. He knows better than to spook you now.

“I built this place for us,” he says. “I picked the tiles in this bathroom because you told me once you liked the way sunlight reflects off pale green. You don’t remember that, do you?”

You say nothing.

“I remember everything,” he whispers.

Then, softly, so softly it nearly shatters you:

“You don’t want to die like this.”

You close your eyes.

And for one split second... you believe him.

You let yourself slide back down into the bathroom, knees hitting tile.

Oscar doesn’t say anything. He just kneels in front of you, wraps a blanket around your shoulders, and holds you.

As if you’re the one who broke something.

The next morning, the window is sealed.

Bolted. Painted over.

He brings you breakfast and says nothing about it.

But there’s a new camera in the hallway.

You notice it. He wants you to.

That night, he sits across from you at dinner. The mood is quiet, but not tense. Oscar carves into his food like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t almost run. Like he didn’t have to lock you in tighter.

“You’re not ready,” he says, finally.

You keep your eyes down.

He sets his fork down carefully. His voice is gentle. Controlled.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

You blink. He waits.

Then he leans forward, elbows on the table, head tilted like he’s studying you.

“But now you’ve proven I can’t trust your judgment. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly.

Because what else can you do?

He shows you a box the next morning.

Inside it: a ring.

Simple. Silver. Understated.

Your heart nearly stops.

“We’re already something better than married,” he says. “But this is for you. To help you remember.”

You want to throw it at him.

Instead, you slide it on your finger.

You have to survive.

You can’t afford defiance.

Not yet.

Later that night, you lie awake in the bed you used to share with him. Now, he sleeps in the room next door. Says you need “space” again, like it’s a kindness.

There’s a sliver of light under the door.

You stare at the ceiling and begin counting again.

One day.

Two days.

Three.

There will be another chance.

You just have to wait.

You wait two weeks.

Fourteen days of smiling at the right moments, of wearing the ring, of letting him believe that you’ve settled. That his warped version of love is finally working.

Fourteen days of pretending to be his.

During that time, he returns small freedoms to you like tokens of trust. Your favourite playlist. A softer blanket. A journal - with every page numbered. You notice that. Just like you notice the faint scratch across the spine of the hallway camera. You hadn’t touched it.

Which means he had. Probably testing. Probably watching how often you look at it.

You look often.

You make him think you care about being watched.

So that when the real plan begins - he won’t see it coming.

The plan isn’t elegant. It isn’t clever.

It’s just human.

You make him believe he’s won.

That’s the real trick.

On the fourteenth night, you set the dinner table yourself.

You wear the softest thing you can find. You tell him he’s right. That you’re sorry for the fear. For the resistance. That maybe you did need this - time, safety, him.

You say it all with your hands flat on the table so he sees there’s nothing to hide.

He watches you with narrowed eyes at first.

Then he smiles.

It’s almost heart-breaking. Because for one moment, you see the boy he used to be - the one who quoted lap times and made you tea during late-night race weekends.

Then he takes your hand and says:

“I knew you'd come around. I always knew.”

You drug him that night.

Not with anything dramatic.

Just a slow dose. Benadryl dissolved in wine. Enough to pull him into something heavy. Enough to stall his reflexes. The glass trembles in your hand as you pour it. You’re careful not to overdo it. You don’t want him unconscious - you want him slow.

He downs the wine with a quiet sigh and pulls you close on the couch. You feel his breath against your neck, the weight of his arm draped over your shoulders.

He falls asleep with his hand still tangled in your hair.

It takes everything not to scream.

You wait until his breathing shifts.

Then you move.

Softly. Quietly. Every step rehearsed a thousand times in your mind.

You retrieve the screwdriver hidden in the lining of the hallway lamp - taken apart and reassembled over a week of quiet hours while he thought you were “healing.”

You head to the security panel in the utility room. The one you spotted him using through a cracked door three days ago. The keypad glows. You enter the numbers.

6… 2… 7…

He uses racing numbers as codes. Always has. You try his F2 championship date next.

It works.

The front lock disengages with a dull thunk.

For the first time in weeks, you breathe like air matters.

You move to the door. It opens silently.

Beyond it... a hallway. No guards. No traps.

Just freedom.

You run.

You make it as far as the second-floor stairwell.

That’s when the lights go out.

And his voice returns...

Not angry. Not yelling.

Just steady.

“I thought we were past this.”

Your blood runs cold.

You turn - and he’s already there, barefoot, calm, breathing a little heavier than usual.

His eyes are glassy. He’s still groggy.

But he’s awake.

And the worst part?

He’s smiling.

“You waited so long,” he says. “I thought you really meant it this time.”

You back away, heart slamming against your ribs.

“I did mean it,” you whisper. “I meant to survive you.”

Oscar nods.

Then, like it's nothing: “I could let you go. You know that.”

You stare at him, hope flaring.

But he steps forward.

“I could… but I won’t.”

You fight him.

For the first time, really fight him.

Fingernails, elbows, teeth - anything to make him let go. He doesn’t expect it. You knock him back against the wall hard enough to hear the breath punch from his lungs.

You run again.

This time faster. Down the stairwell. Barefoot. You scream - once - just to hear your own voice echo in the real world. Just to know it still works.

The front lobby opens up like a dream.

You hit the last set of doors—and they’re open.

Unlocked.

You stumble into the street.

You’re in a quiet neighborhood.

Industrial. Empty.

But not far from the city. There are people.

And someone sees you.

The hospital room is white.

Clean.

Free.

You stare at the window for a long time before speaking to anyone. You tell the nurses your name. Tell the police your story. They listen. Some of them don’t believe you at first - who would? A Formula 1 driver, kidnapping a woman?

But they see the bruises.

They read the journal.

They watch the security footage pulled from hidden drives in Oscar’s apartment.

He never deletes anything.

Control, you realize, is its own undoing.

He’s arrested four days later.

Not publicly. Not yet.

The team releases a statement about “mental health leave” and “ongoing investigation.” The internet buzzes, but no one really knows. You don’t care.

You’re out.

One month later, you walk barefoot through a real field of grass and cry.

You feel the sun.

The actual sun.

You start to remember how to feel hungry. How to trust the time on a clock. How to look at a door and not measure how fast you could get through it.

You’re not healed.

Not yet.

But you’re you again.

And that’s enough.

For now.

A/N: Okay this one is like.. EXTREMELY fucked up i cant lie, but i hope you enjoyed it

Click here for more!

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myfictionaldreams · 2 years ago

Text

Day 11: Exhibitionism/Voyeurism - Winter Soldier

Summary: Home alone, you think it's safe to have some 'special time', but unbeknown to you, he's there, always watching and admiring.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content, stalker!winter soldier, masturbation, sex toys, loneliness, exhibitionism, voyeurism

masterlist 📚

kinktober masterlist😈

AO3 Link

Being the adoptive daughter of the infamous Alexander Pierce wasn’t always as exciting and full of potential danger as you’d expect. For the most part, you are confined to your heavily guarded home 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Despite being an adult and wanting to live your own life, your father deemed it too dangerous that you could be captured and used for ransom.

Throughout your life, you’d never even seen one second of action or risk, and some would say that just means your father has protected you to the best of his abilities. There is a point, however, where you need something exciting in your life even though there are only limited ways to get any thrill.

This usually occurred when you were home alone, like tonight. Bored out of your mind whilst watching the TV attached to the wall in the living room, your dad walked past, clicking a button on his phone before tying his show lace. Glancing at the time on your phone, you assumed he was going to work, considering it was so late; you knew better than to ask him what was wrong to demand his time.

Walking over, your dad briefly paused to lean down and kiss your forehead, pretending he cared, but there was nothing Alexander Pierce truly loved more than Hydra. He didn’t even need to say that he was leaving as your dad prepared to leave, assuming you had caught on to his gathering of stuff that he would be going, but before he could step out of the door, you shouted in his direction, “Am I expecting company tonight?”

Your Dad knew who you were referring to. The Winter Soldier. The assassin whom you’d met on numerous occasions tended to turn up unannounced to your home in search of your father to debrief or receive new orders, so you made sure to ask regarding his whereabouts so that you could be prepared for a midnight visit.

“No, he’s a couple of states away on a mission and not due to be back for another few days. I’ll lock up on my way out; don’t wait up for me”. Without another look or even an ‘I love you’, Alexander Pierce left out of the front door, and the sound of the shutters around the windows started to descend, and the thick locks on all doors clicked into place.

You were locked in, and as soon as the metal stopped creaking and you knew your dad’s car had driven off, you sighed in sweet relief at finally being home alone. It was almost like an automatic reaction for your body to become horny as soon as you were locked in, knowing that no one would interrupt and you had free reign to do whatever you pleased, which would always be masturbation.

Turning up the TV loud so you could hear it from your bedroom and not feel as alone, you changed your clothing to just an oversized shirt and nothing more, selecting which vibrator you wanted from the box beneath your bed. Today was going to be the purple bullet vibrator and then returned to the living room.

This was one of the only places where you could feel any sort of rebellion or thrill. Yes, you could and do masturbate in your bedroom just like anyone else would, but being able to do it in technically a public space gave you little bursts of adrenaline. If your father returned home, you’d be able to hear the security system unlocking, but it was also an area that was supposed to be where everyone gathered and had family time. This didn’t refer to your home, though, as you were the only person to use the living area as your father was either in his office, the gym or not home at all.

Lying down on the soft couch, your head nestling into the decorative pillow, you tried to focus your mind into the horny zone. The excitement you anticipated hit you in your gut as you lifted your shirt until it rested over your collarbones to reveal your nude body.

As the chilled breeze ghosted over your skin, it caused a ripple effect of goosebumps to shiver over you, nipples hardening, which sparked pleasure to build in your abdomen and moisture to slick at your entrance. Closing your eyes, your fingers teased over your breasts, imagining they were someone else's hands, exploring the fresh and finding where you were most sensitive.

Pinching your nipples gently, you released a soft sigh as another hand drifted down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Biting your lip, your knees separated to allow your fingers to collect some of the juices that had leaked from your hole and then spread it over your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in circles.

You were entirely in the zone, feeling increasingly more aroused with breathy moans and whimpers escaping your open mouth each second. This was your favourite place to be, hot and bothered, getting yourself off to feel your cunt pulsing around two of your fingers.

Then you were pressing the vibrator against your clit with two fingers delved into your warmth, curling and pressing on the spot that had your back arching and breaths hitching.

Everything was building, like an orchestra reaching its crescendo, approaching the peak of no return and complete euphoria. Then, the sensation rushed over you. Not the pleasant orgasmic blissful shiver but a haunting, the hairs standing on end over your arms and the back of your neck with unease. It felt like someone was watching you, but that wasn’t the case; the building was locked down, and the security cameras didn't point in this direction.

Your eyes opened on instinct, and fear, horror and dread pulsed through your stomach as you screamed, closing your legs and rushing to stand and cover your body with your shirt. Your knees buckled from the lasting effects of getting yourself off, but you clung to the arm of the couch whilst trying to turn off the vibrator.

It felt like your heart had moved to your throat, with the fear of throwing up and passing out at the same time taking over as you stared unblinking at the man currently sitting in the armchair next to the couch you’d been masturbating on. He was sitting as still as a statute, head to toe, in his tactical gear, even the mask.

“Soldier?” your voice reverberates off the walls you’ve shouted that loud. All it earned you was a tilt of his head to the side, but he didn’t say a single word, so you continued to shout, even though you knew you should have remained calm around someone as dangerous as him. “What the fuck are you doing here? You should have knocked or- something! How did you even get in here?!”

He simply sat there, staring at you with deep blue eyes, his long hair framing his face, his deadly hands resting on the arms of the chair, acting casually like he hadn’t just been sitting there as you feverishly masturbated naked in front of him. The more time passed, the worse your tremors became, almost like you were vibrating with anxiety.

It wasn’t uncommon for the Winter Soldier to not knock when he came to the house however usually your father was present or he’d been anticipated but for him to somehow get in when the house was on lockdown and not be expected, it had you on edge.

“Why didn’t you announce yourself, Soldier?” you tried to sound confident and not fearful, but your voice cracked on the last word, which gave away your anxiety. Your thoughts were going around and around in your head; how long had he been there? How did you not even hear him walking into the room?

The Assets head tilted to the other right, his eyes remaining focused only on your face as he finally began to talk in his low, drawled voice, “Why did you stop?”

Your eyes widened in shock briefly before trying to regain control, “What did you say?”

“You don’t usually stop. Why did you stop now?”

Your heart seemed to stop at this question. Swallowing the thick glob of spit in your mouth, you asked, “What do you mean usually? Have... have you seen me doing this before?”

He nods slowly, and you want to vomit immediately. Closing your eyes briefly, you tried to take a deep breath, hoping it would give you some composure. Maybe this was karma working her evil magic on you, you had decided, for having a kink with being caught, which is why you masturbated in the living room. Why on earth were you now upset when you’d actually been caught?

Sighing and rubbing both hands over your face, ignoring that they were still slightly wet from earlier, you tried to explain to the assassin, “You know, it’s not normal to watch people during intimate times like this. You’re supposed to announce yourself or something”.

“But you look at peace when you do it”, he says in the same emotionless voice. His words catch you off guard, but he continues, “You didn’t finish today like you usually do”.

The way he spoke about what you were doing, you weren’t even sure he knew what it was or the consequences of your actions. You knew his history, who he was and how they controlled him. Did he even know what sex was with all the times his mind had been wiped? He wasn’t acting like a creep, even if he had snuck in to watch you masturbate and clearly had watched it several times before. If he was going to hurt you, he would have done so by now, so tentatively, you sat back onto the couch, still pulling the bottom of your shirt lower over your legs and hiding the vibrator beneath your thigh.

“I didn’t finish like the other times because I didn’t know you were watching; it can make people uncomfortable knowing someone is watching them”.

“Does it make you uncomfortable that you know I’m watching?” his tone lowered with the question he was asking.

“Yes! I don’t want people to watch me do this, and what if my Dad finds out? What if you tell him what I’ve been doing?”

Bucky finally showed some emotion as he frowned in confusion, “Why would I tell your father about this? It has nothing to do with the mission? I like watching you because you seem to enjoy it; isn’t that a good thing?”

He seemed so innocent in his questioning. “Just so I’m getting this right, are you expecting me to continue?” The soldier nods yes in an answer as you release a long breath. “If I say no, will you kill me?” This time, he shakes his head, giving you the answer no, which did little to alleviate the nerves catapulting through you.

Standing up from the couch whilst clutching the vibrator, you rushed towards your bedroom, intending to hide the sex toy and lock yourself in so that you didn’t have to sit looking at the soldier anymore. However, as you stood before the door, you thought it over more. If he’d been watching you all of this time, then what’s the difference with him being here now? He could overpower you any time he wanted, and he didn't want any pleasure back; otherwise, he would have made advances before.

This whole situation came about because you liked the thought of being watched or caught, so why were you running away from that scenario? Having made up your mind, you returned to the living room, where the Soldier hadn’t moved even a strand of hair since you’d left in a hurry.

Sitting back on the couch, your eyes remained everywhere but on him. In fact, as you led back down, you closed your eyes with the hopes that not being able to see him would help to calm the pounding of your nervous heart.

Your nipples were still hard, so you pressed on them through your shirt with trembling fingers, not quite believing you were in this situation. The wetness from your earlier escapades was still evident over your thighs, which you sept firmly closed. Biting your lower lip until it hurt, you kept stimulating your nipples by rubbing the peaks around in circles before pinching them to elicit more of a reaction between your legs.

It worked after a couple of minutes as your muscles lost the tension and melted into the cushions further. Eventually, your thighs were spreading as you tried to only think about that orgasm that had been so very close to pleasuring your body but had quickly disappeared from the soldier's appearance.

With your legs now parted and cunt on full displaying, facing the Asset at the end of the couch, you turned the vibrator on, deciding to go straight for the toy this time rather than playing around first. Pressing the device just above your clit, you released a breathy moan, thighs shaking with the increased delight.

This time, your body heated to the point of sweat, and your face hot to the touch because no matter how much you tried to think of anything else, it always came back to the man sitting near you. With your hips jolting and rolling to push against the vibrator, your fingers moved the shirt further up your stomach, revealing your navel and breasts so you could rub and play with them without restriction.

Then, to both your horror and delight, the Winter Solider flashed into your mind, but this time, it was him hovering above you, using his gloved hands to press against your nipples. Your moans increased in volume, back arching with this thought as you begged your mind to continue this naughty thought.

Releasing your breast, your hand trailed down your body, tickling the delicate skin before dipping past your clit and two fingers into your drenched cunt. You were sure he had thicker fingers than you, but the thought of him between your legs, curling them right into that beautiful spot, his other hand holding the vibrator to your clit, had you whithering around on the couch.

Your pussy clenched harshly around your fingers, trying to draw them deeper, needing their fullness. You weren’t sure when it was, but at some point, your eyes opened so that you could look directly at the man in question, who still had failed to move from his seat in the armchair. You weren’t looking at his body thought; you were looking at those sparking blue eyes partially hidden beneath his hair as they continued to look at just your face like he only wanted to see the pleasure you displayed rather than just touching yourself.

“Oh god”, you groan aloud to these thoughts, legs spreading further open and half-flopping off the couch as you curl your fingers faster and harder. You wished it was his fingers touching you, getting you off and bringing you close to the point of orgasming. The vibrator stroked back and forth against your throbbing clit, and that was all the additional stimulation you needed to reach your peak.

Your eyes finally closed once more as you came hard, body shaking and curling in on yourself with each pulse of your pussy around your fingers. You hadn’t orgasmed that hard in months, so it took you a couple of minutes to try and catch your breath and come out of the buzzing created by the euphoria.

Now what? You thought whilst turning off the vibrator entirely and leaving the two of you in complete silence. The assassins still hadn’t moved, and for a brief second, you thought of his arousal. Could he even be turned on? Was that a function the scientists allowed him to keep while brainwashed? Was he watching you enough to turn him on?

The thought was swiftly pushed out of your mind as you realised he was the fucking Winter Soldier, the highest-trained assassin who was also 70+ years old; this was probably last on his list of things to be worried about. Sitting up whilst covering your body with your t-shirt once more, you struggled to think what to say or do.

“Do you want me to call my Dad to tell him you’re here for a debrief?” From the corner of your eye, the Asset nodded. You stood to take the call in your bedroom, but as you stood, your eyes briefly looked at him more clearly and noticed that he very evidently had an erection with the way his tactical gear was tented at the crotch. For some reason, this made you feel relieved that he had been turned on by what you saw, and it wasn’t just a one-way situation.

Standing and walking into your bedroom, you collapsed onto the bed with your phone raised to your ear.

Your dad answered immediately with a stern tone, “Yes?”

“Uh hey, Dad, just to let you know, the Soldier’s here”.

“What?” came Alexander Pierces’ concerned voice through the mobile.

“Yeah, he just turned up a couple of minutes ago in the living room”.

“Well, tell him to get back to the compound. I won’t be home tonight, so he needs to come here”.

Finishing the conversation with him, you stood to tell the Soldier his orders but found him nowhere in the building, not in the living room, kitchen or even by the front door. He had simply vanished, and what's more, the alarm was still in place, which meant he had a way of getting in and out of your home without triggering the alarm, which you were sure if it terrified or excited you.

#Winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mine*

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sai-int · 7 months ago

Note

hi angel! I love your writing so much, I loved your daryl fic <3 could I make a request for rick smut? you could write anything about rick and I'd love it <<3

hi hun! my brain instantly went to some "we shouldn't do this" smut and that's kindawhat i conjured up :] hope u like it!!

rick grimes x f!reader, oral (fem!receiving), ricks shlong, 1.6k words

The rain started just after noon, a slow drizzle that quickly escalated into a downpour. By the time you and Rick realized the herd was closing in, the storm had become a deluge, turning the forest paths into rivers of mud. The walkers were relentless, forcing the two of you to sprint through the trees, your boots slipping on the wet ground.

“This way!” Rick shouted over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. His hand shot out, grabbing yours as he pulled you toward a narrow path. The chill of his touch shot through you, grounding you even as the chaos pressed in.

The cabin appeared out of nowhere, half-hidden by the rain and overgrown foliage. It was old and weathered, its shutters hanging crookedly and the roof sagging in places. But it was shelter, and more importantly, it had a door that locked.

Rick shoved it open with his shoulder, ushering you inside before slamming it shut. He shoved a standing closet across the door, catching his breath once he knew the both of you were secure. You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, your clothes soaked and clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, dripping water onto the creaking floorboards, the storm raging outside. Rick turned, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries.

“You good?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” you managed, though your pulse was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “We’re lucky this place was here. Could’ve been bad out there.”

“Could still be bad,” you muttered, glancing at the foggy windows. The walkers weren’t far behind, and the flimsy-looking cabin didn’t inspire much confidence. But for now, it was quiet—no groans, no shuffling footsteps.

Rick moved further into the house, crouching to inspect ashes left in a fire place. “Looks like someone’s been here recently. Should be enough to get a fire going.”

You watched as he worked, gathering scraps of dry wood and kindling from the corners of the room. The way his hands moved—quick, efficient—was almost hypnotic. You’d been on enough supply runs with him to know he thrived under pressure, but there was something different about seeing him like this, in a rare moment of quiet focus.

Once the fire caught, warmth began to seep into the room. You sat cross-legged on the rug, holding your hands out toward the flames while Rick shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair to dry. His shirt clung to him, damp and outlining the broad planes of his shoulders, his strong biceps and chest. You tried not to stare, but your eyes had a mind of their own.

“We should stay here tonight,” Rick said, breaking the silence. “Let the herd move on.”

You nodded, though the thought of spending the night alone with him made your heart pound for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. The unspoken tension between you had been simmering for weeks—glances that lingered too long, the occasional brush of his hand against yours, words left unsaid.

The rain intensified, battering the windows and drowning out the world outside. You both settled into an uneasy quiet, the crackle of the fire the only sound.

It wasn’t until later, after the initial rush of adrenaline faded, that the weight of the day’s events truly sank in. You were sitting on the couch now, stripped of your sopping jacket with Rick beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. His head was bowed, his hands clasped together as he stared at the floor, his leg bouncing ever so slightly–in concentration or anxiety? You couldn't tell.

“You ever stop pretending, Rick?” you asked apprehensively, your voice barely above a whisper.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, your heart thudding in your chest. “You act like none of this means anything. Like we’re just two people trying to coexist, and that that’s all it’ll ever be.”

Rick exhaled sharply, standing abruptly. He started pacing, his boots thudding softly against the floor as the firelight casted his shadow across the room. “We can’t do this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It’s not right.”

“Why not?” you challenged, standing too. The both of you illuminated by the warmth of the fire as it warmed your skin, your voice rising above the droplets that hit the roof. “What’s stopping you? The rules? Rick, there are no rules anymore... Didn't you say that to Shane?"

He turned to face you, his expression torn, conflicted. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rough. “We’ve got a group to think about. Responsibilities. I have Michonne, I think, This—this would only make things harder.”

You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “You’re absolutely right,” you said quietly, your voice feigning sincerity with every ounce of your being. “We shouldn’t do this...”

The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken words. Rick’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours for a hesitation he wouldn’t find.

He surged forward, his hand cupping the side of your face as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was all tongue, teeth, and desperation, all-consuming, weeks of suppressed feelings erupting all at once. You balled your fists into his damp shirt, pulling him closer as you both stumbled back onto the couch.

“Goddammit,” he muttered against your lips as his hands found your waist, his voice raw. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then stop,” you whispered as one hand tangled deeper in his damp curls and the other held the rippled muscles of his back.

The firelight flickered as clothing flew across the room. You peeled off his shirt while shimmying out of your pants, his hands dipping beneath the fabric of your top before yanking it off entirely. His touch was both rough and tender, his hands exploring the skin of your chest like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed his way down the soft skin of your neck before marking it as his, stubble scraping deliciously against your flesh. His tongue swirled around your nipples, giving them both enough attention to make your cunt flutter around nothing.

Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the cabin, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—your breathless whispers, the heat of the fire, the way his name fell from your lips like a confession.

His lips traveled further down your stomach before he scooped up your thighs and placed them around his shoulders. Without warning, he licked a fat stripe over your clothed core, your back arching immediately as you practically grinded on his tongue. Lord knows it's been a while since a man's had his mouth on you.

But none of them were as good as Rick. His baby blues met yours as he pulled your panties to the side, feeling his cock twitch against his zipper at the sight of your glistening arousal. He lapped up your juices, moaning at the taste of you as he swirled and sucked your sensitive bud. You squealed as he held your legs impossibly tight, restricting your movement as he ate you nastier than a starving walker would have.

He eased a finger into your tight hole, slowly massaging that gummy spot inside of you that made heat burn in your thighs and stomach.

"Gotta get you nice 'n ready for my cock, Baby, hmm? How's that sound? Gon' get nice 'nd ready for me?" Rick was on another planet as he babbled, obsessed with the way your hole took his finger so well. He eased in another, his hips automatically pistoning into the couch at the sound of your moans, imagining just how well you would take his cock.

"R-Rick please... Need you so bad, please..." You were in tears as he played with you. He gave you enough stimulation to bring you to the brink of cumming, but never enough to throw you over. You pawed at his curls that were between your legs as he looked up at you. He almost looked drunk as he pulled his eyes away from your cunt.

"What'd ya need, Sweetheart?" He cooed at you as he sat up. His frame rising up above you as he unbuckled his pants, his eyes never leaving yours. "You need somethin' from me?" His mocking didn't cease.

"Yes, Rick! Fucking please..." You pleaded as you watch him work his belt out of the loops of his jeans at a agonizing pace. He pulled his pants down just enough to free himself from his boxers. The sight made your mouth water.

He was thick with a slight upward curve, thick curls at the base, and his tip was an angry red, pre smeared all around it. You reached out to take him into your hands but he moved away, your hands retracting.

"Keep those hands where I can see 'em. You wanted my cock so bad, right? You're gonna have to ask real nice for it, Sweetheart." He said, dragging his hands across your stomach, scorching the skin beneath his fingers.

You huffed as you stared at his cock as he teasingly tapped it against your perked clit, each little nudge making your hole flutter. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, whispering his name like a prayer through whines and whimpers of desperation.

His hand reached out and rested on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "So sensitive... If I had known that I would've fucked this pretty pussy weeks ago.." His thumb slipped into your mouth, his cock drooling as your lips immediately tightened around it.

"Since you like to whine so goddamn much, you can suck on that while I fuck you stupid."

mlist

#rick twd #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x female reader #twd towl #twd smut #twd #twd fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead #the walking dead rick grimes #༒︎ sai-int #𓄧 angel’s asks

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 3 months ago

Text

Policy & Procedure | Part 6 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 2.5 k words

Things get heated when you reach the safehouse, but not the way Bucky was hoping.

Warnings: 18+language. Bucky is sad. A for Angst.

Another dialogue line for @gremlin-girly 's 20-20-20 challenge, in bold in the text.

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 5 | Bucky Barnes

Bucky followed you up the track in silence. It was dark now, the light from your phone leading the way over fallen branches and drifts of leaves and detritus. He was wearing his nicest shoes and didn't know whether to lament at how scuffed the leather was, or tell himself off for being bothered by such things. If he could just keep his suit from snagging on a branch, that'd be great.

You had no such qualms, shoving your way through the woodland as if you'd been here a thousand times.

Maybe you had.

Maybe you'd been here with Sam.

Bucky's stomach turned, when he had become like this, worried about his shoes, jealous of his friends. If you came here with Sam then that was your choice, he was a great guy. Did it sting that you'd led him on? Sure. But he was a big boy, he'd get over it. And he certainly didn't feel like either snapping a tree in half or crying.

God he hoped he needed to chop some firewood so he could snap a tree in half.

"Nearly there, Mr Barnes." You said, cheerfully.

"Stop calling me that."

"Okay, sir." You smiled, pointing ahead at a small building at the crest of the hill. It was covered in dark green clapboard with a low, covered, front porch and grey slate. The shutters were closed and also painted in mottled shades of green. If he hadn't of been looking for it, his eyes would've glanced over it through the trees.

"Don't call me that either, those were for before, when you were my assistant and not my kidnapper."

"Please don't call me a kidnapper, Mr Barnes, that's not what I am, I'm still here to assist you."

"Assist. But not my assistant, right?" He complained, pushing on ahead and outpacing you up to the door. He needed to be alone, right now.

Bucky left you trailing behind in your high heels. He hated that he was impressed at how resilient you'd been during the walk. He'd half expected you to ask for a piggy back.

He would've given you one—before. He'd have carried you the entire way before. Now. He just wanted to lay down in the dark with a wet flannel on his head.

He looked around the doorway and found a distinctly unrustic keypad and very little else. Bucky didn't feel in the mood to break a door down or sleep with an insecure entryway. He debated sitting on the step and waiting, but opted for looking around the rest of the perimeter instead.

All of the windows were secured, reflecting only darkness back at him, so someone really was taking the safety of this property very seriously. You'd said it belonged to some general before, but Sam knew it now.

Jealousy rose in him again like bile and he swallowed it down just in time for you to reach the front door.

"You first, Mr Barnes." You held the screen down open while he pushed the surprisingly solid door open.

It was dark inside too and he fumbled for a light switch that only clicked without effect.

"We'd have to start the generator, but it's getting late so probably best to leave it until tomorrow. I'm sure we'll have the all clear by then." You locked the door behind you and kicked off your now muddy heels, using the side of your foot to line them up the door. "I'm sure you know how to start a fire, right?"

Bucky stared at you, were you really chatting away as if nothing had happened.

"Sure." He found the fireplace, a few ends of dry wood and twigs for kindling by the fireplace and started to build it. Behind him, he could hear you moving around. He was in luck, there was precious few logs stacked by the fire and it wouldn't last long with just kindling. Propping the door open he returned to the pile and axe he'd seen behind the house.

Bucky left his suit jacket slung over a tree branch, rolled his sleeves up and briskly cut a few longs into quarters before bringing them around to the door. On his second trip he swung the door shut and watched as you jumped away from the window.

Had you been watching him work?

Heat flushed through him and he worked hard to squash it back down. Just because you were on Sam's side, just because this wasn't a kidnapping, didn't mean you hadn't lied to him. All of it could've been a lie.

Bucky wiped his hands on a grubby tea towel and chucked it onto the sparse kitchen side wondering if the cupboards were equally as bare.

His stomach growled. He really should've eaten by now, he hoped desperately you were finding something to eat now that you'd moved away from your vigil at the window. Bucky usually had a large dinner and, since he'd retired from hero duty, dessert, every night. He needed the calories, or so he told himself, and he liked to indulge now.

"Hmm, no food, regretting punishing you with no snacks." You teased shutting the cupboard door, "a few granola bars and that's it — here." You tossed one towards him and, without looking up, Bucky caught it in his left hand, tearing it open with his teeth and taking a large bite before returning to the built fire.

With a flick of a match against the rough wooden flooring, he had the fire lit. It would take a while for it to kick out any real heat, but at least there was light and the promise of warmth.

You sat beside him on the couch, the silence between you hanging heavily and he couldn't keep it inside anymore.

"If you want me to trust you, and not leave this place as soon as you fall asleep. I need you to tell me everything. Now." Bucky turned to you in the firelight.

This wasn't how the evening was supposed to end. He was supposed to take you back to his home, he was supposed to be watching candlelight pick out the pout of your lips, he was supposed to be sharing a lovely bottle of wine he'd picked out while you looked at the view.

"Okay. Considering your reaction back at the gas station though -"

"Look, just tell me." Bucky is tired, he's confused, he wanted to be fucking you through his mattress by now and instead he's been swept away by some stupid plot by, of all people, Sam Wilson.

"Sam contacted me a few months back, said you were running for Congress and he was worried about you—"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "of course."

"He told me you'd refused a full security detail, that you relied on the in office security guy at the desk and that you'd said—" you paused, looking off to one side, and Bucky saw your profile in the light.

Still breathtaking.

He hated himself.

"'that stubborn ass old man thinks he can't get shot in the damn head'— yeah, that was it. And he was worried about you, so he asked me to step in and help." You shrugged and tried a small, friendly, smile.

"But— you're my assistant." Bucky watched your eyes track from his to his nose and he knew he scowled harder.

"Like I say, he knew you wouldn't accept a full detail or — a body guard."

"He sent you to be my bodyguard?" Bucky scoffed and felt the ghost of his mother cuffing his around the ear for being so rude.

"Disarmed you, didn't I?" You smiled for real this time, a full smug smile that Bucky wanted to kiss off your face.

"I let you do that."

"Sure."

"Either way, now you know the truth."

"Well. Part of the truth." Bucky's heart was doing more than sinking, it was shattering in slow motion. Steve had told him what space was like, endless and dark and suffocating. And that's what this felt like, falling into a blackhole both instantly and for eternity. "Did he pay you to fuck me too?"

He wasn't going to cry. He was a 110 years old, he was not going to cry because a girl lied to him.

At least you looked a little sick too and it hurt worse knowing the tears welling in your eyes were caused by his crass words.

"No. He didn't pay me to fuck you, Mr Barnes." You spat the words as if they were disgusting and he agreed, they were, the accusation had tasted sour in his mouth and it would've been worse for you.

"So when were you going to tell me about this? Hmm, the next time you got on your knees for me? How about the next time I had you coming on my tongue? When were you going to admit that this entire thing was a sham?"

Your voice was cold. "I suggest you go to bed. I'll sit up and wait for the all clear.

"I —"

"Goodnight. Mr Barnes." Your voice was clipped and direct in a way he hadn't heard before and it pulled him up, shutting him down.

You turned away and pulled your comms device from your ear, fiddling with it, and putting it back.

Had Sam heard that? Was someone else listening. He didn't care.

Bucky shut the bedroom door behind him and shucked off his jacket, pulling his tie free with smooth metal fingers and ruffling his hair with his right hand.

Security — a fucking body guard! He was going to kill Sam, the patronising asshole, who said he needed babysitting like a little boy. He'd been an assassin for fucks sake.

With a snarl he pulled out his phone and then remembered what you'd said about a threat in the Capitol. What if Sam was fighting? He wouldn't interrupt him now...especially if it gave the other man the ammo he needed to prove his point. But he was still furious.

It rankled, this helpless feeling, so he squashed it down with all of his other emotions and focussed on his needs instead.

Bucky looked at the bed. A solid wooden relic that had probably been around as long as he had. The sheets looked musty, but the quilt was hand made and he felt sorry for whoever had worked on it that it sat here abandoned. Bucky sat heavily on the patchwork, thumbing over a loose thread.

Guess I'm abandoned now too.

He gave a himself a sad smile in the mirror and then kicked off his shoes as well.

Hired.

Paid.

Just a stooge to make sure he didn't get into trouble. He could hear your voice in his head whispering that it was to keep him safe. But he didn't care, all he could feel was the betrayal and the sour aftertaste of the one incredible night you'd spent together.

Beyond the door his hearing picked up the sound of your voice.

"Secure, sir. Yes, at location five. White Wolf is in the den…that's great news. We'll evac at four am. Drop ETA at six am…yes, of course, I can take him straight home. I'll be in to debrief tomorrow…yes, sir, I'm sorry."

There was a long pause.

"I understand, I'll bring my security pass and any equipment issued as part of my role…thank you…Goodnight."

Bucky lay on the bed in the dark not expecting to sleep and considering allowing you the bed while he took the sofa. That's what a gentleman would do. The Bucky Barnes that shipped out would've invited you in with him. Perhaps the Mr James Barnes of yesterday would've done the same.

He jolted up at the sound of your knock. The face on his watch glowed with aggressive brightness. 03:55am.

Evac at four, that's what he'd overheard.

"Mr Barnes, leaving in five minutes." Your voice was flat, professional, and he didn't hear the click of your heels anymore.

He straightened his shirt and pulled his shoes and jacket on. Bucky was used to early starts and lack of sleep, but he had been getting used to a little more than a few hours and in a decidedly more comfortable bed too.

There was only one thing worse than the thought of leaving his sleep behind, and that was facing you after everything he'd said. Had he really been so crass?

His head shouted that you deserved it, that you knew what was happening and kept it from him, that you must have had your own play to sleep with him when you knew what your role was.

But his heart ached terribly, you were just doing your job and he had flirted too. He'd wanted you then and he wanted you now, he was just too scared to admit it.

You were waiting on the porch when he left the bedroom. Your skirt suit was wrinkled and you looked tired, as if you hadn't slept. He supposed if you were on duty perhaps you really hadn't slept.

He'd seen you sleep before, in his hotel suite, face pressed into bright white pillows, lips parted, your hand clutching his. He felt a swoop of sadness that you hadn't been in his bed napping with him.

"Good morning, Mr Barnes, we'll have you back at your apartment by six am. All clear from the Capitol, false alarm, you know how these things are, some…disagreement about Sam's new position." Despite Bucky's best efforts you kept your gaze fixed somewhere beyond his shoulder, not making eye contact.

"Do you know what happened? Is everyone okay?"

Please keep talking to me, please look at me.

Bucky would do anything to have you tilt your chin and just look at him.

"There was a threat called in regarding Captain America and support for other powered people, after your speech there were some…disgruntled parties…shall we say. But it was a threat only and the source has been neutralised."

Neutralised. He knew what that meant when he was a so called Avenger. He assumed it meant something similar now. And that was no more information than you'd given him before. You really were a professional.

"Okay, well—"

"After you, Mr Barnes, the perimeter should be safe and clear, there should also be an agent waiting to drive you home at the bottom of this road."

You indicated the dark driveway that led back to the wooded road you'd arrived on. The night before you'd come the long way round, but he supposed it was safe enough now, especially when he could see the spray of headlights up ahead.

"You're not driving me back?"

"No, sir. My position has been terminated. I'll be collected later."

Bucky had taken a step down the porch towards the woods but stopped to look at you.

"Terminated?"

And then you did look at him, your eyes bright in the moonlight. "It was a pleasure working with you, Mr Barnes. Good luck in the election." You allowed him one, sad, smile and then you were facing front and centre again, hands clasped behind your back.

Bucky watched you for a moment, caught the shine of tears spilling down your cheeks.

And then he turned and walked down the driveway.

Part 7 ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #buckybarnes #bucky #bucky barnes/reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes/female reader #Bucky Barnes/f!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #congressman bucky #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader

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yaut-jaknowit · 1 year ago

Note

Yautja males x female reader. Reader is sent to the hunting grounds by mistake, she ain't a fighter and has a faint heart, the minute the Yautja ambush her, she faints.

Like, drops to the floor unconscious and the yautja are wondering what to do, like they were expecting a big hunt and she faints, pathetically, not real prey.

Lighthearted

Pairings: T'a'yta, Con'tei, Dai'stbaen (All male Yautjas) x Reader

Word Count: 2993

Summary: When you first come to, this wasn't the sight you last saw. A vast, towering jungle that looked ready to swallow you whole with no remorse. The humidity and heat was a killer as you were forced to move your way through. But it never ended. Like time itself, it seemed to have no beginning nor no ending. When you thought things couldn't get worse, don't count your eggs before they hatch.

Author Note: So, those names may sound familiar. They are from a story that was never publish and I abandoned. It will never be written though but I do love the characters.

Masterlist

Ao3

Pain raked across your body. Your eyes fluttered open only to be blinded by light. A rough, jutting stick pressed into the sore flesh of your back. With a groan, you covered your face with a hand and sat up. The muscles all along the entirety of your back protested at the movement. They screamed as you rested heavily onto your elbows and thighs.

An unrelenting headache pressed behind your eyes while you tried to gather your thoughts. Finally, you opened your eyes and took in the surrounding area.

Lush greens and dense foliage graced your blurry vision. Humidity stuck to you like a second skin, clothes following the same suit. You shuttered at the feeling and sat up higher, as if that would allow you to see better. You were still squinting to allow your pupils to slowly adjust to the sudden change from dark to light.

Once you were able to open your eyes fully and take in the sight, your jaw dropped. This… this wasn’t your bed, your room, let alone your home! Where were you?! You scrambled to your feet only to collapse back down to the ground. Everything ached down to the very bone. A grunt surpassed your lips. Then, you realized, something was secured around your torso.

A harness of sorts was locked into place. You fumbled with the belt for an embarrassing long minute before pulling it off. It crumbled onto the ground at your feet. From there, you slowly pull yourself into a standing position and kept glancing around.

Maybe this was a bad dream; a waking nightmare to be stuck in a jungle. A weird dream in all honesty. You clutched at your head then pinched yourself, ready to wake up in the safety of your room.

The jungle didn’t fade to black. Everything stayed the same. So, you tried again. And again. And again. Nothing changed. All was the same. You furrowed your brows, chest starting to heavy with panic. “No, no, no, no,” you muttered to yourself and began to pace around. Your feet crunched under the dead foliage that covered the ground.

The longer this peristed, you felt dread and doubt fill your lungs. How were you going to do this? Why and how were you out here? Where is out here?! A broken whine sounded from the back of your throat as you plopped back down on the ground. Leaves crunched underneath you as the new weight. You cradled your legs closely and started to rock back and forth.

Once the sun finally touched down to the horizon, sending beautiful oranges and pinks to streak across the sky, you rose again. The darkness felt heavy, as if it attempted to suffocate you in it.

Your heart was already beginning to thunder in your ears but grew worse as the night fell. Your throat was dry, lips on the verge of cracking no matter how many times you wettened them. At this time, you began to wonder through the darkness and explore the new grounds.

Somewhere down the road, something in your gut told you to stop. And you listened. The hairs on the back of your neck rose with the rate of your heartbeat. Your black pupils blown wide to consume any and all light the area might provide. It did little to offer any sight more than five feet in front of you. But you tried to peer through the haze of darkness only to come up empty handed.

Yet, the feeling refused to dissipate. Your hands trembled while clutched close to your chest. You couldn’t tell if this where you were going to die. Was it a predator? A tiger? A leopard?

In the middle of your thoughts, a thundering form dropped down before you. A scream surpasses your lips. Then, nothing.

The youngest of the trio had stalked this lone ooman since it first appeared from the dropship. His energy was craze, wild and barely tamed as he watched in rapture for the perfect moment to pounce. Yet, he came to notice the blinding difference between this one and the few he’s hunted before. He huffed before leaping to the next tree.

Down on the ground, the ooman stopped, tense and petrified. Its scent of terror filled the space around him. His upper mandibles crinkling with disgust underneath his plain biomask.

Something was wrong.

Without the proper time to internal discuss his next actions or the consequences afterwards, the male dropped down from the trees before the ooman. An ear shattering screech sounded from the prey then it was cut short.

The creature dropped lifeless to the jungle’s floor. For a moment, he believed he somehow brought upon its death or maybe one of his hunt brothers got to it first. It’s not unlike Dai’stbaen to swoop in at the last second and take the kill.

When he scanned the trees and surrounding area, Con’tei came up empty handed though. Not a large enough heat signature to be the larger male. His focus returned to the crumpled ooman before him. He toed closer to it then knelt down at its side.

A heartbeat, slowed fluttered. The male reached out and cautiously pushed the ooman onto its back. It wasn’t dead. Now, his curiosity got the better of him. He scooped up the limp body and flung it onto his shoulder. From there, he leapt back into the safety of the trees and began his pathing to camp.

Both his older companions were found preparing their tools for the upcoming hunt of the next day. T’a’yta lounged against a log, a knife and whetstone in hand. The nearing elder sharpened the blade with precision. Dai’stbaen, a rival to Con’tei, was consuming meat of sorts while reading on his gauntlet.

Con’tei landed near the group, not silent enough for T’a’yta. Said Yautja shot him a disapproving glance then did a double take. “Con’tei, the hunt isn’t until tomorrow. What have you done?” T’a’yta scolded without needing to get up from his spot on the ground. Con’tao himself pulled his mandibles tight though they were hidden by his biomask.

“Elder, I may have found something interesting with this one,” he explained and strutted over to the duo. The ooman on his shoulder was simple dropped onto the ground in heap, still not awake. Con’tei found this bizarre. “Look at it. It won’t wake. It even fell asleep when I leaped in front of it.”

T’a’yta gave the male an unamusing look, as if Con’tei was the idiot here. “That’s called fainting. Oomans faint but…” the dust colored Yautja finally climbed to his feet and stalked over to Con’tei and the ooman. “To faint from fear?” A question that hung heavy in the air as the elder attempted to examine anything out of sorts with the prey. He came up empty handed.

The elder huffed and looked at Con’tei. “This-“ a groan brought his moving mandibles to a stop. T’a’yta’s bright eyes snapped down to find the ooman beginning to move, squirming around in their spot. He didn’t move though. He stayed knelt down besides it and watched as it woke up groggily.

Confused, your eyes fluttered open to find the night sky shining down on you. You sat up, clutching at your head for a moment then scanned the area.

A scream tore at your throat. A massive and lumbering form was sitting on its haunches at your side. You scrambled away only to knock into something warm. Your head whipped up to a humanoid creature leaning over you, hands on its hips. Metal covered its face, leaving you only to stare in terror at a blank expression.

Petrified at the two creatures surrounding you, you curled up into a protective ball and cried. Your whole body shook with each sob that echoed back at you. Pathetic, meek but you didn’t care. All you care about in the moment was if this was how you died.

When no harm came to you for the first minute, you timidly pulled your head free and submissively looked at the towering creatures. The orange one, lean and smaller than the other one, still stood where you last saw it. The other one had picked himself and gazed down at you with little care.

“Are you… are you going to hurt me?” For whatever reason you could scrounge up in that shaken brain of yours, you asked them a question. It was stupid in the moment but you hadn’t realize why it would be.

The figure closest to you huffed, glancing at the only other like it that you could see, then shook its large head.

Your whole body jolted at the deep grunts and clicks coming from the larger one. It must be communicating with the one nearest to you. Well, that was your first thought until more of the same sounds, different range voiced from outside the edges of your vision. You accidentally knocked into its shins yet it didn’t react.

From the shadows, this hunkering giant, taller than the dust colored one marched out, hands balled into fists. You were frozen in place. No matter how loud your mind screamed for you to move, you couldn’t.

The newest one, a dark color, possibly a red, seemed to argue with the lighter one. At this time, you decided to give them color coordinating names. Dust, Red, and Orange. At least, you think it was orange. With the lack of light, it was hard to tell. You made do with what was given.

Red growled at Dust and pointed harshly at you, body tense. Dust, on the other hand, stood there with little movement besides its shoulders moving with each breath. When Red realize it wasn’t getting anywhere with Dust, it stomp over to us. You scrambled back and knocked into Orange’s legs again. A minute part of you prayed it would protect you.

A harsh snarl tore from Dust’s throat that had Red stopped in his spot. It clicked in your head who was the leader amongst them. Red whipped around and began to berate to Dust that had to do with you.

In the midst of the commotion, Orange knelt down behind you and patted your head. You yelped but the sound didn’t interfere with the two arguing creatures. It reached towards the metal mask that covered it face and stopped where its mouth would be. A sharpened claw tapped at its mouth area. All you could do was furrow your brows.

The creature finally realize you weren’t following along in its game of charades and called out to the disputing duo. Both whipped their heads at Orange and growled. Orange only huffed and motioned towards you yet speaking in the same language. One you didn’t understand. Dust rolled its eyes before strolling over to the two of you and kneeling a respectful distance away. You stayed semi pressed against Orange, finding little comfort in it.

“Ooman-“ you felt yourself about to faint again but somehow kept it together. “You are not supposed to be here,” it spoke a very deep, vibrating voice that was hard to even understand.

Despite the terror that filled your veins, you timidly looked at it in those bright eyes that nearly glowed in the darkness. “Where, where is here-here?” you sputtered and clutched both hands tightly to your chest.

Dust held up its arm, bent at the elbow, and pressed a button on the metal gauntlet that hugged its forearm. As if out of a sci-fi movie, a hologram floated inches above the gauntlet. It was of a planet or sorts. With its free hand, it pointed at the sphere. “Here. On a planet. Not Earth.” It struggled to say the word ‘earth’ which Orange snickered out. Dust just glared at it.

This had you sitting up straighter and slightly leaning closer to Dust. “What?!” you shouted at the top of your lungs then slapped a hand over your loudmouth. “Sorry, sorry.” You took a deep breath then focused on Dust. “Where am I? And, and how did I get here?” Your voice took a turn towards silence as you tried not to sob your heart out.

Red clicked its mandibles together and gazed at Dust with a harsh look. All Dust did was nothing to Red. “You were an accident. You are not what we hunt. It would be pointless to kill you, not a trophy worthy to take,” it explained nonchalantly. Its body was at ease, eyes partially hooded and each blink slow.

Your head swirled with the new information, chest beginning to heave once more with rapid breaths. Red scoffed and muttered something out loud. Neither creature reacted to it. “Kill me?” That was mainly stuck in your head now. Kill? “What is going on?!” you snapped at them, acting out for a fleeting moment before curling up again and leaning against Orange’s shins without noticing.

The creature before you sighed and shook its bowed head then returned its vision back on you. “We are hunters. You are prey. Though, not worthy prey. We won’t kill you. There must have been a mix-up and they nabbed you instead.”

Dust motioned around him. “This planet is a game reserve where we capture and drop off prey we see as worthy enough to hunt. We hunt said prey. This includes a few ooman as yourself.”

The pieces to the puzzle were finally put together but the order wasn’t something you enjoyed. Especially when it meant you weren’t in your place nor your bed, somewhere not your home. “Wait! Does that mean you’re aliens?” you asked suddenly. Red rolled its eyes and glared at you.

“Yes, primitively,” Dust answered then stood up. “Since we have no reason to hunt you nor can we return you back home, you are now… what that called? Stuck between a rock and a hard place?” Orange began to converse in what must be their language. Dust raised a singular brow at Orange. Red spat out. “Tei does have a point. We are at fault.”

Red’s mandibles flared out with roar as he faced off Dust. You shoved yourself further against Orange for protection at the sight. Orange seemed to snicker and patted your head again. This must be a normal occurrence if Orange was at ease at the sight.

Neither made move or went for the other’s throat. Thankfully. You didn’t know if you would survive the brawl if it had made its way over to you.

A growl echoed from Red’s chest before about-facing and marching away into the darkness. You whimpered and stayed exactly where you were until a dust colored hand entered your vision. “Come along, little ooman. You are now under our supervision due to this accident,” Dust spoke calmly and tugged you to your feet after you took his offer.

“I have not been around a ooman for quite some time. You will have to remind me your dietary requirements.” Dust left your personal space to roost in a spot on the ground and against a fallen log. It picked up a knife and some sort of stone.

You swallowed and licked at your cracking lips. Dietary requirements. These things must eat differently. “Well, um, meat is a good start. Vegetables are good as well. Um… Water, I guess.” It felt strange to list these things to it but if it kept you alive, that’s all that mattered. “But… I do have a question if that’s okay.”

Dust shrugged. Confused, you decided to take your chance. “What are you guys? And what about names?” If you were to be around these aliens, you wanted to know the basics. Like their names.

Orange sprung up from behind you to stand before you and grabbed at your shoulders. The alien whipped its head to look at Dust and sprout out some nonsense by the sounds of it. Dust used a hand to slow down Orange’s speech before letting it continue.

At the end, Dust shook its large head. “He wants to tell you our names but he hasn’t even learned the basics of ooman language,” Dust explained the situation. “As for our names, I guess that is something we can relent since it’s our fault you are here.” He cleared his throat then continued. “I am called T’a’yta. The excited youngling is Con’tei. The grump who had just walked off is Dai’stbaen. Don’t be frightened by him. He’s just grumpy.”

T'a’yta. Con’tei. Dai’stbaen. The first two were easier to remember and hopefully pronounce. But the last one, it threw you into a twist and a growing headache. “Thank you,” you spoke of your appreciation to… T’a’yta. The alien dipped his head.

“For food, Con’tei can retrieve it for you. We have a database on what is safe for oomans on this planet.” God, you hadn’t even thought about that! Different planet meant different foods.

“Lastly, water.” T’a’yta held up a pouch that looked to be made from the skin of an animal to you. “It is clean, I promise. I know how oomans are frail when it comes to bacteria or something along those lines.”

Timidly, you tip-toed your way over to him and took the bag from him. It took you a moment to figure out how to untie the knot around the tip and sip from it. Once finished you handed it back to him then stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Find a place and rest,” T’a’yta spoke up while he worked on sharpening his knife. You jumped slightly at his words then nodded to yourself.

Through the darkness, you found a comfortable spot a little ways away from the last remaining alien. He paid no attention to you while you sat down and hugged your knees closely. A deep breath filled your lungs but didn’t ease any of the tension that constricted your body. This had become your new life.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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vyzz-undercover · 9 months ago

Text

pspspsps dinner time everyone

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(5,700ish words) (im cooked)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon [again]

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions of virginity

•vague breathplay

•even more negligible aftercare

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•tumblr's pisspoor formatting as per last time

———————————————————————————————————

im once again doing a free magic show here and pulling a rabbit (this fic) out my ass. so, without further a-do the tagging... @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @pluvio-tea, @the-raven-lady, @bispecsual, @egrets-not-regrets, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @lemon-russ. let me know if anyone else wanna be tagged if i do a part three HAHAHAHHAHA i might double down on the comedy-of-errors and have Guilliman get involved. Not like a three-way with this particular fic, even if I'd love to slut papa smurf out. There's always another time and another chance to sexualise an old man :3

———————————————————————————————————

Cato finds you relatively easily.

Truthfully, you make no actual sport of it. But he's never going to pass up a cheap bit of entertainment at your expense.

At this time of the ship's cycle you're most likely to be in the east wing, pointedly the lower libraries. He knows this. He won't confess why or how he knows, though—so, fuck off.

You're lazy and predictable. To say nothing of the fact you're far too comfortable scuttling about his Father's vessel. If a hypothetical assassin ever could get onto the ship without being stomped into paste by him immediately, they'd have no problems tracking you down. You may as well be a sevitor running on rails for all your movements stay the same.

He notes you're not on the first level.

Nor the second.

You are on the third, in the leftmost quadrant.

In the restricted reading area.

You do have clearance—but the fact still irks him. Typically, this was for his more decorated brothers to catalogue Xenos. Typically, one needed to be accompanied to even access this level.

But oh, no—no, you're allowed.

You're allowed because you are a damnable leach of a woman. And also the bane of his existence, did he mention that? And you're—you're—tucked up in secure side-room, reading on a data-slate; half-asleep in a little blue robe and looking the pict of adorable sloth.

You don't notice him immediately.

Clearly too absorbed in your gerrymandering-for-servitors cheat-sheet.

And that annoys him even more.

Because, are you really that obtuse? So unassailable in your own mind that you're this blatantly fucking oblivious? He's an Astartes, damn it. Sure, he's in casual rest attire instead of clanking plate—but he's a large, two-and-a-bit meter tall trans-human war-machine standing in the doorway—and you haven't even noticed him. Ignorant like some little rodent chewing away at crumbs in it's hovel.

His Father's got a vermin problem on board, and the mice are stupid and bold and literate... along with rather cozy, apparently.

A finely woven navy throw is swaddled around you where you're lying on the chaise lounge. And the sight of you bundled up inspires a vivid déjà-vu of the last time you were alone with him with little more than a blanket over you.

Cato hesitates for a heartbeat, swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and sets his jaw.

He steps into the room and waves a hand over the laser-pad locking mechanism.

There's a fractional second in which you become cognisant to the sound of the shutter door closing and where you actively notice him.

Then there's a shrill scream as if you've pinched a nerve.

The data-slate goes flying, pelted at his head. But it hits the shutter door and clatters to the floor, far-off any hint of a good mark.

Useless woman.

Realising it's him a moment later, you heave out a racketing sigh.

"Throne of Terra, Ca—" you start, and it sounds like you're going to say his first name before you rightly correct yourself and say, "C-Commander, you scared me half to death."

He immediately sets about accosting you, "Have you been sitting here with the door open this whole time?"

"No," you nip out.

"You are aware that I can tell when you're lying?"

"I'm certain you can," your tone flattens in a way he's only ever heard you talk to particularly sleazy representatives with. It's not an honest exchange, it's double-speak. It's mocking. You're mocking him.

He grits his teeth.

You've grown more open in your defiance towards him as of late, certainly not because of any revelation or reason and it rubs him in a dangerous, new way. He's not about to let it slide, either.

"Is that so?" His words are sharp and accusative and he hopes—he hopes he'll get the delight of watching you cower like you usually do when confronted by him. "Have you been lying to me often, then?"

Half his hopes come true. You look away nervously and mumble something almost inaudibly, and he'd not have noticed if not for his far superior hearing.

It was, "...maybe," and all Cato can help but do being himself, is detonate.

"And what have you been deceiving me of, you scheming little whore?" He snarls, fuming—a dozen crimes and sins crowding his mind you might be tried for. Maybe he's been far too lenient to the actual reality of your evil. Finally, validation to corroborate his deviation—maybe you'll admit you're some Slanneshi fleshchanger, and that you intended to have burrowed so deep in his mind.

Nonetheless, you're nowhere near even close to fast enough to defend yourself. But it's not like he gives you the chance.

He's crossed the distance with a practiced speed. And quicker than you can even yelp, you are pinned to the lounge—a shackle in the form of his fist around your smaller throat.

The pressure is a limp handshake by his standards. You're not really choking. Just stifled slightly for good measure.

Still, it'd be a mere flex to break your neck. He could snap you like a stylus with what was to him, ultimately, nothing but a simple twitch of his fingers. And he would think more about the blatant contrasts between you both much longer if he wasn't far too distracted by the fact you even struggle prettily wantonly. Big eyes wide and glossy with animal panic. Involuntary tears gather at the corners as you register what's going on at last. The mad temptation to lick them if they so much as dare trail down your cheeks begins eating at him.

Some rational part of his rational mind reminds him he can't get the truth out of you when he's vaguely throttling you, though—and he lets you go begrudgingly. Instead opting for looming over you as you roll sidelong on the couch, breathing fast.

He crouches down to your level and grumbles, still absorbed in his raging.

"Speak," he barks, and pointedly grabs you by the chin.

"I–I hadn't actually—" you start, breathless as you mumble. "Actually, uh, laid with anyone, even though I nodded I sort of... had."

He's staggered at the statement, "...that's it?"

A vague lie of omission, but it's not the great corruption he sought to root out.

Then he actually thinks about what you've just admitted.

Like fog banished under a rising sun, his anger at the thought of treachery immediately dissipates into blistering revelation.

"Hold on, you..." Cato starts, baffled and completely knocked for a six, meeting your gaze slowly—genuinely stunned as he pulls his hand back fully. "I... I was the first?"

You look away cursorily, face reddening not only with your previous strains, but with embarrassment.

Now, that was the reaction of a guilty conscience.

Cato doesn't know what to do with the information. Nor does he really know what he feels.

He'd been the first. He feels like he's won something over his brothers. Therefore, fuck the lot of them—and fuck Titus, specifically. Even if he's not sure why. He truly couldn't believe it. There's success, sure—but then there's taking the laurels: whole and absolute. And this... this is exactly that. But oh, for some apparently vestal thing, you'd let him bully down to the hilt in your tight cunt; whining like a whore when he spilled himself inside you. Throne, it was almost suffocating to think back on it now. So willing to have your maidenhead taken, nevermind the fact you weren't the only one who'd had a new experience that day. But you didn't need to know that.

"Another notch to my mantel of victories then," he ultimately decides is the best thing to say, gloating to himself.

"Unbelievable," you sigh softly as you shakily sit yourself up.

But there's the problem again. The one tangible, constant problem with having laid you. It's made you mouthy. He only ever glimpsed your boldness when you interacted with other baselines in the past. You never sassed Astartes, or at least, he's never seen you do it. But now that stubbornness and unwillingness to back down in a political forum is on full display heedless of situation. As if you've suddenly become one of the auto-felating Imperial Fists—or any of Dorn's insufferable ball-busting scions, really. Worst of all, it's only managed to somehow make him even more enthralled annoyed with you than usual. You're still too good at quashing your anger, hard as it is to rouse. But he loves loathes that you bite the lure instead of shying off now.

"To think that I was the first—is your entire professional role not centred around charm? Would no one else have you with that rotten attitude you've been hiding?" he says, knowing he's being nasty, knowing he's twisting the knife; and absolutely praying for you to fall for it.

Cato watches a rainbow of emotions pass over your features, before you settle on one that makes you look like you ate something sour. He's hit a weak spot. But the sentiment holds true. His Primarch thinks you the best and brightest to sway planets? You couldn't even seduce some daft, drunken aristocratic fool to fuck you.

You, the prettiest baseline he's ever seen.

...maybe Guilliman is right in saying the Imperium has rolled belly-up with bloat.

"That's not—that's not why and you know it," you open your mouth and jumble your words briefly before getting out, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone who won't have a panic attack because of the several Astartes that insist on following you around?" You continue, raving and flustered, "Do you think anyone would get near me with you—or—or... maybe Captain Acheran, or the good Chaplain, let's say, breathing over my shoulder?"

"You should be grateful any of us waste our time babysitting you," Cato oafishly shoots back like a petulant child, brows furrowing, "You should be thanking me for doing the brunt of it."

Your nose scrunches up, "Pardon me, Commander, it's surely entirely my fault that we are both at the whims of our Lord Primarch."

He pauses.

Something about this interaction isn't stirring his temper like it should.

He should be absolutely livid with anger, or at the very least blowing your eardrums out with a 'shut the fuck up,' at full Astartesian line-command volume.

Yes, he should be seething, and yet he's not. To his surprise, he's actually feeling more enthused than anything.

This feels... exciting, almost.

"You've only grown the backbone to talk back to me because I fucked one into you," he remarks sharply in reply.

You sputter, and go red, robbed of your words.

"Or maybe this is mere performance," He adds with a sneer, tipping his chin up proudly.

You roll your eyes and let out a dramatic puff of air, "Y-You're such a..." you start, but your voice tapers off—and you look away, pouting.

"I'm a... what?" He taunts, leaning close.

You grumble, apparently feeling brave again; meeting his gaze and puffing yourself up.

"You're a bully," you hiss, clearly upset but undeniably frazzled enough to be somewhat ranting again as you add, "A bully w-who's so disgustingly egotistical you've convinced yourself you're some great conqueror or... something... j-just for having been in me, as if I've never put anything in myself before."

Oh, but wait, Cato likes the idea of that. He likes it so much he completely forgets to acknowledge the insults in your statement prior. He likes the idea of you suffering like he had been—alone, yearning—aching for something you didn't know the dizzying reality of. He can imagine you smothering your sounds, those blessed whines he's got memorised, into a pillow in that cushy little quarters of yours, squirming on your meagre fingers, or maybe cold silicon. You didn't need that lesser imitation now. Cato'd gladly fill that role. He'd gladly fill that hole, too.

Nonetheless, he immediately wonders who you were getting off thinking about.

He'd streak the length of the ship for it to've been him you'd been fucking yourself over.

"Who were you thinking of?"

You blink at the completely offhanded question, then start sputtering, stalling.

"What? I-I—" you stammer, "That's not important or relevant—I just... did it, it's—"

"Keep lying and see where it gets you," He cuts in, raking you with an aggravated frown, and oh, excellent, you're starting to relearn he's not fond of your half-truthing, finally.

You duck your head a little, cringing under his gaze, trying to scoot yourself backwards. But there's nowhere to go.

Cato realises belatedly that in the middle of your antics, the sleeve of your robe has started to fall from your shoulder. His brain short-circuits momentarily with the sheer amount of air that floods his head. Your warm, soft skin on display just for him. He didn't get to see all of you last time. He felt a good portion of you, yes—but he didn't get the chance to admire acknowledge the whole vista. Not because he was too desperate to rut against to try. Or because he was probably going to swoon like a fool if he did. Shut up, he's no coward. Afterall, his hands had been close to your chest, but now—now he can actually look.

He's going to absolutely ruin that lovely canvas you've given him.

"Nobody," you say softly.

"Groxshit," he snaps.

"Fine—" You swallow and start scrambling for a response, "Malum C-Caedo."

Cato genuinely cannot help but bark a laugh at that, "Spare me, you haven't even met the man, moron—you're only saying that because your most recent reading was on his last briefing," he rolls his eyes. "You forgot I was there with Guilliman when you were given it."

You look at him like a cornered little mouse, and finally—finally, your sleeve falls just enough that he's given a perfect view of one of your tits.

"You already..." you grumble softly. "You already know who, then, so I shouldn't even have to dignify this."

"It's me, isn't it?" He asks darkly, and while he tries to sound haughty, the fact he's thrilled by both the notion and the sight of your partial nudity ends up warping his tone into a vaguely manic chuff.

You glance aside and stammer loudly, "N-No."

No, you say—but he hears your little heart flutter. And sees your pupils dilate.

"I hope you're aware you can't lie to save your life," Cato drawls.

Your gaze snaps back to his, and for a brief second, your expression is flushed with embarrassment; until it changes to a sour little scowl.

"I'm not a bad liar, you're just an Astartes—" you start furiously, but check your flustered anger.

Cato smirks.

It's not a completely clean victory, but it's good.

It means his own lusting madness is at least reciprocally vindicated.

And at that realisation, Cato's impulse control violently loses balance; and he's painfully aware he cannot, for the life of him, contain the hungered almost purr-like sound that crawls up his throat.

You go back to looking transfixed at that, and he pauses.

There's something... pulling him in even more than before. He feels as if he's taken the bait, and the hook, and the line and sinker—hell, he's taken a good bit of the rod, too. Everything's a little too heated, and he's got an innate, intuitive feeling you're just as wound up as he is—wait. He breathes in deep and slow, and scents the air. Throne, he may as well have been cold-clocked at the temple by a Dreadnaut for all the innate information he suddenly receives. You're quite frankly drenched in want. You're getting off on this. Smothering him in a dizzying biological chant of hormones that scream—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

He leans close, and puts a hand on the arm-rest; the other palm slowly moving towards your chest.

Your eyes follow it—but you voice no complaints nor rejections.

Justified now, he's ecstatic. And your skin is as perfect to the touch as he remembers.

His hand looks huge compared to the breast cupped in it, idly toying with the consistency of the flesh in his grasp. It's much softer and malleable than he thought it'd be. Almost like a water-skin. Thumb depressing your right nipple, before drawing a thoughtless circle.

You sigh lightly and relax a bit, and Cato takes that as another open invitation.

He uses the same hand to tug away the fabric from your other shoulder.

Quick as anything, he's practically stuffing his face against you without any real warning, ignoring your flinch at his haste. Cato's letting the urges he'd withheld in that wretched shack out. And it's so worth the wait. He groans, licks a fat band over your left breast, and worries at the perked little bud with his teeth until you're squirming; only to drag his attention up to nip at your fragile throat.

You're breathing hard, and you open your mouth as if about to speak—but ever spiteful, Cato rewards your attempt with the drag of his tongue and the press of his teeth; and that promptly shuts you up. The faint salt on your skin isn't half bad of a thing either, honestly. He rather likes it. It tastes like how you smell—and he's absolutely luxuriating in it. It makes it all the easier to map your chest from the curve of your breast to your collarbones, garnishing you with eager drags of his tongue and mouth-wrought bruises.

And now you're glorious. The marks on your skin are vivid—he's guaranteed you won't be wearing anything showy for a good while. No lovely vile plunging necklines for you to display to bastard dignitaries. Not unless you want to explain why they're Cato Sicarius sized. They'll also be a good reminder to you of exactly who's superior.

You're still too dazed by his efforts to realise the extent of his actions, but he knows exactly how hot and bothered it's made you. That honeyed reek of arousal is driving him insane.

Urged on, he digs a hand down and around your back and drags you off the lounge. Manoeuvring to turn so his back rests against the lip of the lounge, nigh dumping you before him on the rug.

"W-Why...?" You blink, stunned for a second before righting yourself and meeting his eyes. Cato's sat himself cross-legged, before letting them unfold, one tenting and the other splaying out.

"I did all the work last time," he starts impatiently, and leans up to grab you by the forearm; bringing your hand close close to the cradle of his hips, "Now it's your turn to do something for once."

...Cato's not sure you're actually listening, because he could've bet his helm you'd've become irate at that statement if you were. That, and you're glaring between his thighs.

Ironically, he also almost instantaneously finds he doesn't really care to continue the train of thought. Not when you trace the engorged bulge of him through the folds of his tunic. Groping at the base, before smoothing your palm to the rounded tip.

There's no accursed buttons between him and the open this time, thankfully—and that means he can simply tug aside the folds of his layered tunic and bare himself from the belly down.

His cock lays fat and heavy with blood, smearing precum as it moves from his navel to leftward on his hip when he straightens up.

You're staring.

He scoffs at your apprehension and says, "Alternatively, perhaps you can—"

A soft, "Shhh," leaves you.

He snorts like a big, angry stock horse, brow raised. No baseline, regardless of rank, would dare treat Cato like this; none would dare even think to treat to him like this. Except you now, apparently. You forget your station, your place. Making demands of an Astartes is nowhere near your clearance. Your best option is to implore, not command. Yours is to nod your pretty thick head and smile your fair rotten little smile and obey your betters.

"Did—did you just shush me, woman?" Cato's nigh instantly consumed by a rush of anger at the sheer audacity, sneering. "In what reality do you think you've any right to shush me? I'm Commander of the Victrix Honor Guard, Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of—"

Of... of something.

Suddenly your insolence is inconsequential to him. All that matters is the smooth glide of your dainty hand on his cock, and the sight of your thumb and pointer being unable to wrap around and meet given how thick he is.

You look up at him slowly for a second, before your focus returns to apparently sussing out how best to saddle him. It's a timid gesture, like you're anticipating overstepping—you're cautious.

He's about to remind you of the fact you've taken him before, so Cato's proven he fits and all this coyness of yours is arbitrary. But he guesses the point is moot when you're suddenly already stradling his hips.

With one small hand finding a place on his stomach, and the other holding his cock straight beneath the obscurity of your garbs, he feels you lower yourself enough to make contact; testing before offering a little more urgency.

With an agonisingly careful roll of your pelvis, the head of his cock catches against the soft ring of muscle at your entrance for a second.

He grumbles despite himself.

He can't watch his cock sink into you like last time thanks to the curtain of your robe, but at least he can certainly feel every millimeter of it happening.

Tight heat feels like a death shroud over his mind as he draws a blank on anything else.

And finally—finally he's stuffed down to the hilt—and oh, he's filled you to your end just like the last time. Throne, he's drunk off the spongy heat the thick head of cock is squared right up against.

This position's made your cunt just that bit shorter inside thanks to gravity.

You whimper, clearly trying desperately not to start shaking.

You start shaking anyways.

He's fascinated by the small, restless palms now pressed flat and trying to find a counterpoint on his broad, tunic'd chest. Soft and un-calloused aside from the small bump of a pen's rest on your writing hand. Everything about you is warm and soft. Inside and out, you're all his.

He exhales harshly through his nose and blinks, gaze shifting from your hands to your tits, then to your face.

You wear an even more flushed expression now, overwhelmed, with all your focus on him.

Right where it always should be.

"Hurry up," he grunts sharply.

You swallow hard, and promptly drop your gaze.

You, surprisingly, manage to lift yourself up despite your theatrics. And, little by little, he watches you strain up until just the tip of him is still buried in you.

Angling yourself, you keen, carefully sinking back down on his cock and reeling at the stretch again as you settle, ass meeting his dense quads with a soft plomf.

He can see you biting back a moan, pointless as the act is.

"Keep going," Cato grits out, "I didn't tell you to stop."

You frown halfheartedly, and your insides clench around him despite yourself.

You start a slow rhythm, the noise of colliding skin on skin echoes in his ears. Slick friction, and fucked-out, half-stifled cries. Your pace quickening. Riding him. Using him at your own leisure, like the precious wretched little thing you are. You repeat the same dizzying motion again and again, and again—rising and sinking—up, down, up, down; until it's clear you've found an angle that hits something just right, sending you over the edge with a rattling gasp.

A low groan crawls up the back of Cato's throat and slips free without restraint.

He's barely able to cope through the tight squeeze of your orgasm around his cock; but he steels himself, winning the fight to not spill in you right then and there at that. No small thanks to the furious couple hours he'd spent earlier in the simulated night cycle furiously attending his urges.

His calloused mitt can hardly compete with the nigh painfully silken clench of you. And the view—Throne, to simply watch is a level of spectacle he can't even put into words. It's nothing short of hypnotic seeing your face soften with fucked-out delight—he can't believe he'd ever thought it was good the first time around when he hadn't even seen you meet your end.

You stop suddenly, seated to the hilt, trembling and oversensitive—grinding back and forth, nails digging into his pectorals through his tunic.

"Just... n-need t'catch my breath..." You whimper, and that debauched tone wreaks havoc through his mind. An unceasing urge to pound you to tears overtaking what little sense he has left. It's the ravenous fact that you, the little parchment-pushing temptress, are all tuckered out from cumming on him so quickly. He's preening at the fact he feels that good to you—oh, he's going to send you limping back to your quarters.

He wants to watch you break.

"You lazy little cunt, you can't do a thing right, can you?" Cato groans, your thighs twitching as he lifts you by the hips and makes you sink back down.

He gets the treat of seeing your eyes swim back in your skull, dumb with sensation.

Lulled by the reedy, oversexed moans slipping from you with each motion; and he can't help but start thrusting up, matching pace.

"Hardly even four and a half minutes—and you're a mess, absolutely useless." He heaves, dropping you to full-hilt for a second to manoeuvre you better. You're nigh but a gasping dead-weight, delirious.

If you're going to act the entitled bitch, he'll screw you into something alike submission. Which is exactly why he's then pulling out, shoving you against the lounge on your back; and moving your thighs to bracket his hips as he half kneels on the rug. Just to slide himself back inside, balls-deep in willing flesh. The only dignity he affords you then is the space to wrap your arms around and behind his shoulders. Which you rightly do without demand.

Hold on, was the unspoken order.

Then he's fucking you into the lounge like his life depends on it. He's glad to notice it's bolted down, but the damned thing creaks—nonetheless, he can barely even hear it over the perfect sounds you're making.

Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, barely holding back the noises that choke his own gullet.

"You're so damn lucky you're a nice tight hole," he rasps harshly, "That's all you're good for, hm? For me to fill?"

There's a gutting sort of beauty in the way you're looking up at him with open desperation. He's trying so hard not to fall victim to the siren call of it, but it's perfect vile and he can't help but fold. He'd kill for that look to never leave your face when your eyes fell on him.

"Fuck, I must be in your womb at this rate—would you like that? My load in your womb?" Cato says between a great lungful of air, only to start huffing madly to himself when you nod drunkenly. "Good, because that's exactly where i-it's going."

Mind reeling with every resounding sticky slap of his balls against you, paired with scorching wet slide of him pumping in and out of you. You're crying, all your sensibilities lost in the thorough pace he's ploughing into you with; trying to pull him in by tugging at his shoulders, but with your meagre strength it's merely a vague suggestion.

Still, he leans into it, if only to finally seize the chance to lap the tears off your cheek, and you sob; trying to turn nose to nose with him. Your pathetic pawing at his broad back only exacerbates the overwhelming urgency in his blood.

He's so close.

Bliss crests up like a tide inside him, building and building, stunned with how it makes him buck into you. He's dazed in a way he surely wasn't designed to be resilient against. He can't even shut his damn mouth to stop moaning—and only technically manages to do so when you cover it with your own the very second he's about to finish; your legs squeezing impotently down on his hips, trembling through another climax.

His nerves light up like an orbital barrage, body rocking against the pretty, willing thing below him that you are. He has no idea what's going on beyond that. Are you kissing him? Is that what you're doing? Half his brain is stunned by the idea and the other half is flooded by the rushes of pleasure in his system making his tendons cramp, ravaging him with the sound of his hearts thudding in his ears.

Working himself right into agony; he's tensing against you as he empties himself as deep as he can. His pace finally breaks pattern and staccatos as his mind leadens.

Lulled by the molten satisfaction that swamps him soon thereafter, Cato blindly tries to chase forward and keep your lips on his. Emphasis on tries. He thinks he likes it, foreign as the sensation and sentiment is. He's got his tongue in your mouth, but no real clue what to do beyond lapping further in like a man dying of thirst—and then, of course, you decide to start weakly thrashing for air, blunt teeth grazing against the invading muscle—so, with a miffed groan; he pulls away, drooling as he slumps front-long against you and the lounge with a rumbling sigh, letting his eyes close as he basks in the afterglow.

You're panting still, nosing against the nape of his neck—likely having difficulty respiring under his weight—but despite that, you're still twitching around his spent cock, just like last time.

Wistfully, he wonders if he could sleep with you stuffed full of him like this. Slotted together and absolutely buried in your cunt; reaming you out as far as your small frame will allow. He enjoys the idea of that, and of holding you close.

He listens meditatively as your breathing steadily evens out, a soft in-out rhythm he can hear start in your chest only to feel warmly dancing across his collarbone a moment later.

Your small hand glides up the back of his trapezoid and combs through the short hair at his crown.

He shivers almost immediately at the act, thoughts clouding. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do, now. He can't really bring himself to do anything. He's locked in. It's like he's been sedated, or scruffed about the neck. Then your fingers trace the bare skin behind his ear, and he snaps from the trance enough to crack an eye open to glance down.

"Don't push your luck," he bites out automatically and leers away.

You immediately stiffen, and lurch yourself back—seemingly completely confused.

He's not exactly sure why he reacted that way either, but he's certainly not going to address it.

Ultimately, he opts to pull his cock out of you with scant decorum rather than linger on the topic. Then he settles into a kneel as he eyes the soaked-in stain below the bunched-up fabric of your robe.

"Well," he snorts.

And damn, it's difficult to hold a straight face at the overdramatic, painfully oblivious pout you shoot him.

So, Cato just continues watching you with a cruel sort of satisfaction as you sit yourself up shakily, and realise the mess.

You blanch, promptly shutting your legs and fussing—your ass is half stuck to the fabric of the lounge by your own slick and his spent when you move to stand on shaky, unsure legs.

He's aware of the fact you're after something to wipe away the aftermath. But he's far too content observing you struggle for the moment. Pleased, even. Especially when he's treated to the cringing gasp that slips from you when his semen no doubt starts dripping down your thighs.

You're panicking within seconds. He can hear your heartbeat quickening, plus the acrid tang of baseline stress hormones pervading the room.

There's nothing to spare. Unless you want to leave another smear across the lounge cushioning, but he doubts you'd go so low. He, however, has no such reservations—and yanks the plush velour padded square up to wipe his cock off. It's not as if he wasn't going to toss it down one of the incinerator shafts on the library's second floor anyways.

"Do—" you begin softly, but amend yourself, "Would y-you have anything... to..."

He stares at you, brows furrowed.

Floundering now, you waddle close and swallow harshly.

"To... wipe this up?" You finish, barely a whisper. He can tell you're sour at the fact you're stroking his ego and essentially too full of him to go anywhere.

Cato scoffs, holding up the seating cushion, "What? Too spoilt to use this?"

You cringe at him, "People have sat on that—hundreds of people, probably. I-I don't have your immunity to infection."

Cato cedes on that point at least, because he assumes being a baseline is hell. And so very not his problem, too.

Completely out of left field, comes the temptation to lick you clean. His mulish hind-brain reasons it's a brilliant idea, namely because you'd likely be squirming for him again. Even if he has no real idea of what to do beyond that. Lap at your clit, probably—he's not actually done any of this before except—well, except just slamming into you. He has the basic gist of all of this from biologis graphics and pornographic motionpicts. Yes, the latter are technically contraband on Ultramarine chapter vessels—Throne, he actually remembers when that was put into force. He was still green behind the ears when that'd happened. But those specific brothers had displayed it for abstract amusement, not... it's intended purpose—rather: 'Lo, look at this curiosity, brothers! See they're fornicating, how very so strange! Baselines am-i-right?'

Honestly, it's never actually anything heretical, except for maybe the terrible acting.

He'd deem that punishable by death.

Regardless, Cato's guessing the process of licking something can't really be some sage art form. Not like duelling, and fuck, he's stellar at that. He's stellar at almost everything, he reasons. So why not that? You're such a wanton little thing he'd probably make you finish on accident.

Yet he decides against it as soon as the logical part of his brain boots back up. Largely given the fact he's probably already going to have a hard time as it is trying to avoid others on his way to mask the stink of sex. His brothers have keen noses, it wouldn't be difficult for them to notice the smell of you on his way to his chamber if he's not careful. Let alone if it's smeared all over his face. Next time, however—

"Surely it's not that bad," he says off-handedly.

A surge of shame appears on your face as a red, blotchy belt across your cheeks, and you seem about to protest before he grumbles.

"Still, you really ought to find a solution," he remarks idly, and he notices the implication isn't lost on you.

You frown softly, and wrinkle your nose at him.

"Maybe some manners would help you achieve your goals," he adds, with a clearer spite.

Your frown grows nigh comically harsh.

Cato grunts wryly, satisfied at your annoyance and paws at the hem of his tunic—tearing a portion off and holding it out to you.

You grab the edge of it and tug, but he doesn't let go.

"And what do you say?"

"Thanks," you answer hastily.

He raises an eyebrow and pulls the torn fabric back towards himself ever so slightly, causing you to over extend closer to him.

His stare stays locked on yours, and he gets the treat of watching you dither and fluster under his focus momentarily before you amend, "T-Thank you..." you swallow, and break eye contact, adding; "Commander Sicarius."

"Was that so hard?" Cato scoffs, especially thrilled as he lets go of the scrap—eyeing you as you trot aside, and gingerly begin to wipe away the mess of satisfaction coating your thighs and rear.

When you're decidedly done, you stomp back over to him and hold out the soiled fabric.

He reaches for it, only to have it promptly pulled away.

Cato scowls, and takes a step forward into your space—only for you to inch forward into his.

You're tormenting him then, he decides; or rather he thinks. He's not sure. You don't look smug—you look... nervous? Your lips have drawn into a thin line and you keep glancing between his eyes and behind him randomly.

"What?" He huffs, narrowing his eyes.

"Lean down," you mumble, then quietly make the additional effort of throwing in a "...please."

Cato grumbles at the request but complies, and Throne, he's glad he does; because suddenly you're up on your tip-toes, your hand on his jaw—and your lips are on his cheek.

He blinks, dumb as a mule. It's over as fast as it started and he can't even begin to unpack the elation he's abruptly feeling.

Heedless of his dazzled state, you clear your throat with a bashful laugh—and then the rag is suddenly stuffed into his open hand. He's still frozen there as you practically rush out the room, scooping your previously flung data-slate up as you frantically wave the door mechanism open and vanish from view.

A long wheeze escapes his throat in the empty room, his face thudding with heat.

Oh, he's fucked fucked.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #ultramarines #cato sicarius x reader #cato sicarius #honestly its more like:#cato 'allergic to introspection' sicarius #writing

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fluffytriceratops · 2 months ago

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bad dreams - jj maybank.

notes: just a short lil imagine bcuz why not. enjoy!

warnings: cussing/mature langauge, mentions of abuse, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks,

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯

JJ lets out a shaky gasp, eyes snapping open as he looks around the room. It's dark and quiet besides the soft shutters of his breath and the distant echo of music leaking from his ear buds. Long forgotten on the bedroom floor.

He lets out a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Carding a hand through his blonde locks before his attention turns to the girl laying peacefully next to him.

Y/n's sound asleep. Chest rising and falling with each steady breath she breathes. Her hair tickles his skin and he gently reaches over to tuck it behind her ear. Finger moving down to trace her jawline softly. She nuzzles into her pillow and he can't help but allow his lips to quirk up at the sight.

JJ was often plagued by nightmares. Horrid dreams of his father beating upon him relentlessly. More often retelling memories he longed to forget. Usually after waking from one, he'd been thrown into a panic attack. Sobbing to the point where he couldn't breathe. Lungs aching and tears blurring his vision. Pulling at the roots of his hair in a feeble attempt to pull himself from this pit of despair.

But when he slept next to Y/n - legs tangled together, held securely in his arms. His face pressed into her skin. Inhaling her scent. She kept him calm. Safe. Secure. JJ honestly didn't know what he would do without her.

"You good?" Y/n murmurs softly, stirring awake as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

"Mhm.." He hums, taking in a deep breath. "Just go back to sleep, baby."

Y/n runs her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He practically melts against her. She knew better than to ask about his bad dreams. She was aware he had them quite often, but JJ never liked to talk about them.

He brushed them off more often than not. And she never wanted to push him into talking about something he wasn't comfortable talking about. So she tended to comfort him in other ways.

Plus, she was still half asleep so her brain was not fully functioning as of right now.

"Love you, bubs." Y/n mumbles, continuing her gentle touches to soothe him as best as she could.

JJ felt his heart warm and he presses a lazy kiss to her collarbone. "Love you too, squirt."

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explosionkatsu · 1 year ago

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Fulfilling Desires

Human!Alastor x Killer!F!Reader

Warnings: Gores, mention of killing and blood 🩸

Early 1929 - 1930

You were one of the people who were entertained by the Black Tuesday, known as the Stock Market Crash in 1929. You were one of the pessimistic bearish investors who betted against the market making you instantly rich in no time. But after this occurrence, you were somewhat delighted that it didn't cause the ‘Great Depression’ is what they named it. You can still catch a glimpse of how everything went to an ordinary state as if nothing major happened, but the trash and debris around you say otherwise.

As the year 1930 came close, a sudden number of murder cases ascended. You were unbothered by this though.

As the sun began to set, an eerie silence fell over the city streets. The once-bustling roads now lay almost deserted, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle, as if the very air was thick with a sense of fear. Shops and stores, usually open till late, are now closing their shutters and locking up their doors much earlier than usual, as people seek the safety of their homes. The only sounds that could be heard were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the city, almost as if it was holding its breath, waiting for the danger to pass.

You find this odd since you haven't slaughtered anyone for a few months, so it seems like there's another murderer in town. You couldn't help but grin inwardly as you observed the group of people scurry towards the shelter of their homes, seeking refuge from whatever threat or danger loomed in the distance. The sight of their hurried movements and anxious expressions was both amusing and intriguing, and you found yourself quietly contemplating the amount of emotions that must be coursing through their minds at that moment. But it made you question, who is the murderer and what is their purpose.

Well, you know why you slaughter, and you wouldn't even deny the sense of rapture whenever you listen to the cry of your prey who was pleading for mercy. Just thinking back to this made you chuckle.

‘Oh, those poor souls’ You pondered to yourself as you now gazed upon the deserted street of New Orleans, Louisiana.

It's been months since you slaughtered, and you took it upon yourself to take a break after seeing how people do the same measures when you were still active.

Feeling sufficient at glimpsing out of your window, you fixed yourself a hot coffee before resting on one of your cozy settees and shifting on the radio, tuning to your favorite radio host.

Alastor, with a wicked smile on his face, finds it amusing knowing the sudden transformation of a bustling street into a lifeless ghost town. The fear and terror that radiate from every corner of the abandoned street only fuel his twisted sense of pleasure, driving him to keep moving forward with confidence. Nothing and no one can stand in his way as he relishes the power he holds over the once-bustling town.

But it is not yet the time to strike.

"Good evening, wonderful people of New Orleans! As you settle into the comfort of your homes tonight, I do hope that you are all secure and cozy. I cannot wait to share the latest news with you, but before we proceed, I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude to the hardworking authorities. These amazing individuals have been working overtime on some important cases these past few days, and their dedication to keeping us all safe is truly commendable! So, let's give them a big round of applause!" Cue the sound effect. "Now, let's dive into the evening news!" Alastor leaned in closely to the microphone as he spoke. He carefully flipped through the pages of his script, making sure to stay on track with the prepared content. As he read, his rich voice filled his home studio with a sense of confidence. Despite being live on air, Alastor remained calm and composed, delivering each line with precision and clarity.

"Another civilian was found in a gruesome situation in an alleyway near a club. The authorities recognized the body to be Daniel Thompson who's a worker in a men's boutique." Alastor smiled wickedly as he performed his unnatural serious yet saddened voice. "Authorities said they found him with a few of his organs missing, including his heart. Up until now, the perpetrator responsible for the incident is yet to be identified due to insufficient evidence."

Alastor's grin was so wickedly mischievous. As he scrutinized his script, he was transported back in time, reliving every moment with vivid clarity. The words on the page had the power to evoke memories and emotions he felt, almost as if he were living the scenes all over again. Oh, what a pleasure!

Alastor leaned into his microphone, his resonant. "It's truly astounding the thoughts that run through people's minds these days, isn't it?" he mused. "But let's not forget about the safety of those working the night shift. Take extra care on your way home tonight. We don't want any more victims to fall prey to the dangers that lurk in the dark. With that being said, please enjoy this music while I'm off-air! Have a lovely evening everyone."

As soon as Alastor finished his performance, he switched off his microphone and decided to treat his audience with some smooth jazz. After that, he stood up, leaving his script behind in the studio. He walked towards his basement to retrieve a few items that he needed for his later agenda. He carefully checked if everything was secured before speaking, "I'm pretty sure you must be feeling famished by now."

Suddenly, his shadow appeared beside him, grinning playfully. "You know me too well," his shadow replied.

Alastor chuckled at his shadow's response. "Don't worry, we'll be out in a while after I present my final script to the audience," he said confidently, feeling proud of himself.

With that being said after the final music played, Alastor went back to his studio for his final script before bidding goodbye.

Alastor's voice echoed through the microphone, "I'm afraid it is now time for me to leave. Let's give my colleague, the next host, a round of applause. Thank you for listening, and once again, this is your host, Alastor, signing off." With a click, he turned off his on-air light and proceeded to unplug all the devices he had used in his studio.

He then reached for his velvet trench coat, which was hanging on the back of his chair, and put it on. He tipped his black trilby hat and walked towards the door with a small bag on his back. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he made his way out of the studio, leaving behind the dimly lit room, and proceeded to the front door for his next agenda.

It was now 10 pm as he left his home with all the lights switched off. Every step he takes is hushed as he makes his way to the deserted street. He knew that he'd find every drunkard going home at this hour, especially since almost every club was still active at this hour which he was grateful for.

"I'm craving for a woman.." Says his shadow in his head.

Alastor arrived at a well-known club, his heart pounding with excitement. He made his way to a dark corner, where he could observe the establishment without being noticed.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a group of friends who were leaving the club. Among them was an intoxicated blonde woman who caught his eye. Despite her friends' attempts to convince her to ride with them, she declined and instead began walking away, waving goodbye.

Alastor's heart raced in excitement as he saw his opportunity. He followed the woman from a distance, his footsteps silent as he moved closer. He could hear her soft laughter and the gentle sound of her footsteps on the pavement.

'What an idiot,' Alastor thought to himself as he kept an eye on her.

As he trails her in the shadow, he watches a fleet of police vehicles zoom past without offering any assistance to the vulnerable woman. The sound of their sirens fades away in the distance, leaving her alone and helpless. It's as if they deemed her unworthy of their time and resources. When he finally noticed the coast was clear, he watched her vomit in a nearby alley.

He then began his approach.

"My, my. A pretty woman like you shouldn't be alone at this hour!" Alastor approached the woman with a friendly ambiance. "May I offer you assistance, my dear?" He smiled offering her his hand to hold.

Too drunk, the woman looked at him, captivated by how handsome the man who was willing to help her. Without thinking, she nodded and grabbed his hand. "You look so handsome~"

Alastor chuckled at this, "So I've been told, darling." He responded, ushering her to walk. "May I ask, why a lovely woman like you alone at this hour? Didn't you hear about the murderer on the loose?"

"Nah! I know I'll be fine~" The woman giggled. "Now that you're here. I know you'll protect me~"

"Oh, don't worry darling. I will keep you safe." Alastor smiled.

Guiding her to the unlit alleyway was too easy, especially when the woman suddenly passed out on him. 'This is too easy.' Alastor thought as he smiled viciously.

"Keep an eye on the area. Make sure no one sees." Alastor commanded his shadow who immediately nodded and left.

Of course, without letting any more seconds go by, he put a gag on the woman, as well as blindfolded her eyes.

As he lifted the weight of the woman in his arms, he turned his head and his eyes met yours. A smile played on your lips, and for a moment, the world around him faded away as he felt a small dread over him.

Alastor's smile twitched. 'Fuck' He thought to himself.

You noticed him staring at you with a tense expression. Without a word, you raised your index finger to your lips in a shushing gesture, indicating that he should remain silent. The suddenness of the gesture seemed to surprise him, and he watched as you walked away with a sense of bewilderment, wondering what had just happened.

He now knows who's his next target.

The morning sun shone brightly as you stepped out, breathing in the fresh air. The street was slowly coming to life, with stores opening up and people bustling about. You walked with purpose, your steps confident and elegant.

As you walked, people couldn't help but notice you. Women scanned your outfit as you passed by, admiring your choice of clothing and the way you carried yourself. You were a sight to behold, a true embodiment of grace and poise.

Suddenly, a gloved hand grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to see the same man from last night, Alastor, standing before you with a smile on his face.

"What a stunning elegant woman you are," he said, his voice smooth and confident. You giggled in response, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Why, I appreciate the compliment, Sir," you said, slightly bowing your head in acknowledgment.

Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes, admiring your beauty. "A polite one as well!" he beamed. "What do you say I treat you to breakfast? I couldn't help but admire you from afar as soon as I saw you."

"Aren't you a charmer," you giggled, your hand covering your lips in amusement. "I don't mind the offer."

"Shall we?" Alastor gestured towards the door of the nearby cafe, his eyes never leaving you.

"Why, thank you," you smiled as you entered the establishment with him following close behind.

The sound of smooth jazz filled the cozy and inviting cafe, creating a relaxed atmosphere that put everyone at ease. As you walked in, the patrons briefly looked up from their coffee and newspaper, taking in both you and Alastor's presence before returning to their affairs. The chimes hanging near the door suddenly made a delicate sound, adding to the already pleasant ambiance.

Alastor courteously escorted you to a cozy corner seat in the bustling cafe, carefully selecting a spot where there were fewer people having their breakfast. He pulled out a chair for you and patiently observed as you comfortably settled into it.

"Thank you." You smiled and watched him sit across from you.

As you settled into your seats, a courteous waiter appeared at your table, menus in hand. You both took your time reading the extensive selection of dishes, taking note of the appetizers, entrees, and desserts. After a few minutes, you both decided on your meals and handed the menus back to the waiter, who gracefully took them and jotted down your order. He then returned to you with a small card bearing your table number, ensuring your meals would find their way to the right place.

Alastor's gaze fell upon the withdrawing waiter, his eyes half-lidded as he commented, "Hm. Such a nice young lady." His voice carried a sense of intrigue thinking what would her flesh would taste like before turning to face you. You could feel his presence looming over you as he continued, "I'm quite sure you know why I invited you." The tone in his voice made it clear that there was something important he wanted to discuss with you.

You smiled at him knowingly and replied, "Oh, believe me, I already know why." As you looked at him, you couldn't help but notice his striking eyes and his calm demeanor. "It is an absolute pleasure to have this unexpected encounter with you. My name is Y/n L/n." You extended your hand towards him, hoping that he would reciprocate the gesture and shake it.

Alastor's lips curved upwards into a charming smile as he reached out to take your hand. He didn't shake it, but instead, he pulled it towards his face and planted a delicate kiss on your skin. "I must say, the pleasure is all mine, Y/n. I am Alastor," he said, introducing himself with a suave tone. "Quite a pleasure."

Once Alastor let go of your hand, he spoke with a hint of closeness, "I'm quite positive you know me from my broadcast."

‘I see.’ A realization dawned on you, and you couldn't help but smile, "I am a big fan of your evening stories, Mister Alastor. They're my absolute favorite. Although, I was quite baffled when you didn't share any tales last night." You pouted your lips playfully, trying to taunt him. "I was truly saddened," you added with a tinge of disappointment.

Alastor couldn't help but stare at you as you made that face. He knew that you were trying to pull his leg. "I truly apologize, Y/n. But something suddenly came up, and I just couldn't make it," he responded while taking your hand in his and gently caressing it to comfort you.

You flashed a smile, trying to mask the growing emotions that were brewing inside you. "Do not worry, Mister Alastor. I quite understand your reasoning." A glint in your eyes almost showed your true as your smile slowly morphed into a knowing grin. The corners of your natural pink lips curled up, revealing the hint of a sinister plan that was about to unfold.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the familiar smile. He knew right away that this person was not as naive as he had previously thought. "If it would interest you," he said with a smooth and charming tone, "I would be delighted to invite you to my humble abode where I perform my nightly broadcast." His smile was inviting. "You can watch me live tonight if you so choose."

You flashed a smile at Alastor, conveying you're accepting his offer. "That would be lovely, my dear sir," you said politely.

Alastor's eyes lit up with excitement as he exclaimed, "Wonderful! I will have you taste my mother's secret jambalaya recipe!"

You couldn't help but giggle at Alastor's enthusiasm. "I'm sure it will be a delight," you replied, eagerly anticipating the dish.

For a brief moment, you both stared at each other, as if silently communicating through your eyes. However, the arrival of the waiter carrying your food broke the spell, causing both of you to avert your gaze.

Alastor hummed, his eyes glinting as he watched the waiter approach their table carrying their orders and placing them on the table. You thanked the waiter and gestured to Alastor to tuck into your much-awaited breakfast.

As you finished, Alastor pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled his address on it. "Make sure you arrive before dusk," he said, his voice low and intense.

You took the paper from him, tucking it safely into your bosom. "Thank you for the delightful breakfast and your company, Mister Alastor," you said, bowing your head in respect.

"Please, call me Alastor," he insisted, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're not some peasant beneath me."

Your lips graced a smile reaching your eyes as you locked eyes with Alastor, feeling a sudden and intense connection with him. "I'll see you this evening," he added, his voice dropping even lower.

The smile never left your lips as he kissed your hand and turned to leave, his back straight and his head held high. You watched him go, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

'This evening will be unforgettable,' you thought to yourself, turning to walk the other way your smile dropping.

Arriving at his home, Alastor quietly entered. Not a small squeak was heard from any of his movements. His eyes are still half-lidded while he makes his way to his cellar.

The cellar is dark, the only source of light is coming from the small window located at the end of the room. But it wasn't enough to illuminate the entire place.

Alastor took a few steps into the dark room. The scent of rotting flesh was all around the room, the floor was stained with dried blood, and the walls were full of scrapes, claw marks, and even a few splatters of blood. There sat the now awake blonde woman who was gagged and blindfolded. Her arms are tied behind her back and her feet are tied together. Next to her was a stainless bowl with a spoon and a water bottle which Alastor used to feed her before he left.

"It seems like you won't be alone any longer in here, hmm." A wicked smile appeared on his lips as he gazed down at the woman who was crying in the corner. "Don't cry now, darling. I don't want my meat to taste bad."

You had a fast-paced day and were now making your way towards Alastor's house. The house was located in the middle of the woods, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of calmness as you approached it. However, you were ready for anything, with a rapier in its sheath strapped to your thighs. As you walked closer to the entrance, you noticed the house was much like a cabin in the woods, but much bigger and tidier, almost like a mansion.

Once you knocked on the door, it was instantly pulled open by Alastor "Ah! Y/n. Please, come in," He said, welcoming you inside and locked the door behind you, which you couldn't help but notice.

You could see a bunch of deer antlers hanging on his wall, and the seemingly decomposed head of a deer hanging in the middle of the room where his chimney was located caught your attention, "I see that you hunt. Mostly stag." You slightly smirk turning your head to look at him. You could see that Alastor was a skilled hunter, with his collection of deer antlers and other hunting trophies on display.

"Ah, yes. I hunt for fun. But I sometimes crave venison meat, my dear." He chuckled and admitted. "They are quite softer than any ordinary meat."

"How curious." You giggled. "Now you made me wonder what they taste like, Alastor," you said, expressing your curiosity about the taste.

"I don't mind giving you one, my dear." Alastor chuckled. "But it might take a while for me to get my hands on it."

"Is that so." You mumbled looking at him. "But I know one type of meat that was indeed soft and scrumptious."

"I'm not quite sure what you are talking about, my dear." Alastor smiled walking toward his studio with you following behind.

"Alastor, dear. I am not foolish." You chuckled. "I am fully aware of your intentions after what I saw last night." Once you mentioned this, Alastor halted and turned to look at you. You can see his smile thinned. "And I do know this is the reason why you invited me here." You giggled covering your lips with your hand. "I know your game." You said as you confidently walked into his studio without asking for his permission, ready to take on whatever was waiting for you.

"Then I believe I don't need to hide anything from you, Y/n," spoke Alastor, his voice like velvet. As he gradually made his way towards you, he wrapped his arm around your waist in a slow, almost dancing motion.

You didn't feel uncomfortable with his touch though. You simply let out a carefree laugh, which delighted Alastor. You took your time gazing into his half-lidded eyes, which were staring back at you, before slowly pulling away from him. You dusted off your skirt, a small action that didn't go unnoticed by Alastor. "It's for you to decide, Mister Alastor," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful mystery.

Alastor arched an eyebrow inquisitively, his piercing gaze fixed on the object of his affection. 'Is she teasing me?' he wondered out loud. Without missing a beat, he reached out and placed a strong, reassuring hand on her lower back. "Perhaps you'll find this a lovely present, my darling," he said with a hint of mischief in his voice.

As you both stepped out of his studio, you looked around and asked with curiosity, "Hm? Where are we headed now?" You couldn't help but feel intrigued by the unknown destination as you walked alongside him.

"You'll see."

You decided to go along with his plan, despite feeling uncertain. You wanted to be prepared for whatever might happen next. However, your suspicion began to grow when you realized that he was taking you down to the basement. This sudden change in direction made you feel slightly uneasy.

The scent of rotting flesh was the first thing you noticed once you both reached the cellar. Despite the utter darkness that engulfed the room, you cautiously trailed behind Alastor, trusting his lead. As you neared the threshold, a faint glimmer of light illuminated the scene just enough to reveal the silhouette of a blonde woman. She appeared to be the same person he had carried on the night you apprehended him.

Alastor anticipated that you would be frightened upon witnessing the sight of the weeping woman who was captured. But instead, you displayed a devious gaze and a vicious smile. He became more interested in you.

With measured steps, you closed the distance between yourself and the mysterious woman. The soft click of your heels beneath your feet echoed in the stillness. As you drew nearer, you could see the delicate features of her face and the strands of hair that had fallen across her sweaty forehead. Finally, you knelt beside her, feeling the coldness of the ground beneath your knees before taking the blindfold off of her. The woman looked at both of you, terrified. Tears kept streaming down her cheeks as she whined through the gag as if begging for freedom.

"You poor thing.." You mumbled looking at her eye to eye. "This is why you should never walk in the dark." As you uttered words, your hand stretched out, delicately brushing away a solitary tear that trickled down her cheek.

Alastor stood there, his eyes fixed on you, as you went about your task. He couldn't help but wonder if the way you were doing things was your usual method.

"Such beautiful face, my dear." You whispered. "Too bad it will go to waste.." With utmost care, you slid the gleaming rapier out of its scabbard, the metal glinting in the light. You held it up for the woman to see, her fearful gaze fixed on the sharp edge that seemed to shimmer in the air.

"Nothing is as beautiful as you are, my darling," Alastor spoke behind you, brushing your h/c locks to the side. He then sensually leaned down, placing an alluring kiss on your nape just as he wrapped his arm around your waist and leisurely held your hand where your rapier was.

Your eyes narrow as you watch the woman closely, who is frantically attempting to flee from the both of you using her abilities. You can see the fear in her eyes and the desperation in her movements. As she tries to escape, you notice the subtle quiver in her hands and the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Despite her efforts, she seems to be struggling to try and escape, making her attempts all the more frantic. "Oh, I would assure you. Nothing is as beautiful as her bathing in her own blood.." You spoke.

The woman's final screech was heard through the night followed by your rapier's blade slithering against her neck bringing her blood to splatter on the pair of you.

But as he witnesses the death of the woman by your hands, Alastor can't help himself but bring fingers to your face, clutching you by your jaw and wringing your face to him before he aggressively places his lips against yours. His actions caused you to drop the rapier and wrap your arms around his neck, returning the kiss almost too desperately.

Your lips danced against his as you felt him fighting for dominance. You felt his arm unbuttoning your blouse, drenched in blood. This causes you to do a similar action, unbuttoning his clothes and sliding both your arms in, feeling his bare skin brushing against your palm.

You felt him pushing you gently, bringing you to lie on the blood-soaked floor while he pulled your maxi skirt.

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x you #alastor x y/n

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sixpounder · 3 months ago

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HI POOKIE HI POOKIE LOVE YOUR WRITING POOKIE <3

could I request a deadpool x reader in whiiiiich the reader and wade are both doing individual missions at the same place, and wade purposely fucks up the reader's mission?

love you and take care!

-👻

sixpounder

deadpool (wade wilson) x f!reader

summary: in which deadpool fucks up your mission.

also based on the song “sixpounder” by children of bodom.

warnings: mature content mdni (unprotected sex, creampie)

word count: 1.8k

lowercase intended

the warehouse reeked of blood and sweat, the scent thick in the air, clinging to the steel beams above. outside, thunder rumbled low in the sky, shaking the ground beneath your boots. lightning flashed through the grime-coated skylights, casting long, jagged shadows against the concrete.

perfect weather for a kill.

you had moved through the building like a ghost, silent, efficient, your target locked in the crosshairs of your mind. sergei antonov. arms dealer, smuggler, and all-around piece of shit. he was somewhere up ahead, holed up in his office behind a few layers of disposable muscle.

this was supposed to be easy.

then you heard it.

gunfire. but not the kind that came from careful, calculated kills. not the clean, methodical shots of a professional.

this was something else.

then a laugh.

his laugh.

you pressed yourself against a crate, your pulse a slow, seething beat as you peeked around the corner.

deadpool.

fucking deadpool.

twisting through the open space like a goddamn maniac, his twin pistols barking in rapid succession, bodies dropping before they could even scream. blood slicked the floor beneath his boots, glistening under the dim, flickering lights.

he was enjoying himself.

your hands tightened around your weapon.

of all the places, of all the jobs, why did it have to be him?

the last guard fell with a wet thud, and then, like he sensed you, wade turned.

his body stilled.

then his head tilted.

“oh, shit,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “you’re gonna be so mad at me.”

your finger twitched against the trigger. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“same thing as you, obviously,” he said, holstering one of his pistols and spreading his arms. “doing crimes. being sexy. looking really good while doing both.”

you barely resisted the urge to pull the trigger. “you’re fucking up my mission, wilson.”

“oh, c’mon, our mission. teamwork makes the dream work, baby.”

“we are not a team.”

“not yet.”

you inhaled sharply, forcing down the fire burning through your veins. antonov was still alive, and if he wasn’t already making a run for it, he would be soon. you did not have time for this.

you clenched your jaw. “you’re ruining my fucking job, wilson.”

“ruining? or making it more fun?”

his voice was teasing, playful, deliberate.

he wanted to get under your skin. he wanted to watch you snap.

he was toying with you.

you took a slow step forward, the gun still steady in your grip. “you need to get the fuck out of my way.”

he exhaled a low whistle, cocking his head. “or what? you gonna shoot me?”

“don’t fucking tempt me.”

“oh, baby,” he purred, taking a step of his own. “i am begging you to try.”

the air between you was thick, electric, charged with something dark and unrelenting.

you could feel it in the way his body coiled, in the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was ready for a fight. like he wanted one.

then he lifted his pistol and fired

not at you.

not at the remaining guards.

but at the security panel on the far wall.

alarms erupted through the warehouse.

red warning lights flashed, metal shutters slamming down over the exits. the whole place was in lockdown.

your mission was officially fucked.

you turned back to him, your fury cold and sharp.

“are you fucking kidding me?”

wade let out a low laugh. “oh, you’re really mad now, huh?”

before you could stop yourself, you moved.

you slammed him back against the nearest crate, gun digging into his ribs, your other hand fisting the fabric of his suit.

he let you.

his body went still beneath your touch, his breath slow, measured.

then-

“fuck,” he whispered, voice rough. “that’s hot.”

your grip tightened. “you just cost me my goddamn payday.”

“yeah,” he murmured, “but look how close we are right now.”

his voice dripped with amusement, but his body betrayed him.

his chest rose and fell a little too quickly. his hands, now resting lightly on your hips, twitched, like he was barely holding himself back.

you pressed the barrel of your gun harder against his ribs.

“give me one good reason i shouldn’t kill you right now.”

his head tilted, his grin slow.

“because you don’t want to.”

you hated that he was right.

you pulled your knife from its sheath in one quick motion, pressing it against his throat, just under his jaw.

he inhaled sharply.

“fuck” he groaned, his head falling back against the crate. “fuck.”

your breathing was ragged, your body thrumming with something dangerous, something that had been there for far too long, always on the edge, always threatening to spill over.

this game between you had never been simple.

it had always been fire and gasoline, violence laced with something deeper, something unstoppable.

“tell me” he rasped, voice lower now, rougher, “what are you going to do now?”

you didn’t think.

you didn’t hesitate.

in one swift motion you let your weapons fall to the ground and you you lifted his mask, revealing only half of his face, his lips.

he crashed his lips against yours. the tension that had been smoldering for so damn long erupted.

the kiss was violent, all teeth and desperation, a clash of fury and heat. wade groaned into it, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you against him like he wanted to devour you whole.

you barely registered the knife slipping from your fingers, your focus narrowing to the way his mouth moved against yours, hungry, reckless, starving.

his back hit the crate again as you pushed into him, your nails scraping against the torn fabric of his suit, dragging him closer.

“this doesn’t mean i forgive you” you murmured against his lips, breathless.

his grin was sharp. “oh, sweetheart, we both know you’re gonna make me earn that.”

wade groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips like he needed to anchor himself or risk losing control completely. his fingers dug into you, pulling you closer, pressing you against him in a way that left no space, no room for hesitation, no room for anything but this fire that had been threatening to consume you both for too fucking long.

his mouth was desperate, hungry, moving against yours with a force that was almost violent. teeth clashed, lips bruised, tongues tangling in a brutal push and pull. it wasn’t sweet. it wasn’t gentle. it was raw, untamed, a battle in its own right.

you barely realized when it was your back that hit the crates now, the cold steel digging into your spine as wade caged you in, his breath heavy, his hands never still, trailing up your sides, sliding under the hem of your shirt, rough fingertips skimming over bare skin.

“fuck,” he rasped against your lips. “fuck, i’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

your nails raked down his chest, catching on the torn fabric of his suit. “then shut up and enjoy it while you can”

a growl rumbled deep in his throat, and then he did.

his mouth was everywhere, along your jaw, down your throat, nipping, sucking, marking. he tore at your clothes like they were an inconvenience, like he needed you now and couldn’t stand the barriers between you.

and you were just as desperate.

your hands yanked at his suit, fingers slipping under the fabric, finding warm skin, feeling the muscle beneath. his body was riddled with scars, imperfections, the rough evidence of his past written across his flesh and you wanted to feel all of it.

his teeth scraped against your collarbone, and you gasped, arching into him.

“shit” you breathed.

he chuckled darkly, his lips trailing lower. his hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with zero effort, pressing you harder against the crate as his body slotted perfectly against yours. the heat between you was unbearable, the friction setting every nerve on fire.

you tugged his head back by the fabric of his mask, forcing his gaze to meet yours. his chest was heaving, his pupils blown wide, his mouth red and swollen from kissing you like a man starved.

“this doesn’t change anything” you murmured, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he smirked. “bullshit.”

you bit his lip in retaliation, and he groaned, his fingers tightening around your thighs.

and then he kissed you again, and this time, there was no stopping, no hesitation, no restraint.

his hand raised up your thigh, until it finally arrived to cup your pussy. his fingers grazing it.

your rolled your hips against his hand, trying to create more friction, you needed it. he noticed it and smirked. he quickly undid your pants and slipped his fingers inside your panties. he started circling your clit while he kissed you, his other hand squeezing your ass. as he did that you pressed your thigh against his now visible erection,he groaned. “fuck you’re killing me like this”

you smirked and kept teasing him. you loved it.

you couldn’t wait anymore and in one swift motion you got rid of your pants, and sat on the crates. he quickly pulled down his bottom and boxers and you pulled him closer wrapping your legs around his hips.

at first he was just teasing you, rubbing his length against your clit and between your folds, you moaned.

“stop fucking teasing me” you ordered, you couldn’t take it anymore, not after all the tension that you two built up during the years you’ve known each other.

“you’re so needy, aren’t you?” he teased.

“you’re not going to shut up, are you?” you answered annoyed.

“no, not when i’m awake” and with that, he was inside you. he pushed his cock inside of you, making a loud moan escape from your mouth, you weren’t expecting it, but you liked it.

he started moving inside you, gripping the sides of the crate under you. you pulled his face closer to yours cupping his cheeks with your hands, and you kissed him again, hungrily. you moaned again.

“still wanna blame me for the mission? go ahead” he said, knowing damn well that every word out of your mouth would turn into a moan.

“oh fuck” you moaned, you wanted to say it was his fault, just to get under his skin but you wouldn’t even be able to form a whole sentence. he kept hitting that one spot inside of you that made your eyes roll to the back of your head and wish that this moment lasted forever.

with one hand he started rubbing your clit, just to get you exactly how he wanted you to be: a moaning, desperate mess. just for him.

he could sense that you were about to cum by the way your pussy started clenching around his cock, more and more. with one last thrust deep inside you, you could feel him cum, and that was enough to reach your orgasm too. you cried out, muffling your moans against his lips. he smirked at you.

“fuck, you keep doing shit like that, and i might just fall in love.”

“you already did” you shot back, breathless.

his head tilted, his grin wicked. “oh, sweetheart, you know i did.”

a/n: let me know you liked it, and if you did, don’t be scared to like, comment or reblog, it would really help me since this blog is new. let me know if you have any kind of request, not just for deadpool, it can be of any marvel character or more, i’m happy to write them <3

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 17 days ago

Text

Starting at the End Ch. 5

Summary: Lily Crawford has been receiving disturbing letters from a worrisome fan. On the advice of an acquaintance she goes to Winchester Private Security and seeks out Dean Winchester to keep her safe. Will this troubled ex-marine be able to save her, and can she save him too?

Series Warnings: Angst. Smut. Fluff. (as usual, of course!) Discussion of war, loss, trauma, PTSD, grief. Stalking. Obsession.

Chapter Warnings: Some violence. PTSD briefly mentioned but not discussed.

Pairing: Dean x ofc (Lily Crawford)

Word Count: 2,426

A/N: This is my Dean "Bodyguard" AU. (Technically he calls himself Private Security and not a Bodyguard, but 🤷‍♀️) I've never written a bodyguard AU before, so I hope you all enjoy this one. It's been a while since I've written an ofc, so I hope you like Lily. I'm enjoying writing her. I know OC's aren't the fandoms favourite, but I really felt like I needed Lily to be Lily in this one. Hope you give it a chance anyway. ❤️

POSTING EVERY FRIDAY! ❤️

Series Master List || Dean Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Dean walked through the door first, re-arming the alarm as soon as Lily closed the door behind herself. She walked over to her coffee table to drop her purse, letting her keys fall beside it. She stood quietly for a minute, until Dean cleared his throat.

“How are you?” He asked tentatively. “Can I make you a cup of coffee? Or, uh…some kind of tea?”

Lily smiled softly. “No, thanks. I'm good.” She sighed loudly. “I think I'm just gonna go soak in a hot bath for a while and then call it a very early night.”

She smiled again as she passed by Dean on her way to the bathroom. As she reached the hallway, Dean called her back.

“Lily?”

She looked at him with a weary, quizzical brow raised.

Dean shook his head. “Why do you…keep doing this?”

She frowned. “Doing what?”

Dean spread his arms wide. “This. This, with this asshole producer, and the other jerks you put up with. I mean, I've heard some of the conversations you've had with directors and stuff, they’re so condescending and rude half the time.”

He thumbed behind him towards the door. “You said this wasn't the first time you've dealt with someone like this. So, why keep coming back to it? Why keep putting yourself through it if it makes you miserable?”

Lily bristled at the questions. “Because why would I let asshole producers and rude directors determine my life? Besides, I’m not miserable.”

Dean grunted out a sound that said he didn’t believe her.

“I’m not!” Lily argued. “Look, are there aspects of the industry that I don’t like? Sure. Are there times it’s frustrating? Yeah. But I’m an actress, it was what I’ve wanted to do my whole life. It’s like…a calling.”

She lifted her hand towards him. “You were a Marine, right? Don’t you think you were called to serve your country? Like a feeling in your gut that just tells you that you’re doing the right thing?”

Dean’s face shuttered and lost all expression. Lily suddenly realized what she was saying. She waved her hands back and forth.

“Not that I’m saying it’s the same, at all. Obviously, being an actress and being a Marine are not the same level of importance or dedication. I just meant that, I mean there must have been things about being in the military that you didn’t like, right? But it didn’t stop you from serving. Right? Even if sometimes it made you miserable?”

Dean was silent for a moment, before he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s really none of my business. Sorry.”

He looked at the front door. “Okay, everything is locked up and armed, so I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight.”

He was almost in the bedroom before she thought to answer. “Goodnight.”

But his door was already closed. It was the first time in two weeks he went to bed before she did.

***

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and Dean sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees up, with his elbows resting there. Even after all these years out of the service, there were still times that a bed felt too soft, almost like it was going to swallow him up. When he felt like that, he’d sleep on the floor.

That’s how he’d ended up down there. He’d started off trying to sleep, but after an hour of tossing and turning, he knew it was pointless and grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of his big duffle bag.

Now he was most of the way through the bottle of Jack. He took another gulp of the fiery liquid and swallowed it down slowly, wishing the burn could black out some of the memories running rampant through his mind. But he knew it wouldn’t; it never did. It just made them a bit fuzzy around the edges.

But he could still see Sammy’s face, the way it looked when his little brother had been pleading with him.

“Dean, I hate it. I hate it all so much. I’m so miserable there.”

Dean would give anything to stop his next angry words, but they echoed hollowly through his mind just the same, far too late to change them.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy! You can’t just quit the fucking Marines! This isn’t like your job at the taco stand, or that call center place! This is the fucking Marines. Quitting is called ‘deserting’.”

“I didn’t want to join in the first place! Dad made me!”

“For fuck’s sake, Sam! You’re a grown ass man! Take some responsibility for your actions. Dad made you?”

“Yes! And you made me! I did it to make you happy, so I’d stop disappointing you both so much.”

Dean set the bottle heavily on the floor beside him, and buried his head in his arms where they rested on his knees. The memory of his next words stabbed him through the heart as they did every time.

“Well, you haven’t finished disappointing me yet, Sam. You’re running from this the same way you’ve run from every responsibility you’ve ever had. For once in your life, dammit, stick something out.”

His little brother’s heartbroken face, his hazel eyes pleading for understanding, floated through Dean’s consciousness, no matter how much he tried to drown the vision in alcohol. Flashes of Sam’s pale, bloodless face took its place sometimes, drawing the direct link for Dean as though he didn’t already know it.

Sam was dead because of him. Sam died, rather than disappoint him. Dean picked up the bottle again, in the feeble hope that it would dull that one, unwavering truth.

***

Lily sipped her coffee and stared at Dean’s closed door.

She was almost in shock this morning when she woke up and Dean still hadn’t emerged from his room. She thought about waking him up, but then she decided to just let him sleep. She knew she’d hit a nerve last night, and she felt bad.

In the light of day, without an exhausted, disappointed brain, she realized that she knew nothing about Dean’s time in the service, including how and why he’d left. She grimaced; it was terribly unthinking and tactless of her to just bring it up and compare it to working in Hollywood. She knew they weren't remotely the same.

She’d just been bothered by his questions because they were all ones she’d asked herself many times over the years.

But still, she should have known better; it was entirely possible Dean suffered from some form of PTSD from his time as a Marine, many soldiers did. She did some mental math, guessing at Dean’s age, and figured he likely served in Iraq or Afghanistan.

She mentally kicked herself again as she took another sip of her coffee. “Dumbass.” She mumbled to herself.

So, she let Dean sleep.

But then around ten o’clock she got a call from her agent. The director of Eternal Night was calling her up for the chemistry read with Tom Ridgely.

Lily cleared her throat. “Uh, Nancy, you know I had a meeting with Ethan Braun yesterday and it didn’t uh…well, it didn’t go very well.”

Nancy’s voice was confused. “What do you mean? His production company pulled out of the project a week ago.”

Lily felt her stomach drop. “What? What do you mean he pulled out of the project?”

“Just that. He’s not involved anymore.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, I see. Well, there must have been some kind of miscommunication.”

“That’s why all meetings should be scheduled through me, Lily.” Nancy scolded.

Lily nodded. “I promise, from now on they will be.”

Her blood boiled and she felt sick over the fact that Ethan Braun had played her so completely. She shuddered as she thought about how much more horrified and disgusted she would have felt if she’d actually caved to his bullshit lies and slept with him out of desperation.

Fucking snake, Lily thought as she hung up with her agent and then tried to put it all out of her mind. The callback was at noon, she needed to hustle.

She hesitated a moment before knocking on Dean’s door. When there was no answer, she knocked again. For a minute she wondered if he’d just left. Her momentary panic made her open his door quickly, but she breathed easier as she noticed him sprawled on the floor.

He was still wearing his white button down, though it was open and no longer tucked into the suit pants he also still had on. Seeing him on the floor, she wondered briefly if he’d fallen or injured himself somehow. But then she dismissed that possibility because he was partially covered with the blanket from the bed.

She was confused about why he was sleeping on the floor until she saw the almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels not far from his outstretched hand. She suddenly remembered that the first day she’d met him, he had seemed a bit drunk, or at least hungover. But she hadn’t seen him touch a drop since he’d been there. She frowned at the big duffel bag on the floor beside the bed.

How many more bottles has he got in there, she wondered. Has he been drinking in here every night?

She shook her head. That didn’t matter right now. Right now, she needed him awake and moving.

“Dean.” She called softly, but he didn’t move so she called louder. Finally, she shouted his name and he moaned.

“Dean, I need you to get up now. I have a callback. It’s in less than two hours.”

He didn’t move.

She walked over to him and shook his shoulder. “Dean.” She called, frustrated.

He opened his eyes blearily and she tried to explain again. “Dean, you have to wake up now, we have to go.”

He just moaned again and mumbled something as he turned away from her. Lily sighed in frustration and gave up. She closed his door none too gently and ran into her bedroom to get ready. Less than an hour later, she was showered, dressed, and ready to go. She tried knocking on Dean’s door again, but she heard nothing from inside.

She shook her head. There was nothing for it, she’d have to break one of his two big rules and go on her own, but he had no one to blame for that but himself. She sent him a quick text letting him know the address where she was going and when she expected to be finished.

She felt a little nervous as she stepped out of her house for the first time in a long time without the security blanket of Dean standing close behind her. But she looked around, and everything looked normal, not that it ever looked otherwise to her.

But it was a beautiful day, and she was very excited that the possibility of playing Alexis was still within her grasp. So, she got into her car, and pulled out of her driveway quickly, her mind busy and slightly worried about how the callback would go, especially given her disastrous meeting the day before.

But everything went perfectly. The director was friendly; she’d only met him very briefly during her screen test. But this time she’d actually had the chance to chat with him about the film and he was definitely excited about the possibility of making more than just the standard vampire horror movie.

Even Tom Ridgely had turned out to be a surprise. Given the nepotism involved in his hiring, she’d expected him to be a bit full of himself and annoying. But he was actually just a really shy, sweet kid with a quiet and rueful sense of humor about his connection to the casting director. The characters she’d seen him play had all been a bit overwrought and dramatic. But he was clearly meant for something lighter and a bit more subversive. Their scenes together had been easy and the chemistry had been solid. At least, she thought so.

But it seemed as though the director, casting director, and producer (the real one!) in the room had felt the same. The vibes had been very good.

So, she was riding high as she left through the rear entrance of the building to walk to her car in the surface lot. She was practically skipping and wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings.

It happened so quickly she didn’t even have the chance to really scream.

As she opened her car door she suddenly felt a strong arm tighten around her waist and before she could react, her mouth and nose were covered by a big, meaty hand. She panicked and started thrashing, instinctively smashing her head back towards him, trying to connect with something, preferably a nose. But it wasn’t working.

He was trying to shove her into her car, but the warning she’d heard since she was a teenager, “NEVER LET THEM TAKE YOU TO A SECOND LOCATION!!”, was screaming in her mind and she struggled harder, shrieking pointlessly under the heavy hand that trapped the air inside her lungs.

There was a sudden, painful blow to the back of her head and black dots floated in front of her eyes; she went limp. Her mind was vaguely conscious as she was lifted off the ground and pushed into her front seat on her stomach. She shook her head trying to clear the fog, but it just spread the pain further and intensified it.

She felt like she was going to throw up as she was shoved further along the seat, the attacker trying to climb in behind the wheel. She was working up the energy to scream, trying to remember how, when suddenly she heard an angry shout and felt her abductor scramble out of the car again. She heard more shouting and when she realized she recognized the voice, she felt her terror dissipate a bit. She heard running footsteps and then suddenly Dean was in the car beside her.

“Lily?” He said tentatively as he helped her turn and sit up on the seat.

His face was extremely worried as he ran his hands over her, no doubt checking for broken bones or bullet holes.

That realization, that he was right to check, that she could have ended up with something so much worse than the lump forming on the back of her head, made Lily’s teeth start chattering and her whole body start shaking.

“Just…” She was having trouble speaking as she shook. “S’jus my head.” She said, words slightly slurred, seconds before she threw up all over Dean’s wrinkled, white shirt. Before she could apologize, the darkness overtook her.

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