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artficlly · 5 months ago

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lessons in lovemaking

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of emotional control, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: hey guys, i'm a woman possessed. i've had so much motivation to write recently, so here is a quick one-shot. i'm sure this concept has been done before but i just couldn't stop thinking about touch starved bucky :( ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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You never would’ve agreed to this mission had you known Barnes was going to be this squeamish. You’d seen the man slit throats without a sound, drop bodies with cold efficiency, and unload an entire chamber of bullets without so much as flinching. He hadn’t even blinked when aliens from outer-fucking-space rained hell upon Earth. But holding your hand? Letting his fingers brush your waist? Anything a devoted ‘husband’ ought to do? The super soldier looked like he’d rather swallow glass. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, for god’s sake.

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

You had to yank him away before anyone noticed the strained—Help me, I’m being held hostage by this incredibly attractive, incredibly capable woman who, might I add, is supposedly my wife—look on his face.

This gala, a weeklong jerkfest for the wealthy and villainous, was meant to be a stroll in the park. Your bread and butter, even if the Red Room had been... regrettable and against your consent, it had taught you an array of useful skills. Yet Barnes was ruining it, turning what should have been a simple infiltration into a goddamn babysitting job. The plan was airtight: pose as a glamorous Russian couple, collect incriminating evidence, and dip at the end of the week. Except Barnes wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. Instead of charming your way through the crowd, you were covering for his stiff, awkward pauses and the fact that he looked less like a besotted husband and more like a man being forced at gunpoint to stand beside you.

By some miracle, you managed to drag him away to one of the empty floors, a tucked-away space littered with stacks of unused tables and chairs. He was wound tight—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the dimly lit room like he was expecting death itself to emerge from the shadows. You didn’t bother with subtlety. Tearing the small recording device from between your tits, you fumbled with the button until the tiny red light blinked off. Whoever ended up reviewing the footage later wouldn’t need to hear the verbal onslaught you were about to unleash.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, keeping your voice low, though the sheer force of your frustration was enough to strip paint off the walls.

Barnes clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he refused to meet your eye. It reminded you of a scolded dog, all pouty and pathetic. You might’ve found it cute under different circumstances. “You’re making this incredibly fucking difficult.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal—”

“Because it’s our cover, Barnes.” you snapped, incredulous. “We’re supposed to be married, not some fucking timid virgin couple. PDA makes people uncomfortable; they look away, and we have less eye on us to, I don’t know—do our fucking job?”

Barnes looked down at his clenched fists, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The dangling diamond earrings you had hanging from each lobe tinkled slightly, and you ran a hand through your perfectly styled hair, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“You’re unbelievable. Fury should’ve just sent me alone—” you muttered, but the words barely left your lips before your eyes caught movement.

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

With haste, you tucked the small recording device back into your cleavage. Barnes noticed immediately, clocking your distress. His brows knit together, hand twitched toward the hidden knife tucked into his suit jacket.

“No.” You scolded. Catching his wrist, you guided it elsewhere—your hips. He stiffened instantly, making a noise of protest, but you kept him locked in place, pressing in until your chests brushed. Too close. Not close enough.

“Play along,” you murmured. “Kiss me. Now.”

“Wha—” His breath hitched, barely enough time to form a response before you rose onto your toes and sealed your mouth over his.

Barnes froze. Stiff beneath your touch, lips rigid like you’d just planted one on a slab of granite. He still tasted like toothpaste—spearmint—and the faint trace of his aftershave clung to his skin. If you’d been trying to salvage some believability, some small thread of natural chemistry, it was impossible now. It was like kissing a statue.

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

The passing group chuckled, one of them murmuring, amused, “Ah, young love.”

Maybe it was the murmured chuckles of the passing guests, or maybe Barnes had finally remembered how to act, because his grip on your hips suddenly tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with unexpected force. The silk pulled taut against your skin, trapping heat between you, and then—

A sound.

Low. Strangled. A rasping, utterly pathetic groan against your lips.

You barely had time to register it before something else stole your attention. In the tight press of your bodies, you felt it—hard, insistent, pressing against your pelvis.

Oh.

The realisation sent a flicker of shock through you, but you schooled your expression, keeping your face composed as you lingered just a second longer—just enough to ensure your audience was convinced. Then, finally, you pulled back.

Barnes didn’t move.

For a moment, he just stared, pupils wide and unfocused, a blissed-out haze dulling the sharp blue of his eyes. But then, like a lightning strike, awareness snapped back into him. Horror overtook his dazed expression, his breath hitching as he seemed to realise—

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

The medium grey of his suit pants betrayed him entirely, darkening at the crotch with an unmistakable wet patch.

You gaped, lips parting in stunned silence. No fucking way.

Barnes didn’t wait for a reaction. With the sheer force of a man fleeing for his life, he ripped himself from your grasp and marched away, stiff-backed and utterly silent, leaving you standing there, speechless.

—

It had been twenty minutes, and Barnes still hadn’t left the goddamn bathroom.

It had taken you all of thirty seconds to track him down, but the moment you found the door, it was locked. Of course it was. You twisted the handle, rattling it in frustration, then resorted to pounding your fist against the heavy wood—subtly, of course, but with enough force that he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“Barnes.” You hissed his name through gritted teeth, pressing closer to the door. Nothing. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. Absolute fucking silence.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as a pair of guests passed by, casting you a curious glance. Yeah, you knew exactly how this looked—lipstick smudged, breath uneven, standing outside a locked men’s bathroom like a woman scorned. You must’ve looked thoroughly debauched.

Your pulse hammered in your throat. This was insane. A simple, fake kiss had made him short-circuit so hard that he fucking came in his pants? Twenty minutes ago, he looked repulsed by the mere idea of touching you, and now he was hiding away like some panicked virgin?

You let out a long, slow groan, dropping your forehead against the door.

“Barnes,” you muttered, knocking again—your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Open the damn door.”

Silence.

You straightened, glaring at the wood as if you could will it into splintering apart.

“Barnes, I have been patient.” You gritted your teeth, knocking harder. “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I will break in.”

Silence.

Motherfucker.

"Alright, I’m coming in," you announced, your voice low but firm.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one was watching, before slipping a bobby pin from your hair. Years of practice made the process effortless; your fingers worked quickly, blindly, jamming the pin into the lock and feeling for the mechanism. A few precise twists, a satisfying click, and—

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

The words were halfway out of your mouth when you pushed the door open, but whatever half-hearted joke you'd meant to make withered before it even reached your tongue.

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

He sat hunched on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands, his entire body drawn in tight like he was trying to fold in on himself. His knee bounced erratically, the rapid motion almost violent in its rhythm. He had ripped off his suit pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, his bare thighs tense, twitching. His fingers dug into his hair, gripping at the strands like he wanted to rip them out, and when his bloodshot eyes flicked up to you—

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

Tears welled along his lash line, his chest rising and falling in uneven, barely contained pants. He looked like a man caught in a cage, seconds from tearing himself apart just to escape it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you before flipping the lock.

"Hey, Barnes…” Your voice was hesitant, softer than before.

He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hands trembling as he dragged them down his face.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, breaking on the words. "I don’t want you in—"

You moved before he could finish, lowering yourself to the cool bathroom tiles in front of him, as if making yourself smaller would make you any less intimidating.

"Hey," you murmured, tone careful but steady. "Look at me."

“No.” It came out sharp, like a whip, a defence mechanism honed over decades. His entire body went rigid, his breathing ragged.

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

Your voice was steady, firm without being harsh, each syllable carefully measured as you crept forward on the cold tile floor. The dress, the dirt—none of it mattered. It wasn’t your dress, anyway. Tony Stark could foot the bill for a replacement if this one got ruined, all this fancy wear was on his dime.

“In through the nose,” you instructed, voice softer now. “Out through the mouth.”

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

He sucked in a ragged breath, chest expanding beneath his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and then exhaled through parted lips. It was shaky, uneven, but it was something. You watched in silence, waiting. His limbs still trembled, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, but the worst of the violent, full-body tremors had eased.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Slowly, you inched forward, shifting across the tiles until you sat in front of his knees. His skin was warm, radiating heat even through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Barnes,” you hesitated, watching his face carefully. “Can I touch you?”

His whole body tensed.

“What?” His eyes darted up, sharp and startled, as if the very question had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Is it okay,” you rephrased, slower this time, gentler, “if I touch you?”

Barnes hesitated. His gaze flickered away, jaw clenching like he was at war with himself. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a small, stiff nod.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then, with slow, deliberate care, you reached out and cradled his face between your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

Not violently. Not like he was afraid of you. But enough that you felt it—felt the way his muscles coiled beneath your fingertips, the way his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. The cool metal of your fake wedding ring grazed his cheek, and his breath hitched, like he had just been burned.

“Keep breathing,” you reminded him, voice low and steady. “Nice and slow.”

Barnes obeyed, dragging in another breath, and you felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The hard lines of his face softened just slightly as he leaned into your touch, nuzzling—actually nuzzling—against your palms.

“There you go,” you murmured, your thumb stroking in slow circles over his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyelids flickered, resisting for a moment, but then those storm-blue eyes finally met yours. He looked exhausted. Frayed at the edges. But grounded, at least. Present.

“Tell me one thing you can smell right now.”

Barnes blinked. A hint of confusion crossed his face. “Smell?”

“Yes, smell.” You nodded, keeping your voice soft, coaxing. “Just one thing. Keep breathing and tell me.”

He hesitated but then took a deliberate inhale through his nose, his bouncing knee slowing. “I guess… whatever shitty fucking chemicals they use to clean this place.”

A quiet laugh left you, your thumb tracing a swirling pattern along his cheekbone. “Good. You’re doing good, Barnes. Now, tell me two things you can feel.”

His breathing had steadied, his inhales and exhales falling into rhythm with yours. For the first time since you’d walked in, he wasn’t shaking as badly.

“This suit jacket,” he muttered after a pause. His metal fingers twitched against the fabric at his arm. “It’s too fuckin’ tight. They always are with my arm—”

His breath stuttered, his body tensing again. Immediately, you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “Just breathe, remember? You’re doing so well. One more thing you can feel.”

Barnes swallowed thickly. His gaze flickered down, just briefly, before settling back on your face.

“You,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I can feel you. Touching my face.”

“Good.” You nodded, thumb gliding over his cheek again. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, and for the first time, it wasn’t shaky. “It feels… it feels nice.”

Something in your chest clenched at the confession, but you pushed it aside. You smiled at him, soft and small, and kept going. “Now, three things you can see.”

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

“You,” he said, still quiet, still certain. His gaze lingered on your mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

"Two more," you breathed, keeping your voice calm and steady, resisting the urge to comment on why your lipstick was smudged in the first place. No need to remind him of that right now.

Barnes' gaze flickered across the small, dimly lit restroom. His body had almost fully relaxed now, his mind preoccupied with the task you'd given him.

"Uh…" He scanned the space, brows furrowing in concentration. "The awful wallpaper… and the sink, I guess?"

You nodded approvingly, finally withdrawing your hands as you eased back onto your knees. The cold tiles bit through the fabric of your dress, but you barely noticed.

"Well done," you murmured. "Now, how about we keep breathing and get you sorted, huh?"

At that, Barnes stiffened slightly. The panic that had been receding just moments ago flickered in his eyes again, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs.

You reached out, grounding him with a gentle touch to his knee. Your voice softened even further. "I’m going to turn around and face the door. I need you to clean yourself up—use the sink, use the soap."

His throat bobbed. "But my—my boxers, they’ll get all wet—"

"There’s a dryer on the wall, see it?" You tilted your head toward the small, dingy dryer meant for hands. "Use it to dry them. Then get dressed, and we’ll head back to the hotel early, okay? Order some shitty takeaway, watch bad TV. Just forget about all this for tonight. How does that sound?"

Barnes blinked as if thrown by the simplicity of the offer. His mouth parted, closed, then opened again, his voice small. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good." You flashed him a reassuring smile before pressing your palms against the sink, pushing yourself to your feet with a small wobble in your heels. "I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything. Keep breathing, alright? Everything’s okay."

Turning, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced the door, giving him the privacy he needed. You tried not to listen too closely. Tried not to glance at the mirror reflecting the scene behind you.

The rustle of clothing filled the quiet, then the tap sputtered to life. You leant your forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes as you focused on the steady stream of water, the faint squeak of the soap pump, and then the soft sloshing and scrubbing of fabric.

The sound of fabric wringing out echoed softly against the tiled walls, followed by the steady hum of the hand dryer sputtering to life. You kept your forehead against the door, listening as Barnes manoeuvred through the motions, drying his boxers first, then his suit pants. The wet fabric slapped lightly against the metal dryer as he held it up, shifting awkwardly as he worked.

You didn’t rush him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stayed where you were, giving him time.

Eventually, the rustling stopped. A sharp inhale, then the familiar slide of fabric as he pulled his clothes back on. The quiet click of a belt buckle being fastened. The creak of leather shoes shifting against tile.

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

He stood stiffly, suit now back in place, though the fabric still carried faint traces of dampness. His jacket was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to be noticeable. You took a slow step toward him, scanning him up and down with a careful eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just stood there, watching you warily, as if expecting a comment.

You didn’t give him one.

Instead, you reached up, grasping the edges of his tie. He stiffened but let you work, your fingers smoothing the silk fabric, tightening it properly against his collar. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips as you brushed against his throat, and though he remained still, you caught the way his breath hitched slightly at the contact.

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

You turned towards the mirror, angling yourself slightly to the side. Your reflection was a mess—lipstick smudged, hair slightly dishevelled. You sighed, wetting your thumb with your tongue before dabbing at the edges of the stain, then reached into your clutch to pull out a small tube of lipstick.

Barnes hadn’t moved.

You could feel him behind you, his body heat pressing against your back in the cramped space. His gaze was heavy, following your movements as you leaned closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the pigment to your lips. You didn’t look at him. You just smoothed the colour in place, pressed your lips together, then capped the tube and tucked it back into your bag.

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

There was a pause. A hesitation. His jaw clenched for half a second before he gave the smallest of nods. “…Yeah.”

You turned fully, flashing him a small, knowing smile before reaching for his arm. He didn’t resist when you looped yours through his, guiding him towards the door. With an easy tug, you led him forward, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. His arm remained tense beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go.

You glanced at him briefly, lips twitching into a small smirk. “C’mon, sergeant. Let’s get out of here.”

Barnes exhaled through his nose, shaking his head ever so slightly. But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, he followed without question, letting you steer him towards the exit, away from the crowded room—away from prying eyes.

—

A small, muffled whine stirred you from sleep. You blinked groggily, rolling onto your side as the cool sheets tangled around your legs. The plush hotel mattress dipped beneath you as you buried your face into the pillow, willing yourself back into slumber.

A low, panting groan cut through the silence, soft at first, then growing in volume. Your brows knit together, heart thrumming uneasily. Something about the sound was… strange. It wasn’t just a groan—it was strained, needy. Erotic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim red dot of the fire alarm and the faint reflection of the turned-off TV. You remained frozen for a few beats, your ears straining to catch the noise again. It came, louder this time—a choked whimper thick with desperation.

Was someone in the room? Adrenaline slammed into your veins as you rolled off the bed in one swift motion, bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. You had heard stories of creeps breaking into hotel rooms, preying on women while they slept. Had one made the mistake of picking yours?

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

Your hand darted to the bedside table, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife, its leather grip smooth beneath your palm. Not even yours, Barnes’—

Barnes.

Your breath caught as your gaze snapped towards the couch, knife slipping from your grip and landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

There, bathed in shadows, was the writhing mass of the super soldier. His blankets lay discarded on the floor as though he’d tossed them off in his sleep. The two of you had agreed to take turns—one in the bed, the other on the couch—to keep up appearances. A stupid arrangement, courtesy of Fury and Stark’s meddling.

You flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light spilt over the room, casting soft amber hues onto Barnes’ form. His face was twisted in torment, and his lips parted around quiet, breathless whimpers. Sweat clung to his skin, catching the glow of the lamp and highlighting the sharp lines of his body. His metal arm whirred faintly as he twitched, fingers flexing against the cushions.

Your stomach dropped when your eyes drifted lower. He was shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling erratically. The thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide the evidence of his dream—more than half-hard beneath the cotton. Was he really that big?

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You should’ve looked away, should’ve given him privacy. But then his hand twitched, drifting downward—

“Barnes.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the haze like a blade.

He jolted awake, body seizing as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he was utterly lost, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with confusion. Then his gaze landed on you—standing there in your thin nightgown, face unreadable.

His eyes flickered downward.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, panic flickering across his face as he yanked a pillow over his lap, shifting awkwardly as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. A string of curses left his lips, voice still wrecked with sleep.

You tilted your head, studying him. His expression wavered, part shame, part something else, something raw and vulnerable. You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers into your temples. There was a pattern here. A man whose body wasn’t his own, whose skin felt foreign, whose touch-starved existence had left him unravelling at the seams.

What in God's name was Fury thinking sending him on a mission like this—or did Fury not know? How could he not? That one-eyed bastard had a habit of knowing everything. Hell, he probably knew the colour of your underwear before you even picked it out for the day, the all-seeing prick.

“H.Y.D.R.A really did a number on you, didn’t they?” you muttered.

Bucky flinched. The words struck deep, sinking into something fragile beneath the surface. He didn’t say a word, just recoiled, fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he was scrambling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Barnes, we’re not doing this again. Let’s just talk—”

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the wooden barrier now separating you. Asshole. You knew you should’ve been more sympathetic. Should’ve handled it differently. But after a long, exhausting day, dealing with Bucky Barnes’ second puberty was not on your list of priorities.

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against the door; your voice quieter now. “I know how you’re feeling.”

Silence.

You could picture him inside, hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I understand what it’s like to be in a body that doesn’t feel like your own.”

A pause. No response.

“It must be hard,” you continued softly. “Not knowing who you are. Not recognising yourself anymore. And then... feeling things you don’t understand.”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to navigate that.” The silence that followed was heavier than before. You didn’t push, didn’t say anything else. Just rested your forehead against the doorframe, waiting.

You had spent the better part of your life under the Red Room’s control, under Dreykov’s control. Every breath you took, every move you made, had been dictated by someone else. Orders given. Orders followed. It was all you had ever known. And then, one day, it was gone. Just like that.

You remembered the moment with eerie clarity: standing in the open air, staring out at the horizon, the sunset bleeding colour into a sky that suddenly felt too vast. The question had gnawed at you, quiet but insistent. What comes next? Who comes next? Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were beyond a weapon, beyond a machine engineered for death and seduction. Two decades of programming, of conditioning, of being nothing more than an asset to be wielded and discarded at will. And then, without warning, you were handed something you were told was freedom.

But what did freedom mean when you didn’t exist?

There were no real records of your birth, no true identity to reclaim. The Red Room had scrubbed that away long ago, erasing every trace of the girl you had once been. No family. No home. No belongings that weren’t issued to you by those who had owned you. And yet, you were expected to smile—to accept this newfound autonomy without question, to embrace the illusion of a life you had no blueprint for.

But how could you, when you weren’t sure if the body you inhabited was even your own?

So even if Barnes thought you were bluffing and just trying to relate for the sake of kindness, he was wrong. Because you understood.

Terrifyingly well.

The difference was that you had refused to let it consume you. You had forced those feelings into the farthest corners of your mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch you. Because if you let yourself linger on them for too long.

“Go back to sleep.” Bucky’s voice finally broke the silence, muffled through the bathroom door.

You sucked on your teeth, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I know the others give you crap about not dating, but you don’t have to let them pressure you,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “You don’t have to force yourself into a role that makes you uncomfortable. It takes time.”

“Back in the day..." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I used to be a real flirt.”

A humourless smirk ghosted across your lips. You could picture it, all smooth charm and effortless confidence. The kind of man who could wink at a girl across a dance floor and have her swooning in seconds. But that wasn’t the man behind this door. That man had been stripped away, piece by piece.

“I just don’t know anymore,” he admitted, voice raw. Your chest tightened. You could almost hear him weighing his words, picking them apart, and deciding how much of himself he was willing to give away.

“When I was the Winter Soldier... they made me do things.”

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

“It’s all… fractured in my mind,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Scattered. Broken.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I understand that. More than anyone. The Red Room… they didn’t just use us for assassinations and espionage.”

There. You had said it. Pulled a piece of yourself from the grave and placed it between you.

For the first time, the door cracked open.

Bucky stood there, dishevelled and breathless, still only in his boxers. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the dim hotel light, while his metal arm twitched slightly at his side. His hair was a mess—damp and curling at the ends, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath, muscles taut beneath the weight of exhaustion.

“Why are you being kind to me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was rough, tinged with suspicion, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Because you’re hurting,” you said simply. “And obviously, you haven’t fully processed any of this.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without another word, he turned and stalked past you, out of the cramped bathroom and into the main space of the hotel room. You followed at a slower pace, arms crossed as you watched him sink onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his metal fingers tapping restless patterns against his flesh palm. His body had settled now, no longer betraying him with signs of arousal. That part of the moment had passed, but the turmoil in his head remained.

With a quiet sigh, you slid down to the floor, settling against the base of the bed across from him. Your legs stretched out in front of you, arms loose at your sides as you let the silence settle between you.

“Have you spoken to Steve about this?” you asked after a moment, voice soft but firm. “Sam?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “God, no.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, fingers threading through his damp hair. “It’s just... awkward. I feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped to you, wary. “What?”

“I could teach you,” you repeated, voice steady. “How to make love. Fuck. How to gain control over your life again. You’re just sensitive; you need a bit of exposure therapy.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, jaw clenching. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the patterned carpet beneath you. “Do you know how many men I’ve fucked and not felt a thing?” you said quietly, barely above a whisper.

“I wasn’t just an assassin or a spy. Not like Natasha or Yelena. I was a swallow, Barnes. A honeytrap.” His expression flickered, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something, some hint of insincerity.

You swallowed, pushing forward. “It’s why Fury sent me on this mission with you. This is all I’ve ever known.”

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Fury knows what they did to you, and he still continues to—”

“I agreed to it,” you cut in, your tone clipped, controlled. “He just wanted our sham marriage to be believable. He wasn’t asking me to fuck you, just to perform. That’s what I do. Perform.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Look, I don’t know you,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “I don’t want your baggage, or for you to fuck me out of pity or... I don’t know, self-sabotage.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than you expected. You recoiled—actually flinched—before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the venom in it, the way he threw it at you like a blade meant to wound. And damn it, it did.

Bucky saw it, too. The way your shoulders stiffened, the flicker of something raw crossing your face before you forced it away. His breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching at his side, but he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften the blow. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, the damage was done.

Your expression hardened like cooling steel, every crack that had formed between you quickly sealing shut, any semblance of vulnerability buried beneath layers of carefully placed armour. It was instinct—second nature, really. You’d spent years perfecting the art of locking yourself away, of making sure no one could reach the parts of you that still bled. You’d built it, brick by fucking brick, until you were fully encased, isolated from anything that might harm you.

Bucky wasn’t the first to speak to you like that. Wouldn’t be the last.

You swallowed down the sting, inhaled slow and deep through your nose, and then let it out in a steady breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, devoid of emotion, a perfect imitation of indifference. “It was just an offer.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You held his gaze for a second longer, searching for something, anything, that might suggest he regretted it. But Bucky just stared back, face unreadable, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turned away, stretching out on the couch with his back to you.

Fine. Message received.

—

The rest of the week had been nothing short of torturous. After the argument, the air between you and Bucky had turned to ice. The two of you barely spoke. Not outside of necessity, not outside of the roles you had to play. At the gala, he did what was required—he held you close, leant into your touch when needed, murmured sweet nothings in your ear to sell the lie. But you felt the restraint in him, the hesitance in the way he brushed a thumb over your knuckles, the barely-there tremors in his fingers when he smoothed a hand over your waist. It wasn’t as if he was walking on hot coals anymore, but there was still that same, underlying hesitation.

Back at the hotel, the silence stretched long and unbearable. Shower, eat, sleep—repeat. Conversations were reduced to one-word exchanges, curt and impersonal. At least by morning, this miserable charade would be over. You’d gathered the intel you needed at the gala, and in a few hours, you’d be free of this place. Free of this suffocating, awkward tension. Free from Bucky’s constant, looming presence.

God, the man had a staring problem.

You had noticed it before, how he always seemed lost in thought, his gaze heavy with some unreachable burden. You had assumed it was just brooding, the kind of silent, empty-headed angst that men like him fell victim to. But now you realised—he wasn’t staring through you. He was staring at you.

You saw it when you dressed for the gala, slipping into silken dresses and heels, when you pinned your hair into elegant styles, when you traced the lines of your lips with lipstick, perfecting the illusion. You’d catch his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Once, he had been so caught up in his daze that he nearly left without putting on his suit jacket. You had to press it into his hands, dragging him out of whatever spell he was under. He had taken it stiffly, mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ but the heat in his face was unmistakable.

And now, as you sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose nightgown, the fabric riding high on your thighs, the same damn stare was drilling into the side of your face.

The TV flickered before you, an incoherent blur of colours and sound. You weren’t even sure it was in English. It didn’t matter. You weren’t watching it anyway. You were too focused on not focusing on Bucky, who stared at the side of your face like he intended to burn a hole through the flesh.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, running your thumb over your knee. The sheets were soft, the mattress more forgiving than the couch you’d been forced to sleep on last night. At least tonight was your turn back on the bed, though ideally, you’d be back in your own apartment by now, wrapped in high-thread-count luxury courtesy of Tony Stark’s absurd wealth.

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

Bucky was still staring at you. You couldn’t help it, annoyance, filthy and venomous came pouring out of your mouth before you could stop it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Bucky startled, his whole body tensing as if you had physically struck him.

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

“No. There’s obviously something you want to say.” You shifted on the bed, your frustration mounting. “Go on, spit it out.”

He hesitated, his jaw working like he was biting down on whatever words were lodged in his throat.

You didn’t let up. “You sure had a lot to say earlier in the week. What, do you want to dig the knife in further? You might as well just call me a whore while you’re at it—”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky cut over you, his head dipping. You paused, momentarily stunned. He was doing that thing again, where he looked like a scolded dog. Adorable, but not the fucking time.“I shouldn’t have said that, it was inconsiderate of me, especially after... after all you’ve done.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Barnes.” The words left your lips quieter this time, but still firm.

“I snapped at you. And I shouldn’t have.” he admitted. His voice was low, restrained.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said, a little softer. “I haven’t exactly been… the kindest either.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay. Like it’s normal.” His voice was strained, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed in what he was asking.

You let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about this—”

“But you get it, right?” He looked at you now, something almost desperate in his gaze. “To not know… who or what you are? Sometimes I… I just want to be normal again.”

You frown deeply, weighing his words carefully. You understood his sentiment, but you knew it was futile. There had never been anything normal about your life—not anything you could remember, at least. The Red Room had seen to that. Your earliest memories were of drills, of ballet, of suffocating discipline, and of the erasure of self. Even now, you weren’t normal; you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for fucks sake, a woman barely pardoned of her crimes, existing in a liminal space. The world's governments couldn’t quite confirm you existed. You were a ghost, a fucking shadow of a person.

“I don’t think people like us get to be normal,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully.

His expression twisted slightly, like he had already known that answer but had hoped for something different.

“But I think,” you continued, “it would serve you a world of good if you let people in. Steve… Sam. You don’t have to face this all alone—Natasha, Yelena, and I look to each other all the time to process it all and patch together the missing pieces. There’s no shame in it.”

Bucky’s face creased, his body drawing in on itself slightly. You moved before he could shrink further, slipping off the bed and kneeling before him.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, voice steady. “Just tell me... what is it you need right now?”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. He fidgeted, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if struggling to force out something that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue all week.

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes flickering to the floor before darting back to you. His voice was hesitant, low—like he was worried some invisible presence might have overheard. “Lessons. Lessons in… love-making. I want to be able to look at a girl without... you know. This fucking week has been torture seeing you—”

He cut himself off, warmth flooding to his cheeks. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it—light, amused, genuine.

Bucky stiffened, eyes widening slightly, horror flashing across his face as if he thought you were mocking him.

You shook your head quickly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.

“Of course,” you murmured, smiling. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

“Is this okay?” you asked softly as you swung your leg over, settling onto Bucky’s lap. The mattress dipped beneath you both, the quiet creak of the hotel bed the only sound between you for a moment. He sat beneath you, legs slightly spread, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You dug your knees into the bed on either side of his thighs, anchoring yourself against him.

His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Yes,” he murmured, though there was a noticeable tremor in his voice, like he was still convincing himself.

“Just breathe,” you encouraged, smoothing your hands over his broad shoulders. His muscles were tense beneath your fingertips, wound tight like coiled steel. He swallowed hard.

“What’s worrying you?” You asked gently. “Is there something I can do to make this more comfortable for you?”

Bucky shook his head, a shuddering breath leaving him as his hands finally found purchase on your hips. His grip was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you. “No,” he said, his voice rough.

“This is great, I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together in frustration.

You tilted your head, studying him, before offering a reassuring smile. Your fingers kneaded into his shoulders in slow, soothing motions, attempting to melt away some of the tension knotted there. “Talk to me,” you coaxed.

His gaze flickered downward, shame creeping into his expression. “I just… don’t want to embarrass myself. Again.”

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, but you refused to let him linger in self-doubt. Instead, you leant in, your lips curling in a playful smile.

“You’re cute when you say things like that,” you teased, running your tongue over your lower lip before continuing. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stay here, in this moment, with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he obeyed, focusing on the warmth of your body pressed against his. Slowly, his grip tightened on your hips, fingers kneading into the flesh more firmly this time. His thumbs traced cautious circles against the fabric of your clothing, testing. You let your hands drift from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Now,” you murmured, keeping your tone soft but steady, “if you get overwhelmed, or if you need to stop, what do you say?”

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

“Good,” you praised, smiling warmly. “And if you can’t speak? If the words won’t come?”

His fingers flexed on your hip before he squeezed in a deliberate rhythm—three distinct beats. You nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching.

“What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “If you want to stop?”

You demonstrated by tapping three times against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ll do the same thing,” you assured him. “Just like we discussed.”

For a moment, he just breathed. His lashes fluttered as he exhaled a slow, measured breath, his hands steadying against you. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’m… I’m ready. I think.”

You smiled, fingers tracing a soft, reassuring path along his jaw.

“Okay. I thought we’d start with kissing, since you seem worried about it. Nice and simple, no pressure,” you murmured, your voice low and reassuring as your fingertips ghosted along his jawline. Bucky swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leaned into your palm without thinking, nuzzling it like a touch-starved thing. His blue eyes, dark as the ocean in a brewing storm, flickered with something hesitant, something fragile.

“I’m sure you kissed plenty of girls back in the day,” you teased, lips curling as you brushed your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Oh yeah,” he exhaled, the words dipped in self-deprecation, “until Steve became… well, the Steve he is now. None of the girls spared me a second glance after that.”

You let out a soft laugh, breathy and genuine, and felt the way his body tensed beneath you at the sensation. It was funny how a man who could tear through steel and strike terror into the hearts of the world’s deadliest enemies could turn so shy at something as simple as your laughter.

“You know…” he hesitated, voice quieter now. “You were my first kiss since… well, everything.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly. You tilted your head, gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, close enough now that you could feel the steady heat radiating from his skin.

“Well,” you murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling your lips as you shifted closer, “now I’ll be your second too.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, a testing press of your lips against his, feather-light and coaxing. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath hitching as though he was bracing for impact. But when you didn’t pull away, when you lingered just a little longer, he melted into you—hesitant at first, but eager.

His hands, large and trembling slightly, hesitated at your waist before gripping your thighs as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you slip away. The warmth of his palms bled through the thin fabric of your nightgown, spreading across your skin like wildfire.

You deepened your kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips more firmly against his, and a quiet sound rumbled in his chest—halfway between a sigh and a groan. Encouraged, you shifted, rocking your hips, the new position pressing your bodies flush together.

Bucky tensed beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh instinctively as you settled against him. His own hips bucked in response, and you could already feel him growing hard against your inner thigh. He pulled back slightly, panting, his lips swollen.

“Am I doing… okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You smiled, smoothing a hand through his dark hair, tugging him gently forward again.

“More than okay,” you whispered against his lips before capturing them once more.

This time, he kissed you back without hesitation. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring himself to you as he parted his lips, following your lead. You swept your tongue into his mouth, slow and purposeful, teasing along his lower lip before deepening it. A groan rumbled in his chest, muffled against your mouth.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the way his breath hitched and stuttered beneath you. Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel him—hard, straining, likely aching for more. His fingers dug into your skin, a bruising grip that only added to the heat blooming in your core.

You pulled away from his lips, shifting your attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, quick and erratic. He tipped his head back, surrendering himself to your touch, a quiet curse slipping from his mouth as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” you hummed against his skin, your voice warm and indulgent, laced with soft praise. His body trembled beneath you as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more of you. You rewarded him with a soft, breathy moan, letting him know just how much you enjoyed this too.

“I—” He tried to form words, but they crumbled before they left his lips.

The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. His hands clutched at you, grounding himself in the sensation, like the overwhelming pleasure was building too fast for him to control. His breath came in short, needy gasps, his hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke, his head tilting forward as his entire body tensed beneath you. A strangled moan escaped him, deep and wrecked, as he came undone. His grip on your hips tightened, his thighs trembling slightly beneath yours as his climax overtook him. His body fell back against the sheets, a soft exhale leaving his lips as the last waves of pleasure wracked through him.

You perched above him, still straddling his hips. For a moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and his lips parted as if he had more to say but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I didn’t mean to finish so early—” he started, his voice hoarse, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Leaning over, you flipped your hair to one side as your face hovered over his. You silenced him with a lingering kiss, slow and reassuring. He groaned softly into your mouth, still sensitive but already melting into the warmth of your lips. When you pulled away, his shoulders had loosened, the rigid tension gone from his body.

“You did so well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good.”

You grinned, sliding off him and stretching languidly before settling back onto the bed. You exhaled, content. Bucky turned his head to look at you, still slightly frozen in place, as if unsure what to do next. His brows furrowed slightly. “What… what about you? Don’t you want to…?”

You snorted. “That doesn’t matter. This was about you, not me.”

He hesitated, clearly still unused to receiving something without feeling obligated to return it. “But I feel bad leaving you—”

“I’m fine, trust me.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you nestled into the warmth of his arm. “We have a long way to go before you need to be thinking about that.”

Bucky went quiet. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, unreadable.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he would say anything at all. But then, after a beat of silence, you felt him shift beside you. A hesitant hand—warm and slightly calloused—ghosted over your arm before settling on your waist, drawing you in closer.

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.

PART TWO

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #beefy bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel

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thydungeongal · 10 months ago

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GMing doesn't have to be a chore and can in fact be extremely fun and rewarding but there are certain learned behaviors and attitudes that make things harder on the GM. Here are just a few tips on how to make the job easier on the GM which also may have the side effect of making the game more fun for everyone:

Everyone should make an effort to learn the rules. The rules are not there to make the game unfun and they are not a necessary evil, they are there to help carry the game so the group doesn't have to do all the work. And everyone taking part in learning the rules means the GM doesn't always have to be the one to remember how a rule works.

To that end, drop the "GM is the final word on the rules" attitude. This places the GM on a pedestal and can actually run counter to the idea of players learning the rules. If the GM has carte blanche to run over the rules it disincentivices players learning the rules because they can't actually rely on the text, and now you're right back to the GM having to carry the whole game. It is entirely okay for players to remind the GM how the rules should work and the group should agree on a method for dealing with rules disputes, and spot rulings should not rely on the GM making a unilateral decision but should rely on some kind of consensus.

Communicate your desires to the group and be willing to compromise; respect each other's prep. You may want a game that focuses on a long-form narrative but the GM wants to run an episodic series of largely unrelated singleton adventures. The GM is the one who is bringing the game, so ultimately be willing to compromise on your vision of the game and respect their prep. Ultimately, if the GM does not want to run the exact type of game you want and you can't see yourself having fun in the type of game they want to run, you will be doing everyone a favor by recusing yourself from the game.

Related to the above, communicating your desires should be an ongoing process. End each session by talking about what you want to do next and where you think the game should go. This will also make it easier for the GM to prep ahead.

This relates to learning the rules: pick a game that actually supports the type of game you want to run. Trust me, whatever time you think you will save by sticking to a game you already know you will make back by not having to fight the rules all the time and actually letting the rules take an active part in carrying the game.

You can literally just use prewritten adventures. Not every campaign or adventure needs to be custom-tailored for your specific group. Using prewritten adventures means that someone's already done a lot of the prep for you.

And finally, don't prep any more than you need to: there is this persistent myth that GMs need to have the entire campaign and world planned from the word go to begin with. While there is nothing wrong with expansive worldbuilding as such, you don't need to prep anything beyond what is strictly necessary. If you're running a wide open sandbox you can get by with a rough sketch of the world and only write things in as they become relevant. If you're running a megadungeon your players don't have to know that you've only prepared the first level for the first session, as long as you have a cohesive broad strokes plan that is perfectly fine. If you're running an episodic campaign, well, you don't need to have anything beyond the next episode prepped at a time, but of course having a rough plan can help.

Of course a lot of this is very opinionated and game specific: some games actively resist authoritative GM prep and want to involve each player equally in setting up the situation, and that's actually great, and in those types of games you should remember that the game is explicitly telling everyone to be involved in the prep. And once again, listen to what the rules have to say: they're there to tell you what the game wants you to do.

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taeyongdoyoung · 2 months ago

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t-t-teach me

summary: college life sucks. but at least you get to study with the hottest guy on campus... pairing: soobin x reader genre: college au, slight angst, smut, colleagues to study buddies to lovers warnings: academic setting, studying, mild allusions to anxiety/insecurities, reader is older than soobin, kissing, praise kink, size kink, handjob, fingering, lots of touching, protected sex (gasp), manipulation if you squint but it's all consensual, some lyrics references as usual author's note: someone on social media commented that soobin's "t-t-teach me" part in love language lowkey sounds like "t-t-touch me" and i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are... word count: 2.2k

Your college life is pretty boring. Study, eat, study some more, eat again, sleep, repeat. So, when your most handsome colleague (in your humble opinion) asks you to help him study for the upcoming exams, you are tempted to agree.

"Pleaseee, Y/N," Soobin begs so cutely. The way his glasses are slightly tilted doesn't help your case. "I can even pay you!"

"I don't want your money, Soobin," you shake your head, determined to play with him a little longer. After all, it is not every day that such a hot guy acknowledges your existence.

"What do you want, then? I'd do anything, I really need to pass, my whole future depends on it."

"Well, shouldn't you have studied throughout the year?" you tease him. "Instead of, I don't know, partying or whatever it is you and your squad do."

"I don't even go to parties. I'm just in my dorm playing games all the time."

"Case in point," you tsk, pretending to be disappointed.

"Okay, I realize I should have taken the courses more seriously, but can you please consider it?"

"What's in it for me?"

"I told you already, the sky is the limit. Just t-t-teach me the material," he stammers sweetly. "When the professors do it, I literally can't focus and understand anything."

"You do realize this isn't an easy task, right? We have less than a month until finals. Even if I do help you study…I can't promise you'll pass."

"Where's your confidence, teacher?" Soobin pouts.

"I haven't agreed yet!"

"Oh, but you just did," Soobin is too adorable to say 'no' to.

So, this is how it starts. Every day, after your lectures end, you go to Soobin's dorm to study. You use every method that has been helpful for you throughout the years. Highlights, flashcards, quizzes, you try everything and anything in order to help Soobin understand the material. At the end of each week you prepare a short test that is meant to aid Soobin in revising the most important information. The first week, his results are disastrous. You honestly don't see any hope but you promised him you'd try your best so you keep modifying the material in order to improve his understanding. The second week, his results are still below average, but slightly better. By the third week, he has definitely reached the expected pass level.

"My God, Soobin, this is amazing progress!" you praise him honestly.

"Really? You think I'd be able to pass?" he asks, still worried about the upcoming exams.

"If you keep up the great work, you surely will," you are confident that he'll make it. "We have one more week until the first exam, I'm sure we'll manage to cover some more ground and revise the essentials."

"Yeah, I think there's still enough time to stick to the plan you made," Soobin nods thoughtfully.

"Here's an idea that might be motivational. If you pass all your exams, I'll reward you."

"Reward me how?" Soobin eyes you curiously.

"However you like."

"What about me paying you back?" Soobin reminds you of the original deal.

"You can just buy me dinner at that sushi place near the university," you suggest simply.

"Sounds good. I'll do my best to pass."

"I know you can do it!" at this point, you genuinely believe in him and are amazed to see how much he's improved.

The exam period starts sooner than you'd like and you now have less time for your study sessions with Soobin, prioritizing individual preparation instead. Honestly, you kind of miss seeing his pretty face every day and explaining things to him. Talking about the material out loud has been helpful for you, as well. The final exams pass by in a flash and now you only have to wait one more week for the results to come out.

"How do you think you did?" you ask Soobin on the phone.

"Ugh, don't ask," he complains. "Even though I felt like we covered all the material, having to explain it in my own words and provide examples was so draining. I have no idea how I did but don't get your hopes up."

"I see," you reply with a sigh.

"I'm not gonna ask how you did, because I'm pretty sure you nailed them," Soobin shuts down any possibility of boasting before it even started.

"Hey, the exams were pretty difficult for me, too," you mumble shyly.

"Yeah, yeah, talk to me again when you flaunt those 100 points."

"Just because I tend to get high results most of the time, doesn't mean I don't struggle," you express your feelings a little harsher than intended.

Soobin is stunned into silence.

"Sorry, that was insensitive of me to say. I guess I never realized how much effort you put into studying."

"It's okay, I'm used to being misunderstood," you answer sheepishly.

"Just because you're used to it, doesn't make it okay. Get some rest. You sure deserve it."

"You too, Soobin."

And with that, the phone call ends. Tensions run high as you anxiously check your email once every two hours for results. You probably care more about this than you should. Only this time your own results are not the only thing on your mind. You really want Soobin to be satisfied with the work he's done. Because you feel like you poured more energy into helping him and you would really hate to see him fail. Not only because you'd feel responsible for it, but because you genuinely like him and want to see him happy.

After what feels like forever, the results are out. Of course, you can only see your own due to privacy reasons. But you know Soobin has also received the same email as every other student. It is only the content that varies. You quickly check your stats and though you didn't get a 100 points everywhere, as Soobin jokingly suggested, you are still pretty proud of yourself. You eagerly grab your phone, meaning to call Soobin when you stop yourself in the last second.

What if he didn't pass all the exams? What if he doesn't want to talk about it? So, instead, you wait until he contacts you first. Luckily, you don't wait long.

"Come over" is the simple message he sends you.

You put on a jacket and practically sprint to his dorm. Is he okay? Is he inviting you over to celebrate or to drink his sorrows away? Your mind races and so do your legs as you near his room. A hesitant knock on his door. A quiet "It's open".

You cautiously enter and study Soobin's expressions in an attempt to read the room. He doesn't look depressed but he doesn't look ecstatic either. What's going on? You just need to know, the uncertainty is killing you.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Soobin asks you coldly.

"Uh…good news?" you mumble, feeling more nervous about whatever he has to say than about your own results.

"Good news is I passed all my exams. I got between 60 and 75 points on most of them."

"That's…incredible! Congratulations, Soobin!" you exclaim proudly. "I'm really happy for you! Wait…what are the bad news, then?"

"The bad news is…you promised me a reward," he whispers darkly.

"Why is that bad news?" you are utterly confused, as you sit down on the couch next to him. "You deserve to be rewarded, you worked so hard to accomplish this."

"That's true, but…I'm not sure you'll like the way I want to be rewarded."

"Anything is okay," you vow, not knowing what's in store for you. "I'll keep my word."

"Oh, I know you will," Soobin smirks and crashes his lips against yours, shocking you completely. Is this really happening? Did you just…both pass all your exams and are now kissing with the hottest guy in your university to celebrate?

"T-t-touch me," he begs so prettily who are you to reject him?

"Where do you want me to touch you?" you easily agree.

He grabs your hand and slides it under his shirt so that you are now caressing his abs. Fuck, his skin is so smooth and hard.

"You're so pretty," you mutter what you've been thinking every time you see him.

"I try to look my best for you," Soobin admits.

"Shut up," you shake your head in disbelief.

"Yes, teacher," he teases you.

"Don't call me that," you groan.

"What would you prefer? Ma'am?"

"Ugh, no, that makes me feel old," your eyes roll.

"Well, you are older than me. How about noona?" Soobin blinks cutely.

"Oh my God, do you ever shut up?"

"Touch me somewhere else," he doesn't ask this time, he demands. You don't even have the time to ask where he'd like to be touched before he's grabbed your wrist again and moves it right on top of his clothed cock. You're seriously gonna die. You're gonna die right in this moment and you won't even go to that cute sushi place. "Take my jeans off."

Your hands are shaking but you do your best to follow Soobin's orders. All your academic knowledge is completely useless in this moment. What you lack in practice, you try to make up for with enthusiasm. Stroking his length and licking him softly seem to do the trick and Soobin grows harder under your touch.

"Why are you so pretty?" you can't help but marvel.

"It's both a blessing and a curse," Soobin grunts loudly. "Wait, stop."

You immediately halt your movements, letting go of his cock.

"Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?" you ask nervously, almost getting teary-eyed at the thought.

"What? No, you're doing amazing, I just…didn't want to come yet."

"Oh, I see," you reply, even though you can't see shit. "When do you want to come?"

"Wrong question, teacher," Soobin disregards your preference for not being called that. But in this moment, you no longer care. "Replace the wh-word with another wh-word."

"Hmm," you ponder out loud. "Where do you want to come?"

"Inside you. If you'd let me."

"Erm, I'm not sure…" you try to find a polite say that you are not really interested in getting pregnant at this point of your life.

"Relax, I've got condoms," Soobin laughs at you gently. "We can save the risky activities for after graduation."

He's already thinking that far into the future?

Soobin touches your folds gently, trying to ease your worries.

"Does it feel good?"

"So good, Soobin," you confess.

"Yeah?" he smirks proudly, as his long finger stretches you open. "Bet I can teach you a thing or two myself."

"I believe you," you sigh wistfully, as you near your high.

While Soobin puts on protection, you try to think of a logical solution as to how this will work. Honestly, you are too wet to care but his enormous size is still intimidating. Your brain seems incapable of coming up with a formula, so you give up entirely. Thinking only makes it worse.

When he slides inside of you, the feeling is so overwhelming you need something to keep you from falling apart.

"Talk to me," you beg.

"What do you want me to talk about?" Soobin asks.

"Anything."

"Linguistics is the scientific study of language. The areas of linguistic analysis are syntax, morphology, phonetics and-"

"Oh my God, really?" you scoff in disbelief. "Exams are over, let's put that behind us."

"What's your love language?" Soobin wants to know.

"Probably words of affirmation. What's yours?"

"Same. Quality time, as well," he responds.

"Oh yeah, definitely," you agree.

"You're taking me so well," Soobin immediately puts the newfound knowledge to use.

"You're fucking me so well," you whisper sincerely.

And this is all it takes for you two burst in each other's arms, experiencing pleasure like never before.

Once you've dutifully helped clean each other up and are cozied up underneath the sheets, the time for a more serious conversation arrives.

"I don't wanna lose this," Soobin gestures in the air between the two of you.

"We can keep studying together," you reply dumbly.

"That's not what I meant," Soobin chuckles. "Wanna spend time with you. We don't have to be studying, we can watch movies and I can teach you how to play games and…other stuff."

"I like the sound of that," you smile warmly.

"Actually, I have a confession to make," Soobin blurts out.

"Oh?"

"Deep down, I knew I'd pass the exams somehow," Soobin whispers. "I just couldn't be bothered to study. Needed an excuse to get close to you."

You can't even be mad at him.

"I have a confession, as well," you say in return. "I agreed to help you because I wanted to know more about you. I could tell you're smart."

"Is it the glasses?" Soobin pouts adorably, tilting his head to the side.

"Nah, you just give off that…sexy nerdy vibe. Glasses or no glasses."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is. From one nerd to another."

"I can live with that," Soobin flicks your nose playfully.

"You still owe me sushi, by the way. For helping you study."

"Oh, teacher. Sushi is not the only thing you'll be eating tonight."

The End

#txt #soobin #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #soobin x reader #soobin smut #soobin hard hours #soobin hard thoughts #txt imagines #soobin imagines #writing

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barnesonly · 16 days ago

Text

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

winter soldier x empath!reader

summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.

word count: 6522

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, possible smut in future chapters? we’ll see.

Chapter Four | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

They don’t tell you where they’re taking you. Only that you’re to walk. No restraints this time — just four guards flanking your sides, guns at their hips, eyes hard and unblinking.

You don’t ask questions. You’ve learned not to.

Your feet drag across polished concrete. The hum of the hallway is too loud. The flickering lights buzz like flies. Something in your stomach coils and won’t uncoil.

It’s when they reach the door that you know.

Glass walls.

Observation room.

Chair in the middle of the room.

Your knees nearly buckle.

“No,” you whisper, but the door opens anyway, and you’re pushed inside.

The light is too white. The air is too cold. You take a breath — and then you see him.

He’s already inside. Another room. Bare. Bright. He’s shirtless, barefoot, shackled down on the chair im the center of the room like a weapon no one trusts anymore.

And then Kern steps beside you. “I thought it would be educational,” he says, calm and conversational, as if discussing the weather. “Breaking you was easy. You forgot who you are rather... quickly. With much lighter treatment too, 009… But him?” He lets out a low, dark chuckle. “It took us about 20 years to break him. With… different methods. Worse methods...” he stops for a moment. “You’ve never seen the full process, have you?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Your heart’s beating too loud.

Kern follows your gaze through the glass. “We don’t usually bring people here. It’s… messy. Primitive. But in your case, I think it’s warranted.”

A technician walks into the other room. Presses something on the wall. The metal rig above the Soldier shifts with a mechanical whine — claws unfolding, latching onto the back of his head. You flinch as it forces his chin up.

You’re frozen. No air. No sound. Just the echo of machines and the weight of your pulse in your throat.

“Please don’t,” you manage, hoarse.

Kern folds his hands neatly in front of him. “You think you can change things, little empath. That your attachment means something. That it protects him.” He nods toward the room. “But all it does is hurt you both."

The lights above him flicker. You want to turn away. You try. But you can’t. You’re riveted to the glass, nails digging into your palms.

The machine comes to life.

A low, electric hum.

Then the voice: robotic, cruel, deliberate.

“Ready to comply?”

He flinches.

You flinch with him.

“Ready to comply?”

The Russian words come next.

Kern leans in, his voice low.

“Do you know how many times he’s heard that phrase?” he murmurs. “How many times he’s screamed before the words stuck?”

The Soldier doesn’t scream this time.

Not yet.

But you see it start — the tremor in his shoulders, the twitch of his jaw. And when the machine shocks him, it’s not a scream. Not exactly. It’s worse.

It’s a whimper, you hear it through the speaker connected to the microphone in the other room.

And it shatters you.

You slam your hand against the glass. “Stop it—stop—!”

But the glass is soundproof.

He doesn’t hear you.

Kern watches your reflection.

“Let it sink in,” he says. “You’re watching the man who would bleed for you forget who you are.”

You shake your head violently. “No. He won’t forget.”

Kern hums. “Oh, he will. They all do, eventually. But I thought it’s gonna be more fun If we don’t erase everything at once, just crumbs at first, pieces… So you can watch him not remember you every time you’re sent to him. The only question is what will break first — his memory, or your heart.”

Another shock. This time, he screams.

And you can’t stop the tears as they blur the image of him in that chair— chained and helpless, breaking open right in front of you.

Kern’s voice is soft now. Close to your ear. “You kissed him like he was yours. But he isn’t. He never was. He belongs to us. And you’re going to watch until you understand that. Until you make your choice.”

You blink, chest heaving. “What choice?“

Kern doesn’t look at you. He watches the him instead, the way the Soldier’s body jerks with another pulse of electricity, head snapping back. “I told you already,” he murmurs. “You can end this.”

You stare at him.

“I want you to choose that, I want you to stop fighting for him so we can move on.” he grins. "Say the word,” he continues, voice like poison silk. “We’ll wipe him. Burn every trace of you out of his head. He won’t feel anything for you anymore. No pain. No guilt. No memories. It’ll be like you never existed. And you will begin to cooperate again, on other cases.“

A pause.

“Or…” His eyes slide to yours, and they’re empty. “We keep going. We bleed him dry. And maybe he dies screaming with his name for you on his lips.” Kern smiles faintly. “Because you see, little bird — I told you I need to unmake you now. Reset not only him but you as well. You grown attached and now we need to fix this. It’s your choice, 009.”

You don’t think.

Your body moves before your mind can catch up — a surge of heat, of fury, something primal roaring through your chest like wildfire.

He belongs to us.

No.

No, he doesn’t.

You spin on Kern. Your fist flies. It connects with a sick crack, knuckles splitting open against his jaw. He stumbles a step back, startled — not from the pain, but the fact that you dared.

Your breathing is ragged. Your vision blurs at the edges. “You don’t get to say that,” you snarl, trembling. “You don’t get to talk about him like he’s some—some thing.”

Kern touches his lip. Blood. He seems almost… amused. “Interesting,” he murmurs.

But you’re not finished.

You lunge again — not with fists this time, but your whole body, slamming into him. You don’t care that he’s stronger, or trained, or that the guards are already rushing in. You want to hurt him. You want him to bleed. You want him to feel even a fraction of what you’ve felt.

“What did you do to him—what did you do—!” Your voice is a scream, ragged and desperate. “You think you can break people and own them—like it means nothing—”

You’re tackled from the side. Arms yank you back, drag you off him. Boots crush your knees down to the floor.

You keep fighting. Your teeth find flesh. You bite. You kick. You scream until your throat rips.

Kern straightens slowly. Wipes his lip.

“You love him,” he says, almost gently. “How unfortunate.”

“Fuck you.”

He sighs. “I had hoped you’d choose differently. But I suppose your reaction makes it clearer than ever.”

Then he crouches beside you.

And when he speaks, it’s a whisper meant for you alone. “You’ll regret this.”

They drag you out and Kern turns to one of the guards. “Tell the scientists I want him wiped. Completely.”

———

They come for you again.

No words, no explanation.

Just the mechanical clang of your cell unlocking. A sharp command. The two guards who flank your sides don’t even bother to make eye contact.

You walk. The corridor is quieter than before. The lights hum softly overhead, casting a clinical glow that makes everything feel too white, too sterile — like even the air is trying to scrub itself clean of what happened here.

You recognize the path. You count the turns.

And your stomach knots.

You’re going to him.

They’re sending you to him.

After what you did to Kern.

This doesn’t add up and you know that.

You know he’s not himself. You saw what they did. Heard his screams. Watched the machine drag his memories down into static, blank space.

Still—still, your fingers twitch at your sides. As if maybe, just maybe, you could reach him.

The door opens. They nudge you forward and then they’re gone.

You step inside.

The cell is the same as always — concrete, steel, dim light leaking from a flickering fixture overhead. No windows. No warmth.

But he’s here. He’s standing in the center of the room.

Alone.

Unbound.

No chains. No shackles. Just his breath — slow, steady — the kind of calm that doesn’t feel human. Like the air before a detonation.

Your own breath stills.

He looks—… Empty.

Not tired. Not angry. Not in pain.

Just… gone.

Eyes locked straight ahead, unreadable. Bare-chested, arms slack at his sides. The light catches on the silver of his left hand. It doesn’t move.

He doesn’t move.

But you do. You take one step. Quiet. Cautious. “Hey,” you say softly, like you’re speaking through a dream. “It’s me.”

His head lifts. His eyes meet yours.

And it nearly breaks you.

Because there’s nothing behind them. No recognition. No flicker of warmth. Not even hate. Just absence. Cold and clinical. Like a stranger looking through you.

But still — still — you speak.

“Do you remember?” you ask. You don’t let your voice crack. You won’t. “You knew me. You… you let me touch you. You let me in.”

No answer.

He’s standing so still it’s unnatural. Like someone programmed him into place and hit pause.

You take another step. Carefully. “I know you’re in there,” you whisper. “I know they haven’t taken everything.”

Something shifts. Not his face — that stays blank but his posture changes. Slightly. A minute readjustment in his stance. His feet plant more firmly. His spine straightens.

And it hits you too late. He’s preparing.

Your lips part. “Wait—”

But he doesn’t.

He moves quickly. You don’t even see the full motion. Just the blur of silver and the jolt of pain when it strikes — a brutal, instinctive blow to your side. Your ribs scream. The air rushes from your lungs in a choked gasp. You stumble, crash into the wall, and collapse to the floor.

The breath won’t come. You taste metal. Your vision tunnels for a second — a flash of static, just like the machine.

And still, he doesn’t follow. He just stands there.

Like nothing happened.

Like you never happened.

You press your palm to the floor, dragging yourself upright inch by inch. Your ribs throb with each breath.

But you look at him. You have to.

His chest rises and falls. Even. Calm. Unmoved. He doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t see you.

And yet — you whisper anyway. “It’s okay,” you rasp. “You didn’t mean it. I know it’s not you. I know you’re still in there.”

The silence answers. Heavy. Immovable.

Your vision blurs, but you blink it clear, even as your heart folds in on itself.

Because you’re not afraid of him.

You’re afraid of what he’s become.

What they’ve taken and what might never come back.

Your ribs are screaming. You’re still on the floor, fingers curled against the concrete, breath hitching in broken fragments. The ache from his blow pulses outward — deep and bruising, sharp beneath every inhale.

But your eyes are on him. The Soldier stands still, like he’s waiting for something, like this was just step one.

And then—there’s a voice, a crackle from the ceiling — the cold hum of a speaker. “You didn’t really think we’d let it go, did you?” Kern’s voice is smooth, lazy. Like he’s sipping coffee, watching a show. “Did you think I’d forget your little outburst, 009?”

You flinch.

“Actions have consequences,” Kern says. “You want to pretend you’re not one of us? That you’re better? Fine.”

The Soldier tilts his head slightly — listening. Obeying.

Kern’s voice softens, amused. “You made a mistake, 009. Lots of mistakes, actually.”

You try to stand. The pain says no. Your hand slips in your own blood. Not a lot — not yet. But enough.

“I told you,” Kern murmurs. “You’d regret it.”

A mechanical click echoes from above and the Soldier moves. No hesitation. No pause. A silent, brutal calculation written into the way he walks — each step crisp and quiet, closing the space between you.

You press your back to the wall. Panic claws at your throat, but your hands tremble with something else.

Please, you think. Please, if there’s anything left of him…

Your powers rise like a tide inside you — bright static behind your eyes, a burn at your temples. You reach. Past flesh, past pain. Into him.

It’s like hitting a wall of ice.

Everything inside him is dark. Silent. Compartmentalized. A thousand locked rooms, each more frigid than the last. No feelings. No past. No future. Just silence.

But—

There. In the static.

A flicker.

Not light. Not memory. Just a name.

Buried so deep it bleeds to touch it.

James.

You choke on a sob. It burns behind your teeth. The Soldier is still coming closer, blank-eyed and brutal, every line of him built for death.

You look up at him, and you say it.

“James.”

He freezes. For a moment, all you can hear is the static behind your eyes and the sound of your own ragged breathing. The Soldier — James — stands above you like a blade suspended mid-strike. He’s still staring at you, eyes wide, pupils blown. Frozen.

A hiss from the speakers interrupts. The soft click of a mic being turned back on.

“Well,” Kern says, his voice low and sharp, like the edge of a scalpel. “That was unexpected.”

You don’t look away from James. Your mouth tastes like blood, but you hold your ground — still slumped against the wall, arms shaking, tears slipping down your face.

“You shouldn’t know that name,” Kern continues, more thoughtful now. Less amused. “It’s buried deep. Scrubbed clean. Took us nearly a decade to get it out.”

James flinches. Not visibly. But you feel it — through the echo of your powers still tethered to him by threads you don’t understand.

“You reached him, didn’t you?” Kern murmurs, almost to himself. “Fascinating.”

James takes a step back. It’s small — barely a shift of weight. But it’s not retreat. It’s confusion. Like his own body just betrayed him.

“Name recognition shouldn’t override conditioning,” Kern says. There’s something colder about his voice now. Less smug. “He shouldn’t be capable of freezing. Not like this.”

You look up at the camera, glare at the invisible man behind the voice. “I told you,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “He’s not yours.”

The pause is long.

Then: “Say it again.”

You blink. “What?”

“That name,” Kern says, clipped. “Say it again.”

You hesitate but you do it anyways.

“James.”

James shudders. His jaw tightens. His hand — the metal one — curls into a fist. His chest is rising and falling too fast now, like he doesn’t know why he’s breathing so hard.

Kern swears under his breath.

“That’s not possible.”

He’s not talking to you anymore. You feel it — the cold shift in the air, the realization hitting him like a slap. You’ve done something you weren’t supposed to. You’ve slipped your fingers into a lock no one could pick. You’ve scratched at the edges of something Hydra believed was irreversibly erased.

And you feel it from James too.

A heartbeat.

A flicker.

He’s still not speaking. Still not him.

But he’s not Winter Soldier either. Not entirely.

The lights above flicker. Somewhere in the surveillance room, Kern slams a button.

“Sedate him,” he snaps. “Now.”

The last thing you see before the door slams open and the guards rush in — syringes ready, boots echoing across steel — is James looking at you.

“D-dove…?”

It’s barely a whisper.

But it’s him.

Your name—no, not your name. His name for you.

And before you can answer, before you can even move—

The guards descend. Syringes sink into his neck and James drops like a felled tree, collapsing to the ground with a thunderous, heart-shattering silence before they drag him out.

———

They’ve cleaned the blood off your face, but not gently. Your limbs still shake. Now you sit back in the familiar metal chair, wrists free, posture slumped but not submissive. The room is quiet. Bright. The hum of fluorescent lights is the only sound.

And then the door opens. Kern steps inside alone. He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t even sit. Just circles you, slow and measured, like a surgeon inspecting an incision that bled more than expected.

You don’t lift your head. Not yet. You don’t give him that. He stops behind you. You can hear the scratch of his gloves as he folds his hands together.

“You did something,” he says finally, tone carefully flat. No smile. No condescension. Just tension—coiled, thin, humming beneath the surface like a live wire.

You say nothing.

He moves again, stepping into your periphery.

“I gave you a choice. Pain or peace. You chose chaos. You chose to hurt me.” He smiles, but it’s the kind that doesn’t reach the eyes.

You meet his gaze now. It hurts to move your neck, but you do it anyway. “Is that why you sent me in there? Because I hit you?”

“I told you you’d regret it,” he says simply.

You laugh once — dry and cracked. “So that’s what this is? A tantrum?”

His eyes narrow. “I thought it would frighten you,” Kern says. “Watching him turn on you. Break you. But instead… you broke something. Something vital.”

You don’t respond, but your fingers twitch in your lap. Power coils in your chest, aching like a bruise.

“He remembered something he’s not supposed to.” Kern’s voice grows lower, darker. “He remembered his name.”

You lift your chin, bruised and raw but defiant. “James.”

Kern’s head tilts slightly, cold eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t know it.”

Your voice is quiet, but it cuts like a blade. “And he shouldn’t remember it.”

The words land between you, heavier than anything either of you has said so far.

Kern stares.

“That name was extracted,” he says, more to himself now than to you. “Scrubbed. Severed from all command triggers. We pulled every root.”

You don’t look away. “You missed one.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“And where did you find it?” he asks softly.

“In the dark,” you whisper. “In that static you buried him in. I reached for him — and he reached back.”

That quiets the room. Fully.

“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” he says, suddenly too calm. “You’ve undone years of work. Compromised a subject we perfected.”

“He’s not a subject,” you snap, and your voice is stronger now. “He’s not your machine.”

Kern leans down, his face close now, voice low and cruel. “He is exactly what we say he is. He doesn’t exist without us. Neither do you.”

You don’t blink. You let your power stretch, just enough for Kern to feel it — the crackle under your skin, the tremor in the air, the warmth behind your bruised ribs that refuses to die.

“You’re afraid of me now,” you whisper.

Kern’s smile returns — but it’s thinner now, brittle at the edges. “No. I’m interested.”

He straightens, tapping twice on the tablet in his hand.

You stare at him as he moves to leave.

But just before he reaches the door—

“You keep calling him your weapon,” you say. “But weapons don’t hesitate.”

Kern doesn’t turn around.

“They don’t flinch. They don’t freeze.”

Still, he says nothing.

“So maybe,” you add quietly, “he’s not your weapon anymore.”

The door opens with a hydraulic hiss — a sound you’ve heard a hundred times — but this time it feels different. Not final. Not clean.

The light spills in from the hallway, but it doesn’t reach you.

Kern steps into it without a word.

And as the door seals shut behind him with a hollow thunk, the silence that follows isn’t empty.

And you’re left with your heart pounding, sore in every limb—but something inside you burns a little brighter.

James remembered.

And that means something is changing.

Something they can’t control.

Interview over.

———

You don’t sleep. It’s been days but you can’t.

The lights in your cell have been flickering ever since they dragged you back. One overhead buzzes like a fly trapped under glass. Every now and then it dims completely, then flares too bright.

Your hands are still trembling. Not from pain — not anymore. That’s old news. It’s something else now.

Something new.

At first, it was just a flicker. A feeling that didn’t belong to you. A sharp jolt of fear. Cold air on bare skin. The echo of a voice — not yours — hers. A nurse, maybe. Screaming.

But it passed.

You told yourself it was the trauma. A leftover hallucination, maybe it was your memories coming back in pieces, slowly.

Until it happened again.

This time, it was worse. Train. Fall. Snow. Blood. The insufferable ache in your left shoulder, a wound you didn’t remember getting, and—

You gasped so loud it made the walls echo.

And then it was gone.

You’re back in your cell. Alone. Your shoulder doesn’t ache anymore but your heart is still racing, like it was real.

It doesn’t feel like a dream. It doesn’t feel like memory, either.

It feels like someone else’s life.

And deep down, you already know whose.

You slide your knees to your chest. Curl in tight.

Something is changing. It’s not just the bond anymore. It’s deeper. Hungrier.

You’ve never pushed that far before. Never reached into someone’s mind with that much force. That much need. And now something in you is… unspooling.

You close your eyes.

This time, it’s snow again. Bright, endless snow. Boots crunching over ice. A rifle slung across a shoulder. And orders — sharp and Russian. Your hands move on instinct, you look down at them and you see one of them is metal.

You snap out of it again with a gasp.

You’re not sure who you are anymore.

But you know who he is.

And whatever’s happening to you… It’s only getting stronger.

———

The lights are low. Cold blue screens cast sharp shadows against steel walls. Footage loops quietly — her pacing, her trembling, the Soldier slumped in sedation.

Kern stands at the console, still as a blade. His jaw ticks. “She said his name,” he mutters.

Voss doesn’t look up from the monitor he’s watching. “You’re the one who said he couldn’t remember it.”

“He can’t. It was erased. Conditioned out. And she—” Kern gestures sharply, pacing. “She pulled it out of him. Like it was nothing. She reached through a decade of programming and touched the most classified name in this facility. That’s not empathy. That’s a goddamn breach.”

Voss hums. “The readings did spike. Her vitals too. I thought she was going to pass out.”

“She should have.” Kern turns, eyes blazing. “She should be broken. Obedient. But instead she’s getting stronger.” He grabs a file off the desk, slams it down. “And now he is too. Look.”

He flips to the latest Soldier's report. Voss’s eyes flick down it.

“Neurological instability,” Voss reads. “Unresponsive to trigger words. Increased emotional resistance.”

“Exactly.” Kern leans in, voice low. “He didn’t kill her. He hesitated. That’s not Winter Soldier. That’s James Barnes for fuck sake!" He raises his tone. "Pierce will fucking kill me when he finds out!"

A beat of silence.

Voss finally looks at him. “So what do you want to do?”

Kern exhales slowly. “We can’t let her continue this. Every second she’s near him, we risk losing years of work."

“You want to terminate her?”

“No,” Kern says immediately. Then, quieter: “Not yet. She’s too valuable. Too dangerous. She needs to cooperate.”

Voss raises an eyebrow.

Kern’s eyes narrow, calculating. “She’s changing. Evolving. I don’t know what she’s becoming, but I know this — if we push her too far, we’ll lose control. Of her and him.”

Another pause.

“We’ll offer her something. A new deal. Something that makes her need us again. Desperation is going to work better than pain."

“What do you have in mind? You think she’ll take a deal?” Voss asks, skeptical.

Kern doesn’t answer right away. He presses his palms against the console, gaze locked on the monitor where she sits, curled on the floor. Her hands are trembling.

“We don’t have a choice,” he says. “She’s already figured out how to work around the pain. The sedation. The conditioning. We can’t beat her into submission anymore.”

Voss frowns. “So we trick her into thinking she’s free?”

Kern smiles thinly. “Exactly. We let her believe she’s negotiating. That she has leverage. If she thinks she’s making choices, she’ll stay just within the lines we draw. We give her some comfort, some illusion of agency — keep her from realizing what she's really doing”

“A weapon,” Voss says.

Kern shakes his head, eyes gleaming. “No, you idiot. A failsafe.”

He turns to face Voss fully now, more animated, voice sharp with conviction.

“She’s the only thing that’s kept him from going nuclear these last few sessions. Every time he glitches, she calms him. Even if it’s unintentional. She’s… syncing to him. I don’t know how, and I don’t care — but if we lose her, we lose him. And if we lose him, we lose everything.”

Voss crosses his arms. “You sound like you admire her.”

Kern lets out a dry laugh. “Admire? No. I fear her.”

He leans closer to the monitor, watching her breathe. “You think the Soldier’s the real threat? No. She’s worse. At least he had a leash.”

He straightens again, composed now, voice cold. “We’ll let her see him. Alone, maybe. Just once. We’ll even let her think she earned it. She’ll want more. And when she does…” he gestures vaguely, satisfied. “We tighten the chain. Make her come back to us willingly. Make her take the deal.”

Voss hums again. “And if she doesn’t?”

Kern’s smile drops. “Then we find out what happens when the Winter Soldier has nothing left to lose.”

A long, heavy pause. The only sound is the hum of the screens.

Kern turns away. “Prep the room,” he says. “She’s getting a visitor.”

———

You hear the locks first. A low mechanical hum. The grind of metal. Then the hiss. You don’t move. Not at first.

You stay curled on the cot, arms looped around your knees, spine pressed to the wall. You’ve learned not to flinch. Not to hope. Visitors don’t mean kindness here. They mean control — scientists, nurses, guards, agents.

But then — you hear a voice.

Rough. Hesitant. Like it was pulled out of him against all odds.

“…Dove?”

Your head snaps up.

He’s standing in the doorway. Not the Winter Soldier — not the cold-blooded ghost Hydra shaped out of violence and obedience. Not the weapon they sent to break you.

James.

Real. Breathing. Bruised by memory.

You don’t think. You don’t weigh consequences or surveillance or pain.

You run to him. Your bare feet slap the floor. Your ribs scream from where they never quite healed. But none of that matters. You cross the distance in seconds — and crash into him.

He catches you with both arms like he was waiting.

Like he needed to.

Your face buries into his chest. His arms lock tight around your back, and the sound he makes — it’s not a word. It’s something raw, something broken. Like he was hollow before this moment and only just remembered how to breathe.

“Dove,” he says again, quieter. Like it’s a promise now. A prayer. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I hurt you. I— I didn’t mean… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You coo and nod against him, burying your head impossibly close into his chest. “I know this wasn’t you. You didn’t want to hurt me, I know...” you sob.

He pulls you closer.

“I thought they— I thought they—” you start, but your throat closes. There’s too much in it. Fear. Relief. Love. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

His metal hand cradles the back of your neck. Gentle. Careful. Like you’re something fragile. Like he remembers what it felt like to lose you.

Neither of you speak for a long moment.

There’s no need.

He breathes you in like air, like life, and you press yourself closer, afraid he’ll vanish if you let go.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to see your face. His human hand touches your cheek like he’s never been allowed softness before. His brow furrows, eyes flicking over your features like he’s trying to commit them to memory — or maybe remember them.

“You made it stop,” he murmurs. “The noise.”

You blink at him, dazed. “What?”

“In my head. It’s always there. Screaming. Commands. Numbers. Orders. Static.” His voice shudders, like it’s not used to being his own. “But then you… you reached me. You said—” His jaw tightens. “You said my name.”

“I didn’t even know it then,” you whisper.

“But you said it.” His gaze locks with yours. “And it fit. Like—like something clicked. Like something I forgot remembered you.”

You swallow hard. “And then…?”

“Everything cracked.” His fingers tremble slightly against your skin. “Like a window before it shatters. I couldn’t hold it all back anymore.”

Your heart aches. “I didn’t mean to break you.”

“You didn’t.” His voice is low, certain. “You found me.”

His forehead leans against yours. You close your eyes. His breath warms your lips. “You were the only thing that felt… real. In all that ice. All that silence.”

You pull back just slightly to look at him again. “They’re going to hurt you for this.”

“They already did.” He exhales. “But I don’t care. You—” His eyes shine with something unspoken. Something vulnerable. “You made me remember.” He whispers.

You shake your head, your voice small. “I don’t know how I did it.”

He lifts your hand in both of his, like it’s holy. “You touched me.” He taps his temple. “In here. That’s never happened before, Dove... I've never-... I've never remembered anything that wasn't Hydra. That wasn't you. I have never thought I'd remember anything from my life."

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

Even as you both slowly sink to the floor, backs to the cold wall, shoulders touching, fingers still interlaced like a lifeline.

For a while, there’s just quiet. The kind that only comes when two people are too overwhelmed to speak and too afraid to stop feeling.

Then you whisper, “Why now?”

He turns his head, barely. “What?”

“Why would they let you come here?” You lift your eyes to the camera above the door. The little red light blinks, unblinking. “After everything. After what happened in the room. After what I did to you.”

“You didn’t do anything to me.” His voice is firmer now. “You helped me remember.”

“That’s exactly what they didn’t want.” You exhale sharply. “So why would they let us see each other again?”

James stares at the opposite wall like he’s trying to see through it. “Maybe they didn’t have a choice.”

You glance at him. He’s still bruised. Still exhausted. But there’s something in his eyes now — some faint gleam of intuition, of fear sharpened by instinct.

“They’re afraid,” you murmur, realization dawning.

He nods slowly.

“But they still sent you.”

“Maybe they think they can use it.” His jaw clenches. “The way they always do.”

You go still. “What if this is just another test?” you whisper. “Another way to break us open. Control us better.”

His grip tightens. “Then we don’t let them.”

The words hang there between you. A quiet vow in the silence.

He leans his cheek against your hair. “They made a mistake bringing me here.”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Yeah.” His voice drops to a low murmur. “Because now I remember what I’d fight for.”

———

They come for you an hour later.

Two guards. One with a bruised cheek — the same one you kicked in the corridor days ago. He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t speak. Just unlocks your cell, cuffs your wrists behind your back, and leads you down the hall you’ve memorized in nightmares.

You’re brought into the white room again. No table this time. No restraints. Just him.

Kern.

Leaning against the wall with his sleeves rolled up and a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Well,” he drawls. “How was your little date?”

You don’t flinch.

“You let him come to me,” you say. “Why?”

Kern tuts. “That’s no way to greet someone. Especially not after I went through all the trouble of arranging a reunion.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t arrange anything out of kindness.”

“No,” he admits easily, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “But I do admire your instincts. You’re right to be suspicious.”

You remain silent.

He circles you once, like he’s still deciding what angle to strike from. Then stops behind you.

“You broke him open,” he says, voice low. “Cracked something I was very carefully keeping sealed. That’s… inconvenient.”

“I thought your plan was to separate us,” you say flatly.

“Oh, we could,” he replies, stepping back into view, “but here’s the problem, 009 — you’re too valuable now.”

You blink.

He smiles like it’s a game.

“We need him stable. We need him focused. You’re the only variable that’s ever done that without a sedative or an electric charge. So congratulations.” He claps once. “You’re a vital asset.”

Your stomach twists.

“You think I’ll help you control him again? Now?"

“No.” He leans in, voice softening like he’s offering a secret. “I think you’re tired of being broken. I think you want some control back. Even if it comes with strings.”

You stare at him. “What are you offering.”

Kern grins. “You get more access to him. Regular visits. A better cell. Less interference. Maybe even a book or two.” He cocks his head. “In exchange, you keep him stable. Keep him cooperative. Make him believe there’s something worth obeying for. Just like in the beginning." He explains. "We might need to make a few steps back but that's something I can... accept."

“You want me to betray him? To turn on him?” you say coldly.

“Turn on him?” Kern scoffs. “No. I wouldn’t call it betrayal either. You still love him, don’t you? He should be grateful that you’re doing this for him — sacrificing yourself for the sake of your sweet relationship. That’s a better point of view, don’t you think? More convenient.”

“Maybe for you.”

Kern grins. “He doesn’t have to know. And you will get to see him. You will get to spend time with him… This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He doesn’t blink. “All I want in return is the pretty little dove who makes the Winter Soldier feel human to cooperate. We need him to cooperate. He’s got missions to complete.”

You stay still. Too still. Inside, you’re screaming. “And if I say no?” you ask.

“Then we go back to the dark. The pain. The noise. Until he forgets again. But that’s a long way. You will cause troubles, he will. Eventually they will send him away… or you. All of us will get punished — him, you, me. None of us wants that, right?” Kern shrugs.

You breathe slowly. Once. Twice.

Pause. You think about it.

Kern continues.

"This time I'm offering better options, 009." “But don’t mistake this for freedom, sweetheart. It’s just a prettier cage.”

You hold his gaze.

“All I know is cages, Kern.” you murmur. “You should be more worried about what happens when I learn to unlock them.”

Kern watches you with mild interest, like a man indulging a child’s tantrum — but you can see it now. The crack behind his gaze. The flicker of tension beneath the smug.

You lean in just slightly.

“I want more,” you say.

He tilts his head. “Is that so?”

“You don’t get to play god and beg for my help, Kern. If I’m your solution, I get say.”

His jaw tightens.

“No more pain,” you say. “You stop torturing him.”

Kern lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You think I’d sign off on that?”

You stare. “You want him stable. Torture doesn’t make people stable.”

“It makes them obedient.”

“It makes them shatter.”

Silence hangs between you.

Then — quieter, like it costs something:

“Please.”

Kern’s eyes narrow. He moves to the other side of the room, pacing slowly — considering, weighing.

“I can’t agree to that,” he finally says, turning back. "That's not for me to decide."

"Oh, I think it is." You scoff. Kern sighs.

There is a pause.

“I’ll talk to Voss. Maybe… we reduce the frequency. Shorten the duration.”

You don’t thank him. Don’t smile. It’s not a kindness. It’s a transaction.

“One more thing,” you say.

Kern sighs again, more dramatically this time. “Of course.”

You take a breath. “And you turn off the camera.”

His face freezes.

“…Excuse me?”

“Every three sessions,” you repeat, calmly. “You cut surveillance for ten minutes.”

He stares like you’ve spoken another language.

Then — he laughs.

A sharp, ugly sound. “What, so you can make sweet little love confessions in private? Whisper rebellion into his ear like a wartime Juliet?”

You don’t react. You just wait.

That’s what unnerves him.

Because you’re not bluffing. You mean it.

“I’m serious,” you say. “You want him soft? You want him to trust something other than the static in his head? Then give us something real. Ten minutes. No eyes. Every third session.”

Kern folds his arms.

“You’re bold for someone with bruises still healing.”

“I’m valuable,” you reply coldly. “Your words, not mine.”

A long beat.

Then Kern clicks his tongue. He knows he’s losing the upper hand.

He doesn’t blink but the mask slips for just a second. Long enough for you to see the shift — the calculation. Then he huffs a slow breath, like he’s indulging something beneath him.

“Five,” he says.

You frown. “What?”

“Five sessions. We cut the camera for ten minutes every fifth session. Not three.”

Your jaw clenches.

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“It is now,” he says, tilting his head. “You want to play like you’re in charge, fine. But don’t mistake tolerance for weakness. You’re not the only variable here.”

You hold his stare. You hate how reasonable he sounds. How calm.

It’s a tactic. Keep you feeling small.

But you also know this is the most power you’ve held since they locked a collar around your life.

You breathe in. “…Fine,” you say. Quiet, but steady.

Kern’s smile returns—tight, pleased, practiced. “Good,” he murmurs, stepping toward the door. “Glad we could be civil. I’ll let Voss know.”

He pauses with his hand on the frame.

“Oh, and 009?”

You don’t answer.

Kern doesn’t wait.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says. “People who feel safe in Hydra tend to bleed slower. Not less.”

Chapter Five 🕊️

tags (tysm for all the love and support): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears @mistalli @blazeflays @ifuckwithyouanyday @lovinqbella

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dragonsatmidnight · 1 year ago

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Someone wrote a song about that.

youtube

I also refuse to method act because I get a lot of abused and mentally unwell characters and I like being mentally stable :)

#I've liked very few elements of method acting I've heard about #the only one I can name off the top of my head is #in the lion the witch and the wardrobe #when Lucy goes through the wardrobe #they blindfolded the actress who played Lucy (consensually) right before Lucy goes into narnia #because the director really wanted to capture her actual sense of delight #wanted her to see her friend dressed up as a faun #and show that there was even a little magic in movie making #that's it #that's the only thing I've heard that I've liked #yes let's capture authentic wonder #authentic joy #let's really show how a child would feel walking into Narnia #but also #child actors are still actors #so if they don't want to do things like that #or if there's scary or other things going on around them #maybe don't have the people around them method act #Youtube

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gothamite-rambler · 4 months ago

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Clark and Diana must've had a field day at Damian's existence

*and the rape part was a second canon that I think was retconned again. comics are weird*

Clark: I'm sorry… You have a child… again?

Bruce: Yes.

Clark: And he's yours… like DNA test, yours?

Bruce took a deep inhale and then sighed.

Bruce: Yes.

Clark: And the kid is also related to Talia Al Ghul?

Bruce: Yep… Yep… I thought the condom wouldn't break.

Clark: I… I… I'm— You thought the what wouldn't break?

Diana (amused): I'm surprised you didn't try the pull-out method with that thought process. You had a child with Talia and he's the new Robin, did I miss anything?

Bruce: No... no. You're about right.

Clark: I'm not sure how to react.

Diana: I got you on this. The dark knight, master detective, stoic emo billionaire had a child with one of your arch-enemies? The one you said you'd never have relations with again?

Bruce: …Yep.

Diana nodded and pointed at Bruce, laughing accordingly. The man covered his face, embarrassed.

Clark: Ignore her. You said you weren't even aware he was… alive. That there was a being that shares your DNA? You have plans that can defeat us, but you never thought to check in on the woman you slept with eight years ago?

Diana laughed harder, falling out of her seat in hysterics. Clark shook his head.

Bruce: Okay, at first I was aware she was pregnant, and then she said she lost the baby, so… I never called her about that. You can stop laughing, Diana!

Diana: I can't stop! This is too funny! It’s funnier than when Hermes tricked Zeus into drinking fermented wine. I can't breathe! Wait, wait— when Zeus found out about his child…

Clark (jokingly): Which one?

Bruce: I wasn’t aware he existed! I didn’t know the child I had with a crazy woman was around! Can she not laugh at me? I’m now linked to Ra's Al Ghul! This is a lot for me! Can you show me some pity?

Clark and Diana: No!

Bruce: Why are you judging me?!

Clark: Because you look hypocritical in the funniest way possible.

Diana: Exactly! You had a kid from a booty call. Wait, wait, serious time.

Diana got back in her seat and cleared her throat.

Diana: It was consensual, correct?

Bruce: Yes.

Diana: And you used a condom from where?

Bruce: …A gas station.

Diana: And you thought it would do the job? A gas station condom?

Bruce: I was hoping it would, or at the very least she'd have protection. I didn't know she wanted kids!

Diana (chuckling): You thought the woman who's been wanting to marry you for years wouldn't want kids?!

Clark (laughing): We listen and we judge!

Bruce: I hate you both. Stop judging me. I'm the Dark Knight.

Bruce covered his face, groaning.

Clark: We're just messing with you. I, for one, am happy you took the kid in. I imagine being raised around the Ghuls wasn't great… or safe.

Bruce: Um… okay, he wasn't just raised around them… Jason helped babysit him. He’s known for eight years.

Clark and Diana (mocking him): We listen and we judge!

Diana burst into laughter again.

Diana: I knew there was a reason I like him!

Clark: I'm pretty sure she's happy for you too. Just the—

Bruce (mortified): Yeah, the situation is humorous because it's at my expense and ironic that I fumbled like that. I'm going to be dealing with this a lot now. I do love him, though. He's a cute kid… He's neat, like all my other sons.

Clark: Aww, that's sweet and reassuring, honestly. A rich white man with a baby from a booty call usually doesn’t go well.

Bruce: The fact I know that's true really says something, but thank you for the compliment.

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pearlescynt · 9 months ago

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𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓲 𝓛𝓾𝓼𝓽 ♡

{ Pairing } - Producer.bf!Jisung x afab.gf!reader

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/f/d(dark)*, PWP, established relationship

{ Synopsis } - Your boyfriend doesn't know any other method of stress relief, other than creating music. He can get so consumed by it, it can become the stressor. So you decide to present him with a new method. That's how you found yourself walking down the street in nothing but lingerie and a long coat.

{ WC } - 2.9k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, *forced orgasm/slight dubcon if you squint, everything is consensual but there is begging for more when reader might be at her limit so that's why I'm including dubcon (for those who may find it triggering)*, use of pet names (baby, angel, mine, my love, good girl & Ji), very lowkey needy/soft dom & romantic sub dynamic, worshipping reader, oral (f. recieving), squirting, overstimulation, unprotected piv (do as I say & not as I write, pee after sex too!), creampie, cum feeding & eating, fingers in mouth, pussy worship, I may just have gotten carried away with oral fixations okay? FORGIVE ME.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - I originally was going to post a Hyunjin oneshot next, but I wanted to finish this one in time for Jiji's birthday! It's 2 am on the 14th where I am heheh. Hopefully you all like it. Han producing music will always be hot asf for me personally lmao. Barely proofread.

The air was cool, seeping underneath your long wool coat. In any other circumstance, on a late fall night, the coat would be enough to keep the chill out. Today however, it wouldn't. But you still kept walking, determined to make it to Jisungs studio.

You focused on the clicking of the heels on the boots you wore. And the sound of the wind picking up, signalling a blustery night ahead. The small sounds calm your nerves.

You were anxious about Jisung's reaction, he was in one of his moods again. You understand, you truly do. Juggling everything he has to on his plate, it was no easy feat. There were times he'd just let that dark veil take over, and shut everyone out without even meaning to.

You knew he was in that state again when you hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. It wasn't for lack of effort on your end either. Every phone call sent to voicemail, every text sent by you was met with the same response;

'At the studio, I'll text you after, angel'.

You knew it was time for intervention when Chan texted you that he was only coming home, at 2 in the morning no less, to shower and change. No eating, no resting, just back to the studio afterwards.

This had happened twice before in the almost year you've been dating. Each time you remember talking with him afterwards, he always said the same thing;

'making music is my stress relief.'

That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is also a workaholic. One who easily gets lost in the creative space he has built a career off of. And once that diligence sets in, it's hard to shake off.

So here you are, ready to try a new approach. Ready to offer a new kind of relief. An alternative.

You and Jisungs sex life was far from boring. Far from infrequent, you'd say too. But it surely was more... monotonous. You'd never complain about it, and neither would he. There was nothing wrong with it. It just happened at the 'perfect' times in your relationship.

Before bed, after date nights, on monthly anniversaries, to express massive amounts of love, etc.

It was never to celebrate happiness, calm anger, or comfort sadness. Never to relieve stress.

You were determined to change that. There was no reason you could not help him in any way you could. And in this aspect, you knew you could.

Still, you were nervous. This would be new, he never did well with new.

Your footsteps stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind in your ears. Until you pressed your badge against the card reader, listening to the beeps, to the gears unlock.

Once inside the lobby, the clinking of your heels against the vinyl tile filled your ears. Each step matches the thumping in your heart, you find yourself speed walking.

You smiled and gave a little wave to the staff in the lobby, and they returned it.

In the elevator, the sound of its melodic music filled your ears next. The whirring background noise the machinery made, stopped, as you reached your desired floor.

There was silence when you stepped off. The flooring is carpeted now, and soundproof rooms lined the hallway leaving the night quiet.

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door you knew was your boyfriend's. It was unlocked, thankfully.

You let yourself in, seeing the silhouette of your boyfriends back facing the door in the blue lighting.

He was all about ambiance in this facet of life, having LED's lining the ceiling. The only source of light in the room, besides the glowing screens of his monitors.

He was sat in his chair, headphones on, hood up, head nodding in tandem with his fingers tapping.

You took the opportunity to slide your boots off. Opting to keep your coat on, you brushed your hair over one shoulder. You took your badge from around your neck, and tossed it on the leather couch that was against the wall.

Padding your way over to him, you place your hand on his shoulder lightly. He tenses under your touch, and turns his head. He's frowning when he first faces you, eyebrow furrowed together.

When he sees you though, he softens. The corners of his mouth slightly upturning to a small smile.

"Baby..." He whispers, sliding his head phones off. Soft lofi music is filling the room from them.

He grabs your hand off his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He's pressing soft kisses to your palm, and placing it on his cheek.

"It's late my angel, why are you here?" He says in a husky voice with more volume.

Your heart flutters at his gentleness, and you bend down to press your own lips to the top of his head. A musky, yet spicy vanilla scent fills your nostrils. His scent.

"I'm here to help you baby." You murmur to him softly.

That caught his attention. He fully swivelled around to face you, taking both of your hands in his. He gazed up into your eyes, a curious look on his face.

You smiled down on him, feeling nothing but love for this man. You'd relax him in any way you can. You placed a hand on each side of his face, bending down again. No more words were said as you kissed him. As your hands slid down his neck, his found themselves on yours, pulling you closer to him. Matching your eagerness.

You let your hands fully slide off him, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your trembling fingers were working the buttons on your coat. One by one, releasing the fabric from your bare skin.

You stood up, letting the coat fall from your shoulders.

Jisung lets out a soft gasp, and licks his lips.

Exposed to him, was his favorite lingerie you owned. It was a bra and panty set, satin and lace. Revealing.

All white.

Your boyfriends favorite part. He always said that the contrast against your melanated skin was a work of art. He joked about commissioning Hyunjin, if he didn't have to see you essentially naked.

So here you stood before him, presenting yourself to him. Silently willing him to do as he pleases. To take your body and use you to decompress. You were too nervous to say it.

He traces the swell of your breast with a finger, curving around the delicate lace. It's a simple touch, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps blooming on your skin.

"So sexy." He mumbles, eyes roving your whole body.

He stands up, kissing you desperately, and walking you back to the couch. Your knees hit the back of it, and you're forced to sit. Lips ripping away from his, panting at the desire in his eyes.

All your nerves were gone. New or not, it would never change the fact that Jisung craved you as much as you craved him.

He held himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and hovered above you for a moment looking you in the eyes.

Then he was sinking to the ground, on his knees, between your legs. His hands smooth over your thighs, making them pliant with soft kisses, before he spreads them open. Your pussy is glistening behind the lace, and he licks his lips again.

His hand glides from your thigh, to your heat. Thumb brushing against that sensitive bud, the friction eliciting a whine from you.

His eyes snap up to you, and he holds your gaze as his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core. The tip of it flicking deliciously against your sensitive clit.

"Mmmm..." He groaned at the taste of you, "All for me?"

You moan at his tongue swiping against you again, and again, "All for you, my love."

His fingers hook underneath the band of your underwear, and he peels them off you. He's whimpering, watching as strings of your arousal stick to them. The cool air is hitting your sex, before puffs of hot air from his mouth is. And you're shivering again at the sensation.

A gasp escapes you when his tongue slides between your folds. Lapping up your juices, and suckling at that bundle of nerves. You listen to the wet sounds his mouth is making against you, along with the broken melody coming from his head set. You get lost in it.

Your hand finds his hair, and you're grinding against his mouth. He's whimpering and moaning with you, one hand palming at his bulge. The other has fingers teasing your entrance.

You let out a loud moan when two fingers push into you, and your grasp on his hair loosens. He takes the opportunity to get air, panting, mouth hanging open. His cheeks, chin and lips all shine in the dull blue light.

His fingers continue to pump into you as he watches your face contort for him. He's smiling with lidded eyes, basking in the fact that he's making you feel so good.

"Ji..." You moan, needing more.

"My beautiful baby, let me worship you a little longer." And he's diving back down.

His tongue focuses on your clit, and fingers coaxing that gummy spot inside you. He's pulling moan after moan from you, making out with your lower lips, bringing you closer to the edge. Your thighs start trembling around his head, and he has to grip the fleshy part of one of them to stop you from squeezing him before he's finished.

You're spilling over the edge, body alight and your release coating his fingers, and face. He's lapping up every little bit, determined to taste your pleasure on his tongue. Only when you start to whine from constant overstimulation does he stop.

He's kissing his way up to your lips, leaving a wet trail behind him that you couldn't bring yourself to care about.

You're not sure when he managed to discard his pants and boxers, but you feel his hard, bare length pressing against your inner thigh.

He's rubbing his member against your pussy now, letting your slick and his saliva cover him. Kissing your neck as he's rocking against you, he whispers, "Angel, do you have another one for me?"

Of course you did, you knew you did. You needed to feel him, you needed to please him. So you started nodding fervently, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he sucked lightly near your ear and jaw.

He had a grasp of his cock now, dragging the head through your folds with added pressure. Each squelch of your juices sounds like music to your ears, anticipation building in your body.

"'Gonna make you feel s'good." He's whining into your neck.

He has your legs around him now, as he fills you slowly, both of you savoring the sensations it brings. Your pussy spasms around him, and it has him grunting.

"Always feel so good squeezin' me..." He mumbled, letting you adjust, "...exactly what I needed..."

Then he was pumping into you, and you felt it. All the frustrations he was holding onto, all the stress, all the vexation. He was translating it into the energy he used to pleasure you. Letting go of it all.

You couldn't hear the soft lofi music coming from his head set anymore, instead the slapping of skin and heavy breathing mixed with moans were filling the room. You'd never be more thankful for a soundproof space. Neither of you were holding back.

Your moans only being interrupted by quiet curses, and his being peppered in between praises of how good you feel for him. He made it known he was chasing your high before his, begging you to cum for him.

"Please angel," he whispers against your lips, "need to feel you cumming on my cock."

His pace became quicker as he kissed you, and his hand slithered down to play with your clit. Your back arched off the couch at that, angling him deeper inside you. He groaned, and his thrusts faltered for a second indicating he was close.

Regardless he was determined to finish you, and his tone grew more demanding, "Be a good girl... cum for me, angel."

And that was all your body and mind needed to let go, legs locking around him and body shaking. Your hands slid under his hoodie, and nails dug into his back. It was the kind of intense orgasm, that your moan got stuck in your throat, instead a rough growl coming out.

You sounded absolutely feral for him, and you were.

That was what pushed him over the edge, a slew of curses leaving his mouth as his hips stuttered. With a final harsh thrust, he cums deep inside you. All of the negativity has dispersed from his body, and he collapsed back to his knees.

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. You jolt when you feel his fingers in your folds, over sensitivity taking over yet again. He's spreading you open, hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of you.

"So perfect, fuck." He says as he drags his finger through it.

He's bringing it up to your lips, and your mouth opens instinctively. You're sucking his finger into your mouth, his essence salty but familiar on your tongue.

His eyes are locked to yours as you work his finger, licking it clean. He slips a second finger in your mouth, letting you cover them in your saliva before he dips back down for a taste himself.

You're whining around his fingers when his tongue glides against your clit, and your hips try to retract into the couch. Quickly, he has both hands on your hips, securing you in place so he can continue tasting you.

"We taste so good together, my love..." He's mumbling against you.

His words will never fail to coax submission out of you.

Your hand flies back to his hair, as good as it feels you're trying to pull him away. He's just burying his face deeper, tongue dipping into your entrance to make sure he's tasting everything.

"Ji... s'too much... I can't-" You're pleading, even though you feel yourself succumbing to the overwhelming brushes of his tongue.

He hisses when you finally succeed in pulling him off you, "Please angel," He's begging again, "Just one more. I know you have one more for me."

"Fuck, Ji, I-"

He silences you with his tongue flat against you, another lick up to your clit "Please, need to hear you cumming one more time for me." He whines and starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your pussy.

You always knew he was more of a giver. That even though it was you who had cum twice, and he only once. He preferred it that way. Even if he was the one needing the release more, he thrived more on your pleasure.

"Just be gentl-" You try to say, but cut yourself off with a groan.

He's eagerly slurping at your core. Lost in the moment, all he has is your pussy on his mind now. Messily licking and lapping at every inch. He's shaking his head and moaning into it, keeping you pinned in place by your hips.

You feel another orgasm starting to build quickly, clenching around nothing. He risks you bucking your hips roughly into his face, and takes a hand off your hip. He's pushing two fingers into you yet again, and you're seeing stars.

His fingers curl, and his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly. You feel your release slip away from you, and your cumming on his face again. Yelling his name. He only grows more determined.

He leans back so he can watch the beautiful, writhing, mess he reduced you to. The thumb of his other hand is replacing his mouth, continuously flicking your bud. He doesn't slow his movements as you ride out your orgasm, instead picking them up.

Your world turns white, and you feel yourself squirt on his hands. He's watching you in awe, whispering more praise for you as your juices spray over him.

"So fucking sexy, my good girl."

"That's it, let go for me, let it all go."

"Knew you had one more in you, all for me."

"My perfect angel."

It's when you start to slip into that floaty space that he finally stops. He doesn't want you too gone, he's limited in the care he can provide here.

He's positioning you to lay on the couch, and he's laying behind you. You're both wet and sticky, and heaving for air. Yet, it's blissful.

You lay there for what could've been minutes or an hour, you weren't sure. You were content in each other's touch. Your arm reaches back to caress his head, fingers combing through his hair. He's humming.

"I love you." You finally murmur.

"I love you more, angel. Thank you for this." He says, and kisses your shoulder.

"You caught on quickly to my idea." You giggled.

He laughed with you, "I caught on halfway through it, actually. I was just beside myself with desire for you."

You blushed at that, and you were thankful he couldn't see it.

"I mean you showed up in my favorite set..." He whispers and starts toying with the lace on your bra, his finger slipping underneath to flick your nipple, "In ONLY my favorite set. How could I not show you how much I admire you."

You felt his length harden against you again, and he rolled his hips slowly as he gripped your hip.

You knew the night was far from over.

As for how you were both going to escape and clean up? Well that was a problem for future you.

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As always, please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist. And if you do, pretty please interact with my fics besides liking (ie; replying/commenting/reblogging). Although I will always appreciate liking as well! Feedback is always cherished! ♡

But again, please be gentle in your criticism! I am but a sensitive soul.

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ruewritesoccasionally · 5 months ago

Text

I Spy | Terry Richmond

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black reader

Warnings: Dark themes & explicit smut (18+) – dom/sub dynamics, power play, voyeurism kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, mutual masturbation, edging, rough sex, choking, spitting, hair pulling. Use of pet names (Daddy, Princess, Sweetheart, Baby, Good girl) and aftercare } Everything is consensual, but read at your own risk.

Summary: Terry Richmond is a protector—his wife’s safety, comfort, and pleasure are always his top priority. So, when he installed security cameras around their home, she thought nothing of it. That is, until one night, when her impatience gets the better of her, and Terry calls at just the right moment. How did he know what she was doing? More importantly—what is he going to do about it?

Word count: 3K

a/n: i fear i may never get sick of writing dark fics with terry 🤭🤭

The world saw Terry Richmond as a man of discipline, a protector, a security expert who made a living out of keeping people safe. His job required precision, foresight, and the ability to stay ten steps ahead of everyone else.

It was a skill set that bled into every aspect of his life—especially when it came to her.

To outsiders, he was the devoted husband, the kind of man who took care of everything so his wife didn’t have to. A provider, a leader, a steady hand to hold in a world that never stopped spinning. But behind closed doors? That carefully curated image cracked just enough to reveal something deeper, something darker.

Because Terry didn’t just protect—he controlled.

He never had to demand obedience, never had to force her submission. That wasn’t how their dynamic worked. He made sure she had everything she needed, took every burden off her shoulders, so all she ever had to do was be good for him. She was independent, of course, but not when it came to him. Not in the ways that mattered.

And she loved it.

Maybe she didn’t realise just how much, but Terry did.

The cameras in their home were supposed to be for protection. A necessary precaution—especially given his line of work. At least, that’s what he told her. And she never questioned it, never really thought about the way his eyes seemed to be on her at all times.

How he always knew things he shouldn’t.

How he’d casually mention the way she liked to stretch after a shower, in their bedroom, alone.

How he’d remind her to drink water, to take a break, even when he wasn’t home.

Little things. Tiny, insignificant moments that should’ve been easy to brush off.

And yet, every now and then, she’d jokingly accuse him of knowing everything.

And every single time, Terry would just smirk.

Terry was at work when the doorbell camera notification pinged on his phone. A routine check—he already knew who it was. His wife. Home.

He watched as she stepped inside, her shoulders sunken, bearing the weight of the day. His jaw tensed. Terry watched, letting his eyes track each motion, each flex of muscle, each quiet sigh as she exhaled the stress of the day. He made a mental note to stop by the store—flowers, wine, something to make her smile.

His eyes stayed locked on the screen as she moved through the house, each step methodical, shedding layers as she went. Bag down. Shoes off. Jewellery unfastened. Then, without pause, she stripped away the first layer of clothing and made a beeline for the shower.

A smirk played at his lips. Switching feeds.

Bedroom feed. Ensuite door left open. Perfect view.

Steam curled past the frame, misting over the lens, but not enough to block his view. After so many years together, she could still bring him to his knees, take his breath away like it was the first time. Stunning.

The water cascaded over her skin, gliding down the soft slope of her shoulders, rolling over her curves, tracing lines he had memorised by touch. Awe and jealousy twisted in his gut. Watching the way the droplets stroke along her body, touching places before he could, had his fingers flexing over his thigh.

She was relaxing now—he could see it in the way her muscles unwound, the tension draining from her limbs with the rising steam. And then…

Her hands started to wander.

Innocent at first—dragging over the length of her arms, fingertips gracing her collarbones, down her chest, ghosting over the peaks of her nipples, following the curve of her waist, down the expanse of her thighs to the soft heat nestled between them.

Terry’s trance faltered. His breath stilled.

Would she?

His jaw flexed as he watched her fingers tease at her entrance, skimming the sensitive flesh - a mere whisper of a touch.

But then as if she knew, as if she felt his eyes on her through the lens her fingers halted.

Just like that, she continued the rest of her shower.

Terry exhaled slowly, heat curling in his gut. Good girl.

He would definitely reward her tonight.

Terry watched as she left the shower, her skin glistening and soft, her routine precise and practiced. His fingers itched to replace the ones that gently massaged the oil into her body, but there was a soft warmth he felt in seeing her more relaxed now—more content than she had been when she first walked through the door. His shift was nearly over, and though he had done his best to be patient, the pressure in his trousers told him how badly he wanted her. He couldn’t wait. Not with the way his dick was fighting against the fabric.

He saw her stretch out on the bed, melting into the soft sheets, her expression a mix of contemplation and need—something that made Terry pause, unable to fully read her through the tiny screen. He wondered what thoughts had crept into her mind, but that question was quickly answered. She parted her thighs, giving in to the pressure he couldn’t see but always felt. The same motion she had started in the shower, now continuing in the sanctuary of their bed.

All thoughts of reward and praise left his mind in that instant. This... this was a challenge. And a betrayal. And he wasn’t going to let it slide. Not with the way she had been so damn careless.

He kept his focus on the live feed, watching, unable to tear his gaze away from her as she touched herself. He wanted to reach through the screen, stop her, punish her. Instead, he called her.

The frustration was evident on her face as his call interrupted her, the satisfaction on her features faltering. But then she recognised the name on the screen, and a soft smile replaced her frustration. She thought it was a casual check-in, a harmless conversation with her husband. But Terry wasn’t here for pleasantries anymore.

He teased her at first, coaxing her into comfort, his voice soft, like he hadn’t just watched her betray him in their own home.

“How’s my girl doing?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual. “What’s on your mind?”

She responded, her voice softer now, already losing some of the tension she had held when he first interrupted her. Terry let her settle into the illusion of normalcy.

But he couldn’t help himself. His gaze hardened. The possessiveness that surged through him made his next words come out sharp, laced with that commanding tone she knew all too well.

“Are you enjoying touching what’s mine, my love?” he asked, the heat of his voice sending a ripple through her. “Too greedy to wait until I get home?”

Her breath hitched at his words, a flicker of shame— or was it excitement?—crossing her face as her mind caught up with her actions.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Terry continued, his voice lowering, predatory. “I have something to fix that impatience.”

With that, he cut the call, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

She sat up, dumbfounded, her mind reeling as she pieced things together. How did he know what she was doing? He always had a sixth sense about everything, from the mundane to the extreme. She used to joke that he had eyes at the back of his head or that there were cameras everywhere—but maybe that wasn’t just a joke anymore.

All she could do now was wait. Wait and see what was in store.

Terry came home, taking his time. He barely acknowledged her presence as he entered their bedroom, heading straight into the en-suite. If she didn’t know any better, she might’ve thought he was angry with her. But she knew better. She knew how much he loved her—too much to ever stay angry for long. No, this wasn’t about anger. This was about something else. Disobedience. That’s what he couldn’t tolerate.

She squirmed uncomfortably on the bed, her anticipation rising as she waited for him to finish his shower. Right on cue, he emerged, dressed in nothing but a towel. The sight of him—drenched, glistening, and radiating confidence—took her breath away. She couldn’t help but drink him in, her gaze lingering on the defined muscles of his chest, the water still clinging to his skin. They were both greedy, in a way. Him for being so impossibly handsome, and her for having him all to herself. That was exactly how she liked it.

His voice broke her idle reverie, smooth and knowing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he could read her thoughts. "So, do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked, the mockery clear in his tone.

She knew there was no good answer, no way to make it right, so she chose to stay silent. Her heart raced. Her pulse quickened. She waited for him to make his move.

He tilted his head, his eyes darkening with that signature dominance of his. "No? That’s fine. I did say I have a cure for your impatience." His voice dropped lower, a dangerous edge to it now. "You have a scratch to itch? That’s fine, sweetheart. You’re going to do just that. Here. Now. Until I say stop."

She held her breath, his words settling into the heavy air between them. "And since you’ve taken on that silent streak, I’ll take it as a yes. Not that you would ever say no to Daddy."

Terry's control was absolute. He dragged the chair from the vanity, positioning it at the foot of the bed, where he had the perfect view of her centre. His gaze flicked between her, observing every response she gave him—her parted lips, chest rising and falling with each breath, the curl of her toes. He ignored her pleas, focused instead on the sight of her slowly falling apart in front of him.

The thrill of the moment wasn’t enough for him to rush. He slowly stroked himself, his fist working over his length with an even pace. He was in no hurry. Watching her unfold, helpless to stop her own reactions, was enough.

Her attention shifted when she heard a low groan pass from his lips. She blinked, eyes drawn to the bead of pre-cum that pooled at the tip of his cock, a perfect drop dribbling down the shaft. His balls rested heavy on his thighs, and their eyes locked—an unspoken understanding between them, the tension palpable. The game was his, and he played it to perfection.

Terry’s voice broke the silence, a playful yet possessive tone dripping from each word. "You wanna watch, don’t you, baby? See what you can’t have until I decide."

Her breath quickened, and her chest heaved as she clenched the sheets tighter. The sound of his voice, mixed with the image of him touching himself so slowly, made her insides ache. She could feel her orgasm building, every inch of her body begging to release. But Terry wasn’t finished with her yet.

When she tried to stop, thinking she could control the situation, he halted her attempt with a firm command. “Now, I know I might be asking a lot from that pretty head of yours, but until you hear me say stop, you don’t.”

He moved to her side, kneeling between her legs, his gaze soft yet dark. Her pulse quickened as the reality of what was about to unfold hit her. She had no idea what he was planning, but she knew it wouldn’t be gentle.

Her climax was building, more intense now with his eyes on her, the thrill of being watched making it so much more unbearable.

Terry’s hand gripped her jaw, tilting her head back as he stared into her eyes. Her breath hitched, the air thick with the weight of his control. She was trembling, the effects of his teasing leaving her both desperate and afraid of what was to come next. He hadn’t given her permission to speak, but her lips parted nonetheless, desperate for something—anything—to release the pressure that had built inside her.

Her hands gripped the sheets beneath her, her body fighting the urge to writhe under his touch. She knew he wouldn’t let her go until he’d fully reminded her who was in charge.

Terry’s smirk deepened, watching her struggle with the flood of sensations. "Good girls don’t beg, sweetheart. But you? You’ve been nothing but greedy. You’re gonna finish what you started, and you’re gonna do it right. Under my control. Understand?"

Her body was still, her eyes pleading with him, but no words left her lips. It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak—it was that she didn’t need to. He knew.

"Perfect," he murmured, his fingers moving down her body to stroke her folds, his touch slow and deliberate. She gasped, unable to hold back the soft sounds as he teased her. His other hand, still holding her jaw, forced her to keep her eyes on him, keeping her attention firmly on his every movement.

His eyes never left hers as he slid his hand back down to her body, his thumb circling her clit with torturous slowness. The sensation was overwhelming, but his control was absolute. Every inch of her body screamed to come undone, but he was in charge.

Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her skin slick with sweat as the pressure inside her built higher. She couldn’t hold it anymore. Her orgasm threatened to tear through her, but just as she reached the brink, he pulled away, a deep chuckle escaping his lips as he watched her squirm in frustration.

“Now, Princess,” he purred, his voice dripping with that predatory tone she knew all too well. “I’m not sure which I want first—a thank you or an apology?”

Confusion flickered across her face, and he smirked, knowing she hadn’t quite grasped his intentions. “Now you know I take care of you in every way I can, and I do a damn good job at it too,” he continued, his eyes darkening with the hint of a challenge. “So why’d you think it was a good idea to take that from me, huh?”

Her head spun, but his words cut through the haze, her body reacting before she could form any sort of coherent thought. The sharp bite of his dominance pierced through her, the sting of humiliation mingling with her need. Her face flushed, the power dynamic flipping in an instant.

Terry moved to her side, pulling her legs wide as he positioned himself between them. His voice dropped, commanding her attention. "It's time to remind you who you belong to."

His hands slid over her body, his grip firm and possessive. He didn’t give her a chance to protest, pulling her into his lap as he thrust inside her, every movement rough and deliberate. She moaned loudly, the feel of him filling her driving her wild with need.

"Don’t forget who owns this," he growled, thrusting deeper, harder. "You’re mine, and don’t you dare forget it."

His thrusts were relentless, punishing in their intensity. He filled her, the connection between them now absolute. As he fucked her harder, faster, he pulled her hair back, forcing her to look him in the eyes as he claimed her fully.

“Don’t fight it,” he commanded, his breath ragged. “You’re mine, baby. Always.”

As the aftershocks of their climax rippled through her, Terry didn’t let go of her right away. His hand moved to her face, brushing away the strands of hair that clung to her skin, his touch gentle despite the fierceness that had just passed between them. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, soft but unwavering, as he cupped her cheek in his large palm.

"You're okay," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, soothing her with each pass. His voice was no longer rough with dominance, but warm with the comfort she desperately needed. His presence grounded her, reminded her that she was safe. She nodded slowly, her breath still unsteady, but his words had calmed the storm inside her.

He pulled her closer, guiding her to rest her head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear lulling her into a sense of calm. She breathed deeply, trying to steady her pulse, his hands gently massaging her back, easing the tension out of her.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You always do. But listen to me now, alright?"

She blinked, nodding against his chest, eyes fluttering closed as she waited for his next words. His voice was softer now, but still commanding in its way, holding her attention like a tether.

"When you're out in the world, you can do all the thinking you like," he said, his voice deep and steady, "but at home, with me? You switch your brain off. You listen, and you let me lead. No questioning, no second-guessing. Just trust."

The words settled in her chest, warm and reassuring. There was no shame, no hesitation—just his quiet certainty that she belonged with him, and he would always take care of her.

Her hand found his, threading their fingers together, and she squeezed, the gesture simple but full of meaning. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, before lifting her chin to meet his gaze.

"Do you understand, princess?"

Her lips parted, a soft smile tugging at her mouth, her heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something all-consuming. “Yes, Daddy. I understand.”

Terry’s smile was soft, approving, as he brushed a final lock of hair from her face, his thumb grazing her lower lip. He leaned in to kiss her, slow and lingering, as though they had all the time in the world.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips, the words a vow, a promise. “And that’s never gonna change.”

She melted into the kiss, content in the certainty of his love and control, knowing that no matter what the world outside brought, at least here, with him, she was safe. Always.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#terry richmond #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black reader #dom!terry x sub!reader #dark!terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond fic #dark!terry richmond x black!reader #ruewrites

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softlymellow · 2 months ago

Text

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 6

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.3k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

"...he almost remembered what it meant to him. Except he didn't. Instead, it was a taste from a dream he couldn’t quite remember."

A dimly lit mission room deep within the Jedi Temple, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-wan Kenobi and Mace Windu gathered around a holographic display. The hum of the holographic offered a soft backdrop to their conversation.

“Many reports of two skilled bounty under the names ‘Ani’ and ‘Dev’ have been causing disruptions across various sectors.” Mace Windu sternly said whilst Anakin gulped at the use of a name he hasn’t heard in a year. “They have slipped through the Republic forces on multiple occasions.”

Obi-wan leaned forward, “two bounty hunters causing this much trouble? That's unusual.”

“Indeed. But their methods have grown more aggressive, even by bounty hunter standards. What is more concerning is Dev. ” Mace Windu tapped the datapad and the holographic image flickered to life, a materialised image of a young boy no older than 15.

“But that’s only a boy.” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows at Mace Windu, confusion evident on his face.

“Once a boy, yes. He was once a skilled Jedi, dismissed from the Order for the refusal to adhere to the Code. His descent began when he lost his family and, in a fit of anger, slaughtered civilians. Dark tendencies grew within him.”

Anakin stiffened immediately and felt a foreboding feeling grow in his stomach. Obi-wan's expression darkened beside him. “A former Jedi turned bounty hunter with such a violent past…It’s troubling.”

“And what about this..Ani?” Anakin reluctantly asked.

“She is a much newer addition to the bounty hunting world, but she has proved to be some sort of a prodigy. They were just spotted on Corellia after a bombing to capture Dengar, another well known bounty who worked with Maul and Savage to capture me.” Mace Windu informed them, turning off the holograph.

Obi-wan frowned, concern etching lines on his face. “We’re going after two bounty hunters? Isn’t that more of a job for local security forces in Corellia?”

Mace’s gaze shifted from Anakin to Obi-wan, “You both are uniquely skilled in dealing with unconventional situations. We need to contain them before they both spiral out of control.”

Anakin’s jaw tightened, resolve evident in his eyes. “Understood, Master Windu.”

Obi-wan nodded in agreement, his focus unwavering. “We’ll head to Corellia immediately.”

“Good. May the force guide your actions.” Mace Windu stood tall.

—

Anakin and Obi-wan sat in the ship en route to Corellia. Neither had spoken a word, just eyes drifting at the stars that illuminated outside.

Dev.

Ani.

Not their real names. It wasn't hard to miss the amount of blanks throughout their whole file. Dev's one gave a general consensus though; a disobedient Jedi Padawan, now a runaway. But the latter… No image. No backstory. It was as if she only existed a few months ago.

Anakin ran a hand through his hair, teeth gnawing the inside of lips. His eyes lazily read the datapad in his lap. A boy stared back at him. Dev. Just 15 years of age in the image, younger than the recent sightings of him. Much younger. His eyes looked hollow, already hard. Like part of him had lost something but was never filled again.

“Nothing on the girl?” Obi-wan asked beside him, still gazing out the window, but deep in thought.

Anakin inhaled, his chest rising against his robes and shook his head. “Nothing. Her name is clearly a placeholder, but no record of her.” Anakin turned off the datapad.

“She is either very smart,” Obi-wan murmured, “or lucky.”

Anakin leaned in his seat not liking either answer. “What business do they have blowing up a civilian square in the middle of a Corellian protest?”

Obi-wan stroked his beard, “I’d say they are after another bounty hunter. Denger I assume. He was spotted here the night before.”

“So they try and bring him in, only to level half the plaza in the process?”

“Looks like it.”

Scoffing, Anakin dragged his hand down his face.

Outside the ship, Corellia was a mess. Alarms sounding through the cities, smoke darkening the skies and protest fires on the rooftops. What was usually a beautiful planet is now filled with protests against the war.

Once the ship doors opened, Anakin and Obi-wan were hit with heat. Not physical. But tension. Soldiers and civilians buzzing through the streets, it was as if they weren’t at a docking platform.

“Well, it seems like we have your day cut out for us.” Obi-wan muttered as they made their way down the streets, glancing at the protest signs abandoned on the floor. “No Justice, No peace” was written in Corellian dialect.

Burn marks scattered around the floor piquing Anakin’s interests. Crouching down, his fingers gently grazed the soot left, leaving his fingers darkened.

“There was a bombing,” Anakin concluded, spotting several pieces of metal scattered around the floor.

Obi-wan nodded, "the security reports said they did vanish into the crowds before troops arrived.” His eyes scanned the crowd up ahead. “I’d say our perpetrators are there.”

That annoyed Anakin more than it should have.

“Then we’ll start there,” Anakin said.

—

Corellia bled with fury and fight.

Anakin walked ahead, his hood drawn low and his feet dragging along the concrete, stones skidding away. He wasn’t really in the mood. Trying to find 2 cloaked figures in a sea of more cloaked figures wasn’t exactly ideal. After 2 hours of dead ends, he kept replaying the grainy footage hoping it would offer a clue.

On the other hand, Obi-wan walked behind being Obi-wan. A calm diplomatic Jedi master. He was always asking the right questions to the right vendors, nodding and being friendly. His warm voice made people eager and more keen to offer tips.

“I spoke to the surveillance clerk”, Obi-wan broke the silence, catching up to Anakin. “He said the crowd tripled after the bombing, half running to shelter and the other protesting even more.”

Anakin stopped in front of a sign that read “THE REPUBLIC DOESN’T SEE US”, the edges of the banner burnt.

“Give it a few days and then the Senate will fix this with a speech.”

Obi-wan’s face hardened, “Well it is the Senate’s job to do that.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Anakin muttered, leaving Obi-wan dumbfounded. Did he mean that the planet should fend for itself, fixing its own politics? Or did he mean that the Senate was useless, giving out speeches with no real backlayer. Maybe a bit of both.

Obi-wan pursed his lips, his eyes scanning the buildings that now had a layer of dust covering it. Walking was starting to get irritating as every few seconds a person would nudge their shoulder with their own, making them lose focus every few seconds.

That’s when Anakin saw it.

Small smears of red on the cobblestone wall. Dried and just there. Followed by a few more droplets that painted the floor into an alley.

Anakin crouched down taking a further look, gaining Obi-wan’s attention.

“Blood.” Obi-wan hummed, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“Might not be theirs.”

“Still, we are Jedi. Whoever blood it belongs to may need help.” Obi-wan advised.

They followed the trail that led to a rusted backdoor. Anakin didn’t hesitate. Immediately pushing past the door as it creaked loudly.

It was dim inside.

And in the corner was an elderly Twi’lek couple.

Anakin and Obi-wan both flinched, least expecting to break into a home.

The couple sat on the floor, a blanket engulfing their lower body and a half-crushed medpac that rested near their feet.

Obi-wan immediately put his hands up in defence, “We’re not here to harm you.”

The couple's eyes traced both Anakin and Obi-wan’s figure, their eyes flickering between the saber’s that rested on their hip and their defensive face.

Noticing that they haven’t said anything, Anakin used the opportunity and stepped forward, the woman clutched her blanket a bit tightly.

“We’re investigating the bombing that happened here. Do you know anything about that?”

The male shook his head, his blue tentacle like tendrils moving with him, “N-no.”

Obi-wan moved up with Anakin, realising that they can speak Basic. “A young man with blonde hair and a cloaked girl. Does it sound any familiar?”

The couple stiffened.

Silence.

Anakin folded his arms and furrowed his brows, “they came here. Didn’t they?” His tone lowered.

Silence.

“They paid you.” Obi-wan spoke calmly, already analysing the situation.

The purple woman looked down, and then gently picked up the half used medpac, her hands shaking.

“The girl…was worried.” Her voice was soft spoken. “Not for herself, but him. He was bleeding.”

Obi-wan crossed his arms, parallel to Anakin and stared down the medpac. “So you helped them..”

“It is not a crime to help someone!” The man besides her called out defensively, squinting his eyes.

“Well it is a crime to help terrorists,” Anakin muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Terrorists?” The woman's eyes widened. “They were terrorists?”

Obi-wan glanced over to Anakin and tried to laugh it off, not wanting to send the couple into cardiac arrest. “Well. We aren’t sure of anything.” He tilted his head. “Do you know where they are now?”

The older woman nodded speedily, “She said she was heading to the city square where the protests are. Near the farmers market. But..she was scared.”

Anakin lifted his brow, “of what?”

Looking him dead in the eye, “being seen,” she announced.

–

Obi-wan and Anakin were on the outskirts, just enough steps to see the masses of bodies that moved.

Protestors moved, some shouted and some watched. It wasn’t long before Obi-wan caught a flicker.

A flicker of gold that was reflecting from the sun. Moving too fast. An uncomfortable limp.

Obi-wan’s eyes widened and locked onto the figure. Blonde hair. Broad shoulders. It was worth a shot.

“That might be him,” Anakin huffed, already making his way down, eager to end this mission.

Obi-wan rolled his eyes, “Always ahead of the game,” he said, racing down the steps and into the crowd.

It was suffocating. You could feel the sweat and anger that radiated off the bodies.

Obi-wan pushed through bodies, wanting the man to enter a clearing before holding him in the masses of people. Locals were yelling in languages he didn’t recognise which only intensified everything around him. His cloak constantly was snagging on someone’s arm but he didn’t stop, pushing through, curses were flying at him.

He needed an opening - just one - and it would be fine.

Something is off.

The force rippled.

The blonde headed man suddenly turned his head towards Obi-wan.

It was him. It was Dev.

And not far behind him was a cloaked figure. Her.

Dev locked eyes with Obi-wan, his eyes widening and stray locks of hair falling on his face.

“Jedi!” Dev exclaimed to you, his eyes darting between behind you and yourself.

Without even taking a chance to glance behind you, you began to push through the crowd. Gritting your teeth, you used your arms to almost shove people out of the way. You could not be caught as a bounty hunter. It was not necessarily the legality of it, it was the bombing that was associated with you and it was your honour shattering that you have been reduced to this much. How low the galaxy forced you to crawl just to survive.

Just a little further. A little further and there was an opening and you got yourself out of this mess.

“Dev! Over there!” You barked, pointing towards the clearing. Dev nodded and attempted to make his way out with his limp. His face pale but understanding. He always understood. Understood you. You didn’t need to speak much for him to completely understand you.

You surged through the crowd with all your might. Suddenly hyper aware of the blaster at your side, your fingers grazed it, ready to use if anyone tried touching you.

Relief. Oxygen. As you finally made it out of the crowd. Your hands were shaking but you didn’t stop, you can’t stop.

And then- a shove.

Dev’s body slammed into the ground right where he was supposed to make it out and the Jedi tackled him to the side. You heard him grunt in protest, his wrists pinned and the right of his face scraped against the ground.

Before you could react and turn back to Dev, you heard the hum of a saber.

Right behind you.

What should I do?

Fuck.

They’re getting closer.

Your lungs feel like they could explode and your chest hurts. You’re running so fast. Any of that relief you had just felt from making it out was gone. Dead. You just felt like you were burning. Your veins pumping with adrenaline – hot and sharp and screaming.

You didn’t dare look behind you. If you did it would slow you down immensely.

But it didn’t matter.

A rough hand –bigger than your own– pulling on your forearm, throwing you down, your hood falling in the process. Without another second to think your free arm gripped onto your vibroblade. Having been pulled down to the ground, you shifted your body to meet the Jedi, your blade coated in cortosis weave and pointing up towards said person.

…

“Y/n?”

It was like time stopped.

You locked eyes.

Your mouth fell open.

His did too. Confusion. Bewilderment. Shock. All on his face.

His voice… Sounded different. Quieter than you remembered. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hateful. Just quiet. Broken.

Your right hand weakened and the blade fell down on the floor besides you, the metal clanging against the concrete. Your palms fell on the floor and you found yourself staring at…Anakin above you.

Anakin staggered back, stunned, as if he was shot straight through the heart. His head shook slowly and ever so subtly but in complete disbelief.

No one said anything. You couldn’t hear anything. It was just you two. Two broken people. The force felt electrifying, like it was rippling and pulling both of you towards each other.

Anakin loomed over you, the deep blue of his saber still humming, but pointing towards the ground. His own arms feeling too weak to even lift it. His face was unreadable. His dark brown hair looked longer, almost below his ears. His eyes…tired. Like he was staring at a grave.

It wasn’t until the other Jedi came out, holding Dev in handcuffs that you realised your situation. It was Obi-wan, of course it was. Of course it was Anakin and Obi-wan who would catch up to you. Dev struggled in defiance, his face discontent.

Obi-wan walked up beside Anakin, and then his eyes fell on you.

“Y/n?” His voice was quiet, like he wasn’t sure if this was real or not. “You’re Ani?”

You looked away from him, pursing your lips in shame. What were you supposed to say? You weren’t supposed to be caught, stripped of your mask. You were just supposed to be Ani. Not Y/n.

You swallowed hard, your fingers soft in comparison to the floor. You were now looking up to both Anakin and Obi-wan but –force– you felt so much smaller than you actually were.

Anakin inhaled sharply, his saber hissed off yet his grip strong enough that his knuckles were still white. Running a hand through his hair, he turned his back to you, moving away from both you and Obi-wan. You felt the disappointment in the air. You felt the judgement from the people who you used to consider the closest to you. Anakin turning his back to you after a year said more words than he did.

But he could feel his heart hammering against his chest.

thump

He was suddenly hyper aware of his breathing.

thump-thump

The way he wasn't sure what to do with his empty left hand.

thump

The fact that his knees would buck in any minute.

thump-thump-thump

It felt like everything was swirling around him and he needed to ground himself.

However, Obi-wan walked over to you, crouching down to eye level. You noticed the small things in his face, the way he had worry lines on his forehead, a slight frown, and furrowed eyebrows. He wasn’t looking at you like a master or a commander, but a concerned friend.

“Y/n, you became a bounty hunter?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to respond. What were you going to say? Yes? Well, yes you are. But suddenly you felt embarrassed. Ashamed.

“I…” You croaked out.

“You know them?” Dev called out, struggling against his cuffs. All three of you diverted your gaze to Dev.

Dev broke Anakin from his trance, his need to distract himself hitting him harder than ever. He needed to redirect his attention to something else just like he was doing for the past year. Anakin stood still for a moment before grabbing the back of his shirt, replacing Obi-wan but far too aggressively.

“Hold her.” Anakin said to Obi-wan, forcing his voice to be strong. “We’ll take them somewhere else.”

That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say?

Anakin spoke as if he didn’t know you. Like you were some lowlife smuggler. Obi-wan even felt caught between two worlds. Was he supposed to disregard your history together? Or would he hold you accountable?

Clearing his throat, Obi-wan pulled out stuncuffs from his satchel, looking at you as if you were a wounded animal.

“I’m just going to put these on just for now. Precaution.” He said softly.

Nodding, you slipped in your fallen vibroblade to your belt and slowly brought out both your arms in front of him. Obi-wan hesitantly and carefully attached the cuffs to your arms.

Click.

Immediate discomfort radiated in your arms, the restraints tightening specifically on your wrists.

You looked up at Obi-wan who you could tell was uncomfortable with the situation.

“I’m fine, Obi-wan.” You tried to reassure him.

Obi-wan nodded, inhaling deeply before getting up. Scrambling to your feet against the concrete, you rose and immediately felt smaller than you were. Now seeing both Obi-wan and Anakin in their usual height, it felt different. Like there was a rift between you three.

Looking over at Anakin, Obi-wan scratched his beard. “We won’t be able to fly tonight. It seems the city's protests will make it difficult to get out slyly.”

Without a response, Anakin began to drag a cursing Dev to Force knows where.

Obi-wan followed behind him but distant enough, making sure you were keeping up.

The walk felt excruciatingly long as there was nothing but pained silence. Every now and then you could feel Obi-wan’s gaze drill holes in you. Anakin said and did nothing but hold onto Dev and try to find an abandoned place for the night. You were lucky enough Obi-wan still trusted you to allow you to walk on your own.

It wasn’t until he broke the silence.

“Are you okay?” Obi-wan spoke in a hushed voice, trying not to gain Anakin’s attention but that was naive thinking. Anakin heard everything when it came to you.

You blinked at the question, unsure what to say. Your throat tightening but you forced out an “I’m okay.”

Silence.

A beat passed.

“Are you?” He asked again but much quieter. He knew your response and he knew not to expect an answer but if he didn’t ask now it would eat his conscience later.

“Yeah. Just tired.” Anakin’s grip tightened on Dev, their boots scraping and their clothes shifting pulled your focus.

The sky began to set and orange rays stretched far and wide. Dipped in dusk and every step you took would create long shadows of the three of you. The chants from the protest began to fade and street lights began to flicker on.

Anakin was a walking storm. He was silent. You missed the way he said your name. It sounded like honey -warm, golden- like he almost remembered what it meant to him. Except he didn't.

Instead, it was a taste from a dream he couldn’t quite remember.

Anakin stopped at a stone-framed building. Abandoned, yes but still intact. The door had its hinges, there was no lights except from the windows and no lifeforms either. Without saying a word, Anakin dragged Dev inside, the door creaking open and they vanished into the unknown.

You and Obi-wan stood in silence.

“He’ll be alright.” He said gently, not exactly sure if he meant Dev or Anakin. Nodding, you stepped inside first, the evening wind biting your skin. Obi-wan followed right behind you.

A/N: YAAAY ITS HAPPENED im sorry its kinda on a cliff hanger ik yall want longer chapters but i also need to catch up and write :( also just a general q do u guys want this to be a full blown series leading up to order 66 following the clone wars final season/eps with more drama and romance and angst or keep it until this like 'arc' ends.

i lowk feel like a longer series but i feel like tumblr isnt the right place for this lol maybe ao3 or wattpad also hope u guys appreciate me trying to use coordinated gifs for the chapters 😭

HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT THO <3

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

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