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akoyaxs · 11 months

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˚༄ Tìyora Pt 5 - Final ༊ Aonung x Fem!Sully!Reader ༊ Enemies w Benefits ༊ 5.6k words Warnings: shit is filthy, rut, oral (m and f recieving), 69, rough sex, p in v, multiple orgasms, angst, fluff at the end because we got to finish it off nice :) ~ I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for all the support throughout this smutty slutty little story, I swear it's so unserious at times and I have a good little giggle writing it, but I couldn't do it without all my pookie pies and this one is for all of you Aonung sluts cause this man is so fine 😻 OKAY ENJOY!!! - Zenna

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“He’s a complete skxawng,” you growl, stabbing the knife you’re meant to be sharpening harshly into the sand.

“Right,” Tsireya says consolingly, though you suspect if you raise your gaze, you’ll find her rolling her eyes. The two of you are sitting on the beach, doing your various tasks, though it seems more like you're ranting and less like you're actually doing anything.

“I haven’t seen him in a week,” you scowl. “He hasn’t been at training, or anywhere around the village or the bay or even the rest of the reef. And he’s not even hiding in your marui.”

“And how would you know that?” Tsireya asks, a small smile curling her pretty lips.

“Because I checked,” you say bluntly. “Several times. Because I’m bothered that my supposed warrior commander is neglecting his duties. That is all.” Tsireya doesn’t say anything, just pursing her lips and nodding seriously, and your frown deepens. “I’m serious. What sort of leader is he going to be if he’s just sulking around and hiding from-”

“And what would he be sulking about?” your friend counters. “I haven’t seen my brother in a couple days, even after he’s been avoiding you or whatever, if you’re so bothered, why don’t you tell me what happened.”

At that, you pause.

You aren’t even entirely sure what happened. The last time you saw Aonung, which had been over a week ago, he’d caught you with Ta’ru behind the rocks. You had played a little game which ended up with you on your knees, getting the shit rocked and breath knocked flat out of you as he fucked you like he hated you (which, of course, he probably still did).

You had probably just imagined that he’d become less haughty towards you, that he’d been sweet and gentle sometimes instead of his usual taunts and condescending idiocy towards you. But apparently not, because now he’s even worse. You can tolerate fights and comments, Eywa knows you’ve battled off enough of them, but getting cut out and ignored just stings so much more.

No. You don’t care.

It’s not that deep. Why should you care that the most infuriating person you ever met is treating you with the same hatred you’re meant to feel for him.

You shouldn’t care.

But you do, for some inexplicable reason, and as always, your upset comes in the form of anger.

“Hello?” Tsireya snaps you back into reality. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about whatever weird thing is going on between you and my brother, but maybe stop trying to murder the beach?”

“What?” You look down to realise you’d been violently stabbing the sand with your knife, shells shattered at the bottom of the jagged grooves you left behind, loose sand scattered all over you from your unconscious stabbing. “Oh, sorry.” Tsireya grins, and then the rest of her words process in your mind and you straighten up to glare at her. “There’s nothing 'going on' between me and Aonung. He’d be the last per-”

“Oh really?” your friend scoffs. “Yeah, I’m not blind. I’ve never seen Aonung like this before.”

“Like what?” you scowl, but a guilty tone of your curiosity shines through your voice as you study her. But Tsireya just laughs and shakes her head, as though she can’t believe you right now. “Fine,” you snap. “Don’t tell me then. I’ll go find him myself.”

“That’s probably not a great idea,” Tsireya says, scrunching her nose up. “If Aonung doesn’t want to be bothered, everyone knows best than to try and disturb him.”

“Well he can suck it up because I don’t care if he’s some stupid silly prince or some bullshit,” you shrug. “I care that he’s ignoring me, because no one ignores me and gets away with it.”

Tsireya just grins as you stalk away, and you swear you hear her muttering smug, giggly nonsense to herself as she watches your furious, purposeful storming.

You end up in the forest behind the village. You’re not entirely sure why; maybe you’re just too worked up and you need something the least bit similar to home, or maybe you just think better when surrounded by trees instead of sand and sea. Either way, the second your feet hit soft, damp grass and the sunlight is barred by lush shady canopy, your annoyance doesn’t quite dissipate, but at least your body seems to relax in the mere presence of the forest.

You’re just wandering, enjoying the sounds of the birds and allowing the damp, cool scents to roll over you like home, albeit more tropical and sweet than rainforest. Or at least, you think it’s only the sounds of the rainforest wafting through the damp air, until you hear it. Deep, pained, laborious groans. Like someone’s hurting, aching, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

You pause. You could run back and get help, but the groans sound oddly familiar, and you find yourself instantly following them. Through the bushes and trees and shrubs, past thickets of bright flowers and sharp thorns and random animals. They’re growing louder, hungrier, the closer you draw to the source of the sound until you burst into a small clearing, a small woven marui stretched over in a shelter in the centre, blocking the groans from view.

You stalk closer, silently, though you can imagine they could never hear you over their own groans and grunts. Then you’re peeking through the gaps of the weavings and stepping into the hut.

Aonung’s slumped against one side, curled up slightly so you can’t see him properly, and he’s hidden in the shadows anyway. His face looks flushed and frustrated, and there’s a certain darkness around him that has your tail pricking up unconsciously. But when he looks up, when he sees you, his eyes darken further.

“What are you doing here?” he croaks, gritting his teeth, sounding furious.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you snap, crossing your arms in the entrance. “It’s been a week Aonung, where the fuck have you been? Cowering in this little hut doing Eywa knows what?”

Aonung just continues to stare, eyes growing darker and hungrier with every second they rove over your body, and you feel them lingering particularly on the curves and hidden places he knows only too well now.

“You need to leave.”

“What?” you ask, taken aback by the audacity of Aonung. “No.”

“Leave now,” Aonung growls, his voice deep and desperate and dangerous, and you feel a sharp jolt somewhere deep within you, as though your body is recognising something the rest of you cannot.

“What did I tell you about you and your orders?” you say stiffly, glaring at his slumped figure. “I don’t give two flying fucks who you are, you cant-”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” he roars, eyes narrowing to pale slits, face contorted with desperate frustration.

“NO!” you shout back with equal ferocity, standing your ground and taking a stubborn step into the marui.

And then it hits you. The scent, the energy, the strangeness of his behaviour and his absence from the village, not just you. It should have been obvious already; the lustful darkness in those usually bright eyes, the heat with which he snarls his words, the sheer frustration surrounding him that was no doubt sharpened by days with only his own company.

“You’re in rut,” you whisper, tilting your head down at him.

Aonung doesn’t reply, just breathing heavily. For a moment you think he’s trying to compose himself to speak, but then you realise that his eyes are squeezed shut, hands gripping himself back with fierce desperation for a reason.

It’s starting to piece together in your mind, but not at all. It makes sense that he would go away from the village, hide away and try to master himself in solitude, but he had you. The thought makes you frown, that he didn’t want you near, that he clearly doesn’t want you near, and he didn’t bother asking for your help.

Aonung’s growing more frustrated the longer you stand there, and you can sense wave after wave of pure, vicious, animalistic desire radiating off him and breaking over you in a way that makes something… change.

“You need to leave,” he whispers, his voice a small plead. The change from his snarls and roars for you to leave makes you shiver, and you can already see himself slipping away, his will cracking under your presence and his last attempts to get you to leave becoming weaker as his hunger conquers him.

But you don’t. Surprising yourself, and definitely him, you step closer again, body feeling strangely shaky, even nervous. His ever-darkening eyes watch your every step, and his grip tightens so hard you see his large hands paling, anchoring himself, stopping himself from moving.

“I thought we were supposed to help each other out,” you say quietly, taking another step closer.

“Please,” he breathes, his voice nothing more than a small whine, and you exhale shakily. He’s a fucking mess, and you find yourself longing to take care of it, living off that hunger he’s trying so hard to hold back. You can see that, and that’s probably why you do it.

Your hand reaches out to lift his face towards yours, fingers trapping his chin in your gaze. He’s obviously struggling, whether to refrain from looking away or trying to hold the stare, you don’t know. And you know is the dark desperation in those eyes, and understanding passes between the two of you.

“I won’t be able to control myself,” Aonung whispers, head unconsciously leaning into your palm, looking so lost and helpless you just want to fuck it all away.

“I know.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says, chest heaving with the cracking efforts to control himself.

“I can take it,” you say quietly, gaze turning defiant. He should know that by now, you have an excellent threshold. Either way, you can’t imagine Aonung ever hurting you badly enough that you’d stay away anyway.

And then he cracks, his restraint crumbling, his grip holding himself back loosening, and he’s crashing his lips onto your with a vicious snarl.

With a small jolt, you remember you never kissed. It was an unspoken rule between the two of you; kissing seemed to intimate, and the arrangement had no room for intimacy. You always told yourself you didn’t have any time for it anyway.

But now, with Aonung tugging you closer with every second, kissing with such desperate fervour, it feels like he’s devouring you whole. His lips are hot and slightly chapped, rough and insatiable against yours, tongue slipping ruthlessly past your lips, fangs sinking lightly down on your warm, kissed skin. His hands are hungry too; roaming all over you with careless abandon, squeezing at the flesh of your ass, trailing between your thighs before infuriatingly pulling away to yank your top straight off your chest.

You let out a small hiss, whether you’re annoyed about the top or just shocked or just plain taken aback by his reckless thirst. The beads go scattering everywhere, the light, joyful plinks sounding completely inappropriate to Aonung’s heaving breaths, or the lewd, mortifying moan you let slip when he hefts you up into his lap and closes his lips around your breast.

You unconsciously arch backwards, pushing your chest forward, and he moves with careless hunger; licking over your tit gently, grinning a little at your whine, the stark contrast of your smooth supple skin against his rough tongue just driving you fucking crazy. He wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks sharply at it before he nips lightly at the underside of your tit.

And then, as though Aonung’s impatience gets the better of him (and you have to remind yourself that this is completely about him, and he wouldn’t be in the right mind to be processing your entire pleasure either), he’s pulling you away and tossing you against the floor.

You aren’t used to it. Sure, he’s been less than gentle before, but when he said he wouldn’t hold back, you admittedly had no idea what you were getting into. Seconds later he’s on top of you, pinning you down and sinking his fangs into your warm neck, inches away from the throb of your pulse.

Another symptom of heats and ruts; marking. It was another thing you’d been careful to avoid, so no one found out you were fucking, but Aonung’s animalistic instincts were obviously overpowering. And besides, it made you feel things you never would have imagined.=

At the first whine of his bite, Aonung knows you like it. So again and again he sinks his sharp fangs into your warm, soft flesh, along your neck, the underside of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the inside of your trembling thighs. Then, eyes looking carefully up at you to see your reaction, he lightly licks away the droplet of blood and brushes your clit with a large turquoise finger. You can't speak, just scrunch your nose tightly, grip onto his braids for dear life as he muscles his way in between your thighs and goes to fucking town.

Everything about him is just too much. His hands are holding you down with the force of an akula, as though he’s worried you’re going to scramble away from him, but you doubt you’d be able to anyway. He’s suckling at you so eagerly, tongue stroking over your hole, over and over and over.

You’re never really that worried about being too gentle with him either, but you’re finding yourself more free in his rut state, knowing his mind is too hazy to focus on any of the little details he’d usually taunt you for if you dared to do them. He doesn’t care that you’re rutting into his face with desperation to rival his, in fact, you can see his hips searching for any sort of friction with the floor.

“Aonung,” you try to say, but it comes out as more of a broken whine. You cough and try again. “Aonung!”

He doesn’t respond, the only indicator he even heard you was the slight twitch of his ears before he’s sliding a thick finger into you. Trying your best to beat off the lewd moans that spill out of you, you try your best to tug at his head to speak to him, cause there’s no fucking way he’s listening properly when his head is nestled in its favourite spot, squeezed tightly between your thighs.

“I’m supposed to be helping you,” you huff, growing frustrated with the effort to slow him down. “That’s sort of the whole po-”

You cut yourself off with a positive shriek when he’s flipping you over, letting you flop against his front before dragging you up his body so your cunt is hovering over his face, thighs once again straddling the sides of his head in a very different scenario.

“Better?” he grunts, sounding extremely irritated.

“Where did you learn this?” you ask, looking in shock at the insatiable man beneath you, growing suddenly familiar with this position when your gaze drops to where it naturally falls, at the very large tent in his tewng. Aonung just huffs, as though growing increasingly annoyed that you keep delaying him.

“Don’t worry about that,” he growls. “You want to help me, go ahead. Now can I finish you off or are you going to keep yapping like your life depends on it?”

You scoff, but before your next words can be spoken, he drops you down onto his face and sucks at your clit. Hard. You let out a shocked squeak, jolting on his face, but he doesn’t protest at all by your weight, and when you worry you might suffocate him and try to lift off, his arm is looping around your waist and forcing you back down before remembering what you’re meant to be doing.

You reach out to grab his length, and he lets out a soft huff of impatience against you, the vibration making you flutter. Quickly, before you can get distracted to the point you’re completely useless to help him, you lick a long stripe up his length before closing your lips and swirling your tongue around the tip.

Thankfully, he seems somewhat satiated, letting out a relieved groan against your throbbing clit, and you slowly bob your head up and down his length, curling your tongue on the underside, dragging warmly against his sensitive flesh. But unfortunately, you forgot to factor in the rut aspect.

Soon enough, he was thrusting mindless up into your mouth, hand reaching out to hold you there, force you to take it all down your throat. You oblige, tears leaking from your eyes, moans spilling around his length in your mouth from his relentless nipping and sucking and licking between your thighs.

It is, by far, the filthiest thing you’ve ever done. You almost feel ashamed of all of it – the lewd sounds you make, the mortifying wet sounds from Aonung between your legs, his strong abs rubbing against your naked tits as he ruthlessly thrusts up into your mouth – but you remind yourself that it’s all for a noble purpose. You’re helping him out, that’s all. That is all it ever is.

And when you inhale deeply and take him down your throat, all warm and wet and hot around him, Aonung finds his hand falling to sink into your long dark hair, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a soft, rumbly, “fuck”.

And when he hits the back of your throat and you accidentally moan around his length, his hips accidentally buck into your mouth despite all his best efforts to compose himself, despite your small hand holding him back against the rock. Instantly your eyes fill with tears and Aonung hurriedly pulls you off him with a gentle grip on your hair.

He seems larger than ever, pulsing and swollen and obscene, driven mad and inconsolable with the animalistic desire consuming him, and you know he’s probably completely deaf to you. He pays no mind to the small sobs you let out against his length, though he remains determinedly focused in his task of sucking your soul out of your cunt.

You can’t tell if your lightheadedness is caused by the lack of air from Aonung being stuffed so far down your throat you can imagine he’s prodding your heart, or the overwhelming pleasure from his far less than gentle treatment between your legs, or maybe even both.

It’s filthy. It’s obscene. It’s fucking humiliating really, that there is just something so deliciously wrong with this situation. Oh god, Tsireya probably knew Aonung was in rut, probably knew what would happen, what’s going on right now in this hidden hut in the forest. You can’t even bring yourself to care.

Aonung’s practically leaking into your mouth and you continue, trying helplessly to keep up with his insatiable paces, but you’re growing further from focus the longer he continues, the harder he sucks at you, the further he pushes himself into your throat.

It’s sloppy, it’s messy, it’s hot. It’s a warm mix of saliva and precum that’s shining over your lips and mingling with the tears flooding shamelessly down your cheeks.

And when you come undone, it’s with a moan that’s positively obscene. Aonung’s a mess of strangled groans and bucking hips and hands sinking into your hair as he hungrily crests. Your tongue slides along the veins and ridges of his cock.

There is something just so perfectly fucked about the scene, and when you come back down, tears and come and saliva smeared all over your face and collar and tits, Aonung is still hard, and when he pulls you back down to his face, you realise he has no intention of letting up anytime soon.

Your first orgasm has barely abated before you feel it building again. It’s humiliating really, all your sounds and the way Aonung can definitely feel you practically throbbing. It’s overwhelming to the point you think you might actually die, but there’s no physical possibility you could pull away, not with his arm looped strictly around your waist to hold you still.

It’s hot in the hut, or maybe it isn’t, but you feel as though there’s fucking fire coursing through your veins, heating your face and definitely between your thighs. It seems impossible how much you like this, it’s fucked and filthy as well, but there’s something about Aonung’s insatiable hunger and his plain, shameless desperation.

Your moans are growing hoarser at his absolutely relentless movements, warm, textured tongue and slicked mouth sealing around your overstimulated, throbbing clit as his hands move to squeeze the flesh of your waist and hips and ass. You’re writhing against him with enough force to break his nose, but he’s just groaning right back as though this is helping as much as anything in his frustrated rut.

It’s too much, and it feels as though you might actually pass out on this once. Humiliatingly, yet somehow shamelessly, you’re begging for more, for less, to stop, to keep going. It’s slowly slurring into a sobbing mess until finally all that comes out of your mouth are lewd, strangled cries. You think that somewhere amidst that strangled heap of moans that his name is repeated, over and over again, his body tensing under you with every time you whine it, followed by a demeaning flood of incoherent sobbing.

And then it crests.

Somewhere in the middle of your euphoric, delirious vision of blank, tranquil white and the peaceful ringing in your ears, it strikes you that it really is like a wave. Because when it breaks, you fucking flood.

Your muscles are tensed so tight you might pull something, and you couldn’t care less. You can’t feel anything anyway, beyond blow after blow of overwhelming, world-shattering pleasure, completely unaware of the way you squirted beyond his mouth, over his whole face and body, your intense release gleaming with the tahnì over his flushed skin.

You babble incoherently for a moment, eyes wide and drooping at the same time, mouth open in hopeless shock, hands searching to find purpose on his hips before Aonung is lifting you up, chucking you back against the floor and crawling onto your trembling body.

If you thought the regular Aonung, your Aonung, had gone before, you have no idea what’s happening now. There is no trace of that taunting, careful, jealous, gentle man in those large blue eyes. Hell, there’s not even any blue either, just a starved icy ring around the pools of ravenous onyx gazing at you, filled with raw thirst.

There’s no sign of Aonung in any of his movements, not with the way he’s tugging you into him like you’re a fucking ragdoll, not with the heaviness of his breath, the way he claps you against him so he can sink his fangs into your shoulder as he pushes past the ring of resistance and slides into your tight, welcoming heat.

Your cry is strangled by the dryness of your throat, feeling yourself being stretched to a point you don’t think he ever even met before. It’s painful, but you find yourself not wanting anything more than being able to take him, to be able to bring him pleasure, to let him into his paradise between your legs.

This now is a brutal reminder of why you’re here, who all of this is about. Aonung radiates complete careless selfishness as he pushes deep into you, until you physically can’t take him anymore, until you’re sobbing against his shining chest, gripping his arms so tight his flesh is starting to bruise, before he pulls out and slams back in. Fuck.

You don’t know shit, where you are, what way’s up, even if you’re fucking na’vi or tawtute, because the stretch of his relentless length feels as though he’s absolutely ridiculously massive compared to you. All you can do is cling to his tense, growling figure, praying to Eywa that this is satiating him, your own body limp in his iron grip.

Your lolling head allows him perfect placement to your neck and shoulders and chest, where he litters you with hungry nips, warm, wet, textured tongue licking away the blood his fangs spilt. Your own hands can’t do much either, but when your nails dig into his back, he lets out a low, snarling groan against your skin, and you can’t help raking you hands up and down, tracing your mark into the rippling muscles under your fingers.

And when you think you might actually pass away, where the pleasure has peaked so high it might as well be in the fucking heaven tawtute talk about, Aonung pulls out to the tip, fingers lacing back to tug your kuru, neck completely exposed and throat tight with the stretch, and gaze trapped helplessly in his.

“You’re mine,” he snarls, face inches from yours, large eyes deluged in sharp ferocity. “Mine, forest girl.”

And you find you can’t do anything but whine weakly against him. You can hardly breathe in this position, feeling impossibly empty without him stuffed deep in you, yet still being stretched wide by him. His gaze is raking fiercely over your tear-streaked, flushed face, before he buries himself deep inside you once more and completely loses himself.

And you do lose yourself. You just blank out, knowing nothing but his weight against you, his lewd growls in your heart, feeling strangely safe and comfortable. And content.

When you come back, whether seconds or minutes or hours or maybe even days have passed, you don’t know. All you know is you’re slumped against the floor, and you’re no longer drenched in shining sweat, no longer glimmering with release over your skin. The bites scattering your body are throbbing with a warm sting, no longer bleeding, now ruby adornments to your skin.

There is nothing more distressing than the realisation that hits you next; that you’re alone.

With a flare of panic that makes all of you throb painfully, you creak up to a small, seated position. It stings more than the bites, than the stretch and the intensity of your releases. Aonung must have left you, used and littered, a helpful toy during his rut. The wound deepens when you remember that’s all he would have thought it was.

He had no idea - let alone his mind being in its animalistic, desirous state - simply believing you were here to aid him in his struggles.

But then something catches your eye, a dark, muscular pile in the corner of the hut. With terrified tentativity, you pad lightly over to Aonung’s slumped form, back turned to you, face buried in his lap. You can see the marks you raked into his back as you move closer, but you don’t dare to touch him.

“Aonung?” you whisper nervously. He doesn’t respond for a moment, and the tension curling inside you throbs painfully again. He doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t look at you. “Are you…”

“You should go,” he says tightly. His voice sounds strained, painful, but his words sting further than any ache he could be possibly feeling. You still, hands half reached towards him, face twisted in a helpless expression of hurt, trying your best to breathe. You have no idea why you feel so vulnerable right now, why he suddenly has the power to break everything within you, everything you know, and why he’s already halfway there.

“What?” you whisper, and despite all your best efforts, your small, trembling voice expresses all the ache and horror and heartache you tried to hide. Aonung’s muscles tense a little at the so painfully obvious brokenness of your voice, and you would give anything to see what his face looks like right now, as he ruins you.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

That’s all. No name. No explanation. Just two meaningless words tossed carelessly your way, like some twisted reparation for all the damage his last three words did. You bite your lip, feeling your eyes welling with tears.

WHY WERE YOU SO FUCKING STUPID. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU RIGHT NOW.

This is Aonung, the man you hated since the moment you landed in Awa’atlu, the same one just a week before you had practically at your fucking feet. The one you swore you’d never feel this way about. But now here you are, already breaking at his carelessness.

WHY ARE YOU SO WEAK.

The tears stinging your eyes disgust you. Since childhood you had never cried. Not when protecting your siblings, not when getting shot by demons, not when leaving your clan and birthright and all you had ever known. And now you are about to cry over a fucking man, one that you tried so impossibly hard not to care for.

FUCK HIM.

“Fuck you.”

The words are out, they are spoken. Not with quite the ferocity you meant to snarl them with, but the brokenness of your voice had a certain effect too. Aonung tenses, but that just sparks the usual fire inside you. He had no fucking right to be upset right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice steadily emotionless, and that fire blazes brighter.

“Don’t be,” you glare. “I mean, the perfect prince of the clan does no wrong, right?”

“I’m sor-”

“Stop!” you shout, rage boiling inside of you. “Stop fucking saying that Aonung. I mean, this was the arrangement, right? Careless sex, no strings, no attachment, no concern, fucking NOTHING.”

Aonung’s shoulders slump slightly, and once again, your annoyance flares that he still won’t face you.

“So what was all that shit about your mine if you’re just going to kick me out now,” you say rawly. “Was it just your rut? Are you just a weirdly jealous fucking man, getting mad when people touch shit that isn’t actually yours? Why are you so fucking angry-”

“Look at yourself!” Aonung explodes.

It takes you a moment to realise that he’s suddenly standing, towering over you, fists balled and whole body tense, face twisted in rage and disgust. With himself.

You can’t think of anything to say for a moment, tense, furious silence falling in the dangerously small space between the two of you.

“I mean, you’re hurt,” he says, eyes raking over your body. The bites are glowing against the dark, rich blue like sanguine crescents. Your skin looks raw and flushed still, and you realise that he must have wiped everything off you. “You’re ruined.”

“Aonung I-”

“And I did that to you,” Aonung sighs, face twisting in slight distress as his eyes fall over the bites and grips and few bruises he left over you. You let out the breath you’d been holding.

Aonung’s gaze flicks up to yours, emotionless and blank as you stare back at him. There’s terror in his eyes, which are slowly returning to their usual blue, pupils shrinking away as the animalism of his rut starts to pass. He’s worried, maybe you’ll slap him, or shout at him again. But your hand comes to rest gently on his face, thumb brushing lightly over his flushed cheek.

“I told you Aonung, I can take it.”

Aonung squeezes his eyes shut, face screwed up in overwhelming emotion. But his head unconsciously leans into your hand, and you smile slightly.

“But I hurt you,” he whispers, sounding disgusted with himself.

“You’ll have to try harder than that skxawng,” you smile weakly, and Aonung lets out a shaky laugh. “But I was more than happy to do what it took to help you.”

“Eywa,” he groans, his own hand coming up to brush your hair from your face. “I’m so sor-”

“Stop apologising skxawng,” you frown. “Or I’m actually going to leave.”

Instantly, Aonung’s hand closes around your own, his fingers lacing through yours and tugging you back, so you’re inches away from him, neck tipped back to look at him. There’s that usual grin playing around his face; although his face remains blank, you can see the smirk glittering in those eyes.

“Go on princess,” he whispers. “What were you saying, before I so rudely interrupted you?”

“That you’re a complete idiot,” you grumble, but you don’t let go of him. You don’t want to ever let go of him. “What did you mean before, about me being-”

“Mine,” Aonung finishes. “You’re mine.”

And you feel a small smile twitching at the corner of your lips.

“Alright,” you smile, blinking up at him.

“Alright?” he echoes, as though that wasn’t at all the answer he was expecting, what he dared to hope for.

“Yep. I’m yours, fishlips.”

There’s a brief moment where he’s silent, eyes wide and staring blankly at you. He blinks several times, lips parting, before he’s stepping in and wrapping his arms tight over you, pillowing your body in his own. After a moment, you lean in even closer and snake your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I still think you’re a skxawng,” you mumble against his skin, and his laugh rumbles warm and comforting against you.

“Of course syulang,” Aonung grins, squeezing your waist lightly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stay in that embrace for a moment, before he realises just how tired you are, and then he’s instantly fussing about you, making sure you’re alright, that you don’t need anything, before he’s making you rest against him, cuddled warmly and comfortably on the floor.

His hand is resting lightly over you, lightly tracing your darker patterns or gently playing with your hair as you drift comfortably off, head resting comfortably against his solid chest. You can feel his warm heartbeat against your cheek, steady and reassuring.

When you wake up, he’ll be waiting to be able to hold you tighter without being scared of waking you up, having already gone out and hunted while you were sleeping. He’ll take you gently back to the village where you both deny any of the suspicious comments your friends and family shoot you, but no one believes you; the hopeless grins on your faces and the sly grins you send each other aren’t all that sneaky.

But for now, you’re warm and comfortable and happy in your fucked out, satisfied state, snuggled against the man you once hated so fiercely.

As far as it goes, you came out alright on this one.

Quite the victory it was.

Your tìyora.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

༊ Taglist: @hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul - Thank you for being here and enjoying this story 💗 Also tagging @pandoraslxna @pandorxxx @hotdsworld @tojisun @xylianasblog @aperiraa @blue-slxt @theblueflower05 and @vivid-ink bc you are all my biggest inspirations and thank you for being such a big part of the avatar fandom 😘 Okay let me know if i forgot someone hope you pookie pies enjoyed 🙃

#avatar fanfiction #avatar fandom #aonung x reader #avatar the way of water #aonung x female reader #avatar smut #aonung fic #avatar #aonung fanfiction #aonung #aonung x sully!reader #enemies to lovers #enemies with benefits

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nonbinaryhatboxghost · 2 years

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Thoughts on the State of Trek

I would be less upset about Discovery ending if they had known going into season 5 that it would be their last. But that was not the case. The additional filming to give it an actual finale is good and I have no doubt that it will be as good a finale as they can do under the circumstances.

But recently I’ve been more observant of Trek fans online and there is a thing happening where I’ve seen far more immediate praise of Strange New Worlds and the current/final season of Picard than any other new Trek show has gotten.

Strange New Worlds is a good show! It is also specifically emulating the original series and has a straight white male captain as the lead. (yes, Pike rocks, that is not the point here)

The current/final season of Picard (which I do think is good!) has radically altered the tone of the show into a revival/sendoff for The Next Generation, as well as emulating and referencing Star Trek media of the ‘80s and ‘90s. And again, straight white male lead.

Both shows, particularly this season of Picard, have been pretty immediately praised by certain types of Trek viewers. Specifically longtime straight white male fans.

I’ve also noticed less diversity behind the camera of Strange New Worlds and Picard compared to Discovery. At least if one watches all the behind-the-scenes stuff for those shows (which I’ve been doing a lot lately). There’s not zero diversity, but Picard especially has been putting more emphasis on bringing back legacy crew members who are majorly, you guessed it, straight white males.

Contrasting that with how Discovery was met with skepticism from the get-go and is openly dismissed by certain older fans (one I talked to at work said something like “I guess I don’t get it because I’m not a millennial.”) makes me a bit angry because a lot of these same longtime fans watched and stuck through the first two seasons of The Next Generation. Those two seasons are some of the roughest television I’ve ever seen, and the handful of good episodes hidden throughout do not make up for it. But fans at the time stuck through those seasons anyway.

Why didn’t Discovery get the same treatment from those vocal longtime folks?

Why did The Next Generation, which is a very different type of show compared to the original series, ultimately become a beloved show? I’d like to believe it’s because people accepted the show for what it was once it found its footing.

But when I see comments like “Picard season 3 is the best Trek in 25 years”, I get mad. You gave Picard, a show that has two seasons with a mixed reception at best, a continued benefit of the doubt because of nostalgia for an older show, and because this season is essentially a Next Generation reunion. But you dismissed Discovery because it wasn’t “your” Star Trek show.

Literally part of the purpose of Star Trek is infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Discovery not only gave us an incredible lead character played by a Black woman, it gave us representation across the entire cast of both people of color and queer folks. As a nonbinary person, Adira’s quiet coming out scene had a profound impact on me, and later served as a helpful reference point for coming out as NB to my dad, who watches and enjoys Discovery.

Discovery spends an entire season depicting a debate between multiple characters/factions about how to handle a situation that threatens all Federation members. It does so with empathy for all points of view, and ultimately resolves this threat not with an action sequence, but a conversation. That season of Discovery (season 4) is Star Trek as fuck, and some of the best Trek ever.

Hell, Star Trek Beyond is so good that it manages to take the flashy action J.J. Abrams approach to Star Trek (which I have mixed feelings about because Trek ’09 is fun and despite his storytelling problems, Abrams is by all accounts a genuinely nice person so I won’t be shit-talking him here) and make it more properly Trek by introducing a villain who believes conflict is necessary for human evolution, which is the antithesis to Roddenberry’s whole vision for Trek of being a future where we work to resolve and avoid conflict rather than seek it.

Strange New Worlds and Picard (seasons 1 and, so far, 3) are both good and also contain great Trek. But they are also fundamentally more appealing to the nostalgia of middle-aged straight white male fans. And they are the shows that are getting more visible attention and praise.

Lower Decks is awesome and has a fantastic Black female lead in Tawny Newsome. But it meant something to have Sonequa Martin-Green and Newsome be the leads of two Star Trek shows airing at the same time.

And it means something for the live-action show with a Black woman as the lead to be cancelled while the animated show with a Black woman as the lead but a straight white male as the head writer is allowed to continue.

I don’t want Star Trek to become like Star Wars and turn into an endless cycle of fan service. Star Trek has had a huge impact on our planet over the 55+ years of its existence. Don’t make the mistake of turning it into another franchise that exists as a way for whiny white dudes to center themselves over the global majority.

(PS, Paramount, how the hell have you dragged your heels over Michelle Yeoh’s spinoff for this long? She has an Oscar now, what the hell is your excuse?)

#star trek #rant #star trek: discovery #star trek discovery #star trek: picard #star trek picard #star trek: strange new worlds #star trek strange new worlds #star trek: lower decks #star trek lower decks #star trek: the next generation #star trek the next generation #yeah I'm mad about a lot of stuff going on in the world but this is the only thing I felt knowledgeable enough to comment on

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opinated-user · 2 years

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WHY does Lily think people get off to hurting female characters? There's "beat them to death with a fucking rock because they're vile human beings who get off to the suffering of women and non white people." from her last video but there's also her freakout from her video on The Legend of Korra where she says that 1. only Korra is shown being beaten up in the series (a lie if you watched even a handful of episodes) and 2. the only reason she gets beaten up in fights instead of coming out without injuries is because the writers get off to it.

I don't know how to explain it to her but sometimes bad shit happens to characters and no one is masturbating to it. It is, in fact, extremely unusual for anyone to masturbate to or be aroused by these things. So why does she keep acting like this is NORMAL?

Anecdotal evidence for my point: even super misogynistic men I know were incredibly uncomfortable in my Public Speaking class when I talked about a subgenre of porn, ryona, that's currently getting banned off of most websites. In ryona porn, the sex does not make up the majority of the video, beating up a woman does - and even the fucking INCELS in my class looked ready to vomit. There are very, very, VERY few people who get off to violence and suffering. I won't say they don't exist, but even people who hate women are usually not into it and even people who are in favor of consensual rough sex are repulsed by the concept of beating someone up being an arousing thing in and of itself.

For once it's not projection since there's no ryona in Lily's Sankaku faves, but that just makes me more confused, not less. Where the fuck is she getting this from?

this is going to be pure especulation from my part, full tinfoil moment... but i do think that she's projecting. remember all the times we spoke about how LO always had to slip something abusive on whatever relationship she's writing and then tries to gaslight the audience into thinking that it's wholesome? well, the modern example of that is clearly whatever is happening between G and CLO but before that was stockholm. i know that when talking about that series most people immediately jump to Rainbow Dash being written as an offending pedophile but there's actually a b plot that is the whole reason why the story is called stockholm: that of Ascentia and Twilight. their conflict is that twilight is horribly agressive with ascentia, slapping her around, raping her multiple times, kicking her, and she does it publicly and never faces any consequences for it because Ascentia has developed stockholm and the physical abuse is what she has come to expect, so twilight essentially is encouraged by the narrative to keep abusing. the other day i was talking with someone about stockholm and they showed me a post where the co-author, Nintengogal55, talked about a particular scene that was so extreme that actually brought her to tears.

Okay, this other one was for a shot we currently haven’t released yet. Without going into too much details, it involved the CMC and it was so awful. I would read all of my original fanfics from ten years ago than ever write or read that again! I didn’t just hate how the scene became, I felt physically uncomfortable reading it and writing it. It wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was painful. All throughout Stockholm, the worst I ever felt was sad. Now sad, I can handle that perfectly fine. Even the descriptions of the domestic abuse, while unnerving, weren’t graphically written and didn’t affect me that badly. Yes, Ascentia terrified me in the story, but I can also handle fear. But physical discomfort from writing/reading something so terribly uncomfortable and painful? No way. I was, honestly, on the verge of TEARS. Thankfully, Bhaalspawn understood and offered that we make it less…like that. It turned out so much better after that. I am forever thankful for his compassion and letting us re-do that scene. <3

it was LO's idea to make that scene. i don't know what scene was, i don't want to imagine it, but if it had such a strong reaction on the co-author, who already was up for the most disturbing aspects of this story then it had to be graphic, it had to be visceral and it had to be a especial kind of awful. the CMC are a group of literal children on the story so this scene, whatever it was, it would have involved children going through something so graphically horrible that the co-author couldn't handle it. in stockholm there's a lot of reference to the abuse that ascentia goes through. she winces she has to sit because twilight literally made a tear on her ass, she gets an arm broken so it has to be put on a cast and there is a scene where twilight goes feral on her, breaking her nose and her ribs. ascentia goes through hell and in my opinion it's not made any better by the fact that it's "off screen" because we still read about the results of that extreme abuse. to what i have been told, something similar happens on her fanfic previous to stockholm. on the ones where she introduces Matt Ryder (her self insert, remember that) there's many one scenes where Meg (only Meg, never Matt) gets abused as well and it's treated like a joke or a minor thing not worth paying attention. you could say that LO back then was trying to imitate the "humor" of FG by constantly bashing Meg, her favourite character, but considering that she just kept doing that with later works? i don't know. broken champions, the fanfiction that LO wrote about anevay and only shared for a server? the exact same thing happens, although for one the abuser of anevay wasn't her love interest and those abusers are cartoonisly evil before they get punished. but the fic still spend so much time describing all the different ways in which anevay was tortured, raped, branded, mocked and broken down. one scene could have been enough, but it happened so many times i had to skip entire parragraphs because it was making me so uncomfortable. someone could potentially say that was a survivor of abuse venting about their experience and using a fictional character in order to live through something horrible and get the desired comfort at the end. i can see that point of view. fiction can be a great tool for therapy that way. but it just hit me right now, as i was reading your ask, that could also just an excuse. why else would she keep sliding abusive dynamics into her "wholesome" works? why does she keep accusing others of specifically "getting off" to scenes of women suffering or being beaten? there's a lot of abuse and rape on her sankaku account, so why this kind of interest would be out of place? see the thing in common between all these characters (CLO, ascentia, meg, anevay)... these are all characters LO claims to care about and love. LO multiple times directly says that she makes anevay suffer the worst just because. i believe she's projecting and we can see that on her writing more than on her porn accounts. i'll admit i could be seeing something that's not really there and there isn't any real evidence for what i'm saying, but i believe there's a coherent pattern here and it makes sense with all we know about LO.

#lily orchard

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exactlysizzlingdonut · 1 year

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I. JJTS FINISHED WATCHING MONSTER AND HOLYYYYYYY FUCK

IM SO SAD THAT THIS IS THE END 🙁

SPOILERS!!

NO WAY JOHAN ESCAPED AGAIN BRO HE'S GONNA FUCK EVERYTHING UP 💀

ALSO TENMA IS SUCH A SWEETHEART WHAT THE HELL.. JOINING DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS HES A GEM I CANT BELIEVE THE LACK OF TENMA CONTENT AFTER ALL THE GOOD THINGS THAT HE HAS DONE FOR EVERYBODY IN THIS SERIES

ABSOLUTE GEM OF A MAN I CANT EVEN EXPRESS HOW I FEEL ABOUT JIM WITHOUT SOUNDING FERAL AND CRINGE CRONGE (potential verbal appreciation post? It’ll probs be rotting in my drafts HAHSHD)

Also can we talk about how pretty Nina’s voice is when she’s serious, it really reminds me of nausicaa’s voice WHIHC IS A WIN WIN!

Really wanted to find out their real names

ALSO WHEN ROBERTO WAS ADOLF REIN WHATEVER??? THINKJNG ABOIT HOW GRIMMER WAS TALKING ABT HIS BESTIE OMG I NEARLY CRIED BRO.

THAT ALSO LEFT ME WITH MY JAW DROPPED BECAUSE NAW WHAT THE HELL HOW DO U EXPECT ME TO CASUALLY REGISTER THAT INFORMATION WHEN YOU DROP SUCH A BIG BOMB ON ME. AT LEAST WARN ME 😀

Johan being a menace to society (in the worst way possible) never fails to make me giggle

Adding on, Roberto is a meme of a character cos just when you think everything is going okay, he makes an appearance and suddenly you know damn well everything is not going okay anymore

ALSO I DIDNT KNOW GRIMMER WAS GOING TO FUCKING DIE??? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ABOUT

FRANZ BONAPARTA BEING SUCH A SISSY,, GOING ON A MF TANGENT OF HOW HE FUCJED UP LIKE YEAH NO SHIT STFU

wim being so adorbs <33

EVA AND MARTIN BRO THEY HAD IT GOING;;;(;;(::-6;;) WHY DID HE HAVE TO DIE

Eva redemption arc I mean queen was lowkey killing it throughout the series.. sometimes questionable but otherwise ily (but I HATED how she treated tenma 😒)

NINA GETTING THE BEST SCORES GO YOU QUEEN YOU DESERVE IT

What was Johan and Nina’s mum doing bro- did that favouritism play a role in this outrage.. guess we’ll never know!

OH NOT TO MENTION MONSTER SOUNDTRACK SLAPS SOOOO HARD. SKIPPING THE OPENINB FEELS LIKE A CRIME. FULLY LISTENED TO THE ENDING IN THE LAST EPSODE BC YK I WANT TO GO OUT PROPERLY AND DAMN IT’S RLLY NICE? BUT I DONT THINK I WOULDVE BEEN ABLE TO LISTEN TO IT AT THE END OF EACH EP BECAUSE MAN THESE CLIFF HANGERS AND HOOKS MAKE ME GO FERAL FOR THE NEXT EP

WHENEVER “THE SEEDS OF TIME” STARTED PLAYING IN A SCENE I WOULD GET SO EXCITED IT’S PROBABLY MY FAV OST RN. OMG AND “Present” IT’S SUCH A CUTE OST AARGRGEGSGESHSGDFFEDD

THIS AJIME IS SO GOOD HOW COME I BARELY SEE OR HEAR PPL TALKING ABT IT… ???DEFINITELY TOP 3 BRO MAYBE EVEN TOP 2 (idek what my anime ranking list looks like 👹)

LUNGE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT ARC REAL?? When he said he’d buy a beer for grimmer n they can talk about this whole case 💔💔

Nah Lunge was mad funny, his only personality trait was hunting tenma down,, then half way through the series he goes “I’ve made a fatal mistake 😗” n reconsiders his life decisions. The audacity,, and I was loving it.

Milan bro 😢 AND TENMA TELLING THE KIDS TO STUDY HARD AND NOT GIVE UP?? I NEED A TENMA IN MY LIFE.

DIETER IS SUCH A CUTIE PATOOTIE OMLLL

okay after some reflection johan saying "which one didn't she need" or stmhn like that at the end BAFFLED me. it made me really sad too

oh yeah HAHAHAHA johan being an iconic cross dresser. you can't tell me he wasn't rocking that outfit when he was with suk... also when he dressed as young anna HIS FACE WAS SO FUNNY "welcome back! :D" bro is so devious HEGHAHSDG

just thhnking about that tenma push up scene it had me giggling and swinging my feet OGH LET;S NOT FORGET WHEN HE WAS LIKE "good girl" TO NINA .... that's the stuff i want to hear frfr

on a serious note though, he's such a good father figure. this man would make the best father ever.. i've seen multiple comments saying that even johan saw him as a father figure and LORD DOES THAT MAKE ME UPSET :(((((

that nameless monster book spoke facts at the end tho, johan is such a beautiful name no joke

his hair looks so fluffy too

HAHA no how about the scream he scrumpt i was lowkey embarrassed like johan you can scream sm better than that.

idk why but he's so fine when he drops the ground- both times in the library and in the rain. i swear it's the hair and his back

yk this anime reminds me of that one tiktok sounds with the garden song that says "no matter where you are, everyone is always connected". it's quite cool to think about it holistically, but in a sense it's also so surreal, and even scary. this masterpiece is an extreme reflection of our world imo, with many elements of truth and reality. anyways i'll leave this kind of stuff for another post (draft lol). but honestly though, i really liked this series. maybe since it's older, it has that sense of authenticity?? not invalidating other anime series but idk. i really enjoyed it.

RAHAHGSHJDHFGHJG LET'S STAY TOGETHER BEING TENMA'S FAVOURITE SONG OMG THIS IS KILLING ME HES SO my heart is aching sm..

im jus reading about tenma's childhood rn :')

WAIT THETRS;S SOMETHING CALLED ANOTHER MONSTER?/ IS THIS A SEQUEL OR SMTHN... well yk what time it is then!

#monster #monster anime #tenma kenzo #johan #WARNING #WORD VOMIT!!

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jeromefart · 2 years

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ok heres my jedi survivor thoughts. and let me preface by saying i am incredibly excited for this game and will be buying it once i get a ps5. i will be saying negative things but i honestly do not care that much and i am 100% in love with everything we’ve seen from this game so far

i think that the walk run and sprint animations are a little scuffed. the run animation in fallen order wasn’t great, but now all the movement animations look off. i hope this is something they fix.

i honestly like the map system from fallen order. its a star wars holo map!! its fun and interactive!! it is hard to see exactly whats happening, but i think having to adapt to it improves the immersive experience. because most maps in star wars are holo maps, and if you were in the star wars universe, that’s what you’d be using.

some people complained about it being more open world, but i love open world games. i doubt they will be empty and i know they will be filled with tons of secrets and small details. fallen order is a game about exploration. you are meant to explore each corner and complete your map. you are meant to find secrets. and even without treasure chests, it’s still rewarding. each thing you scan has a small blurb about it. each echo you hear is part of a larger story. its honestly an incredible concept. its so unique and works so well for detail oriented people who like to search for a story and find answers instead of being told everything. it’s rewarding when you get every echo in a category. then you can read back and learn the lore of animals, planets, characters, and the galaxy. fallen order is a massive game, and survivor is going to be even bigger.

(a side note: ive put hundreds of hours in breath of the wild, and while very open and immersive, it tends to fall short in the rewarding category. there are 900 korok seeds hidden throughout the game, where you do small hidden minigames. at the end of collecting them, you get a useless collectible item. its useless and while it’s meant to be funny as it is a pile of shit, it’s just annoying. so comparing korok seeds to force echoes is very eye opening. because you actually get a sense of gratification out of getting to listen to an echo from the past, rather than shooting a bullseye or putting a rock into a hole)

i really loved the progression in fallen order. you go through a path, and then unlock a shortcut back. so later on, you can breeze through shortcuts to get to certain locations. the lack of fast travel made sense in some aspects. they wanted to keep it grounded and realistic, like with the holo map i mentioned. with the shortcuts, it didn’t take long to get to one area from another. but where the issue arrives is that its still super tedious, annoying, and hard to remember where each path leads. it’s immersive, but too immersive. i had to use a guide to get through zeffo. it was a massive planet that you return to multiple times. and 100%ing it was a NIGHTMARE. it took me a week. with that said, the addition of fast travel in survivor is exciting. it could be said that it takes away from some of the immersive factors of the previous game, but honestly? it is going to be life changing. gone are the days where im tearing my hair out running in circles trying to backtrack to the place that has 99% completion (well, maybe i’ll still have this problem).

i feel like this goes without saying, but i am in love with cal’s design. he has grown so much since fallen order, and i just adore how rugged he looks. i was unhappy with his appearance in the teaser trailer, but i kept my hopes up with the action figure illustrations. thankfully, his design is perfect. his outfit is so nice and im excited to see the customization.

this isnt really worth mentioning but let’s talk pricing. 70 bucks? fine. games are expensive nowadays. but the 20 dollar expansion pack that only includes cosmetics? honestly insane. it’s just luke and han inspired outfits, i think? the r2 bd skin is cute but other than that, it’s a waste of money imo. that is 90 fucking dollars!!!!!

the combat is exciting. i loved the split sabers in the previous game and it’s going to be so fun to use them more. the combos look effortlessly cool and ive rewatched cal twirl around his blades and throw them a million times now. it is hot. double saber gameplay looks cool too. i loved using it in fallen order even though it’s wide ranged attacks with less damage designed for attacking groups of enemies. so seeing it used on singular enemies and turned into a full usable form rather than something to switch to for a specific scenario is really nice. the crossguard saber looks cool too. some people were hating but i dont know why? i think a claymore style saber is really awesome and i have played some games with that attack style and it is actually what i prefer next to long range stuff. i love long range.

and speaking of long range, cal has a blaster. we havent seen him use it yet, but im excited. and i would not be surprised if it has little functionality. i have a feeling it will be used more for interactions with the environment than combat. im annoying when i play games and if you give me a long range weapon i will take out everything i can from as far away as possible. playing stealthy is super fun. so i will probably do that in survivor. hell i do it in fallen order. i abuse the shit out of the lightsaber throw move

lets talk CHARACTERS!

first, cal kestis. i love him 💕 he is gorgeous and im obsessed w his new design as i mentioned previously. it seems like hes going to be struggling with the dark side and justifying his actions as the fight against the ever expanding empire worsens. the way cameron has described all of this has me very excited. i loved the part in fallen order where he directly faces his trauma. it was so powerful and it really resonated with me. i almost cried tbh. anyway im super excited to see what happens next!! i love cal :))

the mantis crew. we don’t know much about what theyre up to, but im sure theyre all doing fine. it was expected that theyd all branch off and find their own purposes in the galaxy. looks like cere is building a jedi archive or something. and somehow greez let cal fly the mantis, maybe hes settled down in his home planet? or he gambled his life away LMAO. and merrin never planned on permanently staying with the mantis crew. shes probably back trying to rebuild dathomir and the nightsisters or something.

bode akuna. he seems cool and im very excited to see what hes like! it looks like him and cal form a bond despite their differences, like brothers in arms. the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? everyone hates the empire, so they are all united through that. yes, i do ship him and cal, but im trying not to be too crazy about it and wait til we see more. anyway, i like the buddy ai thing that they’re going to do with him. its bound to be pretty cool.

the mystery man played by cody fern!! ok, i need to share this because i think its funny. so when the trailer came out and it was confirmed that cody fern is playing him, i looked him up and learned he was in ahs. i was already a casual fan but had only seen 3 seasons, so i watched apocalypse. big mistake. i got super hyperfixated and binged the rest of the seasons (haven’t seen death valley and nyc yet tho). but it was worth it honestly. cody is super cool and watching his role in apocalypse got me super hyped. he plays a great villain!!! i have been saying this forever, but i want him and cal to have homoerotic tension. michael and another character (the one played by evan, i think his name is gallant?) have the most homoerotic tension ever. i mean, some of the dialogue is literally “are you gay?” “would that excite you?” i mean. COME ONNN.

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twinkleimagines · 3 years

Text

*Let me please you *

You’re a virgin and Rafe wants to show you what it feels to have an orgasm without taking your virginity.

Warning ⚠️ smut and language

Not proofread

Rafe had always admired you. You guys were the same age, same schools but completely different clicks. your parents were rich yes, but you didn’t act anything like a kook. You were quiet, shy. Never once put a single bit of make up on.

You had a natural beauty that radiated off of you for miles. which was what first caught his eye. Rafe being the kook king though , so popular in the crowds, he never really gave you the time of day. yanno, reputation and all- not that you were seeking it out anyways.

You were definitely one of the girls that were considered nerdy. you spent most your time with your nose in your book or at home. you didn’t go to parties, you didn’t wear make up, you didn’t have a boyfriend and you really didn’t have friends.

Believe it or not though Rafe had definitely noticed you multiple times throughout the years. You were one of those girls that when he looked at you, you just looked so innocent and pure which if we’re being honest that’s exactly what you were and something about that just had him hooked to you. You were always so distracted that you never even realized the Kook king Admiring you from afar.

But now it’s the summer after your senior year and Rafe himself couldn’t stay away from you. It all started one morning when you both ran into each other at a coffee shop where you accidentally spilled your drink on him.

And honestly if it were anyone else he would’ve flipped his shit, probably cuss you out and make a big scene but when he looked down to see you, you’re innocent big (y/c/e) eyes and your loose curls tucked behind your ear as you frantically apologized for ruining his shirt, something in him switched and all He wanted to do was just hug you and protect you from the world.

Which He had done that ever since. He spent a little while talking to you at the coffee shop and managed to get you outside of your comfort zone, only a few months later becoming official in a relationship.

So now we are here today. At this point you and Rafe have been together almost 6 months now. You knew what type of guy he was but the way he was with you was like a whole different side of him and you had honestly fell in love with him. nobody realize how infatuated he really was with artistic stuff like you and how intelligent he really was when it came to business. It was always hidden behind his partying Ways and fighting that nobody really paid attention to him like you did.

you laid with your back propped up against Rafes headboard with a book in your lap as you silently read through the pages when Rafe walked in, his eyes landing on you.

“What are you reading ?” he asked. you sighed before lifting the book up slightly so he could read the back not breaking your trance from the page.

“Oh” he responded quietly before placing himself next to you in the bed. He sighed heavily as you felt his fingertips trail up your thigh, gently running up and down as he watched you intensely as your eyes scanned the words across each page.

“You’re so beautiful” he spoke out grabbing your attention. You glanced at him through the corner of your eye before going back to your book replying with a soft ‘thank you’. Hey grinned before placing his lips against your arm that he once had his head laying on. you furrowed your eyebrows together as you tried to continue focusing on the story in you book, only having to go back over the same paragraph because you didn't pay attention the first time.

you sat for a second trying to continue reading your book but at this point it was no use because of his actions and how much they were distracting you. You finally caved in and put your book down on the nightstand before turning to the side facing him, giving him a sly smile. He smiled at the invitation before he sat up and placed his lips against yours. they were soft and plum, the taste of peanuts from his snack earlier still lingering on his tongue. Your moaned softly against his lips as he pulled you closer to him by your hips. you felt his hand rolling closer to an area thats never been touched by him (or anyone) so you jumped slightly before pulling your lips away from his.

“im sorry” he quickly spoke out, pulling his hand away. “you okay?”

Rafe knew that you were a virgin. it was one of the things that he loved about you. It wasn’t a goal of his to take your virginity or anything but he did love the idea that he was going to get to be the one to show you all the pleasures and be your first with everything. He loved knowing how innocent and pure you were and it gave him all the more reason to be protective over you.

“Yeah I’m okay” you responded pushing some of your hair behind your ear.

He sat for a second looking at you. Even though his eyes were staring into yours, you could tell he was deep in thought.

“ I have an idea, if you’re up for it” he finally spoke out breaking the silence. you felt your heart flutter as you heard the words fall from his lips. your mind quickly began racing, thinking of all the possible things he would want to try at this moment,

you knew at one point in time Rafe would want to take things further. He defiantly had his fair share in women, and you were surprised he had lasted this long without trying to go further than just make out sessions with you. but by now you had fantasized on what it would be like to go further with him as well.

“ I know you want to save and wait on your virginity” he responded breaking your train of thought. “ but what if there’s other ways I can make you still feel good without going to that level?” he offered, his voice soft and gentle.

You bit your bottom lip with nervousness as his large but soft hand caressed your thigh, rubbing back and forth with comfort. The only thing you guys have ever done this whole time was kiss and grope each other. You’ve never even experience and orgasm. Not even by yourself. You sat and hesitated for a second, questioning yourself if you were ready to take things further. you were almost 20 at this point and you were very happy with the Rafe, so much that you didn’t even see the possibility of you guys not being together.

you finally nodded giving him approval. he smiled widely at you, satisfaction radiating through him knowing that he was finally going to be able to please you in some way .

“What are you going to do?” you asked, your palms getting sweaty from nerves. He shook his head before placing his hand on the side of your face, rubbing gently circles with his thumb.

“ I just want you to relax princess.”

Rafe placed his lips back against yours before hovering over you, causing you to lean back, your head landing on his pillow. .

he placed one of his legs in-between yours, Your eyes widening as you felt his knee press against you applying pressure. you moved your hips slightly, feeling your body crave for that feeling again. You gasped slightly as you realized he had done it on purpose when his knee continued moving back-and-forth against you. Your mouth stood wide open as your eyes close feeling the movement from Rafe.

“does that feel good baby?” he questioned staring down at you as if if he was a painter and you were his own painting.

You bit your lip before nodding slightly opening your eyes to make contact with his.

‘Here come here’ he said before removing himself from above you, propping himself up against the headboard. “Sit on my lap” he instructed. you hesitated for a second before obliging. He tugged on your pajama shorts pulling them against your heated core before pulling you up against his crotch by your hips.

‘Just do like this princess” he insisted as he applied pressure against your bottom with his hand pulling you forward towards him. You grinded youirself against him until your hips were touching his before he pushed back against on you, making you slide back down. he watched your face for any type of expression before repeating the movements once again pulling you forward towards him.

You felt uncomfortable at first, not so much that you weren’t enjoying it but just because you had never done anything like this before and you weren’t sure if you were making a fool of yourself or not. But the feeling you were getting felt so good that you didn’t want to stop regardless of how you looked so you continue moving your hips against him. At first your movements were slow- your hips grinding against his very prominent Boner in between your legs as you slid up and down it.

you mumbled a few ‘fuck’s and ‘God!’ out , as well as Rafe’s name as your thighs slightly trembling around him.. Rafe Pulled your hair away from your face so he could watch you. your eyes squinted shut as your mouth gaped open, moans slipping out. It felt good to him as well even though he wasn't inside you, but just watching you unfold on top of him beat any orgasm he’s ever had.

“feels good doesn’t it princess?” he groaned out as your movements against him began to speed up.

“ yes Rafe” you moan out loudly. even though you took Rafe by surprise at your outburst, he almost came undone right then and there. He had never seen this side of you and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“ it feels so good” you breathed out, your arms placed over his shoulders as your hands tugged on his hair. your hips were moving faster faster before soon started to feel this tingly feeling and the bottom of your stomach. it was definitely an unfamiliar feeling but it felt so amazing and it gave you a feeling of you needed to keep going as your climax was building up.

Rafe could tell you were getting close as your moans became uncontrollably consistent, and your body rocking against his became fast and rough, which Rafe was to just as close just by the feeling of you dry humping him and the sight of you.

“Oh my God I think I’m cumming!” you cried out as you felt your clit throbbing. this unexplainable feeling rushed through your lower abdomen causing your hips to jolt forward a few times as you rode out your high. your hips finally came to a halt as you tried to catch your breath. you laid your forehead against rafes before chuckling slightly, almost lost for words as to what you had just done.

“ Wow” was all you could say causing Rafe to laugh loudly while nodding.

“ I know princess, you're amazing” he praised. you shifted slightly against him before looking up in confusion as you still felt a hard Boner pressed against you.

“wait, did you finish?” you asked.

Rafe shook his head no and you sat for a second with confusion. After the way he had just made you feel, you wanted to repay him by getting him off as well, but with you being so unexperienced you honestly had no clue what to do for him.

“well what can I do?” you finally asked, pushing your curls behind your ear once again, another little thing you did that turned him on.

“You don’t have to do anything princess I was doing this for you” he said shaking his head. “ I wanted you to feel good.” you grinned shyly lowering your hand as you thought back to a few moments ago when you practically dry humped your boyfriend to an orgasm.

“Well I did feel good and I want to repay you, if you’ll let me” you offered with pleading eyes.

He sat for a second, this time him being the one to think it through. of course he wanted you to do stuff to him, but he didn't want to make you feel pressured. the thought of you wanting to please him willingly made his dick jump in his jeans. he finally looked you in the eyes, a nod following shortly after.

“only if you want to princess” he responded. he waited patiently for you to assure him that you really wanted to do this before he pulled his long hard member out of his pants.

Throughout the 6 months that you have been together, this was the first time you had actually seen it. Not that Rafe was hiding himself, but he just felt it was best for when you were actually ready. you have felt it of course but seeing that now, you were flabbergasted.

“You’re huge rafe” you blurted out with your eyes wide. He laughed at your cuteness from the outburst that had caused your cheeks to turn cherry red. “Come here” he spoke softly, his hand grabbing ahold of yours.

“ I’ll show you what you can do” he said before placing your hand around his member, his hand helping guide yours along his cock

“. Does it feel good?” you asked, your eyes focused very intensely on his expressions, needing clarification since you hadn't a clue what to do. Rafe nodded while leaning his head back some, his eyes lowering.

“ yes princess” he said, his voice soft and comforting. He’s had plenty of hand jobs before, but it was different when it was yours. He just had so much love for you at this point. You were the first girl he had ever spent time with and was in a relationship with that didn't include sex, which made you bond even more. The love he had for you was like no other, and so was the feeling of your hand around him right now.

You bit your lip as you continued to pump your hand around him, squeezing slightly and twisting your hands in circles. Even though you had never watched porn or you had never personally done any of this yourself, you had read a lot of books that would sometimes go in detail into their sex scenes. You tried basing it off of what you had read, and by reading Rafe’s face, it was clear he was enjoying it.

You ran your thumb over his tip causing him to twitching your hands leaving a smirk on your face as you watched his breath hitch in the back of his throat>

“You’re doing so good princess” he praised. you sat for a second as you hesitated your next move before finally just lowering your head, wrapping your lips around him. at this point Rafe was in complete shock seeing you build the confidence to please him the way you were. You were doing so good even though you had no prior experience.

“ princess your mouth feels so good” he groaned out, his voice deep and low. Your moaned slightly as you felt his fingers run through your hair pushing down slightly.

You weren’t sure why you were so nervous before but now that you were actually doing it and watching how much you were pleasing Rafe turned you on more than you have ever been in your entire life and you didn’t want to stop. you continue bobbing your head up and down, your hand following in the same motion as Rafe continued to moan and praise you for your actions.

"baby I’m gonna to cum” he breathe out his hips slightly bucking up into your mouth hitting the back of your throat. you gagged slightly, your throat clenching aorund him.

“Fuck baby girl” he groaned out as his member started to twitch. you could feel him tugging on your hair trying to pull your head up but with all the confidence you had and the adrenaline, you kept your head lowered down on him. your lips were almost touching his pelvic bone, his tip deep in the back of your throat. you held your breath as you tried not to gag but the clenching from your throat immediately set Rafe’s orgasm off, his warm load shooting down the back of your throat. your eyes widened for a second as you tasted a thick warm salty substance fill in your mouth. Rafe bucked his hips in your mouth a few more times before his hips came to a complete stop. You lifted your head up slowly , your mind racing about what you had just done as Rafe watched you, making sure you were okay with what had just happened.

his member immediately got hard again when you looked up at him through your eyelashes, slowly wiping the side of your mouth off from the saliva that was placed on the side of your lips.

“ God princess you’re just so perfect.” Rafe said. He stared at you and thought about all the other things he wanted to do to you. he wanted to taste you and feel himself inside you but it was much more satisfying to him knowing that you willingly wanted to do these things with him and he that didn’t force you to do anything. Knowing that you waited all these years and he got to be the one to finally let you experience it was the biggest flex he had on himself. It brought a warm feeling in his heart.

“Did you like it?” he asked after he cleaned himself off placing his member back in his pants. You nodded before looking down with a shy smile as your cheeks turning cherry red.

“ I did I really did” you responded before laying yourself down next to him, placing your head on his chest.

“ maybe we can even do some more later tonight” you offered causing a big grin to form across his face.

****

Maybe part 2???

✨feedback , like and reblog is greatly appreciated 💗✨

#drew starkey #obx #smut #drew starkey fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey imagine #obx fiction #drew starkey dirty imagine #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron dirty imagine #rafe smut #rafe cameron x y/n #Rafe Cameron smut

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spookysmujer · 3 years

Text

Drip, O. Diaz

Summary: A weekend getaway to Sin City with Spooky.

warnings: f l i t h, smut (+18) 🥵

word count: 1.6K

a/n: I have done my far share of Spooky smut, however, this is bringing all my wild fantasies to light. Let us all ask thy Lord for forgiveness with this one. As always, thank you for all the love! Please consider: following the blog, hearting/commenting/reblogging on my content, plus don’t forget to turn on notifs for when something new is posted! Ligera is meant to mean lightweight.

requested by: @okatu-trash

(gif belongs to @thesewickedhands ✨ )

All you could think of is the feeling of his hands on your body. His breath fanning across your skin and eyes burning into yours. There are no words to describe the buzz running through your veins knowing that you are about to get your shit rocked by Oscar “Spooky” Diaz. In a hotel room, in Sin City.

The night was spent well, the both of you spending it downtown on Fremont street. The bustling crowd and the endless vendors of alcohol had you feeling good all night. As Oscar stopped to get you one of those 48 oz slushie drinks and himself a corona, you noticed the lingers stares some girls would give him. It sparked a little jealousy, but you were quick to remind yourself that he is here with you, miles upon miles away from Freeridge.

He takes a sip from your drink and grins as he hands it to you, “That’s gonna knock you off your ass halfway through, ligera.” You stick your tongue out as you get a taste and roll your eyes back in satisfaction. Oscar takes your hand and you two walk through the crowd.

You can’t help but look at him from time to time. The more you drink, the more your body aches for him. Ligera, as he said before. Once intoxicated, you can get horny real bad. As you two stop for a brief moment, you squeeze your legs together, “Que? Tienes que ir al baño?”

Oscar asks, noticing how one foot crossed over the other. You shake your head and swirl your tongue around the straw before sucking on it. He creases his eyebrows and slightly licks his bottom lip. He stops looking at the graphic tee and steps in front of you. You look up at him, the height difference sticking out like a sore thumb, you crank your head to the side and sip from your drink. His jaw clenched as he watches you lick your lips and step closer to him, your chest against his now.

“I wanna fuck. Take me back to the room.”

The blood is pumping as the two of you head back to rent-a-car, once he leaves the parking lot, you are leant over the middle console, kissing his neck and feeling him through his pants. He is groaning lowly, trying to avoid his eyes rolling back as the sensation of your lips put him in a trance.

By the time you’re in the hotel lobby, Oscar’s neck sports darkening bruises from you and a visibly noticeable tent in his pants, to which you had to stand in front of him til you got to your room. And once you are, you’re laid back on the bed, feeling your legs and opening them to see Oscar is stalking towards you.

He leans down and puts his hands on the side of your head, dipping his face into the crook of your neck, kissing and suckling on the skin. Your hands find the back of his neck and head, eventually moving down his back and finding the hem of his shirt, tugging it to give him the signal you want it of. He sits up for a moment to pull it off and falls back on you, you giggle and wrap your legs on his hips to lock him in.

“You gonna fuck me good?” A hum in response.

Oscar pulls your tube top down, your breasts now exposed and the cool air conditioning has your nipples hardening instantly. He bites his bottom lip as he lays halfway on you and brings his hands to cup your breasts together. His mouth hovers over and he peers up at you as he takes a nipple between his teeth, tugging at it before covering it with his mouth, swirling his tongue on the hardened bud.

A small moan escapes you as he continues his assault on your breast. The low friction has you moving your hips against his body, the desire growing the more he spends time sucking and biting. You tip your head back as your hips buck up, giving him the signal that you want it already.

He sits up to unbuckle his pants which gives you the time to shimmy out of your clothes. You don’t have the patience for foreplay right now, the alcohol had stimulated you enjoy throughout the night already, you’ve got your fingers playing with your heat as you watch him strip completely bare. He strokes himself with one hand as his other motions for you to turn around to give him a view of that culo.

You bite your bottom lip and get on all fours, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you look back, you tease by leaning back then forward, away from him. Your ass jiggles as you move your hips, waiting for him to make a move. He steps closer and grabs your hips to pull you back, resting his hardening member on your bare cheeks, you moan as you move to give it some friction. He lets you do this for a moment longer before guiding his shaft through your slick folds, an audible gasp escapes you when you feel his cock rub against your clit.

He can feel your body jolt. You mewl as he continues to do so for a moment or two longer, you’re about to complain when his tip begins to tease your entrance, you push back until he is fully seethed snug inside of you. The feeling takes over your entire body, you can feel every nerve lit on fire. It’s when he pulls nearly all the way out but then suddenly back in that you groan and let your face fall into the sheets. Oscar begins a pace, with his fingers digging into your hips.

The santo knows exactly what he’s doing as he watches the way your booty ripples like waves as your bodies meet in the middle. The faint sound of your skin slapping together is drowned out by the sound of your moan now, “Fuuuuck, harder.”

As your wish is his command. He reaches to grab your wrists to hold behind you back, holding them so you can’t go anywhere as his pace begins to pick up. The harsh slapping noise is like music to your ears. You turn your face to look towards the closet as its doors are mirrors. You watch as Oscar’s face contorts the more he watches himself go in and out of you. You close your eyes for a moment when he lets go of you and pulls out.

Oscar wanted to enjoy this moment to its full capacity. He steps over to his duffel bag and pulls out the bottle of coconut oil that he packed in hopes Sin City would get nasty and Freeridge knows Oscar Diaz can turn hopes and dreams into reality real quick.

He steps back behind you, still in the same position, pops the cap open and squeezes it gently onto your bosom. “Hmm.” You hum as he sets the bottle down and rubs the oil into your skin, your ass glistening under the light as resume his previous assault on your mound seconds earlier.

The oil is spread completely on your skin, Oscar even massages some of it to your lower back. His fingers slip around as he grips your hips again, entering himself into your slick sex. He groans out loud, letting his eyes close while his tips back. You’re putting in more work by throwing it back for him.

As if this moment can’t get any better Oscar thumb starts toying with another hole of yours. You moan as the pleasure of it takes you by surprise. Your experience with anal hasn’t exactly been much but Oscar knows that you aren’t foreign to it. He can feel your body stiffen when he pushes his thumb slightly in. When he feels that you’ve relaxed he begins to thrust into you again.

And before you know it, you are releasing. Moaning and shuddering, your walls squeezing him like vice. “Oh fuck.” You cry out as continues to fuck you through your orgasm. He feels his own coil snap and he pulls out and strokes himself before his seed spurts onto your shining butt.

He grabs his cock and slaps it on your ass a few times before taking it and pushing himself into your warm cunt. You gasp as the sensitivity, the both of you do. He thrusts a few times, not being able to ignore the sensitivity though he wanted another go at you.

“You get what you want?” Oscar asks as he lays a smack on your ass before stepping away. You smirk and grab the towel he flew besides you. “More than so. Didn’t know you had that coconut oil in there though.”

Oscar laughs and hoists the duffel bag on the bed. He opens the zipper and you step forward while wiping your behind off. Your eyes widen as you see he has an array of sex toys, including a few glass anal plugs, hand cuffs and belts along with multiple bottles of lubes.

When you look up at him to say something, nothing but a squeak comes out. He grins and steps forward to give you an open mouth kiss. He steps back towards the door and grabs the ice bucket on the bedside table, he looks at it before looking at you, “We ain’t done, gotta get one more thing before we continue.”

What happens in Vegas, well… the entire 19th floor knows.

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @princesstiffxoxo @firebenderwolf @mbaku-babygirl @chellybear98 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @roury66 @lillict @tinylumpiaa @littleesilvia @prettymya3 @starrynite7114 @aneitii @b3mybunnybaby @angelsxfics @kkim120 @ladylj @vayagrxce @irenne-stans @boujee-bitches @blessedboo @lidumiw @morenokatt @gltrpzy (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Text

you want revenge. jean is hopelessly in love with you.

♡ — pairing: jean kirschtein x reader

♡ — tags/warnings: +18, female reader, cheating, handjobs (giving and receiving), multiple orgasms, a pinch of overstimulation and a bit of angst, no part 2 we cry like men

♡ — a/n: thank you to @ofoceansandtombstones for helping me come up with the title <3

♡ — length: 2.5k

♡ — masterlist

“Please don’t do this to me.”

You rose your eyes at him, eyelashes fluttering as you blinked, feigning ignorance.

“Do what?” you asked, your hips rolling against his.

Jean let out a grunt, his hands shooting up to hold your hip still, even if you were already aware how hard he was under you. You smiled, biting your lower lip and went back to your previous endeavor, leaving open mouthed kisses along his neck. You felt his rapid pulse against your lips as the man deliciously panted underneath you, holding on to the last of self-restraint he had left.

“He’s my friend, he’s—”

“Is he really your friend, though?” you interrupted him. You sat up, looking down at him from your straddling position. Jean watched as you removed your top and let it fall on the floor, only a lacy bra covering your breasts. “I don’t think so”.

Jean cursed under his breath, his eyes lost on your cleavage. His hands rose to your waist, stopping on the waistband of your bra, fingers trembling before daring to go further.

“He is— we— we are in the same friend group,” Jean stuttered. “I— I’ve shared drinks with him. He always hands me cigarettes, please.”

“Jean,” you sighed, your hands resting on his chest. “Are you saying you don’t want to fuck me?”

Jean swallowed thick. He could listen to the music playing on the other side of Armin’s beach house. The locked door in his friend’s bedroom did very little to silence the heavy beat, reminding him that they weren’t alone, that all their friends were dancing in the living room and would eventually realize both of you were missing.

He let out a pained sigh, his thumbs grazing on the warm skin of your abdomen.

“Fuck, of course I do,” he confessed, the alcohol on his veins mixing with his increasing desire, making his head spin. “I’ve always wanted to,” he added in a small voice.

“So?” you asked, your fingers playing with the hem of his jeans, not daring yet to unbutton them. Somehow, it was even worse for Jean.

“He’s my friend,” he repeated, almost as if he were telling himself so. “Eren’s—”

“Fuck him,” you interrupted him in a harsh voice, your stare becoming icy. “Fuck that cheating asshole.”

Jean widened his eyes. “Did he cheat on you?” he asked, incredulously.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you quickly said.

“Is that why he didn’t come tonight? Tell me, what did he—”

“Jean,” you cut him off. “Are you going to keep asking me questions or are you going to fuck me?”

Jean bit his cheek. “I want to know if you’re okay,” he insisted.

“Good enough for you to fuck me and not feel bad about it,” you replied.

He couldn’t contain a small laughter that you quickly imitated. You locked your eyes with him, a smile drawn on your face and and leaned over, capturing his lips one more time. Unlike your previous one, this was tender, your mouth moving ever so gently. Jean kissed you back, maintaining your rhythm, his heart beating hard in his chest.

“You are beautiful,” he breathed out the minute you pulled away.

He didn’t like how sad your smile looked.

“So?” you insisted, your hips softly rocking over him. Considering what you had just dumped on him, he nodded and watched you unbutton his jeans.

He lifted his hips as you lowered his jeans and his underwear. Jean got flustered at the way his cock sprung out, making it evident how hard he got from mere kissing and grinding, his tip already leaking out. It didn’t help that you stared directly at it for a couple of seconds before looking back into his eyes.

“I get the horse jokes now,” you giggled.

Blood rushed to Jean’s face, he could feel his cheeks burning furiously due to your words. You sat on his lap with a flirty grin for a moment, amused with your own comment before you finally touched him. Jean hissed the moment your hand started stroking him, your touch both soft and intoxicating. Your hands kept moving and now he wondered how he could keep on living without it.

You paused and got up from his lap. Jean watched in wonder as you reached underneath your skirt and lowered your black panties across your thighs, knees and calves. When they reached the floor, you kicked them alongside your top and didn’t make him wait until you were on his lap again.

Jean let his hand travel slowly over your thighs, his path finishing between your legs. You restarted your long strokes on his cock, breath hitching for a moment when you felt his fingers sliding across your folds.

“You’re so wet,” he muttered in a small voice, almost as if you weren’t supposed to hear. His index and middle finger gathered your arousal from your entrance and spread it to your front, his thumb now gliding easily around your clit.

You cursed as he kept moving his fingers on you, losing the pace you had set on your hand more times that you could count.

“Jean, just fuck me,” you whispered in desperation, your eyes closed as you f’elt pleasure running throughout your entire body. He shook his head.

“I want you to feel good,” he replied, pressing two of his fingers against your core. You whimpered as he slowly pushed them inside, his hand feeling big inside you and his thumb still stimulating your clit.

You weren’t sure when your hand stopped moving across his length, instead setting on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Jean’s fingers were making your whole body tremble in pleasure and soon he was pressing kisses on your breasts, not caring about removing your bra. He nipped on your exposed flesh, intertwining it with kisses as he made his way up, reaching your neck.

His free hand set on the back of your neck gently, urging you to open your eyes, finding him dangerously close to you.

“I want you to come first,” he said and you found yourself nodding as if it was a command.

His fingers curled inside of you, a loud whine escaping from your lips. Jean’s mouth quickly captured you in a kiss as he swallowed every moan he was provoking in you. Much sooner than expected, you came around his fingers, loving the way he kept moving them for a tad longer until you rode your orgasm out. Jean felt his cock twitching at the way you clenched around him, only imagining how it would feel when it was him fully inside you. He carefully removed his fingers, making eye contact with you as he put them in his mouth and sucked on them, your taste already driving him crazy.

You kissed him roughly, tasting a bit of yourself in his tongue as his hands roamed around your body. You started stroking him again, loving the small moan he made.

“Condom,” you whispered against his lips.

“Wallet,” he replied. You pulled away as you looked for the pocket in the jeans that were now around his thighs.

“Haven’t had it there for long, right?” you asked him playfully as you took the condom out and put his wallet back inside his pocket.

“‘swear I haven’t,” he assured you, his honest response making your grin grow wider.

You ripped out the package and slowly rolled the condom around him, his size still amazing you.

“What?” he asked.

“Just thinking you may kill me with that,” you teased him, the remains of his nervousness quickly vanishing as he laughed. “It’s okay, ‘death by dick’ is a good way to go.”

“That’s why I made you come before,” he said, making you raise your eyebrow.

“Because you know you have a big cock?”

“Because you,” he said, his hands stroking your thighs, “felt incredibly tight around his fingers.”

It was now your turn to feel your cheeks heating up. Not wanting him to notice how flustered you were, you took his cock in your hands again, stroking a couple of times before lining it up against your entrance.

Jean held your hips securely as you slowly started sinking down. Even if coming a few moments ago helped, the stretch still burned.

“You look so beautiful taking it so well,” he praised you, his thumbs stroking your skin. “Keep going, baby, fuck, you’re doing it so good.”

Jean’s words sent a bolt of pleasure between your thighs, making you sink lower and lower until he was fully inside. You softly moved your hips in circles, moaning at how full you felt. Opening your eyes, you noticed Jean had been looking at you the whole time, his eyes glistening with pure adoration after seeing his cock disappear inside the girl of his dreams.

Locking eyes with him, you started moving your hips up and down, setting a comfortable pace as you enjoyed feeling Jean in and out of you. Your hands set on his shoulders as you held yourself.

“Fuck, you’re so beatiful,” he sighed before bucking his hips up, the pleasure making your chest fall forward.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, hips moving now faster as you suffocated your moans against his skin. Both his arms were now around your body, holding you close as you rode him. You lifted your hips until his tip was grazing against your entrance, your hips moving in a small circle before sinking down again, this time much quicker.

“You’re so fucking big,” you panted against his ear, resuming the pace on your hips. “Shit, I love your cock.”

“Use me,” Jean replied, his hands guiding you as you kept moving on top of him. “Just use me however you want.”

His words fueled you one more time, your hips increasing their pace. No matter how much you moved, you ended up always craving for more of him. Your thighs started burning but it was a small price to pay. You just needed more of him, more of his praises, more of his palms holding your ass as your fingers dug on your ass.

Your rhythm was erratic now, body moving by impulse. Every time you tried to regain your pace you failed, just getting off as messily as you could on him.

You felt Jean’s grip hardening on your hips, stopping your moments for a minute. You pulled away to look at his face, wanting to ask him if there was something wrong but before you could even say a word, he started moving his hips hard and fast against you. You screamed as your nails dug on his shoulder, your face going back to rest against his collarbone.

Jean was moving so fast you could listen to the lewd sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs. He thrusted against you without mercy, his cock making you whine desperately against your friend’s neck, calling out his name like a prayer and he buried himself in you.

“Jean! Fuck, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pleaded, scratching his chest. “You feel so fucking good— it should have been you. Should have been you from— shit— should have been you.”

Jean dug his fingers harder on your flesh, his hips moving in rough motions. He got drunk in your words, loving how tight you felt around him, how much he was making you lose control and whimpering his name, very far from the confident girl who had lured him out of the party, locked the door behind her and pushed him to the nearest chair.

He was crazy about you, always had been. He was entranced every time you laughed, confused as to why everything seemed to get better and brighter the minute you arrived and a blushing mess every time you smiled at him while your hand touched his arm warmly. Jean was so pathetically in love he would get whatever was handed to him if it was in the form of you.

Even if it was in the form of you wanting to get back at your boyfriend.

You squeezed against him deliciously as you came, making him grunt as he kept rutting against you. He fell in love in the way you whined against his ear, your hips failing at meeting his hard thrusts as you came down from your high.

Jean pulled your face so he could kiss you, sloppy and messy but also perfect to his eyes. Gently, he pushed you back to a sitting position, your eyes cloudy out of sheer pressure. His hand went back under your skirt and on your front, finding your clit and rubbing on it just the way he just had learnt you liked it.

“J—just came,” you said in a broken moan.

“One more, baby, I know you can do it,” he encouraged you, his thrusts teaming up with his thumb to make you see stars.

This time you came much quicker, your entire body shaking at the force of your third orgasm. You screamed his name so loud there was a chance your friends might have heard but Jean couldn’t care less at the time. Watching you unravel in pleasure sent him over the edge, coming as he kept moving his hand, helping you ride your orgasm out.

You let yourself fall on his chest once more, his cock still inside you as you tried to catch your breath. His chest moved up and down as well, heart beating fast as he came back to his senses. Jean put one arm around your waist, securing you against him as the other rested on the back of your head. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was the last time he would get to hold you in such an intimate manner.

Jean was no fool. He knew what this entailed. You needed to get back at Eren and knowing the animosity between them both he made the perfect subject that went along with your plan. He knew that the moment you danced way too close to him, ignoring Mikasa’s prying eyes and Connie’s surprised look. He confirmed it when you asked him to follow you once your friends’ attention was in a drinking game instead of them. Jean always knew you just needed to set the record straight for yourself and if it were to happen again, he would offer himself once more.

Maybe you would get back with Eren. Maybe it was just one fight and the next time you saw each other you would pretend nothing ever happened between you. Jean wasn’t sure what was going to happen the moment you crawled off him and put your underwear back on.

But for a moment, he didn’t want to care. As he buried his nose in your hair and inhaled the aroma he knew and loved, he thought it maybe didn’t matter at the end of the day.

You were there with him.

And that was all he cared about.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #aot smut #snk smut #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein smut #jean kirschtein smut #aot angst #snk angst #jean kirstein angst #jean kirschtein angst

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

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