#THIS IS JUST SUCH A PURE AND NICE THING TO SEE

[brunchable]

Captivate Me | Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader. [R 18+]

Word count: 23.6K (oops) Pairings: Obsessed Bucky Barnes x Movie Star Reader. Summary: You've been seeing Bucky for a while. You thought meeting him was pure fate but little did you know every single detail was premeditated. Trying to end things with him would be the greatest mistake of your life. Themes/Warning: SMUT OVER 18s ONLY. Dark Romance, slow-burn STALKING, KIDNAPPING, A LOT OF MANHANDLING *DUBCON?* BDSM (Blindfolded, Bed Restraints), Daddy Kink, Masturbation (M), Filming during sex, domineering acts, degradation, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral (M+F), overstimulation, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampied. A/N: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE. It is giving Joe Goldberg. Also Bucky speaks Romanian here, I used google translate. Please don't come at me.

A/N: AGAIN IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE, MOVE ON.

I’ve seen you in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different roles, but none of them—none of them—compared to the real thing. You, walking out of that boutique gym, wiping sweat from your forehead like it wasn’t some holy ritual. You didn’t know I was watching. You never do. That’s the thing about being the most famous actress in Hollywood, isn’t it? People only see the surface, the glitter. The carefully curated perfection. But not me. I see the real you. The one behind all that.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t planned. Not exactly. I mean, I knew I’d see you eventually. I made sure of it. The gym, the coffee shop, your early morning run route that you think is private. I don’t leave things to chance. I orchestrate them. And you—oh, you walked right into my world, didn’t you?

You smiled that smile, the one that makes directors fall to their knees for a chance to cast you. But when you smiled at me, it felt different. Real. Like we were speaking a language only we understood.

It wasn’t hard to make you like me. It never is. I’ve done my homework. I know what you need, what you crave. Stability. Someone who gets it, gets you, in a way that all the shallow, empty faces in your world never will. I became that someone for you, carefully crafting each word, each look, until you were hooked.

It’s funny, the little things you let slip. You think you’re so careful, but I see it. The way your shoulders relax when I talk about my “well-paying job,” when I drop hints about my “family's” holiday home. You like that, don’t you? You like that I’m different from the men who chase you for clout or connections. No, I’m something else. 

You didn’t realize I’d planned our first date down to the minute, did you? Or the second, and the third. You thought it was all so natural. You thought it was just happening. Like we were meant to meet, to be together, to be something special. That’s the thing about fate, though—it’s just another tool. And I wield it perfectly.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for me, just like I knew you would. After all, I’m everything you need. Smart, kind, successful—or at least, that’s what you think. I’m whatever you need me to be. So when I suggested a weekend away at my “holiday” home, you said yes. Hesitant, but yes. You must’ve thought it would be a nice escape. Just us, away from the world that always wants something from you.

Except, you didn’t know it wasn’t an escape at all. It was a step closer to where we were always meant to end up.

That’s what I kept telling myself as we stood in the kitchen of that house, the rain drumming softly against the windows. I poured you a glass of wine, said something about how perfect it all felt, about how right we were together. And you—you just stood there, silent, your eyes distant. Something had shifted.

Then you spoke.

“Bucky,” you said, and my heart stopped because I already knew what was coming. “This is going too fast.”

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt my pulse in my throat, the warmth of the kitchen suddenly stifling.

“I don’t think I see a future with us,” you continued, and each word was a dagger. You tried to soften the blow with that sweet voice of yours, telling me I’m a “great guy,” that it’s “nothing personal.” Nothing personal? How could it not be personal? 

You know, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. That’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? How I’m always so calm, so collected. You don’t want the chaos, the mess of Hollywood drama in your real life. No, you want stability, something solid, someone who can be your anchor in the storm of flashing lights and fake smiles.

And I gave you that. I am that. I’ve been perfect for you—perfect in every way.

So why—why are you standing here, telling me that it’s going “too fast”?

The words echoed in my head, making it hard to focus. You kept talking, kept explaining, but it was like I couldn’t hear you anymore. My mind was racing, my chest tightening with something dark, something unfamiliar. 

No, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say it’s too fast when I’ve been so patient, so careful.

You have no idea how long I’ve waited, how meticulously I’ve crafted every single moment between us. Every word, every smile, every touch. This is what we’re supposed to be. You can’t just walk away from that. You can’t just throw it away.

I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the rage, the frustration. It started small, like a flicker of heat behind my eyes, but it was growing, spreading, filling me with something raw and dangerous. I tried to keep it in check, tried to swallow it down. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s not what this was about. This was supposed to be perfect.

But you kept talking, kept saying things that made it worse. Words like “future,” like “great guy,” like “nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? Again.

How dare you? How dare you make it sound like I’m just another guy, like I didn’t plan every single moment of our time together? You think this isn’t personal? You think I’m just going to let you go like all the others? No.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in, trying not to let you see what you were doing to me. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t shut up. And then you said it—that one final thing that broke me.

“I just don’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth, out in the open, sharp and jagged like broken glass. And something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breathing shallow and ragged. You didn’t get it. You didn’t see how much I’d done for us, how much I’d sacrificed. You didn’t understand how perfect we could be if you just—just—

I slammed my hand down on the counter next to you, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. You jumped, startled, your eyes wide with fear as you flinched, taking a step back from me.

And that—oh, that—was new.

Fear. Real, genuine fear appeared in your eyes like you were finally seeing me for the first time. I should’ve hated it. I should’ve backed off, apologised, done something to make it go away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because part of me—some dark, twisted part of me—liked it. I liked that you were finally seeing me. The real me. Not the carefully crafted version I’d shown you before, but the one who needed you, the one who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

I blinked, the words cutting through the fog of anger, but they didn’t have the effect you wanted. Scaring you? No. No, you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of losing control, scared of what it means to be with someone like me, someone who actually cares enough to make sure you stay.

But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I watched you take another step back, your hands trembling slightly, your eyes darting to the door like you were planning to run.

I watched the fear ripple through you, your breathing quickening, your eyes scanning the room like you were calculating the distance to the door. Like you thought you could just run. Like you actually thought you could escape me.

But you can’t.

No, we’ve come too far for that.

I took a step toward you, slow and measured, watching the way you flinched, the way your body tensed like a deer ready to bolt. I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t. But you were leaving me no choice. You were making this hard, when it didn’t have to be. I didn’t want it to be this way.

“Bucky…” Your voice was small, fragile. You were trying to reason with me, but it was too late for that. Too late for words. The world outside, the life we had before stepping into this house, it was all fading away. It was just us now, just the truth between us, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice low, my hand still pressed firmly against the counter. I could feel the cool granite beneath my palm, grounding me, barely holding back the storm inside. “This is right. We are right for each other. You just… you just don’t see it yet.”

Your eyes darted toward the door again, that brief flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get away. I could see it in the way your muscles tensed, in the way your feet shifted like you were getting ready to run. And I hated it—hated that you still didn’t understand.

I moved faster than you expected, my hand reaching out to grab your arm before you could make a break for it. You gasped, your eyes wide with terror as I pulled you back, your body colliding with mine. You struggled, kicking, twisting, trying to break free, but I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, your voice shrill, panicked. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

You don’t get it. You can’t leave. 

“Stop fighting,” I growled, pulling you closer, your back pressed against my chest. I could feel your heart hammering beneath your skin, the rapid rise and fall of your breath. You were terrified, and part of me—some dark, primal part of me—thrived on that fear. But another part of me hated it. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I wanted you to see that I was doing this for us.

“Please, Bucky… you’re hurting me.”

Those words. They cut through the fog of anger, piercing something deep inside me. My grip loosened for just a second, just long enough for you to break free, to twist out of my hold and make a desperate run for the door.

And you did it.

You yanked the door open, sprinting out into the rain like your life depended on it. You were fast, I’ll give you that.

Desperation makes people faster. 

Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as you made your way to the car. You thought you were getting away. You thought you were winning.

I followed, just a few paces behind. I let you think you had a chance. Let you scramble to the driver’s side door, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the handle. You were soaked, the rain plastering your hair to your face, but you didn’t stop. You threw open the door, slipping into the car, your fingers trembling as you searched for the keys.

But I was there. Right behind you. And you didn’t have the keys, did you?

“Bucky, please!” you screamed, your voice high and panicked, but it didn’t matter. I yanked the door open before you could lock it, my hand reaching in and grabbing your arm with a force that made you cry out.

You kicked. You screamed. Your nails clawed at my hand, your legs thrashing as I dragged you out of the car, but you weren’t strong enough. You were never going to be strong enough.

“No!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as I hauled you back toward the house, the rain pouring down around us. You fought me every step of the way, your feet slipping in the mud, your body twisting, trying to break free.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving,” I growled, my voice barely audible over the storm, my grip tightening as I dragged you back inside. Your body was limp now, weak from the struggle, but your eyes—oh, your eyes were still filled with that same fear.

We’re not done. We’re never going to be done.

Not until you see it.

Not until you see me.

× × × ×

Your POV

You wake slowly, your head throbbing, the world around you blurry and disorienting. The sound of the storm outside reaches you first, the rumble of thunder vibrating through the walls, the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows. You blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sheets beneath you are soft—too soft—and they smell like detergent, unfamiliar.

That’s when you feel it. The cold metal around your wrists.

Panic surges through your veins as you jerk upright, or at least, you try to. Your hands are cuffed to the bed, the harsh clink of metal echoing in the dimly lit room as you struggle against them. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear hitting you like a wave, choking you as you realize—this isn’t a nightmare.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you take in the room. It’s dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a bedside lamp, the corners of the room swallowed by shadows. You’re not in the same clothes you remember. You’re dressed in something clean now, something soft, but it’s not your own. Someone…he changed you.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

He’s sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching you. His silhouette is dark, unmoving, and it sends a chill down your spine. The storm outside feels like a reflection of the chaos inside your head, the way everything is spinning, nothing making sense.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and when you finally manage to choke out his name, it sounds small, pitiful. 

“Bucky?”

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps watching, like a predator studying its prey. Like he’s waiting for you to say or do something, but you don’t know what. Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. The fear grips you tighter with every second that passes, the realization of your situation crashing down on you like the thunder outside.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice is trembling, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you tug helplessly at the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin. “Why are you doing this? Let me go, please.”

Still, he says nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive, suffocating. You can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the darkness, and it makes your skin crawl. 

You don’t recognize this man, not anymore. The Bucky you thought you knew, the one who smiled at you over dinner, the one who laughed at your jokes, who held your hand… that Bucky is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I just want to leave.”

His figure shifts slightly in the chair, the movement so subtle you almost miss it, but it feels like a thunderclap in the tense stillness of the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, dark, carrying with it an edge of something you don’t want to name.

“You need to stop thinking of escape,” he says, his words measured. “I’m not your enemy, I’m the one saving you. And one day, you’ll understand that.”

Your stomach drops. There’s something final in the way he says it, something that makes you realize there’s no reasoning with him. No escape.

You’re trapped.

A sob escapes your lips, your body shaking as you pull at the cuffs again, but it’s no use. The storm outside rages on, the wind howling like some terrible omen, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone—anyone at all—can hear you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as Bucky stands up from the chair, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His movements are slow, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he steps out of the shadows. Something glints in his hand, and when he comes closer, you see it.

Your phone.

He’s holding your phone.

Bucky twirls it in his hand like it’s some casual toy, but the sight of it makes your stomach churn. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—not the warm, charming smile you once knew, but something colder, calculated.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s standing right next to the bed. His presence looms over you, the phone still in his hand as he looks down at you, handcuffed and helpless.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, unsettlingly calm. “What should you post tonight? Hm?”

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the words. Post? He can't be serious. He wouldn’t—

Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the screen, and with a swipe of his thumb, the display lights up. “You wouldn’t want people to think you’ve gone missing, would you? That might cause a… panic.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Your throat tightens, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. You shake your head, more in disbelief than as an answer. He’s playing with you, toying with the very thing that connects you to the world outside this nightmare. And the way he’s handling your phone, so casually, makes it clear—he’s already thought this through.

“Maybe a picture of your feet by the fire?” he muses, tilting his head as if he’s considering the best angle. “Or better yet, one of those ‘cozy night in’ captions. That’ll sell it. Everyone will think you’re just relaxing after a long day. Just another night for Hollywood’s sweetheart.”

His words send ice through your veins. He’s already planned it all out, how to keep up the illusion that you’re fine, that nothing’s wrong. No one will even suspect you’re missing. No one will come looking for you.

You try to speak, to find words, but your voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Please, Bucky, don’t—”

But he ignores your plea, his eyes focused on your phone as he pulls up your social media app. “Smile,” he says mockingly, as though you’re some doll he can dress up for show. “Or don’t. I can manage this on my own. I’ve been watching you for long enough to know exactly what your fans want.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks, helplessness gripping you as he takes control of your life in the most terrifying way possible. The world outside keeps spinning, oblivious to the fact that you’re trapped in this nightmare, and he’s holding the one lifeline that could save you, dangling it just out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice a twisted mockery of comfort. “I’ll keep everyone updated. No one will know anything’s wrong. Not until you’ve had time to understand why you’re really here.”

And as he taps away at your phone, the storm rages on outside, but inside this room, it’s the calm before the real storm—the one you know is coming but can’t escape.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV 

The thing about phones—your phone, to be specific—is that they’re intimate. More intimate than a diary, more personal than any conversation you’ve ever had. Every swipe, every message, every like, is a little breadcrumb leading back to the real you. The parts you don’t share with the world. And here I am, with your phone in my hand, holding every piece of you in the palm of mine.

I can feel your eyes on me as I scroll through it, your fear practically radiating off you in waves. But I ignore it. I’ve already moved past that phase, the part where I worry about what you’re thinking. You’ll come around eventually, once you see that I’m doing this for us.

For you.

The soft glow of your screen illuminates my face as I unlock it easily—your passcode was one of the first things I learned about you. A four-digit combination, barely a barrier, really. I swipe through your photos first, and there’s a strange comfort in seeing the world through your eyes. Pictures of sunsets, candid moments with co-stars, perfectly posed selfies for your millions of followers. Each photo carefully curated for the world. But I keep scrolling because I know that’s not all there is.

And then I see it. A photo you took of me.

It’s not staged, not some posed couple’s picture for social media. It’s real. I’m asleep—my head turned slightly to the side, my face peaceful, unaware. You took this when you thought I wasn’t watching. The corner of my mouth twitches up, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. You couldn’t resist, could you? Even when you didn’t know it, you were drawn to me.

This proves it. We’re connected. Whether you want to admit it or not, you feel it, too. I wasn’t wrong.

I glance up from the phone, just for a moment, to see you watching me, your eyes wide, terrified. You have no idea how much I know, how deep inside your world I already am. I almost want to say something, to tell you how this photo means something. How it confirms that we’re meant to be. But I stay silent, letting the moment stretch between us, savouring it.

I keep scrolling. And that’s when I find them.

The unsolicited photos.

You thought you were careful, that you’d buried them in your messages. But nothing stays hidden from me. A flood of messages from random men—pathetic, desperate attempts to get your attention. Men sending you things you never asked for. 

Filth. 

Unworthy of even a glance from you. The sheer arrogance of it, the entitlement, makes my blood simmer. How many of these men thought they had a chance with you? That they could own a piece of you like I do?

One particular message stands out. A man whose name I don’t recognize, someone you’ve never mentioned. He’s sent you photos of himself, explicit, disgusting. And you—you didn’t block him. You didn’t stop it.

I stare at the messages longer than I should, the jealousy curling tight inside my chest, sharp and poisonous. These men, they think they can have you, that they can come into your life with their disgusting offers and expect something in return. You might not have invited them in, but the fact that they’re here at all makes me sick.

You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to take care of this for you.

I glance back at you, still handcuffed to the bed, tears slipping down your cheeks, and I wonder if you even understand what’s happening here. These men, they aren’t a part of your life anymore. I won’t allow it. You’re mine now. Completely. There won’t be anyone else.

I keep scrolling through your messages, and that’s when I find something else.

A text thread with your friends. The casual banter, the kind of stuff you think I don’t care about. But buried in there, a series of photos you sent them. I pause, my heart speeding up as I open them. 

It’s me, of course. 

One picture in particular stands out—a shot of me shirtless in the kitchen, cooking you breakfast. The light catches my body just right, every muscle defined. And your caption underneath?

“Okay, so you can’t see his face but look at this man. Just look at him.”

You wanted them to see me. To know what you had. You wanted them to be jealous. And they probably were. I smile to myself, imagining the envy your friends must have felt, knowing that you had me, knowing they couldn’t. It’s perfect. You knew I was perfect for you.

I scroll further down the thread, and that’s when I see the message that makes me pause, my breath catching in my throat.

“You guys, I swear to god… he’s so good in bed, I think I’m addicted. Like, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m wrecked in the best ways.”

Addicted. Addicted to me. And you thought I wouldn’t know. You thought you could hide that, that you could pretend to push me away when deep down, you crave me. You need me.

I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across my face as I look back at you. You’re trembling, still terrified, but you don’t understand that this—this fear, this desire—it’s all part of the same thing. You don’t have to run from it anymore. From me.

I scroll just a little further and see the final blow. Another photo. This time, it’s intimate. Private. A photo you snapped of me sleeping on top of you, my body nestled against yours, my head buried in the crook of your neck. The angle is careful, my face mostly obscured by my dark hair, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in that moment. I can feel the warmth of it through the screen.

And then the message beneath it.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but… when Bucky speaks Romanian when we do it... it’s so hot. Like, I can’t even handle it. I don’t even want a kid but I'll carry his kids. Fuck. He’s so hot.”

I feel something inside me snap—not with anger, no, but with something far deeper. You want this. You want me. You’ve been telling your friends, letting them know how much you crave me, need me, even if you didn’t say it out loud to my face. But now? Now I know. And there’s no denying it anymore.

I set the phone down on the edge of the bed and lean closer, my voice low, calm, almost affectionate. “You know,” I murmur, “I never realized how much you needed me. But now I see it. Now, it all makes sense.”

You flinch, pulling back as far as you can, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.

“What should you post tonight, hm?” I ask, my tone conversational, like this is any normal evening between us. 

The horror in your eyes is enough to confirm it—you finally understand. You’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re mine. And no one—no one—is going to take you away from me.

× × × × 

I bring the dinner to you, carefully plated, as always. Presentation matters. Even now, when you’re too stubborn to appreciate it, too blinded by your own misplaced anger to see that this—this—is still me taking care of you. 

I set the tray on the bed beside you, the smell of the meal filling the room. You’ve always liked the way I cook, haven’t you? I remember how you used to smile, used to praise the smallest details, like I was doing something so special.

But now, you sit there with your jaw clenched, body stiff, refusing to look at me, refusing to even acknowledge that I’m here, still trying to make sure you’re okay.

“You’re going to eat,” I say softly, but there’s a firmness beneath the words. It’s not a request, not a suggestion. I’ve been patient with you—so patient. But you’re pushing me now, testing the limits of my control, and we both know that can only last so long.

You scoff, turning your head away from the food like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’m not your prisoner, Bucky. You can’t force me to do anything.”

The defiance. That familiar fire burning behind your eyes. I should be frustrated, I should be angry, but honestly? I find it... cute. You’re still trying to fight me, still clinging to the idea that you have some say in this. I lean closer, my hand resting gently on the bed beside you, my voice dropping just enough to let you know I’m not here to argue.

“You are going to eat,” I repeat, my tone calm but unyielding. “Because I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”

You snap your head back to me, your eyes flashing with rage, and for a second, I see the storm building in you. 

“You can’t make me,” you growl, and it’s almost laughable—the way you think you still have control, still have some semblance of power in this situation.

Then, without warning, you spit at me.

The action is so quick, so fueled by your desperation, that for a moment, I’m surprised. The spit lands on my cheek, sliding down slowly, almost in slow motion. And there it is. The fight. The fire. The part of you that still hasn’t fully surrendered.

You tense, your body going rigid, your breath caught in your throat as you wait for me to explode, for the rage to consume me and lash out. This is the part where you expect me to lose it. To become the monster you’ve built up in your head.

But I don’t.

I freeze for just a second, letting the anger stir inside me, feeling it twist and coil. But then, instead of reacting the way you expect, I chuckle. A low, quiet laugh, the sound barely audible over the storm outside. I don’t wipe the spit away. I just sit there, letting it cool on my cheek, my lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“I like this,” I murmur, my voice calm, disturbingly calm. “This fight in you. It’s… adorable.”

You flinch, recoiling slightly as you realize I’m not going to snap. I’m not going to lose control, because unlike you, I’m not driven by desperation. I don’t need to. No, I have all the control I need, right here, in this room, with you handcuffed to that bed. I can see it in your eyes—the confusion. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect me to remain calm.

I lean in just a bit closer, my face only inches from yours now, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think you can push me, don’t you? That if you fight hard enough, I’ll lose control. But that’s not going to happen. You’re not going to break me. You can’t.”

You’re trembling now, the tears welling up in your eyes, but I don’t feel pity. No, this is something else entirely. This is... satisfaction. You want to fight, but you’re scared, too. And that mix? That’s what makes this so interesting.

I straighten up, slowly wiping the spit from my cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Keep fighting. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in control. You’ll still eat. You’ll still do what I say.”

Your lip quivers, but you remain silent, glaring at me with all the defiance you can muster. But I can see the cracks forming. I know that deep down, you understand.

“Now,” I say, standing up and moving back toward the corner of the room, watching you carefully. “When you’re ready to eat, the food will be here. And I’ll be right here, too. Always.”

I sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, my eyes never leaving you. You still think you can win this. But you can’t. You never could.

And the fact that you haven’t realized that yet? Well, that’s just adorable.

× × × × 

Your POV

The next day.

You wake up to the steady drum of rain against the window, still unrelenting, like the world is stuck in an endless loop of storm and shadow. The room is dim, gray light filtering in through the heavy clouds outside, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. Something’s different, though. You blink slowly, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

Your wrists. They’re free.

No cuffs. No cold metal biting into your skin. You sit up cautiously, the blankets tucked around you. . . comfortably. Like some twisted lullaby, as if you’d been tucked in after drifting to sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

And the first thing you notice? Bucky isn’t here.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your body still stiff with the memory of yesterday, the taste of panic still lingering like bile in your throat. 

You scan the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements as if you might wake the predator lurking nearby.

The chair he always sits in—the one where he watches you—is empty. No sign of him. No footsteps, no steady breathing that you’ve come to expect as the constant reminder of his presence.

Where is he?

The food tray from last night is gone. Cleared away. The bed you’re sitting in feels too normal, too cozy, like some trap waiting to spring. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything. Your eyes move to the door. It’s slightly ajar, just a crack, and there’s an unnerving stillness in the air. The house is too quiet.

You slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the carpet. Your muscles are tense, ready, every nerve on edge. 

You step closer to the door, careful, listening for anything—footsteps, breathing, a creak of the floorboards. Nothing. Just the sound of the rain.

Your hand touches the doorknob, ready to push it open, when you hear it—a soft thud from down the hall.

Your body freezes, every muscle tensing as you strain to hear. The sound is subtle, distant, but unmistakable. A shuffling, like something—or someone—moving just out of sight.

He’s close.

You open the door cautiously, peeking out into the hallway. It’s dark, barely lit by the gray daylight seeping in from the windows. The house feels alive, as if the walls themselves are watching, breathing. The unease settles in your stomach, cold and heavy. You swallow, your throat tight, and take a step forward.

Another noise. A door creaking open further down the hall.

Your breath catches. Your feet hesitate. But you move forward, each step more careful than the last. Your heart races, every instinct screaming for you to turn around, to hide. But you can’t. You need to know where he is.

And then, you stop.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there—just inside—you see him.

Bucky.

He’s standing in front of the sink, his back to you. His hands are braced against the counter, his head slightly lowered, as if he’s… thinking. You freeze in place, watching him, your body paralyzed by the tension hanging thick in the air. He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. He hasn’t heard you.

You could run. You could turn around right now, slip back into the bedroom, and pretend you never saw this. But something about the way he’s standing there—so still—keeps you rooted to the spot.

He moves.

Slowly, he straightens, his shoulders rising as he takes in a deep breath. He turns his head slightly, just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. And then, he speaks.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

“I was waiting for you,” he continues, his voice smooth, calm, like he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess you were planning on coming to find me instead.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding in your ears as he turns to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a calmness in his expression that unnerves you more than anything else. He isn’t angry. He isn’t surprised.

He knew.

He knew the whole time.

× × × ×

The moment his eyes meet yours, you don’t think—you bolt.

Your feet barely hit the ground as you turn and bolt down the hallway, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, the sound of your breath ragged in your ears. Every muscle in your body screams to run, to get as far away from him as possible. You know he’s behind you. You can feel it, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

The stairs are ahead, a sharp descent into the unknown, but they’re your only option. Your hand grips the bannister as you take the steps two at a time, your mind racing just as fast. You can hear him moving behind you, not in a rush, not in a panic. No, his footsteps are casual by the way they echo in the hallway above.

You hit the ground floor, your bare feet slipping on the cold tiles, but you manage to catch yourself. You have to hide. You have to be smart. If you don’t, he’ll catch you, and you know exactly what happens if he does.

You dart around the corner, your eyes scanning the room desperately. The house feels like a maze, twisting, unfamiliar. You’ve been here before, but in the haze of fear, everything feels different, distorted. You spot a door—a small one, leading to what looks like a pantry—and no hesitation you dash inside, pulling the door shut behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole, your back pressed against the wall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your shaky breath. 

The air feels thick in the tiny space, every sound amplified. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you try to force yourself to stay calm. Think, think, think.

The silence stretches out, so thick you can almost hear it. And then—

You hear him.

His voice, soft, almost melodic, drifting through the house like a twisted lullaby.

“Y/N…”

Your body goes rigid. He’s calling for you, like this is some kind of game. A cat and mouse game. He’s playing with you, drawing it out, savoring every second of your panic.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes through the house, sickeningly sweet, and you can hear the smile in it, the amusement. Like this is a joke. Like you, running is nothing but entertainment for him.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to think of what you can do next, but every plan, every thought dissolves into pure terror as his footsteps get closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is slow. He’s not in a rush. He knows you’re here. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He sings your name again, drawing it out, each syllable rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, your hands trembling as you clutch the inside of the door. You can’t breathe, can’t move. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest.

You hear him moving through the house, his voice drifting through every corner, getting closer, then further away. 

“You know I’ll find you…” His words are light, teasing, but beneath them lies something dark, something terrifyingly final. “I always do.”

His voice drifts through the hall, teasing, playful, as if this is all just fun for him. The sound of it makes your blood run cold, but you don’t move. You can’t. You tell yourself to stay calm, to think, to be smart. He wants you to panic. He wants you to break. Don’t.

The footsteps draw closer. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just outside the door, and your body goes rigid. You can feel him on the other side, waiting, listening. You brace yourself, every nerve in your body on edge, ready for him to rip the door open and drag you out.

But he doesn’t.

There’s a long, agonizing pause. You hear him exhale softly, almost as if he’s amused. His presence lingers there, so close you can feel it through the door. The seconds stretch on, unbearable.

And then, he moves. The footsteps retreat, growing fainter, until you hear them no more.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You wait, your body coiled tight, every muscle aching with the tension. 

He’s gone, you tell yourself. He walked away. 

You listen carefully, straining your ears for any sound—nothing. Just the rain. He’s somewhere else in the house, looking for you.

The silence presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You tell yourself you have to move, that this is your chance. You wait a minute longer, then two, your hand still covering your mouth as you count the seconds. 

He’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

Finally, you exhale slowly and shift your weight, your legs cramped and trembling from holding still for so long. You push the door open an inch, peeking out into the hallway.

Empty.

The hallway is bathed in pale, gray light from the rain-soaked windows. No sign of him. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but you push the door open fully now, stepping out as silently as you can manage. The house feels too big, too quiet.

Maybe I can make it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

You take a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the empty corridor. Another step, careful, quiet. The air feels cold against your skin, the house eerily still, like the eye of a storm.

You glance in both directions. The hall is empty.

He’s gone.

You make it halfway down the hallway, moving toward the back of the house, your breath coming in shallow huffs. You take a step, then another, your movements calculated and soundless, trying to map out your escape. Each second feels like a victory, a step closer to being free of him. You are smarter than him. You can outthink him.

As you move, you walk backward for a moment, keeping your eyes on the hallway behind you. You don’t trust it—why would you?—so you check, making sure he isn’t sneaking up on you. Your back presses against the wall for stability as you inch toward the exit, ready to make your move.

And then—you feel something.

Something warm. Something solid. Your entire body goes rigid as you feel it—him.

You freeze, terror gripping you before you even have a chance to process the situation. Slowly, painfully slowly, you turn your head, knowing exactly what you’ll see.

Bucky.

He’s standing right behind you, closer than you ever imagined he could be, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady. How did he move so silently? How did he manage to be right here, right on top of you, without a single sound?

Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to pull away, but his hand is already on your arm, gentle but firm, holding you in place. The smile on his face is unsettling, a mixture of amusement and something far darker. He knew. He always knew.

“You were trying to sneak away, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, too soft, like this is all just a lighthearted conversation between two people who aren’t trapped in a nightmare. “I could feel it.”

His fingers tighten around your arm, not painfully, but just enough to remind you that he’s not letting go. That he sees you, even in your cleverness, even in your silence.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I like that. But quiet doesn’t mean I won’t find you.”

“I was just…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but it catches in your throat. You can feel him watching you, his eyes scanning your face, reading every thought before you’ve even formed it.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone almost playful, like he’s toying with you, like this is nothing more than a game. His fingers brush your skin, tracing lazy circles, and it sends a wave of nausea through you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mind is racing, but the words won’t come.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against the side of your neck, and you can’t stop the way your body tenses, every nerve screaming with terror.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the rain. “I’ll always know where you are.”

Your breath catches, and you feel his hand shift, sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, suffocating.

You want to scream, to pull away, but you know it won’t do any good. You’ve been clever, careful—but not enough. You underestimated him.

You force yourself to breathe, to think through the thick fog of panic that clouds your mind. Every instinct screams at you to do something, anything to get away, but Bucky’s grip is firm, his presence all-consuming. His hand is still around your wrist, holding you in place, as if you belong here. As if there was never a question of where you should be.

“I see that look,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the sound of the rain. “You’re thinking. Calculating.”

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. Of course, you’re thinking. You’re always thinking. You’re looking for the smallest crack in the situation, the tiniest escape route. But he knows. He sees it in you.

“You always think you can figure me out, don’t you?” His breath tickles the side of your face, and you flinch, trying to pull away even though you know it’s futile.

Your mind races, but his presence is like a cage, keeping you trapped, making every idea seem impossible. You can feel the tension tightening, every second a countdown to whatever he’s planning next. His thumb moves in circles over your wrist, a gesture that might seem comforting if it weren’t so... controlling.

Then he releases you.

The sudden absence of his grip is jarring. You stumble backward a step, your body instinctively retreating, but you catch yourself before you fall. You stare at him, shocked that he’s let go, that he’s giving you space.

Bucky just smiles, watching you. He's toying with you, letting you think you have a chance when deep down, you know he’s still in control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice soft and measured. “But you have to stop running. You’re making this harder on yourself.”

Your skin prickles with dread as you try to process his words. He’s letting you go, but it’s not real freedom. It’s a leash—an invisible one, stretched just enough to let you feel like you’re in control. But he’s still holding the end of it, ready to pull you back the moment you step too far.

You stand there, frozen, every muscle in your body screaming to run, but your mind knows better. He’s faster than you. Stronger. More dangerous.

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make a move, to see what you’ll do next. And you know, whatever you do, he’ll be ready.

“I can wait all day,” he says, tilting his head slightly, as if he’s genuinely curious about what you’ll choose. “But you won’t make it far.”

Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath, your eyes darting to the door, the only possible exit. The rain is still hammering down outside, loud and relentless, but it’s the only thing between you and whatever comes next.

But you know if you run now, it’ll be exactly what he wants.

So, you make a decision.

Instead of bolting, instead of giving in to the panic rising in your chest, you take step forward. Toward him.

His eyes flicker with something—surprise? Amusement? You can’t tell—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not playing the game the way he wants you to anymore. You’re taking control, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Then stop pretending this is some game,” you say, your voice steady, even though you feel anything but. “What do you want?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance you just created, and you can feel the tension coil between you again, tighter than before.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t dare break it, waiting for him to speak, to reveal the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows between you both since the moment you met. The way he’s looking at you now, with that dark, unreadable intensity, makes your skin crawl. Your question hangs in the air, and you can’t tell if he’s stalling, or if he’s just savouring the moment—savouring you.

Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to that chilling, intimate whisper that makes every nerve in your body scream for you to run.

“What I want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is simple. I want you to stop fighting it. To stop pretending this isn’t what you need. What you want.”

You stiffen, your pulse skyrocketing, because it’s not the answer you were expecting. There’s a raw edge to his words, a dangerous undertone that tells you he’s been thinking about this for a long time—planning it.

“I want you to see that this, us—” he gestures vaguely between you, his eyes never leaving yours—“is inevitable. You can run, hide, resist, but you’ll always end up right. back. here.”

You feel a chill run through your veins as his words sink in. He doesn’t just want to keep you here, doesn’t just want your compliance. He wants your submission. He wants you to accept this twisted reality he’s created, to fall in line with whatever fantasy he’s been building in his head.

Your breath hitches, but you manage to hold his gaze, even as your mind reels with panic. 

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. “This isn’t love, Bucky.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says softly, his smile returning, more dangerous than ever. “But I know you, Y/N. I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. And you can’t hide from the truth forever.”

“I know what you need,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost... tender. “And when you finally stop running, when you stop fighting it, you’ll see it too.”

Your chest tightens, your mind racing to find something—anything—to say that might break this twisted spell he’s trying to weave. But you know, deep down, that no matter what you say, he’s already convinced himself that this is real. That you are his.

And that’s when it hits you.

What he wants isn’t just to keep you here, to cage you like some prize. He wants you to choose it. To accept him, this situation, this twisted version of love he’s built in his mind. He wants you to believe it, to fall into his arms willingly.

But you won’t. You can’t.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” you repeat, your voice defiant, even though the fear tightens in your chest. “I’ll never see this the way you do.”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens. You think maybe he’ll finally snap, maybe this will be the moment he loses control. But instead, his smile deepens, and the amusement in his eyes takes on a sharper, more sinister edge.

“Is that right?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Because, according to your texts... that’s not what you’ve been telling your friends.”

Before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling out your phone again, holding it between you like a trophy. His thumb glided over the screen, his eyes flickering with the satisfaction of someone who’s about to wield power in the most insidious way.

“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he murmurs, not even looking at you as he pulls up your messages. “Ah, here’s a good one.”

He clears his throat theatrically before reading aloud, his voice dripping with false amusement. “He’s got this look when he’s on top of me. Like, I swear, it could melt your soul. I think I’m done for.”

Your stomach turns as the words leave his lips, each syllable twisting into something vile as he quotes your own words back to you. You remember sending that, of course. You’d been giddy, drunk on lust and naivety, texting your friends in a moment of bliss that feels a lifetime away now.

Bucky’s eyes flick to you, watching your reaction with that same unsettling calm. “Done for, huh?” he teases. “That’s not exactly the defiance you’re showing me right now.”

You clench your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breath, but he’s already scrolling again. His thumb pauses, and he smirks as if he’s found something even better.

“Oh, this one’s great,” he says, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Is he big?” he reads with a dramatic pause, glancing at you. “Girl, you have no idea. Let's just say I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.”

Heat floods your face, not with the memory, but with the sheer horror of hearing him say it out loud. Your body goes rigid as the humiliation washes over you, but Bucky—he just chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he says, the smugness in his voice unbearable. “It’s good to know I’ve been leaving an impression.”

He swipes again, his smirk growing. “Let’s see... oh, what’s this?” His voice takes on an almost sing-song quality as he reads the next one. “He’s so attentive, it’s like he knows what I want before I do. Honestly, I think he’s perfect. He’s in my head, like... all the time.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to look at him, your heart thundering in your chest. He’s savouring every moment of this, twisting your words into a weapon, using them to deepen his control over you.

He steps closer, eyes glinting, before reading the next one. “There’s something about him... something that makes me feel like I could lose myself. In a good way. Like, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers, “You just want me, huh? It seems like the girl who wrote this was much more open to the idea of us.”

You jerk your head away, disgusted by how easily he’s taken everything private, every vulnerability, and turned it into another chain to bind you with. You grit your teeth, but he’s still scrolling.

“One more,” he says with false sweetness, pausing for effect as he reads the final message. “I think I’m falling for him. For real. He’s just... I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, like no one else ever has.”

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile fading just a little as he watches your reaction.

“And that,” he says softly, “is the part I like the most.”

His voice lowers, his face inches from yours now. “You felt safe with me. And you know why? Because deep down, you want to. You want to believe I’m the one who can protect you, give you everything you need. And I will. You just have to stop fighting it.”

Your stomach twists as his words sink in, as he lays bare the twisted reality he’s built around you. He wants you to choose this, to let him be the one who controls everything. And he’s using your own desires, your own words, to manipulate you.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, his infuriating chuckle echoing through your bones, and you can’t stand it anymore. The phone—the embodiment of everything he’s stolen from you—dangles just out of reach, held by his towering frame like it’s a toy, a prize he knows you can’t win.

Your teeth grit, hands curling into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air too thick to breathe. He’s mocking you. Smiling. Enjoying this.

“Give it to me!” you spit, your voice sharp and desperate, the words cutting through the tense air like glass.

His smile widens, the amusement in his eyes deepening, like your demand only adds fuel to his fire. He raises the phone higher, just enough to make you reach again, to make the gap between you and your freedom feel all the more impossible.

“What was that?” he teases, voice calm, soft—almost too soft. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

You take a step forward, pushing against his chest with all the force you can muster. “I said give it to me!” You try to leap, your fingers brushing against the edge of the phone, but he pulls it back effortlessly, his hand now resting on your waist as if steadying you—as if you need his help.

His chuckle rumbles low, and it makes your skin crawl. “Y/N…” he says, dragging out your name, the amusement thick in his voice. “You really think you can just take it? Like it’s that simple?”

You shove harder against him, your breath coming in short, angry bursts, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but his hand stays firm on your waist, not letting you get any real distance. “It’s mine! You don’t get to—”

Before you can finish, you jump again, practically climbing him in your attempt to grab the phone. You’re fully pressing against his chest now, using every bit of strength you have, your body coiled with frustration and fury as you reach for the device. But it’s no use. His arm is longer, his height an insurmountable barrier.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that insufferable grin, his free hand catching your waist to stop you from going any higher.

“Keep trying, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin as you struggle. “But you’re not going to get it.”

His voice is patronizing, soaked with amusement, and it only makes you more desperate, more furious. You plant your feet harder, pushing up with all your strength, but he doesn’t even move. You’re climbing a wall that won’t budge, and the realization stings.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Your voice is tight, angry, each word spat out through gritted teeth as you dig your nails into his arm, still trying to claw your way up, but the phone remains out of reach.

He’s barely even trying to stop you, just lifting the phone higher, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he holds you in place. His chuckle deepens, a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Why are you fighting so hard for something that’s already mine?” he asks, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “These words... you gave them to me. You already handed me your trust.”

You try to twist out of his grasp, your breath catching in your throat, but his hand stays firm, his body unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” you snap, your voice shaking with both rage and humiliation. “You don’t get to decide—”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back down to the ground, your feet slipping on the floor as you stumble back, breathless and furious. He pockets the phone slowly, as if to remind you that it’s not going anywhere.

His eyes meet yours, dark and amused, his voice low and taunting. “Oh, I’m not deciding anything,” he murmurs, his smile twisting. “You already did.”

Bucky stands over you, tall and unyielding, his shadow looming, making the space around you feel smaller, tighter. His lips curl into that same infuriating smirk, the one that makes your blood boil and sends a thrill of something you don’t want to acknowledge coursing through your veins.

“Asshole,” you mutter again, glaring up at him, refusing to let him see the fear—or worse, the heat—burning inside you.

His eyes gleam with amusement. He kneels slowly, bringing himself to your level, but still towering over you in that way that makes you feel completely trapped, even as you’re free to move.

“What was that?” he asks softly, his voice barely a murmur, though you know he heard you the first time.

You hate how your body betrays you, hate that he knows it too. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, to not let him see how much he’s rattling you. But he’s watching you, every small movement, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. 

You try to push yourself away from him, to put some distance between you, but his hand tightens on your waist, just enough to keep you in place. 

“Say it again,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear now, sending a jolt of something electric through your body that you wish wasn’t there.

“I said you’re an asshole,” you snap, louder this time, your voice sharp and angry. 

He chuckles, low and dark, and the sound makes your skin prickle with a mix of fury and something you don’t want to acknowledge. 

“I like it when you fight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s cute.”

The heat of his breath on your skin makes you shudder involuntarily, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the way your body reacts to him. You want to shove him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your body feels frozen, caught between the urge to push him back and something else entirely. Something you refuse to admit is there.

“Let me go.” you manage, but your voice falters, quieter than you intended, betraying you.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his hand slides up your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His fingers brush against your ribs, the touch light but possessive, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, his lips now barely an inch from your neck. His words send a shiver racing through your body, and you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s affecting you.

“Bucky...” you start, trying to sound firm, trying to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through your fingers, but your voice falters as you realise how close he is, how the heat between you is suffocating.

He smirks again, his thumb brushing over your waist in a way that sends an involuntary tremor through you. “You can say my name all you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes your stomach twist. “But we both know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Your body tenses at his words, both from the insult and the way his hand moves, as if he’s unravelling you, piece by piece. You try to pull back again, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” you snap, trying to regain some ground, some sense of control.

He chuckles again, that same low, maddening sound that sets your nerves on edge. 

“I know more than you think,” he says, his hand moving higher, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs now, his touch sending sparks through your skin. “You’ve been trying to fight this from the beginning, but we both know where this is going.”

The space between you is shrinking, the heat between your bodies unbearable, and you can feel the tension pulling you in, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. You bite your lip, trying to focus, to remember why you hate him, why you should be pushing him away. 

But he’s so close now, his lips barely a breath away from your skin, and you can feel his words more than hear them as he leans in, his voice a whisper that sends a tremor through your entire body.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe, as the world narrows to just the two of you.

You should push him away. You want to push him away. But instead, you’re sitting there, heart racing, torn between the anger burning inside you and the heat building between you. And Bucky knows it. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your breath catches, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to react, to give him the satisfaction. But the tension between you is unbearable now, suffocating, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep fighting it.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark and hooded, slowly drifting down to your lips. His lips are so close to yours now, hovering millimetres away, teasing you, taunting you with the possibility of something more. 

But he doesn’t close the gap. He just hovers there, waiting, watching your reaction, drawing it out. His smirk deepens, satisfied, as if he’s savoring the way you’re teetering on the edge, caught between your instinct to pull away and the pull of something undeniable between you.

Your mind races, the rational part of you screaming to shove him away, to stop this before it goes any further. But your body—your traitorous body—responds to the heat between you, every nerve alight, betraying the internal conflict waging within you. 

"You're holding back," he whispers, his voice low, taunting, the words vibrating in the air between you. His breath brushes your skin, so close you can almost feel his lips move against yours, but still, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of closing the distance.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression defiant. “You think I’m just going to give in?” you uttered firmly.

Bucky’s smirk grows. He’s not just playing with your emotions; he’s studying you, every breath, every reaction.

“I think you like this,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, the words wrapping around you, making it harder to breathe. “This tension between us, this fight. You crave it.”

His lips are so close you can almost taste the heat of him, but he continues to hold back, leaving you on the brink, trapped in the space between resistance and temptation.

“You’re wrong,” you manage, though your voice falters slightly, betraying you. You hate that he’s gotten this far, that he’s managed to chip away at your defenses, but you refuse to let him see just how much he’s affecting you.

“Am I?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours you can barely stand it. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, but still, he keeps you waiting, holding you in this unbearable tension.

He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a soft murmur. "I can feel it, Y/N. You're on the edge. Just let go."

Your heart pounds in your chest, every 

Bucky watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if he’s weighing your silence, calculating your resistance. Then his smirk returns, a little darker this time, as though he’s decided something in that moment.

"You’re going to see it my way," he murmurs, his voice low, full of certainty. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

His arm wraps around your waist firmly, and before you can react, you’re lifted off the floor. Your breath catches as he throws you over his shoulder with ease, like you weigh nothing. You let out an involuntary gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at his back, trying to steady yourself as your body hangs over him.

“Bucky!” you protest, your voice sharper now, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his footsteps as he starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Shh,” he says softly, his tone almost playful, but there’s an edge to it, a finality that makes your stomach twist. “You’ll thank me later.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you’re carried back toward the bedroom. You push against his back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and the casual strength he holds you with only makes your pulse race faster.

You struggle against him, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his voice calm, unbothered. “Fighting me only makes it harder for you, Y/N.”

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he carries you up the stairs, the panic and tension growing with each step. You know where he’s taking you, and the thought of being trapped in that bedroom again sends a chill through your body.

“Put me down!” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, but Bucky only chuckles softly.

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. 

You feel your body shift slightly as Bucky pushes open the door to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and your heart pounds in your ears as you realise there’s no escaping him now.

"Put me down!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though every fiber of your being is on high alert.

Bucky throws you onto the bed with effortless strength. The world spins for a split second, and you land with a bounce, the mattress swallowing your weight. You gasp, disoriented, struggling to regain your composure as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating confidence, his smirk widening as he watches your reaction.

"You—" you start, the anger rising in your chest, but before you can finish, he interrupts you, his voice filled with mock innocence.

“What? You told me to put you down,” he says, shrugging casually, as if tossing you onto the bed was the most natural thing in the world. His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a dark undercurrent that makes it clear he’s still fully in control.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, caught between the absurdity of his reply and the tension hanging thick in the air. His casual playfulness only heightens the unnerving sense of power he holds over you, as if even your resistance is something he finds amusing.

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see just how rattled you are. “You know exactly what I meant,” you snap, keeping your voice firm, even as your pulse quickens under his unrelenting gaze.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence again, that infuriating smirk never leaving his lips. “I just follow instructions, doll,” he says, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes tell a different story—dark, dangerous, and full of intent.

You sit up straighter, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that creeps over you, and meet his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You’re not as clever as you think," you say, keeping your tone sharp.

His smirk widens, and he steps closer to the bed, his movements slow, he’s savoring the tension between you. "Oh, I think we both know how clever I am," he replies, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur. 

You sit up slightly, propped on your elbows, your pulse quickening as he approaches. Bucky moves swiftly, his hands coming down on either side of you, caging you in. His body looms over yours, and the mattress dips under the weight of him, pinning you in place. 

The sudden proximity steals the breath from your lungs, and your eyes dart up to meet his. The intensity of his gaze hits you like a physical force, his pupils are blown wide, dilated. His face is so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You’re hyper aware of everything—his hands gripping the mattress on either side of you, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him invading your senses. 

You try to look anywhere else, anywhere but where his gaze is leading you. But it’s impossible. His stare pulls at you, like a gravitational force, dragging you into his orbit. And all you can think about is how close he is. Too close. Your heart thuds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in the silence between you.

Your eyes flicker—just for a second—down to his lips.

You curse yourself instantly for it, but it’s too late. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk deepens, barely perceptible, but you feel it like a jolt of electricity. That knowing look, that arrogant satisfaction that he’s in control, and you’re fighting a battle you can’t win.

You force your eyes back up, meeting his once more, desperate to regain some sense of control, some measure of defiance. But the tension between you is unbearable now, thick like a vice tightening around your chest. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the charged space between your lips, the millimeters separating you from him.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, bracing for something you’re not even sure you want to resist.

Bucky leans in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that the distance is almost unbearable. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears.

You try—desperately—not to look at his lips again, but it’s like trying to ignore gravity.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any words he could say. You know what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for you to break, to give in to the pull you’ve both been fighting for what feels like forever.

Your hands clench at your sides, every muscle in your body tight with the effort of holding back, of not giving in to the dangerous allure of his proximity. But it’s so hard to breathe, so hard to think when he’s this close, when his eyes are this intense, when his lips are right there, almost touching yours.

And just when you think you can’t hold out any longer, that you’ll snap under the pressure of the moment, Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, low and husky, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips, sending another shiver down your spine. “Don’t look away.”

You think about defying him, about turning your head and breaking free from the suffocating tension. He was on top of you, all that hard muscle pinning you down to where you couldn’t move. You could feel him everywhere, especially his cock, which was thick against your belly. Fighting him only turned him on, and now you were thinking about sex.

And you hate that he’s right.

Just when the air feels too thick to breathe, he pulls away.

The shift is sudden, leaving you lying there on the bed, breathless and confused. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you can’t quite make sense of what just happened. One second, he was so close—too close—and the next, he’s stepping back, putting space between you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath, your mind scrambling to process the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that have left you dizzy and disoriented. The heat from his body lingers on your skin, but his absence feels colder than you expected.

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, his face now unreadable. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cool, detached expression that makes your stomach churn. It’s as if the moment you shared—the one that left you teetering on the edge—never happened. His eyes, once dark and intense, are now distant, cold.

“Be a good girl and stay there,” he says, his voice flat, authoritative. There's no teasing in his tone now, just a command.

The words hang in the air, and you find yourself frozen, unable to move, unsure whether it's from the weight of his command or the confusion swirling in your chest. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of something you didn’t quite understand—and maybe weren’t ready for.

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't check to see if you’ll obey. He simply turns, walking away, leaving you lying there on the bed, torn between the need to push back and the sinking realisation that he’s still in control, no matter how much space he puts between you.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

There’s a moment when power shifts—when control is no longer just something you hold, but something you feel, deep in your bones. I see it in your eyes, the flicker of confusion, of vulnerability, as I step away from the bed. You think you understand what’s happening, that you have a handle on your own defiance, but the truth is, you’re already exactly where I want you. And isn’t that the beauty of it?

The tension between us was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The way you looked at me, fighting the pull, the temptation, the inevitable. I gave you space to breathe, to think. But now, it’s time to decide what comes next.

I step out of the bedroom, the door closing behind me with the softest click. You probably think this is your moment to regroup, maybe catch your breath, wonder where I’ve gone. But, let’s be honest, I’m never really gone, am I? I’m in your thoughts right now, circling your every breath, every heartbeat, while you lie there and try to pretend you can fight this.

I move down the hallway, not in a hurry. I savor this, the anticipation hanging in the air between us. When I reach the room, it’s quiet. Still. Organized. Everything in this space has been meticulously laid out, prepared for this moment. Choices, all of them deliberate. I don’t rush this, because why would I? I like to take my time. And you? You’ll feel that patience in every step I take.

I look over the table, where everything is waiting. The blindfold catches my eye first. Simple, soft. It’s always the smallest things that strip away the most control, isn’t it? You rely on your sight, that sense of security you have when you can gauge what’s coming, what I’m doing. The blindfold removes that. You’ll be left with nothing but the sound of my voice and the weight of your own breath. Your heart will race faster the moment it goes dark. You’ll feel it—your world narrowing, closing in.

But there’s more. My fingers brush against the bed restraints. These are designed to remind you of something fundamental: the boundaries I set are not negotiable. No matter how hard you might try, these restraints are proof that you’re not getting away. You’ll strain against them, at first, testing your limits, feeling that surge of defiance before you realize just how futile it is. That moment, when your body gives in to the restraint—that’s when you’ll understand that the control was never yours to begin with.

I pick them both up—the blindfold in one hand, the restraints in the other. But before heading back to you, I stop, glancing at myself in the mirror in this room. The tension in the air, the power of what’s coming next, calls for something more. Something raw. I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building inside. This isn’t just about control anymore; it’s about presence. Dominance.

× × × × 

YOUR POV

The door creaks open slowly, and you’re already on your feet. You don’t know what your plan is—if you even have one—but lying there, waiting like some docile thing, that’s not you. You can feel the tension in your legs, every muscle taut as you stand by the bed, trying to control your breathing, trying to look like you’ve made a conscious decision, even though the truth is, you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

And then he appears.

Bucky steps back into the room, shirtless. His bare chest catches your eye, the light cutting sharp angles across his skin, emphasizing every line of muscle. For a moment, it steals your breath. Not because of how he looks—but because it’s another calculated move. He’s always thinking, always pushing, and now this is about more than just words or actions—it’s about his very presence. It fills the room, like he’s claiming the space itself.

Your eyes instinctively flick down to his hands. He’s holding something—dark fabric and... yes, restraints. The blindfold dangles from his fingers, the soft black material barely catching the light. The restraints, sleek and unyielding, swing lightly from his other hand.

And then he notices you.

He stops, just inside the doorway, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. His eyes darken, and you catch the subtle frown that pulls at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the fact that you’re no longer on the bed. The smallest hint of irritation flickers across his face, quickly replaced by that cool, composed exterior. But it was there. You saw it.

Good.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considers you, and for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a silent standoff, and you can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing against you. 

But then, a slow, exhale leaves his lips, and his expression shifts. He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His frown is gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“You’re out of bed,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s an edge to it, as though he’s daring you to explain. “Lie down.”

You don’t. You stand your ground, refusing to retreat, even though your pulse is hammering in your chest. You know this won’t change the inevitable, but you’re not going to make it easy for him. 

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth. “It will be easier for you if you don’t make trouble.” 

“But I like trouble,” You said without thinking.

You hadn’t thought about how this would come across, though. Your vpice thick with defiance, you realize what you’ve done. You’ve just challenged him. Again.

His expression went hard, a little scary. “I will give you the count of three. If you’re not in bed before then, there will be consequences.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. He isn’t bluffing.

Your gaze flickers down to his hands, and you see them—the blindfold, the restraints. He’s holding them loosely, his fingers flexing as if he’s already deciding exactly how to use them. 

“One. . .”

He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You feel your pulse spike, But you stand your ground, glaring back at him, the fire of your own defiance still flickering even as fear claws at your throat.

“Two. . .”

The sound of the second number sends a rush of panic through you. He’s not going to wait much longer. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Three.”

The word comes out soft, but the weight behind it is crushing. He doesn’t give you time to react. His hand moves in a blur, reaching for you, and before you can take a breath, he’s closed the distance between you, his grip firm but not painful as he grabs your wrist.

The blindfold and restraints in his other hand hang there, a silent threat, a promise of what’s to come.

“You made your choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours, and the dark amusement in his eyes is gone now. “Now, you'll have to deal with the consequences…” He pauses, his gaze flickering over you, and a wicked smile curls on his lips. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're going to feel every single one of them."

And you know, as he pulls you toward the bed, that this game is over.

But the consequences? They’re just beginning.

“No!” you grunted, you bucked and kicked out with your legs, hoping like hell you caught him in the junk, “Get off me!”

Bucky barely flinches, his grip tightening as he maneuvers effortlessly to pin you down. The way he handles you—strong, unyielding—sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

“Nice try,” he mutters, his voice calm, controlled, that terrifying composure still in place. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

His hand moves swiftly to your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with ease. You feel the smooth leather strap, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s threading it through the buckle.

You buck again, a surge of panic flooding your chest, but his knee presses firmly into your legs, pinning you down. He moves quickly, efficiently, pulling your arm to the side as the leather restraint tightens around your wrist with a sharp pull.

The soft creak of leather is the only sound as he secures the second strap to your other wrist, buckling it in place, leaving you spread wide, helpless. Your chest heaves with the effort, but it’s too late—the leather holds fast, unyielding.

"See?" he says, his voice low, that dangerous smile tugging at his lips again. “You can fight all you want, but it’s only going to make this more interesting for me.”

“I hate you!”

He didn’t answer as he strode toward the end of the bed. His strong naked chest was distracting in the greyness of daylight, with a myriad of scars and rough marks criss-crossing his skin like a road map. This was a cruel man, unyielding and unafraid of violence.

You pressed your lips together when he produced a set of the same restraints at the foot of the bed. 

Oh, shit. 

Bucky grabbed your ankle and worked the cuff over your foot. 

“You don’t need to do this,” you rushed out, bargaining.“I’m not going anywhere.” Thanks to the wrist restraints.

The cuff pulled tight on your right leg. Satisfied, Bucky moved to the other side and you started taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to kick and fight. What was he planning? Why did he need you spread-eagle on the bed?

When you were tied down, he climbed onto the bed, his muscles shifting as he crawled between your thighs, and your nerves twitched and twisted in your belly. This wasn’t good.

He stops in front of you and slips the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Your breath hitches, and you feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You try to pull away, he grabs your chin, holding you in place. 

You can feel the heat of him, the way his body is so close to yours, and it makes you feel trapped, helpless. Every sense is heightened now that you can’t see. Every sound, every movement, every touch feels amplified, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you are.

With a swift, almost ruthless motion, Bucky grabs the delicate fabric of your nightgown, and in one clean, forceful pull, it rips in half. The sound of the tear echoes through the room, loud and raw, the fragile material giving way under his hands. The shredded pieces dangle from his fingers for a brief moment before they fall to the floor, discarded. 

His palms slid up your thighs and under your nightie and goose bumps broke out all along your skin. “Should I let you come, little girl?” he says, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear. 

Heat bloomed in your pussy, those words charged in ways you couldn’t begin to unpack. Was he really going to play the daddy card right now? Fuck. It was like he could see into your mind on how best to manipulate you. 

“Don’t,” You pleaded, not even caring that you sounded weak.

He pushed your panties to the side, gently tracing your entrance with his middle finger. “Just as I thought. Wet.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked your arousal off. “You like that, when I call you little girl.”

“No, I don’t,” You said, your chest heaving with the force of your breath. “You don’t need to do this.” 

“Do you ache inside?” He slipped his finger directly into your channel, pressing deep until he was completely seated. Then he curled his finger, hitting a spot that you'd sworn was an urban myth.

Your back bowed off the bed, limbs pulling tight against the restraints, and you bit your lip to stay quiet. You did not want to think about how good any part of him felt inside you, how that finger wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Please,” you panted, not sure what you were asking for. He pumped his hand, the friction both delicious and frustrating. Then he added another finger, going slow until it was in, and you whimpered. He’s playing with you, you know it and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You can feel it huh?” He said, “Your pussy is sucking in my fingers. So greedy. Don’t worry. I am going to take very good care of you.”

You held your breath. You didn’t know what was about to happen. You only knew it was going to be bad. If he teased you, it would be awful. Worse than awful. If he actually pleasured you, if you surrendered to him, it would be humiliating. He would gain the upper hand, and that was what scared you most. 

Licking you dry lips, you forced out, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Let me take care of you instead.”

He pumped his fingers lazily, in and out, in and out, dragging against your sensitive tissues. You inhaled sharply, the pleasure streaking through you like lightning. 

“Hmm keep telling yourself that.” He said like he doesn’t believe you, because he actually doesn't.

Your body strained toward the source of that bliss, chasing it and making a liar out of yourself. 

“Yes, I do. If you just—please—don't.” You could barely keep track of the conversation as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Hear how wet your pussy is for me?” The slick sounds filled the bedroom and you wanted to die of shame. He chuckled.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snapped, hoping your words would have some bite.

“Why would I? When you're right here, dripping and ready for me?” Bucky murmured, then flicked his tongue unexpectedly over your clit. You tried to keep your expression from revealing anything you were feeling, but when he twisted and pumped at the same time, you moaned deep in your throat.

Then he started eating you out. He licked and sucked like you were a meal and he was starving, his attention focused on your clit, swirling and sucking, and you suddenly knew what you had been missing out on all these years. Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged your clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it, again. At the same time, he strummed your clit with his tongue, rubbing and pressing. Bucky mastered your body in seconds, like some sort of pussy wizard, because you were instantly on the verge of coming. Your thighs started shaking and your lungs couldn’t pull in air.

And he stopped. 

You gasped, lurching, you tried to bring yourself closer to where you think his face is, where his breath felt hot. You could feel him smirking.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

Your thighs are trembling now, shaking in that way that tells me you're teetering on the edge, every muscle in your body straining. I watch, fascinated, as your lungs struggle to pull in air, your body begging for relief, for release. 

And then, I stop.

You gasp, a desperate sound, your body lurching as you try to chase what I've just taken from you. You try to bring yourself closer, your movements frantic, instinctive, as if by sheer will alone. Your head turns, your lips parting, reaching for where you think my face is—where my breath felt hot against your skin moments ago.

But I don't move. I smirk, watching the way your body fights itself, craving more but knowing I control every last part of this moment. 

"You're so predictable," I murmur, my voice low, almost mocking, but there's a darkness in it that lingers. "Always wanting more... always needing to be just a little closer, don't you?”

I run my hands down your sides, feeling every tense muscle beneath my fingertips, relishing the way your body responds to even the lightest touch. You arch, trying to make contact, to feel something—anything. But then, my hands lift off you, and the absence of touch sends a ripple of frustration through you. I can feel it, the tension mounting, the need rising higher. 

I reach across for the bullet vibrator, my fingers curling around the small device. I press the button, the faint hum vibrating in my hand as I adjust it to the lowest setting. The sound is barely audible over your labored breathing, but you know. You feel what's coming next. 

I lean down, my lips brushing your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "You know how this works," I whisper, my voice soft, almost tender. "I decide when. I decide how much. And you? You're going to beg for it." 

You can feel the vibration ever so slightly as I circle the air above your lovely hard nipples. I massage the bullet extremely gently around the outer edge of one of your nipples and then do the same with the other. I move it in slow circles, like a promise I’ve yet to fulfil. I can see the way your body responds—tense, trembling, straining for something more. 

“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Just enough to drive you insane, isn’t it? Just enough to remind you that I hold everything you want in the palm of my hand.”

You shudder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body arching slightly as you try to press closer to the source of the vibration. The frustration is written all over your face, and it’s beautiful, so beautiful. I watch you, drinking in every inch of your reaction, savouring the power I have over you in this moment.

“You love it,” I whisper, my breath brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “You love that you can’t control this. That I can make you beg for something as simple as this.”

“Just... do it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with frustration, but there’s still a spark in it, something stubborn. “Stop playing games.”

I chuckle softly, amused by your words. Stop playing games? Oh, but you and I both know that this is the game, and you’re playing it just as much as I am. You’re caught between wanting more and hating that you have to ask for it, and that’s what makes this so deliciously satisfying.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, lowering the vibrator just a little, letting it barely skim the surface of your areola—just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy. “You think you’re ready for more? You think you deserve it?”

You grit your teeth, trying to stay composed, but I can see the cracks forming. The frustration, the need. It’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Please…” you whisper, barely audible, and there it is—that hint of desperation I’ve been waiting for.

I smile, triumphant, and press the button to increase the intensity just slightly, letting the vibration pulse more firmly against your breast. 

“That’s better,” I murmur, my voice low, “But I’ll need more than that if you really want it.”

You gasp, your body reacting to the sudden change in sensation, your breath hitching as you bite back another plea. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll give me what I want.

You bite your lip, stifling another sound as the vibrations skate across your skin, and I watch with fascination as you try to maintain your composure. Your chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, but you’re still clinging to that last bit of resistance. You haven’t said it.

The word. The name.

I let the silence stretch out between us, the vibrator humming softly against your nipple, just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to tip you over it. You know what I want, and I know you’re holding onto it. That delicious defiance. The last weapon you think you have.

But I have all the time in the world.

“You’re holding out,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost a purr. “I can feel it. You’re so close, but you’re fighting it. Why?” I bring my face closer, my breath hot against your neck as I whisper, “You know what will get you what you want.”

You’re fighting me, refusing to give in to the game. I can almost see the wheels turning in your mind—I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing your ear now, the vibration of the toy a steady hum against your skin. “You know what I’m waiting for. Just say it, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your lips part, and for a second, I think you might give in. But then, through clenched teeth, you growl, “I’m not saying it.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. You’re trying so hard to resist, even though your body is betraying you, trembling under the light touch of the vibrator.

“We both know you want to say it, go on,” I whisper, my voice soft, dark, full of promise. “Say it. Say what I know you’re dying to say.”

You want to give in, but you’re too proud to make it easy. And so, in the smallest, most defiant voice, you mutter, “I don’t need to say it.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the vibrator away for a moment, denying you the one thing you want most. 

“Oh, you’ll say it,” I say, my voice calm, certain. “Because you know that’s how you get what you need.”

I reach down, pressing the button again, increasing the intensity just a little more. I bring it close, hovering over your skin but not quite touching. The tease. The torment.

“You want Daddy to make it better, don’t you?” I finally whisper, my voice almost a growl, low and intimate, right at your ear.

You think you can outlast me. You think your silence is some kind of victory, but I can see right through you. The stubbornness is admirable, really. I almost want to let you hold onto it for a little longer. Almost.

But then again, why deny myself the pleasure of watching you break?

I lower the vibrator back down, this time pressing it directly against your nipple—not the teasing, ghosting touch from earlier, but real contact. You moaned, your body arching against the restraints as the sudden sensation hits you, and I press the button again, increasing the intensity. The vibrations pulse through you, low and constant, just enough to drive you crazy.

To see you this turned on and into it at this early stage makes me want to burst. I continue to tease your nipples with the bullet, making you wriggle with pleasure as you lean your head back into the pillow. I watch your beautiful face intently as the vibrations gently massage your nipples—you look amazing— radiant, sexy, fuckable—and I am so excited to have you in this position—but I am taking my time. 

I want you to be wetter than you have ever been, have more orgasms than you have ever had and have you moaning more than you have ever moaned.

I lean in, my mouth hovering near your ear, my breath hot against your skin. “You’re close to saying it,” I whisper, my voice low, knowing. “I can feel it. You’re just one word away.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on—the way they’re starting to lose focus, the way your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it.

I smirk, watching you struggle, your body trembling under the relentless vibrations, your mind fighting the inevitable. 

“Still not saying it?” I ask softly, almost amused. “You think you’re winning by holding out? By staying quiet?”

I tilt my head, studying you, and then my hand moves—slow, deliberate—between your thighs. Whike gently stroking the vibrating bullet down the side of your body, making you wriggle. As I get to your hips, you open your legs further, wanting the vibrations on your clit. I stroke the bullet up from your hip and across the top of your beautifully shaved pubic line, as you thrust your crotch forward, wanting it. 

I resist the urge to give you what you want immediately—instead lightly running the bullet down the side of your pussy, being careful not to touch your luscious pussy lips. I position myself in between your legs as the bullet gets closer and closer to your clit. As it edges nearer, I see your pussy glisten from its wetness—oh my God it looks amazing and I love how you have your legs open, allowing me to see it all. How I want to devour it, again—but there is something you need to say first.

You whimper, your body shaking, your breath ragged. I can feel it—you’re so close to giving in.

And then, just as I feel you start to unravel, I pull back. I stop everything. The vibrator, the pressure—it all stops.

You gasp, your body lurching forward, desperate for the sensation to continue. You try to press closer, try to make contact, but I keep my distance, pulling away just enough to leave you hanging in agonising anticipation.

Your body trembles, your frustration spilling over as you try to catch your breath, and I know you’re about to break. You need this, and you know it.

I lean in, my lips brushing your ear, my voice soft but commanding. “Say it,” I murmured, the final push. “Say it, or I’ll stop this right now. I’ll leave you like this, desperate, aching, with nothing.”

Your breath hitches, and I can see the war playing out in your mind. The defiance, the pride—it’s all crumbling beneath the weight of your need. You’re trembling, your body screaming for more, and you know I have the power to give it to you. But you have to say it.

“Say it,” I repeat, my voice a low growl. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

For a moment, I think you’ll hold out just a little longer. But then, with a trembling breath, you whisper the word, barely audible, the last piece of your pride shattering. The bullet is now hovering just above your clit and I slowly press down—I smile satisfyingly and your legs open up further to reveal your lovely wet pussy.

“Daddy…”

I smile, victorious, and without hesitation, I press the vibrator back against you, harder this time, increasing the intensity, my hand moving in sync with the relentless pulse.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The sight is driving me mad—but I am focused on giving you as much pleasure as you can handle. I slowly rub it up and down your clit as the vibrations run through you. You slowly lift your hips forward, wanting the vibrations lower down, which I oblige. The bullet is edging closer to your glistening pussy—but then I reach across and spread your beautiful lips apart with my fingers—and start to brush the bullet up one and then down the other, in circular motions. This is driving you wild as it edges closer to entering you. I move the bullet down ever so slightly so it is resting, waiting to go in—but then move it all the way up to your clit.

The fact you don't know what's coming next is driving you mad—which makes you look even sexier, if that is possible. You’re at the mercy of what comes next, and the fact that you can’t predict it is pushing you to the edge. You hate it, don’t you? But it also pulls you in. It makes you irresistible.

I go to the next level of vibrations and flick the bullet down from your clit, entering you ever so slightly and then move it back up to your clit, vibrating all of your core. As I do this, you open your legs further, now fully relaxed and turned on and let out a sexy moan—wanting more and more. 

All that fight, all that defiance, just to end up here? It’s almost poetic. It makes me wonder—how will you explain this to your friends? Will you tell them how easily you gave in, how all that stubbornness melted away? Or will you keep this secret tucked away, something only we’ll know?

For the first time, you try to move your arms down to control the pleasure—but then realise you are tied up and I am in control, and let your arms drop behind agan. It's at this point it is time to take it up a level.

You've always been a freak, haven’t you? I saw the signs, the little hints you thought were so subtle. Makes me wonder if this whole act—the defiance, the resistance—is just your way of pretending you aren’t begging for it. You don’t want control, not really. You want to be pushed to the edge, and I’m more than happy to take you there.

I turn the bullet off, giving you some relief from the pleasure for a few seconds - then lean forward and kiss the inside of your left thigh—moving across to the right thigh—but pause over your wet pussy—my mouth just millimeters from your glistening lips—and let out a breath of excitement that you can feel—then move to your right thigh and kiss the inside.

Jesus—if only you could see yourself right now. I almost want to take a video, something to remember this by, a little keepsake of how you look when you finally let go. And then I remember… your phone’s already in my pocket.

I hover over you, taking my time, savoring the moment. With careful precision, I pull it out and position the phone in just the right angle, the best view of you—completely vulnerable, completely mine.

Maybe you’ll watch this back later. Maybe you’ll see yourself the way I see you now—completely undone, stripped of that defiance you cling to so desperately. It’ll be a reminder, a little piece of this moment that you can never escape. And I’ll watch you realise, all over again, how much you need me.

You shift beneath me, your breath shaky, and then, through the haze of tension, your voice breaks the silence. “What are you doing?” The blindfold makes your tone sharper, more vulnerable—unsure of what’s coming next.

You can’t see me, but I know you’re feeling everything. “Tell me,” you whisper, almost a demand, though your voice trembles at the edges. Even blindfolded, you’re still trying to cling to some control.

“Is that how you ask?” I reply, my voice calm, but with that edge of authority you’re trying so hard to ignore. You tense, knowing exactly what I’m getting at, but you’re stubborn, always trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

I lean in closer, my breath warm against your ear. “You know what I want to hear. Try again.”

Your lips twitched what I think is annoyance, “Daddy, please tell me what you’re doing.”

I lean in, my breath barely brushing your ear, “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m setting your phone right here,” I say, patting the bedside table. “Perfectly positioned. Just in case you want to watch this later—see how you look when you let go.”

You shift beneath me, tense, trying to decipher every sound, every movement. “I want you to remember exactly what happens next,” I continue, my fingers trailing lightly down your side. “Because you asked for this. And now, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

You are aching for more—so I reach for the wand, turn it on and apply it directly to your clit, sending new sensations through your body. I am moving the wand back and forth from your clit to your juicy pussy, vibrations covering all of you. As I move it all around your beautiful pussy, I can hear and see how wet you are. The circular motion around all of your pussy is taking you to orgasm—but then I stop suddenly, and you catch your breath. 

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t stop. Oh, God.” 

I pressed a kiss to your thigh. “Beg me, sweetheart. Beg me to make you come.” 

“Why are you doing this to me? You fucking psychopath!” 

I know you were right there, hovering on the edge, air sawing in and out of your lungs. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry. You wanted to claw my face with your fingernails. I know you’re wanting to crawl into my lap and ride my cock to orgasm. 

“Those are not the words. Try again. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

It is now time to up it again, so I squeeze some pleasure gel in my hand and smother the top of the wand in it. I then grab the bullet and rub more pleasure gel on that too. I now have the wand in one hand and the bullet in the other both vibrating and ready to make you cum. I press the wand gently onto your clit as the bullet slowly enters you, making you take a deep breath and blurt out

“Fuck, Daddy—Please make me come.”

From the look on your face and the words coming out of your mouth, I know you are in ecstasy and it makes my cock throb so much. I ask you to tell me how it feels and you say ‘Amazing, Daddy, please don't stop, I love it.’ Your words and sounds as you take the pleasure turn me on so much.

My eyes darted towards the camera, my eyes communicating: Are you watching? Do you hear yourself?

Your legs are fully open now as I continue to work the bullet in and out of you slowly and the wand on your clit. You are so wet so I decide to switch things up—I take the bullet and gently rub it up and down your clit whilst pointing the wand directly at your pussy. I start to slowly push the wand head against your pussy lips and flick it up and down, the dual vibrations sending you into a frenzy. Oh my God—you look sensational, irresistible—I am in total ecstasy just watching your reactions to the vibrating and your orgasms. 

Your legs, spread apart more, trembling mote, and as I slowly pull the bullet back, your pussy pushes it out and a squirt of your juices shoot out at me. I bet you heard yourself yelling as if from a distance, the high so unbelievably good, better than any drug you'd ever tried. It seemed to go on for days but was probably only seconds. As you came down, the shame crept in to replace the euphoria.

I have never heard or seen you do this before and it makes me even harder, if that is possible. It's like unwrapping a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted, but suddenly can’t imagine living without. I almost want to thank you for the privilege—almost. But that would ruin the moment, wouldn't it?

I slowly start to pull the bullet back again, and it happens again—your beautiful pussy pushes out the bullet and squirts your juices all over my hand. I can now see a wet patch underneath you, which drives me wild. The sight of you orgasming, squirting and gushing is almost too much. I wave the wand all around your soaking wet pussy, juices gushing out of you as I do. I turn the bullet and wand off and just sit there looking at your pulsating and dripping wet pussy and then your gorgeous face as you recover. I am in total awe—

I glance down at the mess you’ve made, my lips curling into a slow, almost proud smile. “Well, would you look at that,” I murmur, teasing, with a hint of mockery. “Miss perfect, always so put together, now completely… undone.”

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, enjoying the way you squirm at the sound of my voice. “It’s almost impressive, really. I never thought you’d let things get this messy. But here you are, all flustered and out of sorts. Makes me wonder if you secretly like it this way.”

I chuckle softly, pulling back just enough to see the reaction play out on your face. “And honestly? I think it's kind of adorable. Watching you, of all people, fall apart like this.”

I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I guess being a messy girl suits you.”

You grit your teeth, your voice dripping with frustration as you snap, “Fuck you.” The words hit the air like you’re hoping they’ll cut me, but all I feel is amusement curling in my chest, that familiar, sick satisfaction.

“Ooo, fuck me, huh?” I echo, my voice dripping with mockery, like I’m savoring the taste of your defiance. “That’s adorable. Are you giving me hints?”

You growl in frustration, the sound barely contained, your annoyance bubbling over. I laugh softly, watching you struggle against the moment. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to keep up with your subtle suggestions,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess someone’s a little touchy, aren’t they?”

The frustration in your eyes behind the black silk only makes the moment sweeter. You’re trying so hard to fight, to stay defiant, but I can see right through it. And it’s entertaining.

Without breaking my smirk, I glance over at the camera on the bedside, locking eyes with it for a moment, letting the weight of this moment be captured.

I turn my gaze back to you, the satisfaction in my smile only deepening. “See? It’s all right here, caught on tape. You’ll thank me for it later.”

I move myself upwards, leaning over you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, every breath shaky and uneven. My fingers trace gently across your cheek, I lean in slowly, my lips hovering just above yours, my breath mingling with yours. I intend for it to be gentle, just a small taste of power, but then—you moved.

You push upward, taking control of the kiss, pulling me into it with a hunger I didn’t expect. For a split second, I freeze, caught off guard by the way you turn the tables, the way stuck your tongue down my throat passionately. 

You’re not just reacting. You’re taking.

I am taken aback as I thought you were recovering but then you whisper in my ear, “I need your cock in my mouth whilst you fuck me with the rabbit.” 

Insatiable. 

I’m frozen, my mind racing to catch up with what I just heard.

“Oh my god…” I murmur, half to myself, the disbelief quickly melting into a slow, satisfied smile. I pull back, just enough to look at you, the amusement and intrigue sparking in my eyes.

I shake my head slightly, chuckling. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I pause, before I lean in close again, my voice dropping to a low whisper.

“But if you want that…” I tease, my lips brushing against your ear, “you’re going to have to say the magic word.” My smirk deepens, waiting for that final surrender. 

“Daddy,” you drawled so seductively, “Please put your cock in my mouth, I want to suck it while I come.” 

Music to my ears.

I lean forward and kissed you again, sucking on your tongue. I can see that you want your hands free to feel me, you can hear me unzipping my jeans, the sound of it makes you writhe with excitement—but no, you don’t get to have that privilege yet.

I move to the side of you, on my knees and reach back to get the rabbit, gently stroking it down your chest, in between your tits. As I get near your pussy, I squeeze some pleasure gel all over it and then turn it on, the ears and the shaft vibrating on the lowest setting. I rub the tip downwards on your clit, you tilt your head up as I move forward on my knees and your mouth is already open, waiting for it. 

Whilst you are waiting to taste my throbbing rock-hard cock, I slide the rabbit down further, gliding across your wet pussy lips and then I reposition it so the tip is resting against your pussy, ready and waiting to enter you.

As I move my hips forward slowly and my cock starts to enter your eager mouth, I do the same with the rabbit inside your pussy. Inch by inch my cock feels your mouth as the rabbit fills you. The slow rhythm of my cock sliding to the back of your throat and then to the edge of your lips is matched with the rabbit doing the same to your pussy—slow and gentle strokes, all the way in and then all the way out, just resting on your lips. The noises you make as the rabbit enters you fully, the ears vibrating your clit, are sensational and matched by the sight of your mouth wrapped around my cock and arms stretched across the bed, tied helplessly but taking all that I have to give.

You start to speed up sucking my cock, slurping on it, loving it filling your mouth  and this is my queue to match that speed and rhythm with the rabbit—you are so wet that it is gliding in and out of you. All the way in and then out again. Still not fast—but not slow anymore—as you rock your head back and then thrust forward, taking all of me in your mouth. You then slow down and lick around my tip, and I do the same with the rabbit, just the tip rubbing around your open pussy. Then you push forward and take my cock, upto my balls, all the way in your mouth and I slowly push the rabbit all the way in you—as far as it can go, the ears in perfect position to stimulate your clit again. You hold me there in your mouth, not moving at all, and I do the same with the rabbit. This is so passionate and sexy—I could shoot my cum down your throat now—but no way. 

I continue to match your speed and rhythm with the rabbit, letting you have some control. But now it's time for me to take that control back—and taste your smooth, shaven, delicious pussy. So I slowly and gently slide the rabbit out of you as I also pull my cock out of your mouth. As both leave you, you let out the most gorgeous and sexy moan, and—

Was that a smile?

Oh, I saw it. You tried to hide it, but there it was, slipping through for just a moment. And honestly? That’s a huge turn-on. 

I move to the end of the bed, in between your legs, my mouth inches away from your amazing pussy. I can't tell you how gorgeous it is—the mere sight of it makes me want to come. I push your knees as far apart as they can go to admire your soaking wet pussy. I can see your clit bulging, wanting attention. I can see your lips slightly spread apart and shining from your wetness. I follow your lips down, drinking in this magnificent sight —until my eyes lock on to your pussy, which is aching to be filled.

I slowly edge my mouth close to you, and then take one giant lick, from the bottom of your pussy to the top, with the whole of my tongue.

“Oh my f—uck,” you arched wildly against the restraints. You’re so sensitive now, “Bucky—Daddy. . .”

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaky, hesitant, like you’re not sure if you should even say it. But you do. And it’s music to my ears, “I want you. . .”

I tilt my head slightly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, my tone dripping with amusement, “you want me? I think I need a little more than that.”

I watch you squirm, enjoying every second of your hesitation, savoring the way you’re trying so hard to find the right words. “Come on now,” I add, my voice soft but laced with command. “I need to hear exactly what you want. You’re already begging—why stop there?”

I chuckle lightly, leaning in closer. “Let’s not play shy now, not after how far you’ve come.”

Using my thumb and finger on each side, I prize open your pussy lips. You are so open and I can see you pulsating. You push your buttocks into the mattress, which elevates your pussy ever so slightly—meaning my tongue is at the exact height and pointing directly at you. 

“Your cock daddy. . .please, I need to feel you inside me.”

I chuckle, “Soon, my good girl.”

I push my head forward until my tongue enters your pussy, your juices flowing out either side of my tongue. They taste amazing as they ooze into my mouth. I didn’t stop, either, fucking you with his tongue, growling as I held your legs open as wide as they would go. 

“You are so wet,” he snarled. “I fucking love it!” 

“So good,” you muttered, long past the point of coherence. “Yes, it’s so good.”

The corners of your mouth lifting as you let out a satisfying smile, your hands gripping the slack length of the restraights tightly. The whole sight of you, as well as your wetness and taste is utopia—I never want this to end.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

After a few more thrusts of his tongue, he shifted to you clit, but there was no teasing this time. He licked you ruthlessly, relentlessly, until you began shaking, your hips rocking as you chased a second orgasm. You nearly levitated off the bed when it finally crested, your body splintering apart into a million pieces, destroyed. 

“James!” You screamed his name and strained against the ties holding you down as it went on and on, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

The sudden yank of the blindfold pulls you from the haze you’ve been drowning in. Light filters in slowly, and your vision, still blurry from the darkness, begins to sharpen. The world starts to come into focus, and your eyes immediately lock onto him.

Bucky came up on his knees and began furiously jerking his cock, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open as he grunted. His gaze locked on your swollen pussy until his movements grew uncoordinated, his hips stuttering, and hot jets lashed all over your belly and chest. Like he was marking you. 

Oh my god—did the camera catch that?

He squeezed to get every drop of come out of his dick and onto your body, then sat on his haunches, chest heaving. You were covered in him, the liquid cooling on your bare flesh. Pleasured and used by the last man you should ever be attracted to.

Now he was stroking his dick again, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pumped that giant rod between his legs. God, he had a gorgeous cock and you felt an answering tug in your lower half.

You watched his fist squeeze the head of his cock. A bead of moisture appeared on the tip and he used his thumb to smear it all over the head. You inadvertently licked your lips, missing his taste, and waves of heat rolled through your limbs, settling in your core.

“You like watching me work my cock?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, as if he already knows the answer.

“No.” you said stubbornly.

He tilts his head slightly, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “I’m starting to think no means yes.”

Bucky moves closer, and despite every ounce of stubbornness in you, your body betrays you again. It’s like your body is inviting him, reacting on instinct, craving what your mind is still refusing to admit. Your pussy was swollen, slick. Primed for sex.

“Deschide larg picioarele pentru mine. Mică târfă.” You heard Bucky growl in his throat.

“What?”

“Open your legs wide for me, little slut.”

God, you wanted to hate him for that, but a blast of heat tore through you. 

“Jesus,” you whispered as you widened your legs slightly. “You’re such a dick.” 

“Hmm. Do you like to be called names, Y/N?” He let go of his cock and placed his hands on either side of his hips, displaying himself for you. “Do you like your hair pulled? Do you like to wear a man’s come on your face?”

Shit, when he asked those things in his low Romanian-accented voice, it sounded like pure sex. No doubt Bucky fucked like a beast, rough and dirty. He hadn’t shown you that side of him yet. The men you had been with treated you politely, like you were made of glass. 

“Is that what you like to do to women in bed?”

Ignoring your question, he stared at your body, placing himself between your legs. “I wish you were sitting on my face right now. I would lick you and bite you, suck on your clit until you passed out. I want to pull on your skin with my teeth until it stings, then make you come so hard you squirt all over me.”

You stared at his wide cock, which jutted out proudly from his body, bobbing in his movement, with its smooth skin and veins along the side. You imagined that thickness drilling inside you, splitting you in half and filling you up. Your pussy clenched around the emptiness and you moaned.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

You licked your lips as you stared at his erection, too turned on to lie. 

“Yes.” Bucky raised his brows, “. . .Daddy.”

He grabbed himself again, strong fingers wrapping around the shaft as he pulled, teasingly rubbing his head against your tender pussy.

“I would fuck you so good. Deep and hard. I would give you all my come, everything I am saving up in my balls just for you.” 

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Your legs were shaking, your movements uncoordinated because you were so turned on. So close. So needy. 

“And you’ll take it, yes?” he continued, clearly not caring that this was a one-sided conversation. “I have never seen a woman so hungry for it. Didn’t those boys in Hollywood know how to fuck you? I bet they left you unsatisfied.”

Fuck why is he dragging this out so much?!

Hands resting on your thighs, you began crooning, “Can’t you see how wet I am, Daddy? Can you see how turned on I am by watching you jerk that big cock of yours? I bet you have to use lube when you fuck, you’re so big. Do the women scream when you’re pounding inside them? Do you make them bleed, leave their pussies raw?”

“That fucking mouth,” Bucky murmurs, a low, satisfied growl escaping as a slow grin spreads across his face. The crown of his dick dragged against your entrance, teasing, and you actually tilted your hips, eager for the invasion. “That’s it. You’re ready for me.” 

You were beyond denial, beyond caring. “Yes,” you admitted to him. 

“Show me. Take me inside.”

This was so dirty. So wrong. Yet your body was humming, almost burning alive with lust. There was an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs, more than you would’ve thought possible considering the circumstances.

You adjusted your hips, seeking, and the head of his cock slipped inside you. Fuck, yes. You didn’t stop, continuing to rock your hips, writhing underneath him, to bring him deeper. You were wild for it, desperate to reach the finish, toward the explosive orgasm you knew awaited you. 

“Shh,” he said in your ear. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He took over then, but pressed in much slower than you expected. The beginning had been about domination and strength, but now he invaded so carefully, like he wanted you to feel every twitch and tiny movement. 

This was almost seduction, and it was worse than the chaos of moments ago. But there was no stopping it. You craved this, needed it. With a growl, he gave a final thrust of his hips and filled you completely, and the air left your lungs in a rush. He was hot and hard and so big, his dick impaling you, with the heavy weight of his body and restraints preventing you from moving. All you could do was lie there and take it. 

Which made it a thousand times hotter. 

“Fuck,” he said on a long exhale, then whispered a long string of another language that sounded both bewildered and excited.

Ragged breaths gusted against your cheek as he began to move, his hips meeting your pelvis. “You are mine, Y/N. Until I decide otherwise this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t respond, because his dick was destroying you in the very best way. You loved the way he felt inside you, like there was no room for anything else. No insecurities or worries, no past or future. Just this, right here. Perspiration coated your skin and he surrounded you, his cock pounding, pounding, pounding into your body. The pleasure built and you closed your eyes, focusing on the orgasm just out of reach.

The sounds of skin slapping and heavy breathing filled the room. He fucked you like it was his purpose in life, completely dedicated to the task and never slowing down for a second. With every savage thrust you slid a little on the mattress, and you were so close to coming, your muscles clenching and straining . . . . 

“You belong to me. Say it, doll.” 

The words twisted inside you, driving you higher, and the walls of your pussy contracted around his cock. 

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do that again.”

You squeezed around him once more, and he groaned. “Tell me. Let me hear you say it.” 

His fingers slid between your body and the mattress, moving lower until he found your clit. He rubbed you in tight circles. “Let me hear you say you belong to me.” 

The words fell from your mouth on a gasp. “I belong to you, Daddy.” 

Everything changed. He rode you even harder, without mercy, his fingers never leaving your clit, “Vino pentru mine, mica mea curvă frumoasă.”

Come for me, my beautiful little slut.

The combination of the words along with the stimulation became too much. Shocks raced up from your toes as the orgasm rushed over you. Your brain went offline, everything going blank for a long moment as the euphoria transported you into space. 

“God, yes! Oh, fuck,” you heard yourself shout from far away while you shook uncontrollably. When your climax finally ebbed, he moved to his knees, releasing your legs from the restraints and lifted your hips to change the angle. 

“Yes! Shove it deep, come inside me, Daddy.”

It allowed him deeper, and after a few pumps he swelled inside you, his hips stuttering just before hot jets of come filled your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, ah!” he roared, his fingertips sinking into your flesh. No doubt you would be covered in bruises tomorrow. That should’ve horrified you, but it didn’t. After a moment, his movements slowed but he kept rocking, his dick still pulsing inside you. 

“Take it all, baby,” he crooned and lowered to kiss your chest spine. “Take all of my come. You earned it. Ești o fată atât de bună.” 

You’re such a good girl.

Fuck, you wished he would stop saying things like that. You flushed from head to toe and basked in the praise. He continued peppering your skin with kisses, displaying a tenderness you hadn’t expected. You melted like hot candle wax on the floor.

“Ești frumoasă,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along your chest. “Ești perfectă.”

You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.

You felt butterflies in the deepest pit of your stomach. You’re not supposed to like that but you do.

Big hands swept up your back and you felt free from your restraints completely and then over your hip as he lifted you, angling your face toward his. 

“I need you,” he whispered and kissed you.

You fell into the kiss eagerly, softening for him and letting him take your mouth. You could feel his urgency, his desperation, and it fed your own. His fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair to hold you in place as his tongue and lips devoured you. 

The kiss went on and on, and your body responded as it always did to this man, your pussy getting more wet and swollen. You loved the way he kissed, with such absolute force and reverence. Like he longed to destroy and cherish you at the same time. Your skin crawled with need, a thousand pinpricks that made you feel alive and powerful. Bold, as if you could do anything. 

You decided to take a risk. You flipped it around so now you’re on top. You started moving your hand south, over his ribs and down his abs. His mouth broke off from yours and he waited, his breath coming fast. He didn’t stop you, so you continued toward his crotch, and your palm skimmed his sweat-slick muscles. 

He was glorious, a marble statue came to life. 

You found his cock, thick and hard against his belly, and you gave it a gentle brush, a tease, before continuing to his balls. He grunted when you rolled and squeezed their weight with your fingers. Most men loved to have their balls played with, and Bucky was no different. 

He spread his thighs to give you more room and you caressed him, exploring. When your hand swept the length of his dick, he jerked and rocked his hips, silently asking for more. You stroked him slowly and he exhaled against your cheek, strong fingers digging into your skin, the room quiet except for both your breathing. 

You liked having him at your mercy for a change. Your lower half began to throb as you worked him. You knew what it was like to have this big dick inside you and your pussy was weeping for it. You weren't sure he’d allow you on top, but you really wanted to ride him just this once.

You slid your leg over his hips to straddle him. He held onto your waist and the feel of all his strength and power beneath you made your mouth water. His gaze was locked on your pussy as you grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. You began feeding him inside, sinking down slowly, loving the stretch and burn as he took up all the space in your body. 

“Fuck, James,” You whispered, his full name falling from your lips while you paused to let yourself adjust. 

“Da, frumoasa mea fetiță,” he said softly, “Take me inside.”

A rush of arousal went through your core and he slid deeper. You gasped, hovering between pleasure and pain, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing and pressing. Tingles cascaded along the backs of your thighs, through your belly, and soon he was fully seated. 

Goddamn, he was a lot. 

You began slowly moving your hips, sliding his dick in and out of you while grinding on his pelvis. You clit dragged between you at the end of every stroke, and it sent streaks of white-hot need along your bloodstream. Though the room was dark, you locked eyes with him, and you could see the new arousal and possessiveness staring up at you. This felt so real. So intimate. Like he could see inside you, past all your deepest insecurities to your very soul. This is what he wanted.

You focused on your pleasure and churned your hips, loving the way his length tunnelled in and out of your channel, the friction unbelievably good. You tossed your hair and arched your back, giving him a show as you rode him. 

“God, yes,” you moaned. “I want to do this all day.” 

“Feel how hard I am?” His whisper filled your head like smoke, taking you higher. “That is all for you. Just you, comoara mea.”

The unguarded hunger and lust in his expression spurred you on, so you moved faster, and the bliss soon built and coiled inside you like a spring. When you placed your hands on his chest for leverage you half-expected him to shove you off, take over, and pin you to the mattress. Surprisingly he didn’t, so you dug your nails into his flesh, holding on as you continued to fuck him. 

“Oh, shit.” you eyes slammed shut. You were so close, the orgasm was right there. 

“Look at me,” he said sharply. “Look at me while you use my dick to get off.”

You did as he commanded, so you were staring at one another when you started to come a second later. The orgasm swept through you like a tsunami, waves and waves that chased everything else away. 

Your mind went blank, his beautiful face your only anchor as you trembled and shook. The walls of your pussy squeezed him in rhythmic pulses and his lips parted on a hiss. 

Before you’d even come down, he lifted you slightly and began pounding up from below. His feet were braced on the mattress, and each powerful thrust rocked the bed and sent the headboard into the wall with a bang. 

Bending, you placed your face directly above his, your mouths inches apart. You were close enough to feel his breath as he grunted and huffed. You don’t know what made me say it, but you started talking. 

“That’s it, daddy. Give me all of your come. Every bit of it, deep inside. Make me your good girl.”

“Fuck!” His body went taut beneath you, and you could feel him swell just before he flooded your insides again with hot lashes of his come. He held you still, his fingers clamped around your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises to add to the collection. 

“You are mine,” he ground out, his big body jerking beneath you.

Finally he sagged into the bed. You tried to catch your breath, your body sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. He was still inside you, and you could feel our sticky mess leaking out of you as he softened. 

He stared at the ceiling, arms wide, chest heaving, while sweat rolled down his temples and into his thick dark hair. You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you speaking. You didn’t have a clue as to what to say. You felt destroyed in the very best way.

He dragged a hand down his face. Gently rolling you off to his side.

“Soak in the hot tub,” he said and pushed to his feet. “Otherwise you will be sore later.”

He didn’t help you up or even look in your direction. Instead, he jerked on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom, leaving you on the bed. Naked, filled with his come, and unshackled.

Your body still tingles from the aftershocks as you reach over to the bedside table, your hand trembling slightly as you grab your phone. Bucky had placed it there earlier, so casually, like it was just part of the routine. But now, the weight of it feels different, heavier.

You swipe the screen, the familiar glow illuminating the dimly lit room. Your thumb hovers for a second before you press play. The video begins, and there you are—captured in the heat of the moment, vulnerable, raw.

You feel a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief watching yourself like this, seeing everything from a perspective that isn’t your own. Your breath catches in your throat as the sound of his voice, low and commanding, fills the room again. Each word, each movement, feels magnified, more intense than you remember.

As the video plays, you notice the moment when Bucky shifts, his gaze no longer on you but directly into the camera. That smirk, the one you’ve seen a thousand times, is aimed at the lens—not at you. For a second, it’s as if he’s performing for the camera, not for you, and the realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

He knew. He knew you’d be watching this later, knew exactly how it would feel for you to see him like this, his eyes focused on the camera while you were completely unaware. The deliberate way he captured the moment, not just for you but for himself too, is unsettling—and somehow, impossibly, it draws you in even more.

It was all planned. A reminder that even in the heat of it, Bucky was always one step ahead.

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Vox Kink Headcanons

Personal kink headcanons for my beloved tv man Vox. Not doing the more obvious/universally accepted kinks. Instead I'm writing about some of my more... niche takes.

WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader, but is AFAB for the last section; all the kinky shit obviously; Valentino mention (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Domestic Kink ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

For those who don't know, a domestic kink is being turned on by doing everyday couple things. Things like cooking, cleaning, that type of thing. Vox basically gets turned on by you two being a couple and taking care of each other. The man is so love starved he just gets sent to another planet by those simple everyday shows of affection.

If you start helping Vox get dressed in the mornings, he will melt into a puddle. Every. Time.

It started simple enough, Vox was in a rush so you thought to help him put on his coat. Sliding it onto him, adjusting the collar, straightening his bowtie... You didn't notice how still he went until you went to fix his sleeves and you looked up into his wide, almost feral eyes.

Vox desperately crashed his lips against yours as he pulled your bodies flush together causing you to squeak. Only then did you feel how hard you had made him as he grinded into you... Needless to say, Vox had to reschedule his entire morning.

Vox will come home to you cooking dinner and just bend you over the counter. Whispering in your ear, 'Your so sweet doing this for me, Sugar. Now let me take care of you."

I have had the scenario floating around of you making Vox breakfast in bed one morning just as something nice to do for him. You dont think too much of it, he has been so tired and overworked lately so you figure any extra sleep he can get would do wonders for him

Vox however, absolutely fucking loses it. When you wake him up with tray in hand, he... just kind of stares at you. What do you mean you already made breakfast? Wait you have breakfast? For him? For him in bed?

You actually thought the man might have bluescreened. It takes you setting the tray down and grabbing his hand before he starts moving again.

Vox pulls you into his lap and starts peppering kisses all over you. He just cant believe that this is actually happening; that your here with him, that you did such a sweet thing, and oh god does he love you so much.

He actually is daydreaming about it the rest of the day and bragging about it whenever he can.

Comes home early that evening just to surprise you and spend a romantic evening together (totally not because he accidentally pent himself up gushing over you all day ABSOLUTELY NOT).

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Recording/Being Recorded ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(This one might not be a niche take but I'm putting it here anyway cause I want to yap about it)

I wasn't quite sure if there was a specific name for this kink. But what I mean by this is Vox loves to specifically record you two having sex. Like an amateur porn thing. However. These videos are meant for his eyes only.

Vox would murder anyone who so much as tried to get their hands on these videos. God help them if they actually saw one. Its not even a matter of honor or anything, its a matter of only Vox is allowed to see you come apart like that. Vox is the only one allowed to hear you make those sounds.

Vox honestly isnt going to even bring this whole 'recording you two' thing up unless he trusts you completely. Even then he is super sheepish the first time he asks about it. Vox knows your going to be suspicious and, yeah, you rightfully are due to his association with the porn moth.

It takes a bit of prodding for you to get out of Vox that he sees it as a different way to enjoy you. To experience you. He will get to see your beautiful body at angles he never could while he plows into you. He can finally see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he eats you out, diving his tongue as far into you as it can go.

Vox is over the moon when you finally agree to let him place a camcorder in your shared bedroom.

You viscerally notice how much more relaxed and strangely content Vox seems to be next time you two have sex. Vox always had this certain tension to him and its just... gone now.

What you don't realize is that 'tension' was Vox's underlying fear of how transient you were. He was always trying to absorb as much of you as he could, to memorize every part of you. But now he felt like he could truly let himself enjoy the moment knowing that he will be able to listen to your heavenly sounds on repeat, analyze every little twitch he causes, and fully see every expression you make.

A deep, deep, dark part of Vox want to tell Valentino to cancel every shoot he has for a day. To reserve the studio just for you two. To spend an entire day taking you in every way imaginable. Bringing you to bliss in every messy way he possibly can. Getting you to make every obscene noise that beautiful voice of yours can make.

But Vox knows that he could never trust Valentino to not make a copy of you two for himself. So he will stick to his amateur recordings. Anything to keep you safe and to himself.

Whenever Vox is missing you at work (or whenever he gets a free moment honestly), he starts watching back one of your now countless sex tapes. He will let the odd feeling of comfort wash over him as he sees the adoring looks you give him and hears you two exchange words of love. God, he can't wait to get back home to you.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Cock Warming ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

OKAY. I think I've gotten the point across that Vox is a certified lover boy™ who basically wants to imbibe your very being. Whelp. This is just more of that.

Don't get me wrong, Vox loves sex. Sex is great. But having you on his lap, his cock inside you, the two of you as close as two beings can physically get, and just- enjoying that... It hits differently you know?

Say its due to his mechanical nature all you want, (insert joke about 'plugging in' here) but Vox loves to feel like you two are truly connected. When your bodies actually become one like this, he is just that much closer to perfect.

As stated previously, will let you sit on his lap and cockwarm him anytime you please. Vox's absolute favorite times are when he has to do work ironically. He can never stop the blissful smile he makes as he has you in his lap. Vox will gently hold you with one arm while the other tries to get work done. You always end up giggling whenever you kiss up the side of his neck or monitor and Vox lets out the most contented sighs.

Honestly, just start going to work with him, becoming his personal cocksleeve whenever he is in his monitor room. A blanket draped over the two of you to hide what's actually going on.

Since the poor guy has no choice but to sleep on his back; you can easily do the same thing for bedtime. Climb on top of him and delicately slide him inside of you. Vox will just look up at you with the most lovedrunk expression as you bend over him and nuzzle into his neck, your body draping over his, and Vox pulling you impossibly close as you both fall asleep.

Its times like this that Vox questions why anyone would even need heaven.

[jeonscatalyst]

What difference do you think we would have gotten to see if it wasn't jk with jm but let's say tae? I'm only using tae as an example cause he's the same age as jimin so the 95-97 remains there and the "dynamics change because of age" reason wouldn't be there. Or else i would have used other members as an example

TK bicker too, jungkook was teasing tae (Basically when vmk are together it's fixed that one of them is going to get ganged up by the other two, happens with TK-Jm, Jkk-TH, Vmin-JK so that's a given. He was considerate of tae as well given he was asking him to join when tae was on the phone or when he said to let's eat near tae even before he knew tae was unwell. It's of course basic manners to make ur supposed guest feel involved and they both did. he also said jeju was better because tae was there so i was just wondering what difference would it have made in the show if it was a TK show. like we obviously would have gotten them enjoying their time doing all the activities and I'm sure they know how to hangout without a third party involved so i kinda don't see much difference so it would be nice to see a different pov.

Hi anon,

I think we can only try to imagine how different things would have been if it was just Jk and Tae because we unfortunately have rarely seen just the two of them interacting for that long without other people as buffers and the few times we did get to see them together without any other members like the Taekook Carnation Vlive of 2020 and their joint instagram Live last year, it wasn’t really anything to write home about in my opinion.

Pre 2016 taekook together would have been pure comedy gold in my opinion because those two were hilarious and so much fun together when they were younger. They had amazing chemistry and knew how to go with the flow with each other so well but I don’t think things remained the same after they grew up and matured over the years. I think that biggest thing which made them to be able to relate to each other so much was not there as much anymore so things became a little strained.

Taekook can definitely hang out with each other without other people but I don’t think they can do it for as long as Jimin and Jungkook do it. Take AYS episodes 3-5 for example. Things were so much fun when the three guys had all those fun activities to do on the first day. They had climbing, racing, motorbike riding, it was so entertaining to watch all 3 of them having so much fun and just running around like 5 year olds but look at what happened the moment those fun physical activities were done. Tae was literally almost always on his phone and barely interacted with Jikook. While at the restaurants jikook were the ones always talking with each other while tae was either on his phone or was quiet. Even back at home after their day’s activities, he usually went to bed much earlier than Jimin and Jungkook while these two stayed up and just found fun in whatever silly thing they were doing. This, is the difference between taekook and Jikook.

When there is physical activity which they consider fun, taekook gel so well and could be so interesting to watch but one of them tends to lose some interest after a while or gets tired and retires while one is still in the mood to play around. This doesn’t happen with Jikook. Jikook don’t necessarily need a lot of physical fun activities to have fun together because they know how to create their own fun in any situation they are in. They know how to talk and laugh about the most random things, they have an insane amount of inside jokes, and more often than not, you would see them making decisions on what to do together. They also don’t always feel the need to fill the silence with noise. They are very capable of just being by each other without saying or doing much and would not feel bored but when you look at how tae was in episode 4 and 5 after the physical activities (plus his neck pain) it isn’t hard to see that he probably had, had enough. So imagine the show with just taekook in a situation like this. Tae probably spending alot of time on his phone, taekook barely saying anything to each other while eating at restaurants, Tae wanting to go to bed way earlier than Jk who is still hyper and just wants to play around and when you add to the fact that both of them are not big talkers, then you can imagine what it would be like.

Jimin is very good at starting and holding conversations and keeping things interesting with words. I don’t think Tae is good at this and Jk isn’t either but the thing is, when Jk is with Jimin, he talks more, he is such a yapper around Jimin but he is quieter with Tae probably because Tae doesn’t talk much either.

I can see how him being with Jikook in Jeju might have made things better because at the end of the day, things are always more fun with more people. There’s more laughter, more fun ideas etc so I think that is what Jk meant and Jimin too said he was able to run around like a kid again thanks to Tae. Jimin and Jungkook are the two who like doing more mundane and probably “boring” things together. They have always liked staying up late at nights doing the most unserious things together and it is so much fun for them while taekook are the ones who actually like doing fun recreational activities together. Jimin and Jungkook could be locked up together in an empty room and they would still find something fun to do. That is the difference anon.

Bottom line here is that Jk, Jimin and Taehyung are all friends. They all love and care about each other. Jk loves Tae and he loves Jimin too, he is also very close to both of them but Jk just relates or gels with both of them in very different ways. Just because they are all close doesn’t mean they have the exact same kind of closeness with each other. There are certain things that Jungkook might feel are better with Tae and others that he feels are better with Jimin. I think Jungkook prefers doing the extra fun outdoor activities with Taehyung, while he enjoys the more mundane or subtle things with Jimin. He just likes talking with Jimin, being silly with him, or just doing nothing with him. So with Jimin and Jungkook we would probably still see them doing just fine with little to no activity but with Taehyung and Jungkook, we probably need activities to actually see them gel well with each other. That is what I think the difference would be anon, based on everything I know about them and also what we saw on AYS.

Taekook actually don’t bicker much and based on what I have seen, one person usually gets upset when some jokes/ teasing gets too far. Think of Tae straight up getting upset and telling Jk not to take things too far when Jk joked about him being weak or how tae got mad and Jimin made Jk apologize back in 2019 when Tae was trying to say something during a Live but Jk told him that what he was about to say wasn’t important at that moment. Taekook are not used to bickering with each other like Jikook are so while Jikook would laugh about certain things when they joke with each other, Taekook wouldn’t. So you cannot even compare taekook bickering to Jikook’s. Jikook have been used to roasting each other since their rookie days, it is fun for them.

These are just my opinions though anon. Other people might see things differently.

[mj0702]

For @helen-with-an-a and her master brain and for @valewosomtb because she's now officially allowed to run people over now

You just wanted to do something nice. For Ona. Who looked after you the whole week while Lucy was away all the way back in England to “get some things sorted” - namely selling the house Keira and she bought all those years back. The house you basically grew up in. But now was not the time to dwell on long gone things. Now was the time to worry. To worry about Ona. She was maybe small – but she was also damn scary.

You watched all them firefighters weaseling in and out of your (Onas and Lucys) house in their full firefighter clothes with breathing mask so they don't inhale all the smoke. The smoke you inhaled. Oh Lucy gonna be so pissed. You sat in the back of an ambulance, your arm bandaged all the way up to your shoulder an oxygen mask over your nose and mouth like you were starring in an episode of Grey's Anatomy. You looked up at the paramedic who smiled at you with pity in her eyes as she pulled another liquid into a new syringe

“Hey ehrm... quick question” you said your voice raspy as you pulled the mask from your face

“Yes?” the paramedic – who looked a LOT like princess norwegian – looked away from the medication and right at you

“Ehrm... how long will that take until everything is done and all of you guys are gone again?” you asked a little embarrassed

“You got a deep 2nd degree burn and a smoke in your lungs and you really want us to go?” the dark haired medic asked confused

“Yeah...” you looked up shyly

“Yeah sorry that's not going to happen” the woman said smiling slightly “... we need to take you into hospital but we have to wait for an adult that gives us consent to do so... so no, we won't leave in the next few minutes”

“I'm an orphan...” you quickly said

“Oh please” the dark haired woman snorted “... you really think we don't know who you are? If I have to I contact Alexia Putellas”

“Ona is going to kill me” you mumbled as you pulled the mask back over your nose

“Ona Batlle” the paramedic asked as she pushed the liquid into you IV

“Yeah...” you croaked under your mask before you started to cough

“Looks like you're out of luck...” the spanish paramedic smirked nodding towards the end of the street where you could see a black Cupra with an open drivers door and a blonde woman sprinting up the hill towards the scene

“Fuck me... hide me....” you coughed “... better... kill me... you're probably way softer about it... she'll just rip me head off”

“The panicked expression on her face tells me she won't rip your head off” the woman smiled after she took a quick glance at Ona

“That's her disguise... she always looks nice and friendly and approachable but no no....” you croaked out “... she's pure evil... small... but pure evil... she didn't allow me dessert the last three nights”

“So evil” the woman snorted “... is that why you tried to get into her good books again?”

“No.. that was supposed to be just a thank you” you mumbled

“Bebita...” Ona suddenly appeared next to the ambulance her face panicked her breathing labored

“I swear I had good intensions” you immediately said shuffling back a little bit

“Are you okay?” the blonde spaniard asked checking you over “Your arm... what's with your arm?”

“2nd degree burn... we have to take her in but we needed an adult to give consent” the paramedic woman said trying to keep her face neutral but everyone could see the smirk that was forming on her lips

“Yes yes of course...” Ona said quickly “... take her”

“What?” you squeaked out shocked “... you can't let them take me”

“To the hospital Bebita... I promise I'm right there with you okay?” the blonde said gently

“Just hop in... you can ride with us” the dark haired woman said and immediately Ona stepped into the Ambulance

“Ona.....” you whined as you saw the doctors and nurses speed walking past your hospital bed

“It's okay Bebita” Ona said softly holding your left hand her thumb stroking over your knuckles in a calming manner

“No.... everything went wrong” you felt tears prickle in your eyes

“I don't care what happened Bebé...” the spaniard said gently “.... all that matter is that you are okay”

“No...” you chocked out

“No? What you mean no?” Ona asked confused

“I ruined everything” you sobbed as Ona started to brush your tears away

“No no Bebita... everything is okay... you are okay and that's I need” the blonde kept her voice soft

“I swear I just tried to make something good” you kept crying and at one point Ona realized it was the painkillers that made you cry

“Something good hm?” Ona smiled when she saw how the pain medication kicked in

“I wanted to make you paella” you sobbed heartbreakingly “... like you always make it”

“Oh Bebita” the blonde sighed

“I went with Mapí to the market thingy to buy sea creatures and that was a disaster because Mapí bought a whole fin thing” you started to ramble while Ona had to bite her lip hard to not burst out laughing “... a WHOLE one... with all the inside stuff... when she asked if I wanted a whole fin thing I thought she meant like... not whole...”

“Hm...” Ona just hummed amused

“... and then we got some of them... crab snippy thingies... the bigger ones... the ones that always look at Lucy when she eats them” you kept on rambling not even caring that Ona had to work really hard not to burst out laughing at your misery “... and I said “just two” and Mapí talked speed spaniard and you know I can't follow speed spaniard”

“I know Bebita... your spanish got very good” the blonde praised you but you didn't even noticed it as you just kept on talking

“... I wanted to snippy snappies not two kilo... so I had a whole fin thing with inside stuff and a bag full of snippy snappies... and Maps was so proud of herself that she was the bestest translator that I couldn't tell her she got it all wrong” you sniffed

“What happened then?” Ona asked keeping you occupied since you didn't even noticed the nurse that started to change your bandage

“Well... I went to the beach and made a snippy snappie race to see which ones are the slowest so I wouldn't kill the best ones... they have the best chance to survive... so I let them free on the beach but they didn't race each other... they... just ran in different directions and in the end I had no snippy snappies” you sobbed “... but I still had the fin thing so I went home and thought I just make rice with fin thing for you and order burger for me... I don't like fin thing... bleh”

“I know Bebita... you don't like fish... or sea food in general” the blonde smiled

“So when I came home I had to... cut..” you started to heave

“Deep breath Bebita....” Ona said calming

“Do you know how much things fin things have inside them... so so many things” you gagged again “so I got all the insides outside and I figured we need an alligator so the insides just don't lay around on the outside in the kitchen”

“An alligator? You could have also just used the trash bin” the blonde chuckled

“His name is Jesús... he'll be such a good gator...” you said wishfully as a doctor checked out your arm making you wince in progress

“So you really prepared a fresh fish for me Bebita” Ona said distracting you from the pain

“Yeah... it was really bleh...” you scrunched up your nose your eyes glassy

“So... how did you end up occupying a whole fire department?” the blonde mused

“Oh yeah... so I made the rice yeah... I followed the YouTube steps to the brim...” you got back on track of your retelling what happened “... and put the fin thing in the pan... and then I remembered that I saw that thing on that show...”

“That thing on that show?” Ona asked confused

“Yeah... you know...” you showed a pan swivel motion

“No.. I don't but please continue” the blonde shook her head

“So I looked in Lucys adult cupboard...” you started again

“Wait... Bedroom or living room??” Ona interrupted quickly

“There's an adult cupboard in the bedroom?” you asked confused tilting your head

“No... no... absolutely not” the blonde back paddled quickly shaking her head

“Oh... okay... alcohol is not good in the bedroom... only alcoholics have alcohol in the bedroom” you slurred “... so I went to get some of the alcohol and put it in the pan like they always do in the show”

“Oh god...” Ona groaned suddenly knowing what you were talking about

“So I tried to make it extra crispy but it wouldn't... poof you know” you looked at Ona but in reality you looked through her “... so I took a match and threw it in there and then it went... poof... big poof”

“Oh Bebita” the blonde started to pinch the bridge of her nose

“I tried to extinct the fire but then my sweater got very warm and it got very... smoky and yeah... next thing I know is that the men with the heavy boots kicked in the door” you at least had the audacity to look guilty

“Bebita... I really appreciate you going out of your way to make dinner for me but PLEASE don't get yourself in danger like that” Ona said seriously but you were already looking in the other direction

“Did you know we are in a hospital?” you asked looking around in awe

“I'm feeling like I lived through that before” the blonde mumbled as you pointed at an exit sign

“That's so pretty” you said in awe “Pretty green”

“Mhm...” Ona hummed stroking over your forehead trying to calm you down so much that you fall asleep

“You’re also very pretty…. Pretty spaniard” you slurred

“That would be Alexia but thank you Bebita” Ona chuckled

“Oni...” you mumbled “... I'm getting sleepy”

“Then sleep Bebita” the blonde whispered gently hoping you would listen to her

“But the green is so pretty” you mumbled your eyes darting back to the exit sign

“I'll get you your very own pretty green sign if you close your eyes and sleep for a few minutes” Ona said softly

“Okay” you sighed deeply closing your eyes falling asleep instantly

“No Lucy... she's not badly hurt” you heard Ona speaking softly her thumb still running over your knuckles “.... her arm is burned and she inhaled a bit of smoke but the docs say she'll be good in a week or so”

You made a low whining sound resulting in Ona looking up and over at you

“She's waking up...” the blonde said into the phone “... I'll call you later okay? Yeah... Love you too”

“Hey Bebita... how are you feeling?” Ona asked softly

“Me throat hurts” you whine still half asleep

“That was to be expected Bebé” the blonde hummed stroking over your cheek

“I really didn't mean to cause trouble” you mumbled ashamed

“I know Bebita....” Ona kept her voice soft “.... but Lucy and I decided that you'll take some cooking lessons... with my Mamí”

“It was all Mapís fault...” you whined “... she started the whole fuck up with buying the wrong fish”

“We'll work on your cooking okay?” the blonde said gently seeing how your eyes start to fall shut once again “... sleep some more Bebita... I'll be here when you wake up again”

“Hey Bubs...” you heard a soft voice next to you “... open your pretty eyes for me okay?”

“Five more minutes” you mumbled trying to turn away just to turn onto your burned arm making you shoot up clutching your arm in pain

“Easy Bubs...” Lucy reacted quickly moving your hand away from your bandaged arm “... easy... breath Bubs”

“Owie” you whined tears shooting into your eyes

“Yeah.... you really outdid yourself this time” your sister chuckled “... Keira is not happy”

“Owie” you whined again

“Mhm...” Lucy hummed “... I just woke you up so I can force some more medication down your throat”

“No” you looked at your sister pitifully

“Yes...” your sister smiled gently “... come on Bubs... just two pills and then you can sleep again”

“Lucy” you whined just realizing your sister sitting next to your bed – your own bed “... when did I go home?”

“I got you home last night” Lucy smiled still holding two pills in her palm

“I....” you looked confused

“I know... you were dead to the world” your sister chuckled “Open”

“Nooooo” you whined pulling your head away from Lucy

“Bubs you know I will get these pills down your throat” Lucy said gently grabbing your chin “It's either you take them or I'll make you OR I'll get Keira... you have to take them... one is a painkiller and one is an antibiotics”

“You're so mean” you huffed but opened your mouth

“I know... good girl” your sister smiled popping the pills into your mouth holding out a glass of water “... swallow”

“I'm not Ona” you grumbled as you grabbed the glass

“Don't start....” Lucy warned you but still smirked “... open”

You opened your mouth showing your sister you swallowed the pills

“Good.... now... will you behave when Ona changes your bandages?” your sister asked

“It won't hurt right?” you asked scared

“No.... the nurses showed us how to do it” Lucy said gently as Ona entered the room carrying several bandages and creams

“No no no no no” you said as you saw the materials shuffling away from where Ona put the stuff down

“It's okay Bubs” your sister said calmly “... it's not going to hurt”

“I don't like that” you tried to get away but Lucy quickly got you and just pulled you in between her legs so you have know chance to run

“It's okay.... it won't hurt” Lucy repeated over and over again

“No Lucy please” you sobbed as your sister hugged you tightly into her

“Okay... okay... calm down” your sister said quickly “... we won't do it”

Ona shot Lucy a quick look and Lucy just shook her head before she returned to whisper sweet nothings against your temple to calm you down

“I thought we won't change...” Ona started half an hour later

“.... she's out cold... of course we change her bandages...” Lucy said as she carefully held your arm for Ona to unwrap it

“She's going to kill us” the blonde catalan mumbled working as quickly as she could

“We'll let her call Alexia later... she'll wake up high as a kite again.... she'll be so happy to talk to the “pretty spaniard” for as long as she wants” your sister grinned making her girlfriend chuckle

“I'm sorry Lucy... I really am” Ona said her voice low as she carefully pulled the compresses off your arm cleaning the burn

“What are you sorry for?” Lucy asked confused still holding your arm

“You trusted me with her... she got hurt... I should've...” the blonde started her voice breaking slightly

“Babe no... no no no” your sister quickly interfered “... it's not your fault”

“You left her under my watch and she got hurt... how can it not be my fault?” Ona sniffled lightly as she started to wrap your arm back up

“She's a klutz Babe... no one holds you responsible... not Keira... not Bubs... and definitely not me” Lucy said seriously “... you know how often she got hurt just because I turned around for a second... trouble finds her... I swear there's ONE glass shard on the whole beach... I guarantee you you she'll steps into it...”

“I got so scared when I saw all these firefighter trucks and ambulances....” the blonde confessed lowly “... I got scared for her but then I also got scared you could hate me”

“I could never hate you Baby... I love you” your sister said softly as she gently placed your arm back down

“.... now let get out of here and let her sleep and I show you just how much I love you” Lucy smirked pulling Ona out of the room while you snored peacefully

[mxtxfanatic]

@reinedeslys-central While I am enjoying our convo on that other post, I figured it would better to move it off of op's post since they haven't engaged with it. So in response to your last reblog, I don't think we're really disagreeing with each other for the most part, but I do have a question for you about when you said this:

It's weird for me to think he actually feels no remorse over his actions with the wen remnants though, because, hey, killing innocent people, so I guess that's why I'm more inclined to that interpretation of mixed feelings?

Why do you feel this way? Why is it "weird" that Jiang Cheng feel no remorse about this in canon? He certainly doesn't show remorse about it at any point in the text. He certainly never thinks about the wrongs he committed against the Wen remnants in the text as "wrongs." Jiang Cheng has a reputation for attacking, torturing, and killing a lot of people off the strength of his hatred for Wei Wuxian and the QishanWen along with him just being an overall bully (like at the Dafan Mountain hunt where he attacks smaller cultivators to force them to leave the competitive nighthunt). For me, to say that it would be strange for Jiang Cheng not to feel remorse is like saying it would be "strange" if Xue Yang didn't feel bad for all those villages he tricked Xiao Xingchen into massacring. Xue Yang didn't see those villagers as people deserving of life. Jiang Cheng didn't see the Wen remnants as people deserving of life, either.

Jiang Cheng brought Jiang Yanli to see Wei Wuxian because Jiang Yanli asked for it. Just like Wei Wuxian was invited to Jin Ling's 100-day celebration because Jiang Yanli asked for it, not because Jin Zixuan wanted to be nice all of a sudden. Jiang Cheng shouldn't get the credit for the idea just because he fulfilled it. On that note, the defection duel was agreed upon by Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng because Wei Wuxian refused to return the Wen remnants to the labor camp, and Jiang Cheng kept saying that it would affect the Jiang's reputation that he would do such a public thing while still a part of their clan. In this story, reputation doesn't mean shit if you have the power to put your money where your mouth is. But Jiang Cheng's character is that he is always seeking approval from figures he considers more esteemed than himself. So he could have stood up against the Jin and been fine, just like the Jin stood up for Xue Yang and were fine. His refusal to do so was pure vanity, not strategy.

As for how the Jiang were left off after the war: Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian didn't have to rebuild because Lotus Pier was never destroyed. Wen Chao and co. were living in it because it was the supervisory office. The only thing damaged in the place were the lotus symbols that the QishanWen had intentionally defaced. Whatever wealth the Jiang had was either kept in Lotus Pier, meaning it was reclaimed immediately with the reclamation of Lotus Pier, or it was transferred to Qishan, which means it was reclaimed after the war ended. On top of all that, all of the land and wealth of the QishanWen were split amongst the victorious clans of the Sunshot Campaign, likely with the biggest clans who contributed the most receiving the largest cut. Since Wei Wuxian was a one-man army key to the Sunshot Campaign's victory, that means the Jiang would get a good portion of this bounty, which means they would be richer than when the war started. And Jiang Cheng had recruited disciples during the war, while Wei Wuxian drew in cultivators during and after with his new cultivation. There's not a single piece of textual evidence that suggests the Jiang were struggling after the war, not material-wise and not reputation-wise. It was only Jiang Cheng who wanted to attach himself to the Jin Clan by any means necessary because the Jin were very overtly trying to fill the power vacuum that the QishanWen left behind in their downfall, and Jiang Cheng wanted on the boat.

[quinloki]

I saw this image and it immediately got my thoughts going.

You finally caught up to Shanks and his crew. You are no fighter so you try to sneak in on the ship at night when most are still out partying. Shanks knows you are there, but he finds it so cute how you try for your lover so he sends everyone away that is there.

As you find his cabin you see Marco on his king size bed. Naked and struggling. He has a sea prism stone vibrator inside and Shanks made sure it stays that way. He is also gagged otherwise he would have warned you when Shanks appeared behind you.

"When you told me your lover was attracted to me, you forgot to mention how bloody sexy they are." Shanks eyed you first and then embraced you from behind. "What do you say love. You wanna join us? Think about all the fun the three of us will have!" You knew he wasn't really asking.

None of these thoughts are in the bible, my goodness.

I just.

>.>

non-con below the cut, enter at your own accepted risk

Poor Marco helpless on the bed, unable to do anything as Shanks plays with you. You're straddling Marco, and Shanks is just behind you, his knees between Marco's thighs.

There's no stopping what coming, and as terrible as the show is, Marco can't help the erection he has at that point. Shanks has you both prepped and ready even as you're both trying to make him stop. But there's only one person with freedom in the room.

How nice he is, too, reuniting the two of you before he gets in the way, sinking you down onto Marco's length. He'll make you both feel so good, just like this, even better than this. Just give in. He's not unreasonable, he can make things pure bliss, so just sink into pleasure.

Don't worry, look at how even Marco can't help but enjoy himself. If the great phoenix is accepting this fate, so should you.

[grubus]

is there any "what ifs" that you would explore with syonr? like when it's finished, would you write aus of the aus? i've seen some writers do that and i find it so interesting.

yes and no! I have a lot of "what ifs" ideas in my head, but I think there's only one I would ACTUALLY write out? But because I too love aus of aus, let me list a few of them uwu

*clears throat*

What if Shen Yuan had never left Lady Jia? This is the idea I want to write at some point! Would still be BingYuan, with some intense gender fuckery going on <_<

Some others are;

What if Shen Yuan reincarnated as a girl? if you think SQQ is overprotective now, you have seen NOTHING. Binghe would be fighting for his goddamn life. SY would fight for her own dignity, because OBVIOUSLY she has to become a WIFE, but SQQ is weird as fuck about Sweet Girls Under His Protection and the only reason LBH isn't already dead is because SY is frantically wielding her "i'm your widdle baby girl!" powers at SQQ to shield him. There would be no roomie situation. RIP. But NYY would be hyped about having a sister! And SY wouldn't have any trauma from Zhao De, because MF would be like !!!!!!!!!!!! DONT BULLY A GIRL!!!!!!!! which means Zhao De sticks around and focuses his bullying on MF instead. Lovingly. If you guys haven't read "Toxic" by Prim the Amazing yet, well..............

What if Yue Qingyuan managed to take Shen Yuan? This would basically just be PIWD. SQQ would not take it nicely at all, seeing his Qi-ge taking in a mini-SJ and spoiling him rotten. SY would NOT be allowed on Qing Jing at all, but SY is also Binghe-obsessed and Binghe is in turn SY-obsessed. The only reason SQQ would not abuse SY out of pure jealousy and self-hatred is because SY isn't under his control. YQY would be an adoring fool but also SY would probably not feel 100% safe considering he knows that YQY always yields to SQQ in canon... On top of that, SQQ would most likely treat Binghe much like he did in PIWD. There are perhaps a FEW things that would, maybe, make him treat Binghe better out of pure spite but it would take many twists and turns for that. In the end, BingYuan in this would be Romeo and Juliet romance that would end in insane tragedy for all involved and CQM in flames. Unless Binghe manages to run off to Bai Zhan Peak. A big If.

What if Shen Yuan had met *** while at Lady Jia? Well SY would have brought *** with him to CQM instead! Or *** would have helped him escape and then years later............... hmm but that's a different arc.

There's more but :D

[zeeohoh]

OBX RAFE SMUT | MINORS DNI !

Tags : arguing, toxic!rafe, reader has female anatomy, oral, oral smut, slight fluff at the end(?).

A/N : NOT PROOF READ.

//

Rafe had been avoiding you for weeks now, his work, his dad, his friends, he has a million excuses to not see you, and you've finally had enough.

You were sat on your bed, watching Notting Hill, you had seen this movie a million times but hey, it's your favourite, you can never have enough.

It's a 21:00 on a Saturday, you were *supposed* to see Rafe, or at least, you had hoped you would, he's been blowing you off for weeks now, you guys had been going out for a few weeks but not everyone knew, and it would've been hard for anyone to believe it either because of how he treated you when you were around people you knew, it was like the better and comfortable you felt with him, the terrible he made you feel in public, in simple terms, he treated you like shit, Absolute. Pure. Shit. As if you're some fuck toy or something to help distract him and you only meant something to him when his body was on yours. You didn't entirely feel this way, he seemed to genuinely have feelings for you but his actions said otherwise, so you stopped, or you would've just been delusional. Tired of wanting him to treat you like an actual human being and tired of wrecking your brain over being torn because you felt he had feelings for you but he acted like you mean nothing, and treating you like a nobody, you grab your phone and block him, his number, his instagram, anywhere you have him on your phone, you block him, throw your phone on your pillow and continue playing the movie.

02:19 *ring* *ring*

Your eyes flutter open as you realize you fell asleep watching the movie, you're broken out of yours thoughts as you realize what woke you up in the first place, your front door bell ringing.

Who the fuck is at my door at 2 in the damn morning?

You get off your bed, quickly grab your robe and a baseball bat you kept by the shoe rack and peek through the keyhole, it was hard to make out who it was because of the rain, but you recognised the familiar silhouette of a certain Cameron. You sigh and open the door.

"What the fuck Rafe? Look at the time"

"I couldn't reach you anywhere, you wouldn't answer my calls, my texts wouldn't send, what else was I supposed to fucking do? You cut me off everywhere Y/N"

"Just..get inside, you're gonna catch a cold"

"I don't care Y/N"

You take a step aside to let him in , you barely turn around before he grabs your wrists in his hands and pins you to the wall,

"RAFE"

He's so close that you can feel him breathing on you

"Why'd you do it Y/N? Do you really want me out of your life? Is that what you want?"

"It's not like I mean shit to you anyways, Rafe"

"That's not true"

"Like fuck it is, you treat me like absolute shit, you purposely go out of your way to make me feel terrible, you want my attention but you'd rather ask for it by belittling me infront of everyone, by talking down to me or treating me like I'm just someone you use to distract yourself from whatever the fuck you need to be distracted from, sometimes the shit you say isn't even funny, it's straight up childish and immature and rude, I shouldn't even have let you in after the shit you've said and the shit you've done, I deserve better than how you treat me. "

You could barely finish your sentences without feeling the need to choke up.

"Y/N I-"

"You used to make me feel so good, so safe but now I'm scared to even talk to you because I know nothing nice is gonna come up and I'm gonna get hurt again, I know we're supposed to be just casual but I just didn't think you'll treat me like I'm a nobody to you"

Rafe's gaze softened, and his hands went from your wrists to your shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness because of the things I've said and how I've treated you, but I can't lose you, I don't want to do this without you Y/N, I can't justify why I've said what I've said, what can I do to make it up to you? I'll do anything, I never realized how much it could've affected you, I was being a dick, I'm so, so sorry"

"I know I shouldn't even be talking to you rn, John B would kill me"

Rafe took your hands in his and placed a kiss on the back of both hands. He peppered kisses all over your hands, working his way up to your wrists, your arms, your shoulders, and eventually, your neck, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear and nibbled on the sensitive skin right next to your jaw, which he knew makes you go crazy.

You shuddered under his touch and, out of habit, leaned into him, your head resting on his chest, kissing it, you turned up to look at him, your faces barely inches apart, and close the distance. You plant a kiss on his lips, it was soft, gentle, loving. His hands wander from your neck to your back, you guide his hands to your waist, he gives you a gentle nudge and following his cue, you lift yourself and he picks you up, wrapping your legs around him, his focus goes to your neck and you shudder, he takes that opportunity and slips his tongue in, his movements grow more eager as he softly grinds himself against you, grabbing everywhere you'd let him, at this point, you're both breathing each other, he's kissing you like he's gonna lose you tomorrow, like it's the last time he'll ever have you, your tongues move in a rhythm and your bodies are connected.

"Let's go inside" you say and he takes you to your room, he gently lays you down on your bed, not breaking the kiss once, not letting go of you even. once.

"May I?" He asks you as he nudges your top

You get up and help him remove the tshirt you slept in, he immediately went back to kissing your neck, your collarbone, and slowly made his way down to your chest. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around, gently sucking on it, you let out a soft sigh as he bit it gently while his other hand gave attention to your other one, toying with it, kneading it then he switched to the other one, doing the same as he did for the previous one.

"Let me make you feel good ma"

He made his way further down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses.

"Tell me if you want me to stop ,okay?"

You just hummed in agreement

"No, I want to hear you say it, tell me if I'm going too far, and I'll stop."

"I don't want you to stop"

He tugged at the waistband of your shorts, and you lifted yourself up, helping him take them off.

"Turn the lights off,Rafe, I don't want you to look at it"

"You're beautiful, every part of you Y/N" he says as he gets up and turns the lights off, finding his way back to you, he plants gentle kisses on your inner thighs, softly massaging them. He slowly made his way to your core, planting a gentle kiss over your clothed core.

You squirmed in the bed, edging your body closer to his mouth, growing more impatient by the second.

"Easy now, I'm getting there" he said as he took your underwear off, folding it up and keeping it next to your bed, he licked a long stripe eliciting a soft moan from you, he latched himself onto your clit, lightly sucking on it, focusing on how you react to it, once he's satisfied, he pushes his tongue inside you, he speeds up exponentially, he's going down on you like a man starved, like you're the last meal he'll ever have, he doesn't slow down, he doesn't stop, he barely comes up for air, he only has one thing on his mind, making you come. Your hands find their way to his hair, grabbing them and tugging at them.He violently thrusts his tongue in and out of you, practically abusing your clit while you're a moaning mess, he hooks your legs over his arms to grip you and hold you down as you squirm and push yourself onto his face, his nose is lightly bumping against your clit, your moans turn him on and he started grinding against the bed, he suddenly inserts a finger in you which make you arch your back, pumping in and out of you, hitting your g spot as his thumb makes it way to your clit and rubs circles on it, while his other hand grabs your breast and plays with it, the sudden increase in stimulation drive you closer to your edge, your eyes are shut, you can't say anything, you can't think of anything other than how good his mouth feels, how good he's making you feel, you feel the burning sensation, signalling you're not that far

"Rafe I'm gonna-"

He doesn't even let you finish that sentence before he speeds up, you didn't think it was possible for him to go faster, but he was, the room is silent except for the moaning mess he's made of you and the unholy sounds he's making as he eats you out, he can feel how close you are, he hums in satisfaction.

"It's okay, come for me" You can feel the smirk he has on his face as he says it

Right as he finishes his sentence, you came. hard, harder than you've probably ever come. You're a panting mess, he slows down his movements but he doesn't stop, helping you ride out your high, once he's sure, he gets up and grabs a towel, cleaning you up, he kisses your thighs and helps you up on the bed, and lays down next to you. He holds you close and whispers in your ear

"I'm so sorry for ever making you feel like you mean less than to me than you actually do, I won't do it again"

"It's easier said than done, Cameron, don't make me regret giving you another chance"

you turn to face him and bury your face in his chest, slowly drifting away into a peaceful sleep as he plants a kiss on your forehead and holds you close. He'll spend as long as it is needed to make up for how he treated you, taking care of you and cherishing you for as long as you'd have him.

[munsonsmixtapes]

requesting finnick fluff pure FLUFF maybe he’s been crushing on reader for a while now but she just doesn’t get the hints and brushes him off as a really sweet friend so the poor guys trying to make his feelings clear and lowkey get out the friend zone

cw: hurt/comfort, miscommunication

Finnick had loved you from the very beginning. The moment he laid his eyes on you, he was convinced that he was a goner. You walked into the birthday party that Peeta and Katniss were throwing for him and he was done for. You smiled at him then pulled him in for a hug as if you were old friends, had even brought him a gift.

"It's a koi fish," you explained when he had opened the box. "It's a symbol for luck, prosperity, good fortune, and of perseverance in the face of adversity."

And the way you smiled, seeming so excited to explain, he couldn't help but smile as well, yours becoming so infectious. Finnick immediately put it on and had decided that it was the best gift he had ever received, even though he never would have admitted that to you.

"And I know that district four is known for fishing and I thought it'd be a nice reminder from where you came from." He didn't want to cry, but he almost felt like he was going to. You hadn't even known him and managed to get him something so meaningful.

And so, every moment after that, he found himself following you around like a lost puppy, seeming so obvious about his feelings for you, and everyone around understood, but you didn't. At least, that's what it looked like.

And he'd never admit it, but hearing you constantly tell him that he was a really good friend was nothing but painful. How didn't you see it? How did you not understand that he was doing all of those things because he was harboring such intense feelings for you? Since when did friends give other friends roses just because?

He did everything but pour his heart out to you and apparently that hadn't been enough. Apparently if he wanted you to know how he felt, he was going to have to come out and say it. To tell you exactly how he was feeling about you no matter how much that scared you.

But what Finnick didn't know was that you felt the exact same way. You loved him just as much, maybe even more than he loved you. It was just that you didn't believe that he felt the same way, convincing yourself that he hadn't expressed your feelings just to make yourself feel better. It was easier to deal with that way.

So you'd constantly refer to him as friend, not to create boundaries, but more to remind yourself that that was what you were to him. It was easier that way as opposed to trying to create something out of nothing.

But all that came to a stop when Finnick suddenly got fed up with keeping everything to himself. The two of you had been in his kitchen, washing and drying dishes, laughing and joking and once the dish in your hand was dry, he took you into his arms, but this time was different. He was looking at you differently. There was a sudden fire there and for once, you understood. You got what he was saying without any words leaving his mouth.

"Oh, I really am an idiot, aren't I?" You asked as your forehead fell to his shoulder and he was quick to take hold of your head, his thumbs rubbing along your cheeks gently.

"No," he shook his head. "I should have said something. And I guess I am now," he chuckled. "I love you. I love you more than you'll ever know. And I know I don't have much, but I hope that you could still love me despite that."

"You know I don't care about any of that," you replied, your arms wrapping around his waist. "I just want you. That's all I need because I love you too. I have for a long time and I'm sorry it took me so long to to realize that you loved me too."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, hon. Just give me some sugar and all will be forgiven." And you did, pressing your lips to his, your fingers finding their way into his hair as the both of you poured your feelings into the kiss.

You stayed like that for a while, sharing nothing but kisses, giggles, and "I love you's" in the dim kitchen lighting as the dishes were abandoned as he carried you to his room, nothing but laughs falling from your mouth as you did so. If that was going to be what your life was like, then you decided that you were going to be happy for the rest of your days.

[hauntingofhouses]

Thinking about the crazy love triangle situation in Blue Eye Samurai and debating heavily with myself on how I'd like to see it conclude. And yeah this discussion can be thought of purely as shipping, headcanons, and fandom fun. But when analysing the show and engaging with it in a more in-depth, almost-literary level, it's impossible to dismiss who Mizu's potential love interests are and how different endgame romances would affect her character arc and the overall story and themes.

So in this post I'd like to look at the love triangle a bit more closely, and speculate on where the story will take this.

DISCLAIMER: It is my personal interpretation of the text that Mizu is non-binary—I use this as an umbrella term denoting any gender that does not adhere to the binary restrictions, norms, and expectations of what it means to be either a man or woman in a particular society; it's not just an androgynous "third gender" that exclusively uses they/them pronouns. Thus, while I personally believe Mizu is not strictly a cis woman, she does still identify with womanhood, despite definitely feeling a level of detachment from it due to living as a man for so long. With that being said, I will be using she/her pronouns for Mizu in this post, but please note that this is purely personal preference. Everyone is free to interpret the text the way they like. That's the fun of fiction. Now, without further ado, let's proceed.

Okay so, thinking about the pairings on a purely surface level, and even before i got into the show, I was pinning my hopes on some lesbianism going on between Mizu and Akemi, and the show does hint at this; in Ep1, during their first encounter in Kyoto, there is the famous slow-mo shot of their eyes meeting, Mizu's lips slightly parted as she is unable to tear her gaze away from Akemi, while sweet string music plays in the background. This is clear romantic framing, and a marker of attraction. If Mizu was a cishet man, there would be no question that this is a potential love interest.

But then, in the same episode, we meet Taigen, who is introduced to us firstly from hearing Akemi's father describe him as "a fierce and undefeated young samurai", the "best swordsman in the best school" and "a fisherman's son from Kohama [...] whose rise reminds [him] of [his] own."

In the next scene, we meet him in person as Akemi's fiance, and he seems sweet enough. He even gives her sweets! In exchange, Akemi gives him gold, and he feels a bit ashamed that he doesn't have anything better to offer her. But Akemi accepts him and his gift wholeheartedly and flirts with him a little, which makes him smile kinda shyly.

When Akemi confirms their engagement, Taigen is in disbelief because he has no status or noble background, but Akemi reassures him.

So from these first few scenes, we're introduced to Taigen as an honourable and strong samurai, but also as a man who is sweet and gentle with the woman he is about to marry, as well as aware of his own inferiority when compared to Akemi's high station.

Our view of him then changes as his true self is revealed: he is an arrogant and smug bastard among his peers, but more importantly, he is the terrible bully from Mizu's childhood.

And it is this side of Taigen--pompous jerk and unrepentant xenophobic bully--that we continue to see as the show goes on, and it's safe to say that this is his real self, sans any pretense of humility and modesty. Around anyone who isn't an outright superior in terms of class and power (ie. Akemi's father, the shogun), Taigen never hesitates to assert his own authority and "greatness."

But as the show goes on, he gets caught by Heiji Shindo's men, and then tortured. And that's when we see, okay, turns out he's not that bad. He's honourable; "honour" is not just meaningless and superficial pedantry for him, but an internalised, guiding principle.

He was a cruel asshat throughout Mizu's childhood, but in a prejudiced and xenophobic society, he was just playing by the rules. As a child, he knew he was at the bottom of society, but when met with someone even lower ranked than him (Mizu), he can project all those prejudices and insecurities onto someone else. This way of thinking--"if you can't beat 'em, join em"--is what allowed him to climb up the ranks despite being some dirt poor kid from an abusive household*.

*Well, that combined with his cismale privilege of course, because this would not be an option for a woman in similar circumstances.

Thus, his upholding of honour also exemplifies how Taigen embodies the ideals and rules of his society. His insistence on duelling Mizu is another more blatant example of this. He doesn't want revenge like Mizu does. He wants to be accepted by society, within the bounds that society has placed, and that means that his only two options following his defeat at the Shindo dojo were to either chase Mizu down and get his damn duel, or kill himself for his humiliating defeat.

Now! Moving on from Taigen, let's go back to the other end of this little love triangle: Akemi.

Mizu and Akemi only properly meet in Ep4. During their first meeting, when Akemi tries to poison Mizu in Madame Kaji's brothel, she compliments Mizu's eyes, calling them "beautiful."

This seems to genuinely take mizu off-guard for a second before she coolly plays along. We know that Mizu recognises Akemi from the get-go, and thus sees through Akemi's ploy from a mile away. It's also safe to assume she'd expected false flattery, because Mizu understands full well that this tactic is how women get what they want: by using their 'feminine wiles' and playing up their naivety and innocence. But even so, it's interesting that Mizu actually seems surprised by Akemi's compliment.

Then, after Mizu subtly taunts Akemi by lying about Taigen's death, she and Akemi have a bit of a scuffle, and then we get to Mizu saying this:

"Women in our world don't have a single good option. Except you, like some magical forest creature. You could have anything you want, but then you beg to eat trash."

(no screenshot because it's quite a long line but you get it)

Here we see Mizu's opinions on the marginalisation of (mostly poor and under-privileged) women stated outright, and underlying her words is also resentment. Because even though she and Akemi have shared experiences of female oppression, Mizu, unlike Akemi, was also poor, from a rural village, and is a racial minority. Mizu is triply oppressed, while Akemi only faces one primary form of oppression, and to someone as embittered by the world as Mizu is, to see Akemi "beg to eat trash" is a slap in the face, practically tone-deaf to the other injustices around her--injustices which Akemi has not shown much, or any, acknowledgement for at this point.

Then, after this scene, Mizu kills Kinuyo, and this unsettles her to a degree we've never seen from her before. She is visibly distraught, and the entire sequence hammers the theme of this episode (and arguably, a large portion of the show) into our heads: women in this world suffer. And even though Mizu is well aware of this fact, to commit this act is so visceral that is shakes her to her core, and it's what ultimately leads to the ambush of the Thousand Fangs.

But before the ambush, Mizu and Akemi talk a little again, and during this time Akemi taunts Mizu some more.

Right now, Mizu is exhausted to the point where (I believe) she even downs some sake, despite not usually drinking. Thus, worn down, she cuts Akemi's ropes and tells her, "Just go." Akemi recovers from her initial fear of Mizu's blade and taunts her some more, accurately seeing through Mizu's facade of coldness, recognising the raw anger there, and says this:

"I thought you had to be something special. Your face isn't even so scary. You're just... angry."

At this, Mizu is amused and compares Akemi to Taigen ("I see why he likes you. You're just like Taigen when we were children. A fucking brat.")

The reveal that Mizu and Taigen knew each other in childhood surprises Akemi, but before either of them can say more, everything goes to shit.

That's when we get to Ep5. This episode focuses primarily on Mizu, the central piece of this love triangle, and does the most out of all the episodes to shed some light on her character and goals, fleshing her out to be more than just the vengeful, highly proficient samurai we've seen thus far (symbolised by The Ronin), but also a person who is capable of love, domesticity and gentleness (symbolised by The Bride). But in the end, Mizu rejects both these ideals, instead becoming an Onryo, who is neither guided by pride/honour, nor love.

By 'reincarnating' into an Onryo, Mizu is able to win the day and save the women in the brothel. However, as she has now fully embraced her status as an Onryo, and is exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally, she lets the Tokunobu clansmen take Akemi away while Akemi's screams echo in her ear.

Mizu says this choice is for Akemi's own good, that Akemi's better off; because Mizu is jaded and weary, and cannot afford the luxury of idealism, and thus must always be strictly practical and realistic. So of course that's why, in her view, yes, Akemi should not be wasting her time in a brothel where women are exploited and abused, nor should Akemi be so naive to think that her marriage with Taigen is even still possible. However, regardless of Mizu's views, it is not for her to decide, because though Akemi is privileged in some sense, she is still trapped and voiceless, and deserves the right to choose her own destiny.

But as it happens, in the end, though Akemi did not choose who she gets to marry, she DOES get to choose her next move when Edo burns down.

"I want to be great."

This one line is the key to her entire arc, which is only just beginning. We see she quickly has acquired the affection and good graces of the shogun's son after their wedding night and consummation, and with Madame Kaji and the girls now serving her, Akemi will only grow to become a prominent political player.

NOW, only after analysing the characters as they are within this season, only can we speculate how their arcs will continue as the show progresses.

First and foremost, I will reassert the popular opinion that Mizu and Akemi are foils. The climax (pun intended) of Ep7 illustrates this as it parallels the turning points in both Mizu's and Akemi's arcs:

Mizu melts the steel of all her loves and shames, the people she's collected: the broken blade wielded by both Chiaki and Taigen, Akemi's knife, Ringo's bell, Master Eiji's tongs - this symbolises her beginning to accept herself, and in doing so, also accepting the help of others;

Akemi consummates her marriage with Takayoshi Itoh, gains his affection, and cements her position as a woman in the shogun's palace - this symbolises her taking charge of her situation, no longer playing the damsel, but using her position to her advantage, empowering both herself and the underprivileged women around her.

These are thus two directly contrasting, diverging journeys:

Mizu's arc moves inward (yin). It is an internal path of self-love and self-discovery, focused on finding peace and tranquility inside herself, and this involves allowing herself to let others into her life, opening herself up to friendship and empathy once more.

Akemi's arc moves outward (yang), it is an external path of growth, transforming from a naive, caged princess to a powerful woman and a force to be reckoned with.

Akemi is always dressed in red, even her eyes are a bit of a reddish-brown rather than brown-black like most other characters, and in her penultimate scene she stands against a backdrop of flames. She is fire: quick-tempered, passionate, full of energy. Red is powerful, authoritative, and in eastern cultures, it is associated with prosperity.

Mizu is blue: her eyes, her sword, her clothes. She is also named after water; it's where she goes to recover, reflect and meditate. Water is fluid like a brook weaving around a stone in its path, always changing and adapting, it is graceful, it is beautiful and ruthless, tranquil yet swift.

Thus, in the future, I expect we will see plenty of political manoeuvring and intrigue in Akemi's plotline, where she fully embraces control of her life, and begins to take action to help others as well, realising that her own oppression is just one piece in a much larger picture. Her main conflict is with society.

In direct contrast, Mizu's main conflict is with herself. She must realise that her desire for vengeance is a projection of her own deep-rooted self-hatred. Her arc must move towards unpacking her feelings and trauma so she can be at peace with herself and allow space for love in her heart. Because as we saw in Ep5, Mizu had come extremely close to achieving peace and joy, as she had not only loved Mikio, but also had briefly believed that Mikio had loved her (and accepted her for who she is) as well.

Thus, assuming the story is not planned as a tragedy, Mizu will likely end up getting her vengeance, but it will not satisfy her, because it is not what she needs. What she needs is to let go of the Onryo within her and to reconcile both The Ronin and The Bride within herself, as she is both a fighter and a lover, but not a monster.

(Edit: I recommend checking out this post by @stylographic-blue-rhapsody for a much clearer analysis about Mizu'a symbolism as Ronin, Bride and Onryo!)

And now that we've mostly covered each of the characters individually, we can finally get to the main point of this post: the love triangle.

--

Let's talk about Option A: Akemi.

As I covered extensively earlier, Mizu and Akemi are foils, a yin-yang pair. But while they play off each other very well in a thematic sense, I personally believe that a serious romance between them will be more complicated if they become endgame. This is because Akemi's natural resolution is to embrace a position of power and influence, where she has both freedom and control over herself and to make much-needed changes in a prejudiced society. Meanwhile, Mizu's natural resolution is the opposite; her happy ending would to find a peaceful life where she is safe and free from prying eyes, and able to be her true self.

Thus, it would make very little sense for Akemi to forfeit power and run away with Mizu and start a humble life together. Akemi wants to be great, and that is absolutely what she deserves. On the other end of the spectrum, it would also make little sense for Mizu to dedicate her life in service of Akemi, such as acting as a bodyguard or something similar, because a life in a palace full of court intrigue and conspiracies is far from what Mizu needs to be happy.

With that being said, if Mizu/Akemi is endgame, and assuming their overarching character arcs do not shift directions, their love story would likely be either tragic, doomed, or bittersweet. I do absolutely love this type of story because personally I'm a sucker for catharsis, so it would be very interesting if the writers do decide to take this route.

Also, as a note, please do not take this as me dunking on this pairing. This is just my personal opinion and analysis and I completely understand if you disagree!

--

Then, of course, we have Option B: Taigen.

Between Akemi and Mizu, Taigen is a bit of a free-floater here, because Season 1 leaves off at a point where his arc is very ambiguous as to where it's headed. While Akemi climbs for greatness and Mizu goes on a journey across the ocean to (presumably) discover more about her heritage, we have little clues about where Taigen is headed. And if I'm being honest, I'm sure he has no idea either! He still hasn't reclaimed his honour, so he would be unable to rejoin the Shindo Dojo; he's been rejected by Akemi; and while he showed loyalty to the shogun, the shogun is now dead, and all the shogun's men who had witnessed his "humiliating" death were left to die by Lady Itoh, who is now pulling the strings within the palace.

Therefore, Taigen has very few options here.

And when considering his role in the story is as Mizu's begrudging ally, his arc will undoubtedly be focused on unlearning his xenophobia and misogyny, the latter of which we have not seen yet, but is surely present. Now, whether he will do this in Mizu's presence or absence will be unknown until we see Season 2. Following the Season 1 finale, he might return to Kohama and wait for Mizu there as he learns humility and remorse over his past cruelty; or maybe he will follow Mizu to London, and the two of them will continue to butt heads until he finally admits to himself that he cares for Mizu more than he would like to admit. There is no room for doubt that his growing feelings for Mizu are more-than-platonic, because we all saw him get turned on by sparring with her in Ep7 lol. Thus, regardless of the exact choice he makes, I am sure that his overall arc will be focused on redeeming his character.

Now, when it comes go redeeming him, I know there are many who simply don't want him redeemed because he was such a jerk to Mizu, and while yes I agree he was awful, I do believe there is also nuance to his character.

Previously I've discussed in great detail the colour and elemental symbolism with Mizu and Akemi, but have yet to touch on how they relate to Taigen. So, let's talk about that for a second.

While Akemi is red and Mizu is blue, Taigen is green.

Green is a complementary colour to Akemi's red. Complementary colours are directly opposite each other in the colour wheel; when mixed, they neutralise each other, but when put side-by-side, they form a pleasing and impactful contrast that boosts the brightness and prominence of both colours. This mirrors Taigen and Akemi's relationship. They are an "ideal" pair because they complement each other very well, and bring out each other's most prominent traits. Mizu's comment about their similar "brattiness" comes to mind here.

Green is also an analogous colour with Mizu's blue. These colours are sitting right next to each other on the colour wheel; their natural similarity makes it easy for them to form a cohesive overall appearance, but using both in equal amounts will make a design overwhelming and too busy. Thus, the best way to use analogous colours is to make one the dominant colour, while the other will serve as an accent. I feel this also speaks to the dynamic in Taigen and Mizu's relationship. They came from the space place, both from nothing; they're both strong fighters who love the sport, and work well together when fighting side-by-side; however, they butt heads too easily, mirroring how analogous colours can be too overwhelming when used in equal amounts. Thus, to work together in harmony, one has to be the dominant colour, while the other serves as the accent. In this case, the dominant force would be Mizu, as she is the protagonist of the story, while the accent would be Taigen.

By fulfilling this role as an "accent" to Mizu, Taigen's character would easily be slotted in as a the love interest. This is in contrast with a Mizu/Akemi relationship, whereby Akemi is Mizu's foil before she is Mizu's love interest. This is because, by being a love interest, a character usually takes a backseat in the story, serving the plot and the themes by playing a purely supportive role, and this is not possible in Akemi's case because her character exists to parallel and contrast Mizu (red and blue), and not to support her.

It is possible to serve as a supporting love interest in Taigen's case however. And this is because he, unlike the other characters, does not currently have a definitive place within the story. He initially served the plot as an antagonistic force, but now as he is slowly unlearning his prejudices and becoming a better person, he can no longer serve the story by acting purely as a rival.

Instead, he will serve the story by literally supporting Mizu. And this relates to Taigen being earth, which is steady, firm and reliable, unwavering in loyalty and principles, hardworking and rooted in stability, which is seen in Taigen's staunch and inflexible obedience to the traditions and rules of society. These traits are what make him a perfect samurai, but not a good man. However, unlike most people in their world, Taigen is still capable of change and redemption, which is why Mizu says that he has the potential to be great. Not great by way of power or glory, but great in character. Already, he is honourable to a fault, and does not betray Mizu even after she technically robbed him of everything he was striving towards. And when he was shot by an arrow in the chasm, he did not hesitate a second to tell Mizu to use him as a human shield and save herself.

The trigger for his redemption is Mizu. If she had never beat him in that duel, Taigen would live on to become a man like Akemi's father. Cruel, power-hungry, controlling, conservative. But through Mizu, Taigen's sharp edges are ground down, much like water that wears down the stones in a river.

Where Mizu and Akemi's possible love story would be a clash of wills, full of passion and even heartbreak, a possible love story between Mizu and Taigen would be the wearing down of souls. Mizu would make Taigen a better person, and in turn Taigen would dedicate his full respect and support to Mizu as his equal, thus getting her to slowly open up and love herself. Already, Taigen has grown enough to admit (begrudgingly, and in his own Taigen way) that Mizu is better than him; though, clearly, he still has a long way to go, as he still calls Mizu a demon shortly after that.

But basically, Taigen is a very simple man (his main goal now is "to be happy"), and Mizu has great depths that he cannot yet fathom. For this love story to work, it has to begin with Taigen changing for the better. If he succeeds in that, and is able to accept Mizu for all her complexities, I believe that they will make a formidable pair. And though he'd likely still throw a jab or snarky remark at Mizu every now and then, I think he'd come tl wholeheartedly admire Mizu as a brilliant swordsman and a kind soul. Thus, should things work out and this be endgame, Taigen would be able to provide Mizu with what Mikio could not: an idyllic life that is not built on a lie, but mutual trust, respect, admiration, and equality.

Or hey, maybe they could both make their own dojo together! I don't know.

(Edit: This post by @rinandsketches does a great job at delving into Taigen's character and a potential Mizu/Taigen relationship if you'd like to read more about this angle!)

--

Now, as I move on from Taigen, there are a couple more options on how to resolve this love triangle and that includes Option C: Ringo.

In this option, Mizu does not have an endgame romance with either Akemi or Taigen. In this route, she finds peace and love through friendship, solidarity, and a found family between herself, Ringo and Master Eiji—a bunch of outcasts in society who make a strong trifecta of sword-makers.

Also, as an aside while I'm talking about Ringo, I'd like to point out that I believe his element is air and his colour is a neutral grey; he is talkative, easy-going, wise, curious, light on his feet (stealthy) and free-spirited, which are all traits linked to air, and traits that complement Mizu nicely, as he is capable of getting Mizu to open up and trust others again, while Mizu helps him reach his true potential for greatness.

--

And finally, there's Option D: Polyamory.

This is basically an "all of the above" option, in which everyone wins and it's a super duper happy ending. It would also be awesome to get some polyamorous representation, and seeing the dynamic between Akemi/Mizu/Taigen play out would be very entertaining and refreshing. So, you never know, this just might be the true endgame!

--

AAAAND with that, I close my extremely long analysis of what is essentially Mizu's love life. Whatever the final outcome of this love triangle though, I just hope it will be well-written and satisfying to all the characters' respective arcs. (Also I just want Mizu to be HAPPY goddamn it because she deserves the world and her coochie eaten out)

Now, I highly doubt anyone will read any of this (especially not until the end!) but that's fine. I just have so many thoughts and feelings about this show and I just needed to get this out of my system lol! But if by some miracle you did read this far, I wholeheartedly welcome any sharing of thoughts and ideas because man am I obsessed with this show! But of course, if we have an opposing opinions, please be respectful when letting me know; I am very open to friendly discussions.

[quibbs126]

You know, it’s sad to me that Peach Blossom basically got nothing

He was only given one short scene in the story, and he only talks to one character, that being Dark Cacao. And most of their interaction was about Peach Blossom giving him food and directions, with whatever character work being pretty much Dark Cacao centric. And how he’s left, he’s probably not relevant enough to ever bring back in another update, he’s just a guy tending to a peach bao garden

I mean sure, other playable characters have been relegated to short cameos, like Blueberry Pie, but in Blueberry Pie’s case, she already has Ovenbreak, in which I believe she did have a small story, and she has relationship charts. She has a whole other game of context, and it’s similar with Peppermint (though I never finished Mermaid’s Tale so I don’t know all his scenes), but with Peach Blossom being a CRK original, he doesn’t have that luxury

He doesn’t even have interactions with anybody right now in game, which could be changed later and they hopefully give him someone else to talk to other than Dark Cacao, but as it stands he’s got nothing other than saying a Cake Hound bit him or that the thing on his head isn’t a peach

Heck, there are NPCs who have had more characterization in stories than him. Yes one of those is Smoked Cheese, but still

It’s almost like no wonder he just gets lumped in with Affogato despite being nothing like him other than more feminine appearances and being a new femboy, that’s the most characterization some people are willing to give him because there’s not much else to work with. I mean he does have a character, or at least things you can base one off of, but you generally have to look for them in his story description or some of his in-game lines, and I think most people aren’t gonna go out of their way to do that

[worstloki]

Valkyrie: That’s the longest worm I’ve ever seen. Thor: That’s a snake Valkyrie: What's Banner doing with a snake? Thor, squinting at the sight of Bruce with a snake wrapped around his shoulders: Oi! That's my brother!!

[b0nelessdoodles]

me? making a silly animatic thing from the silly au me and my friend made? more likely than you think. (there is a second chunk i did but idk if i wanna post that one too or not)

[shalpilot]

she has a friend nowwww

[ccaptain]

,,,, i am sad now. H:SR Kaeya is in this one haunting this image like a fucking ghost.

[redrattlers]

feeling so emotional after the most fun wonderful and healing weekend 🥹