#covering me in bruises and scratches and messing my back shoulder and neck up so i feel like underestimated myself on this trip and like i

[nerdie-faerie]

This has got to be the worst move out yet

[chaotic-vibes-only-please]

Can I request for some ben drowned or eyeless jack smut? Like he sees you in a short skirt and just looses his self-control?

Control(Eyeless Jack x Reader Smut)

Pairing: Eyeless Jack x Afab Reader

A/N: Of course! Here you go🍵💕 Sorry, I took a long break from writing. College has been rough😭

Warnings: Smut, Rough sex, breeding and size kink heavily implied, degradation, afab reader, 18+, MDI

You're lifted up and down onto his cock at a pace that shouldn't be possible. The little skirt wrapped around your waist flows prettily against your hips as they bounce onto his thick shaft.

Jack's large hands grip your waist in a bruising grip, claws digging against your skin and threatening to break it. You're gasping and crying while he continues to use you as his personal flesh light. Your own fingers dig into his strong shoulders that flex underneath your touch, displaying the ripples of muscle he has. The grey skin on his back is scratched up by your own nails. Jack thrusts up into you particularly hard and you fall forward onto his broad chest.

Your poor cunt is so overstimulated that it almost hurts. It's the good kind of pain where you don't know whether you want it to stop or you want more.

"What's wrong Little One? Can't handle getting dicked down? This is what you deserve for wearing this tiny peice of fabric you call a fucking skirt" He grunts into your ear, his brown hair tickling your cheek as he licks a long line up the side of your neck with his monsterous black tongue. "And only a pair of panties underneath? You were begging me to bend you over" Jack chuckles before slamming you down onto your back. You yelp at the sudden change in position. He forces your thighs far apart. Your skirt flips upwards, exposing how your pussy grips his cock, folds slick with your own cum. He forces your thighs wide apart with his hands so that he can reach even deeper inside of you.

He hits impossibly deeper into your cunt, his pelvis hitting against your ass hard. Jack keeps your skirt bunched by your waist so that he can see you fully wrapped around his length. You're left a whimpering blubbering mess underneath him as the knot in your stomach tightens. Your walls twitch and clench down on him the closer you grow to your release. "That's right, take it" He groans while slamming into you harder and faster with each thrust. The pads of his fingers rub against your clit in a circular motion.

Your eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering as hot white pleasure bursts inside of you. Your thighs tremble in his hold. With one last rut of his hips, he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you and fills you with his cum. You can feel the warmth seeping into your womb. There's so much of it dribbles down your folds and to your inner thighs. You slightly shift and whimper at feeling so full as he continues to pump load after load out of his length and into your pussy.

He thrusts into you hard, but slow to fuck his cum into you. You're left whining and clawing at his strong back. "You know better than to tease me" He growls and looks down to stare at where you're connected to him. You nod your head with a whimper and mutter a quick sorry. He slowly pulls all the way out until the tip is the only thing keeping your folds spread open and admires how his cum oozes from your cunt before pushing back in all the way inch by inch. "You wanted my attention, you'll have it all night long" He hisses from above you. Your trembling, tears covering your face and skin heated. And despite your crying, he starts to pound into you again. You knew wearing the new skirt you bought would rile him up, but as you're getting your guts rearranged you can't help to think you didn't know he'd enjoy the peice of fabric this much.

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hello!! I literally finished Ted Lasso and am IN LOVE with Jamie Tartt (this may or may not have to do with the amount of fics I’ve read recently). Would you be up for writing a Jamie x reader where they’ve been secretly dating for a while and the team finds out, perhaps with a reader that works for AFC Richmond as like they’re photographer or something?

Omg babe I need more Jamie fics in my life. Jamie Tartt x fem!reader

cw: swearing, hickey, jamie tartt being a smug asshole

776 words

You can't stop subconsciously rubbing your neck, likely from the anxiety of wondering if your makeup is doing an adequate job covering the smattering of love-bites on your neck. When your fingers came away with a chalky coating of powder, you kept your hand frozen by your side, your free hand jotting down notes as your boss kept rambling, careful to filter the necessary information from the side tangents. 

“You get all that, babe?” Keely looked up from her computer, half apologetic. “I’m so sorry my brain has been all over the place lately.” 

“You’re okay Miss.” You looked up, eyes catching on the man winking at you from across the room. He was looking nearly sinful with a towel slung over his bulky shoulder, skin gleaming with sweat. You stiffened, handing the clipboard to your boss. “Does this all look right?” 

She mumbled as her eyes scanned the page. “Perfect! Thank you so much, Y/N. I'm serious when I say I would be a complete shitstorm without you.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh, bugger! It’s gone 1. Why don’t you take your lunch, I’ll figure the rest of this mess out.” Her perfectly manicured hand shooed you from the office. 

“Thank you Miss.” You contained your smile, glancing at Jamie. He was still looking at you, brown eyes burning into your form. You scampered off, closing the door to Keely’s office on the way out. 

The hallway was oddly barren of players and staff, excepting the boy leant casually against the doorframe of the gym bearing lazy smile on his face. You walked up to him timidly, looking around the room to make sure there were no suspicious eyes. 

“Hey cutie.” He said, running a hand through his blonde hair. Your legs felt like jelly, only made worse from the pinching heels on your feet.

“Hey Jamie. Are you okay? Why aren’t you in practice??” You looked over him for injuries, expecting to find some blooming bruise or irritated scratches. He smiled at you. You could tell he wanted to reach for you but didn’t want to risk the exposure. 

You were the main reason the relationship between you two was a secret. Jamie would shout it from the rooftop if he could, but you were still unsure. You weren’t ashamed by any means, but you couldn’t help but feel pressure. You were dating one of the most well-known Richmond players. (one who was also on a dating show made entirely up of very attractive people). Nevertheless, Jamie treated you like a rare diamond. 

“You can stop checking me out, babe. I’m alright. Coach is just havin’ us run laps. I finished first.” He was sickly sweet, if not a little boastful, looking you up and down, smirking like a cat who got the cream. “How long do you have on your break?” 

“Just under an hour.” You subconsciously glanced at a watch that wasn’t there. His grin grew as he pulled you towards the locker room. “Jamie, what if someone walks in?” Even as you protested you couldn’t help your own smile from spreading over your face. 

“Trust me, love. The lads are slackin' today. The only one who is going to finish in the next hour is Dani, and that chipper prick will stay and chat the Coaches to death.” 

You sighed, letting James tug you into his arms. He smelled like grass, rain, sweat, and himself. It was intoxicating. “I missed you.” You mumbled into his chest. 

“Missed you too, lovely girl.” He chucked, pulling you up for a kiss. No sooner did he deepen it than you heard a crash behind you. You tried to jump away from Jamie but he held onto you. You turned around to find a sheepish-looking Sam slowly backing away from the door. 

“I- I am so sorry.” Sam looked like he was trying to shrink down to bug-size. “I’ll just, I don’t want to interrupt.” 

“You’re ok-” 

“God, Sam, mind your fuckin' business.” Jamie faux-scolded. Sam slightly smiled. 

“I am.” He put his hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “And don’t worry, your secret is safe with-” 

Right when he said that, a crowd of about ten players scrambled into the locker room, all pausing when they took in the spectacle in front of them. You could see them looking between Sam, you, and Jamie who still had his arm wrapped around your waist. The room was dead silent, until someone spoke up from the back of the group.

“Well now we know why Y/N comes to practice so much.” 

“Shut the fuck up Jan Maas!” Upwards of five people shouted.

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: König x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, creampie, pussyeating, overall nasty

Your thighs burned with tiredness, thin sheen of sweat covering your body, running down your back and temple in tickling droplets. You huffed yet again, gripping König’s shoulder tighter to get better leverage. But you couldn’t stop, especially not when König looked so pretty underneath you - all blushed and fucked-out, hearts almost shooting out of his eyes at the sight of you fucking yourself on his girthy cock.

- You’re gonna be a good boy and cum deep inside my pussy? - you saw König’s eyes roll slightly at your words as he nodded his head vigorously, his adam’s apple bobbing rapidly.

- Yesyesyes, gonna do that for mommy, anything you want, - König slurred, his eyes bleary and unfocused, watching your tits bouncing right in his face as you rode him, milking his cock empty of his cum. He was completely pussy drunk at this point, gripping your hips and whining into the crook of your neck, sucking dark bruises on your skin there.

You rolled your hips against his in full circle, applying just a bit more force than previously. A violent shudder ran through König’s huge body, tight clenching of your pussy along with your sweet praise made him moan lewedly, a sound worth of nastiest pornography. It sent wave of arousal surging through your body, only encouraging you to quicken your pace, fucking the mere soul out of desperate man underneath you.

- Come on, make a mess, - you encouraged breathlessly, quickening the pace on which you bounced up and down on König’s throbbing cock.

König squeezed his eyes shut, his big fingers digging into the pudge of your ass, surely leaving dark marks in their wake. Low growl tumbled through his heaving chest, quickly turning into a chain of shameless moans and quiet mewls. König’s strong hips thrusted upwards a few times, effortlessly lifting your whole body weight, desperately chasing his high; surely enough, soon you felt warmth spreading inside of you; his hips still jabbing weakly, trying to prolong his orgasm as much as possible.

You cooed at all the desperate sounds this huge man was making; your hand coming up to cradle his jaw, thumb rubbing his sweaty cheek softly as you murmured encouragements and sweet nothings against his reddened ear, only causing König to blush more.

- Did so good for me, baby. But look at that, - you said, moving your gaze downwards. König followed your eyes with his teary ones, down to where he was still snugly sheathed within your rippling heat, noticing a small puddle of his pearly cum mixed with your juices starting to form at the base of his cock. - Gotta clean mommy up, don’t you think?

You could see König’s eyes lit up at your words, his softening cock twitching inside of you. He swallowed heavily, nodding eagerly.

- Yes ma’am.

He slid out of you carefully, laying your back on crumpled sheets. Getting in-between your plushy thighs he urged you to wrap them around his head; short stubble on his chin and cheeks scratched your sensitive skin, causing goosebumps to run up your spine.

Without any detain König got straight to work, nimble tongue delving right through your drenched folds, lapping at your pussy as if it was the most delicious meal in the whole world (it indeed was for him). Gathering the mix of his thick cum and your slick on the tip of his tongue, König swallowed all of it with immense pleasure, sucking your pussy clean.

Let’s just say that it was far from the last time he got to clean you this way that night🤍

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. Feedback inspires me on creating more content for you!

[gothushi]

Ok but what if a vampire tried to ask Nikolai if he could bite HIS girl, making him BIG mad. Now he has to cover her in bites and hickeys to make sure everyone knows she is not to be touched . Maybe while this is going on his girlfriend bites him back and he is all 😍🥵💦

he’d be mad mad. feral. the moment this… random asked to bite his girl? you’re leaving. fuck the party. he’s dragging you home, hardly making it inside. he isn’t mad at you, obviously, but he sure as hell is taking it out on you. nikolai’s grumbling, growling, “my fucking girl” “should have stabbed him” “what a fucking– idiot.” all while kissing your neck, licking the sweat off your skin, hurriedly undressing you. barely makes it to the mess which is your bed (sheets and blankets all rumpled around from your morning activities…)

he’s leaving little marks, sucking hickies against your neck, on all the sensitive spots. your pulse point, beneath your ear, at the junction of your neck and shoulder, and all along the side and down to your collarbones. he can hear your blood pumping, your heart pounding, can smell the arousal coming off you in waves, his own cock aching between his thighs. but not yet, he won’t pleasure either of you yet, he has a mission to do. nikolai worships you. spends at least twenty minutes kissing down your body. spends an awful amount of time on your tits, hands massaging them, pinching and sucking your nipples to hear that sweet sweet whine you give in response. he leaves a little trail of hickies down your stomach, teeth nipping at your hips without breaking skin. on to your thighs, he ravishes them. sucks dark bruises into the inners of them, licks, drools, and finally, finally, his teeth sink into your skin, right on the middle of your inner thigh. he’ll moan, eyes rolling back at he sucks the blood from the puncture wounds, tongue laving over it to heal the hurt. once he has his fill from that bite, he peppers little kisses on it as a silent apology for the pain, and then makes another bite right beside that one. doesn’t take too much blood, but he works his way back up your body with bites. two on your stomach, one on the top of your tit beside your nipple, one at the base of your neck, all the while your hands card through his long hair, scratching his scalp, whining and whimpering pleas for him to just fucking touch you. he grumbles back no, he’s busy, no, mine, mine, until his bloody lips meet yours in a searing kiss.

thank the gods above that he finally undresses himself, grinds his leaking cock down against you and with just a moment of his fingers stretching you out, he finally fucks into you. it’s feral, has you gasping for air in your burning lungs, legs wrapped around his waist as he reaches so deep and stretches you with just enough pain to feel good. nikolai is much too busy licking the remaining blood off your neck to hear your pleas and warnings that you’re about to cum already that when you finally do find that earth shattering peak it has him gasping and blushing a deep red. not because you’re cumming, but because your teeth are biting hard into the skin of his shoulder. oh. this is new.

his hips go faster, grinding, fucking into you at a reckless abandon because oh my fucking god his arousal has skyrocketed because you bit him, the pain tingling in his skin as your teeth leave little marks, indentations. he wants your teeth marks all over his body, begs you to keep doing that, “more. bite again.” “again, mark me.” “im yours, yours, fuck” you both cum at least four times that night, and you’re both absolutely covered in marks. any sane person would think you had the shit beat out of you, what with the several bites, little hickies, the bruises forming on your thighs, hips, arms.

the next morning he’ll make much sweeter love to you, kissing each little mark, scratch, bruise, confessing his love, claiming you once again as his. and he’s yours.

[ggumjjun]

what do u think of yeonjun nd hickeys?(receiving nd giving) i honestly think he loves loves LOOVES when you bite his neck and just give him so many hickeys<3

i honestly think he prefers getting hickeys on his neck/shoulder, so then he can show it off to the members.

and by thinking of hit i het he would beg to give you a hickey just because he likes seeing you all marked up, its like hes marking his territory<333

eeek okay yeonjun’s such a hickey enthusiast like receiving n giving fr zero doubt (f!reader, suggestive);;; send me jjunie asks <3

straddling him on his lap, lips swollen from rough kisses and a bruising grip on your waist, his tank top discarded over the edge of the couch,,, head tipped back as your lips suck a dark mark on his neck, his smooth skin covered in fading marks as your tongue drags over the fresh one, a kiss over the bite as it blossoms reddish purple,,, and the soft groan escaping yeonjun’s lips as your lips suck another mark in his collarbones, fingers resting on his shoulder and chest,,, until his skin is splotchy with bruising bites, your faded scratch marks down his back and biceps, a string of saliva hanging between your lip and his smooth neck. good girl, yeonjun murmurs, his hand coming up to hold your neck as he tilts you closer to him, my turn. because to yeonjun, marks are his love language, possessive and primal ownership laid across skin.

and when he’s jealous,,,

making eye contact with soobin, yeonjun’s fox like gaze sharp against soobin’s, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist. maybe the alcohol was messing with his head,,, but really, it was really fucking annoying to see soobin staring at you,,, yeonjun’s fingers finding the edge of your shirt collar, giving a gentle but intentional tug, exposing a mess of hickeys marring your skin, and the long, slow drag of his tongue up your neck, feeling you shiver in his lap, grip tightening as he holds you closer, deeper in his lap, beomgyu’s and taehyun’s voices fading into white noise as he glares at soobin, watching him attempt to awkwardly converse with kai,,, as if he wasn’t staring.

and in the distracted chatter,,, yeonjun’s lips press kisses down your skin,,, and a sharp bite into the pretty column of your neck, a reddish bruise blooming as his hot breath fans over your neck, a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear, words tickling the lobe of your ear as he murmurs, ‘m gonna have to show soobin who you belong to, his voice husky and low,,, and his hand slipping down further between your thighs with devious intent, licking his lip in satisfaction at your whimper of protest,,, because yeonjun’s not willing to deal with anyone not knowing their place.

okay i wrote smth about this for later,,, but jjunie who leaves kisses on each of his hickeys n bruises on your skin in aftercare~~?

[fluentmoviequoter]

Please Tell Me That's Fake Blood

Trick or Treat Thursday, October 12, 2023

Fic-tober Masterlist

Summary: Dalton is uncomfortable seeing you covered in blood, which leads to a confession and what should be a private moment.

Warnings: angst and fluff (the special 3rd option of Trick or Treat Thursday apparently), description of injuries, fake blood, making out?, spoilers for Insidious: The Red Door (2023). 1.3k+ words.

A/N: Apologies for the delay (posted 10.14)! I decided not to continue last week's Trick or Treat Thursday this week, but let me know if you'd like a part 2 to any of these. I hope you enjoy! :)

The blood starts at a jagged cut along your hairline, dripping and streaking down your cheek before it’s smeared over your nose. Bruises form around the wound, and scratches under your eye shine under the sticky red blood. When the light hits just right, you can see evidence on your hands that you fought back, but it’s hard to tell if you put up enough of a fight.

“It looks amazing!” Chris says, clapping as she steps back.

“I look like I was mauled by a bear, Chris. But it does look real; you did a great job. My turn?” you ask, switching places as you reach for the makeup brushes.

The new container of fake blood and injury effects sits on Chris’s desk after your spontaneous trip to the Halloween store. When you went down the buy one get one makeup and special effects aisle, you and Chris couldn’t help yourselves. The packages were immediately opened after returning, and she decorated your face.

As you put the finishing touches on Chris’s bloody look, your phones ring in tandem. An SOS text from Dalton sets both of your hearts racing as you exit the dorm, the makeup forgotten and drying out on the desk.

When you reach Dalton’s dorm, you knock and hold your breath as you hear footsteps approaching the door. Dalton opens the door and freezes as his eyes meet yours.

“Dalton? Are you okay?” Chris asks.

Unable to speak, you raise your hand to Dalton’s bicep and step closer.

“Please tell me that’s fake blood,” he whispers, looking only at your eyes.

Chris laughs before saying bye and muttering something about how oblivious you and Dalton are. You wave numbly, focusing on Dalton and the unfamiliar look in his eyes. At first, you thought he was nervous, but now he looks scared, like just-closed-the-red-door-scared.

“The blood?” Dalton asks again, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yes, oh, sorry. Yes, the blood is fake,” you assure Dalton as you lead him into his dorm and close the door behind him. “I’m sorry if we startled you, we bought a bunch of makeup at the Halloween store and were messing around with it.”

Dalton’s eyes fall to your hand in his as he releases a big breath, his shoulders dropping. He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Can we- do you need to keep it on?” Dalton asks, his eyes still on your hands.

“No. I can go wash it off.”

You step toward the door, but Dalton pulls you back, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says into your neck.

“Don’t apologize,” you say as you follow his silent directions to sit on his bed.

Dalton offers to help you wash it off and produces a pack of makeup wipes from his bottom dresser drawer. You raise your eyebrows at the sight and are about to joke about why he has them when you notice how his shoulders tense when he looks at your face again.

“Dalton, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go wash it off by myself,” you offer.

Dalton shakes his head and opens the pack, removing one before lifting your chin for easier access. He rubs your forehead gently before moving down your face. The more blood that comes off, the more relaxed Dalton looks. Stepping closer to get the stubborn cut mark off your hairline, Dalton places himself between your legs. You raise a hand and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“Dalton, talk to me,” you say.

Dalton lets you guide his hand to your lap, held between you. He looks down and shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize.

“It’s not your fault. I- thank you for coming when I texted.”

“Of course. Anytime, Dalton, you know that.”

“I didn’t mean to text Chris,” he admits quietly, transferring the wipe to his free hand before tossing it on his desk to throw away later.

You nod, encouraging him to keep talking. His eyes finally raise to your face again, and he scans every inch of it, lingering on your lips, before looking into your eyes.

“I overreacted. But I opened the door and saw all that blood, and I just… I can’t lose you.”

“Dalton.”

Dalton shakes his head, his eyes growing glassy as he continues. “I have nightmares where you get hurt because of me or you leave, and it kills a part of me every time. Just thinking of you getting hurt breaks my heart. Those nightmares are the worst I’ve ever had.”

You rub your hand along Dalton’s arm as you pull him closer, chest to chest, as he stands before you. Your head is tilted to look at his face, your heart straining at the pain and fear in his eyes.

“Hey,” you say quietly, your hand on his cheek, turning his head toward you. “I’m not going anywhere, and I am fine.”

“It hurts. Seeing you hurt or watching you leave, even if it isn’t real, it hurts.”

“I know, baby, but I will always be right here. Call me, day or night, and I will be by your side in a heartbeat,” you promise, not even noticing your slip as you call him ‘baby.’

“Like tonight?” Dalton whispers, heart racing.

“Like tonight.”

Dalton nods and lays one of his hands over yours on his face, leaning down to close the distance.

“It hurts because…” Dalton trails off.

You brush your thumb over his cheekbone and smile as you ask, “Why does it hurt?”

“Because I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and your hand slackens under his, sliding off his face. Dalton stands up quickly, looking between your eyes.

“Say it again,” you whisper, reaching for his hands before he can step back. “Please.”

“I love you,” Dalton whispers, less confident than before.

“I love you, Dalton Lambert, so much,” you say as your smile grows.

Dalton grabs your waist and ducks his head to kiss you, humming against your lips as you push your fingers into his hair. Dalton moves you backward, joining you on the bed as he tugs your bottom lip.

“Really? The fake blood is what did it?”

You and Dalton break apart, turning your heads toward the door. Chris smiles at you from the open doorway, and you roll your eyes at her commentary. Dalton stands with a grunt directed toward Chris before pulling you to your feet and into his side, tucked under his arm.

“No, the fake blood is not what did it,” Dalton tells Chris, “me telling her I love her did it.”

“Whoa,” Chris exclaims, looking between you and Dalton, “that was a big jump from oblivious to the l-word.”

“At least you can get off my back about telling him now,” you tease.

As you turn to look up at Dalton, you notice an incomplete drawing on his desk.

“Dalton,” you say seriously, looking at him quickly.

He furrows his brow and looks where you did, sighing and closing his eyes.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“I think so,” he admits quietly.

“So, the nightmares…” you trail off, and Dalton nods his head.

“Want to fill me in?” Chris asks, closing the door.

“I think the door is opening again. Slowly, but we knew paint wouldn’t hold it forever.”

Dalton tenses in your arms, and you turn to hug him completely.

“We’re going to fix this, Dalton. Everything will be okay,” you promise.

“Yeah, we’ve done it once, we can do it again. You aren’t alone this time, Dolphin,” Chris adds supportively.

With your arms around him and the promise of future kisses (without Chris’s presence), Dalton believes you, nodding along with your reassurances. He doesn’t hear much, focusing on your lips as you talk.

“He’s not listening,” Chris says with a laugh. “I’m out. See ya later, lovebirds.”

“Bye, Chris,” you say. “Dalton, did you hear anything I said?”

“Remind me?” he asks, smiling. “Maybe a little closer to my face so I can hear?”

You shake your head, feigning exasperation, before wrapping your arms behind his neck and pressing your lips to his. Dalton believes this promise more than any words he’s ever heard.

[its--fandom--darling]

dirty talk - captain syverson

Captain Syverson x Fem!Reader

KINKTOBER DAY 4 - DIRTY TALK

18+ only!!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! 

TW: dirty talk, degradation (whore, slut, cockdumb), aftercare, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please), overuse of pet names, if I missed anything let me know please!

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

Sex with Sy was always good, but when he’d been away for bit on a job, he ran his mouth in way that lit you up from the inside out. The dirtiest things would spill from his plush lips as he thrust into you hard and fast. It was often focused on how well your pussy was taking his cock. 

Tonight was no different, Sy’s got you on your hands and knees, his big hands grippings your hips with a level of strength that you knew would leave bruises behind tomorrow, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as the sound of his pelvis slapping into your ass as it mingled with your muffled moans. 

“Yeah, that’s it, taking daddy’s cock like a perfect little cock slut. You just love it when I fuck you like this dontcha?”

You respond with a moan. 

“Yeah that’s what I thought. Just started fuckin you and you’ve already gone cockdumb, hmm. Pathetic,” he mocks.

You whimper a bit as he tugs on your hair, wrapping one arm around your waist to tug you up against his chest. 

His thrusts grow wilder and your moans grow in tandem, the hand around your waist sneaking down to rub at your clit as he thrust deeper into you on each stroke. “You feel so fuckin good, darlin’, can feel your sweet little cunt squeezin me, ya must be close huh? You gonna cum for daddy, darlin’?”

You moan weakly, hands scrambling to find purchase on his forearm as your body rocked with the force of his thrusts. 

He growled in your ear, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Want you to cum with me baby, cum with me and I’ll fill you up.”

You whine, biting your lip as your eyes roll back as your climax crests and pleasure courses through your limbs. “Daddy,” your whine, as you go limp against him. 

With a few more thrusts, he cums with a growl, letting his hips thrust a few last times before he stills. You can feel his heart pounding through his furry chest against your back, as the two of you both try to catch your breath. He presses soft kisses to your shoulder, “You okay sugar?” 

You nod, slowly before stretching your neck from side to side as he continues to press kisses along your spine. 

“Words, sugar,” he gruffs, pulling out of you.

“I’m fine, Sy,” you murmur, looking at him over your shoulder and meeting his big blue eyes. “Totally fine.”

He gives you a once over and then leans in to kiss your forehead. “Let me clean you up and then we’ll watch a movie or something.”

“Okay,” you hum, laying back against the mussed sheets. You clock the whine from outside of the bedroom door and shake your head. “Sy, don’t forget to let Aika in after we’re sorted or she’ll make a mess again.”

He chuckles. “I won’t forget,” he mutters coming out of the bathroom with a warm washcloth. He gently wipes down your core and thighs, cleaning the mix of sticky spend off your skin with gentle strokes. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before taking a step towards the bathroom and launching the used cloth into the hamper there. “You want one of my shirts?” he asks, moving to his dresser and pulling out a pair of lounge pants for himself.

“Yes please,” you say making grabby hands at him.

He chuckles, “the DILLIGAF or my ARMY shirt?”

“Surprise me,” you murmur, as you see him tug his well loved red dilligaf shirt from his drawer and toss it over to you. 

“Think fast, Aika incoming in 3,2,1,” he says, opening the door to a flash of black and brown fur barrelling into the room and diving onto the bed with a happy bark.

You giggle and scratch her ears. “Good girl, Aika, you ready to cuddle with us?” She lets out a soft yip and curls up by you, resting her head on your thigh. 

“You stealing my girl, Aika?” he teases, slipping under the covers and patting her head. 

“Nah, I’m still your girl, but Aika and I are besties.”

He rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around your shoulders. “That is an understatement. Y’all are partners in crime.” 

You giggle and lean into his shoulder, “You love it.”

He chuckles, “I do, wouldn’t change it for the world. Now, what should we watch?”

TAGGING: @persephone-is-here-omg @salimahbicharara-comun @nuggsmum @angryschnauzer @littlefreya @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @cavillsthighs @mary-ann84 @henrythickcavill @the-soot-sprite​

[paralyze-fic]

Paralyze.

Chapter 44

Izuku and I were walking together back to the dorms, we had said goodbye to Togata senpai earlier and now we were really quiet.

By just glancing at him, I knew what he was thinking about because I was thinking about it too.

Eri-chan.

It made me feel angry at myself for not being able to help her. But there wasn't anything we could do at that moment. The only thing I could do... was keep my promise and rescue her, all of us.

We walked inside the dorm and we were greeted by some of our classmates. I tried to smile at them, but I was so tired. More mentally than physically.

"Hard day?" I looked at Eijiro and chuckled humorlessly.

"You could say," I swallowed and turned to the stairs. "I'll go take a shower."

I walked slowly and past the elevator. I was going to climb up the stairs. I need to think for a bit.

//////

I was snapped out of my thoughts when I heard my phone ring inside the bathroom. I sighed and closed the shower, grabbing my towel and getting out, covering my lower half. Walking to my phone, I saw Katsuki's message.

BabySuki;

Come over to my room.

I wanna see you.

His texts made me smile a bit and made my heart race, but the uneasiness was still lingering in the back of my mind, so I couldn't really be happy about it. But I replied anyway.

;I'll be there in a bit.

I dried myself a bit and walked out of the bathroom, looking for some comfortable clothes to wear. I wasn't in the state of mind to pay attention to what I was getting, but I got dressed in a few seconds.

I knocked on Katsuki's door maybe two or three times, and then the ash blonde that I love opened the door, dragging me in before I could say anything. "Wh-?" And I felt a pair of soft lips against mine.

The kiss made me melt instantly, making me wrap my arms around his waist and get closer to him. Katsuki giggled on my lips, and that made me smile, but our kiss broke after a few seconds went by.

Our foreheads were touching and I had my eyes still closed. I bit my lip slightly. "I love you, Katsuki."

I heard him groan and his fingers playing with my hair, causing a smile to be plastered on my face, "Don't say that, (M/n)... I already know you love me."

"Well, I was making sure you still knew, just in case you doubt me, love." I felt his arms lowering and his palms held my forearms, squeezing them a bit.

"I'll never doubt it," Katsuki backed away from me, and I had to open my eyes.

Only now I noticed...

"What happened to you?"

...how messed up he looked. He looked worse than yesterday.

He chuckled nervously while scratching the back of his neck. "The extra classes are kind of tough, y'know..." he looked away and I noticed more bruises down his neck.

I held his hand and dragged him out of his room.

"Eh...? (M/n)?" My feet took us to my bedroom and I made him sit down on my bed.

Katsuki's eyes stared at me curiously.

"What...?" Before he could finish talking I walked into my bathroom and looked around for the first-aid kit.

When I stepped out, Katsuki was staring at the ceiling, a cute confused expression on his face.

"(M/n)," I grabbed my desk chair and placed it in front of him, sitting beside Katsuki and placing the kit on top of the chair.

"I'm going to be your nurse for a bit, Katsuki," I glanced at him and he a had faint blush on his face.

"Uh... you don't... have to, I can do it... myself." His shy voice made me turn to look at him.

And I couldn't resist.

I held his face with my hands and turned him, facing me. My lips touched his and my body leaned forward, making Katsuki lay down on my bed, our chests were pressed up against each other and I could hear his surprise noises whenever my lips moved on his.

Katsuki pressed his palms on my shoulders, weakly pushing me back. I did, but when our kiss broke I lowered down to kiss the bruises on his cheeks and down his neck.

"Gah... (M/n), wh-what are you-?" I stopped and placed my forehead on his shoulder, kissing it softly.

"You're irresistible, Katsuki, sorry."

He blushed and glanced away, I helped him sit up and, in complete silence, I became his temporary nurse.

//////

And the next day, when we walked into the classroom, the girls commented about Katsuki's appearance, and Shouto's attractive face being injured. That made me chuckle.

Katsuki glanced at me, growling and with his usual scowl on his face.

Weird... it's been a while since I've seen his signature scowl. I kinda missed it now that I realized it.

I wanted to do something, so I looked around. Okay, nobody's looking. "Hey, Katsuki." He turned to me abruptly.

"Wha-?!" My mouth on his didn't allow him to complain as I stole his breath with a kiss. I backed away two seconds later and I saw Katsuki's red face. You could probably fry an egg on him, and that thought made me laugh.

I ruffled his hair and walked to my desk, before I sat down I saw Izuku on his and I smiled at him.

"Good morning, Izuku." He just stared ahead, his eyes lost. He seemed to be thinking about something. And I knew what... "You're thinking of Eri, right?" And that made him turn to me.

"It's inevitable, (M/n)-kun. You saw her too... she was so scared..." I sighed and sat on his desk, looking down at him.

"I know, but... I made a promise to her, and we have to focus on class for now, the... the time to rescue her would come around soon, Izuku. Don't worry too much, okay?" He nodded once, but I saw his expression. He wasn't agreeing with me, and I didn't blame him anyway.

I was struggling to believe my own words right now too.

Iida yelled something about Tsuyu and Uraraka's absence, and then Jiro mentioned Eijiro missing too.

Just now I realized he wasn't here.

I did remember him texting me something about having a place where he could do his internship, but when Kaminari said that, Katsuki screamed behind me making me flinch.

And that like, Cementoss walked in to teach us the first class, so I made my way to my desk.

The day went past like a blur, sometimes I would space out for a moment and I wouldn't snap back if it wasn't for a teacher or Katsuki calling me. Izuku was even worse than me, and that was pretty much the course of our day.

[shimmerbeasts]

The night sleep brought back some of her strength, sprawled out on Vi's bed as she slept next to the one person who provided the comfort of safety. They both required some downtime now, she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She wasn't ready to face her father either, she could already hear his exasperation and 'Is there ever a time you won't come home bloody, sweetheart?' Sitting up, she arched her back and stretched her arms upward with a yawn though instantly regretted it as she flinched at the pain of her arm and the collarbone. However, she kept any sound silent, looking over at Vi who still looked sound asleep in her tangled mess.

A little smile touched her lips, as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Vi's forehead, careful of the bandaging of her face to not aggravate the wounds. Her claws reached over, scratching through Vi's hair and finding the spot behind her ear knowing it would elicit a purr before she climbed out of bed. Her bones creaked in annoyance at having to move as she moved over toward the table Vi had left the bullet on. Dried blood stained the bullet, as she grabbed a small bowl and started to clean it off, needing to see it without hindrance of her vital all over it.

She set it down on a cloth, putting the waterbowl to the side, and rubbed her left arm. The fur covered up the wound on her arm but it still ached. With a roll of her shoulder, she let out a sigh. Her arm and collarbone had been wrapped in bandages and thankfully washed up now. Her neck was fully bandaged as well, hiding the bite wounds Jinx had inflicted. Careful fingers picked up the bullet and twisted it around in her finger. It hadn't even shattered when she shot the bullet which spoke of how strong the bone structure was, and against the bullet was the shape of the eye of Zaun. Her hand reached up to the back of her neck, tracing the same shape that was cut into her flesh months ago. A shiver ran down her back as she set it down on the table, trying to understand why Jinx would use bone bullets.

Worse of all, who was it?

Sleep was always hard to come by when wounded. However, years of going to bed on a cold hard stone floor with cracked rips, sore muscles and bruises on too many places to count had taught Vi how to ignore the pain signals of her body and will herself asleep anyway. Even a raging headache could not stop her.

Though, she had to admit, falling asleep with still healing gashes on her face and near her eye was difficult. The skin was taught and pulled uncomfortably where Tobias Kiramman had pushed it together to be able to sew it up. He had told Vi to rest her face for the first couple of days to give the wound ample start to heal. "Hey, genius", the Zaunite had wanted to tell him, "What the bloody hell does that mean? 'Rest my face.' You want me to put it on ice, is that it?!" She only hadn't done so because the moment she had tried to talk, half her face had felt like it was on fire and thus she had stopped immediately.

Thus sleeping was tough as Vi found herself intentionally sleeping on one side to not aggravate her face. Sometimes, she would even turn on her back for a short while. However, eventually, the young Zaunite managed to settle back down; particularly when Caitlyn chose to join her in bed and they rested together. Wistfulness caught Vi as she was reminded of Powder sleeping curled up against her belly. They had shared a bed for a long time. Yet Powder also had never scratched through her hair with a hand and scratched behind her ear, hitting that wonderful spot, which pulled a purr out of Vi's throat. Yes, that was the stuff! That felt wonderful.

Eventually, though the familiar warmth beside her passed. Caitlyn was no longer lying in the same bed as her. Vi's eyes flew open and she shifted up on the mattress. "Caitlyn?", she asked, peering around in alarm. However, upon spotting the heir to the House Kiramman sitting at a desk in her room, Vi's anxiety settled back down. Slipping out of the bed, she stretched herself with a pleasant yawn and climbed out. Her bare feet tapped upon the floor as she wandered closer to peer over Caitlyn's shoulder to see what she was examining with such scrutiny.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked down at the bullet. White as snow and the bone, it had been carved from. The sigil of Silco was prominently scratched into one of its sides. Vi refused to call it the Eye of Zaun. She refused to give Silco any more power than he already possessed. It already stung that Jinx had cut the sigil into Caitlyn's neck, marking her girlfriend as outlawed. Not that Piltover would give a shit. For them, half of Zaun was already barbaric.

"I am so very sorry, Cait."

Vi was not even sure whether she was apologising for the bone bullet or for having been outlawed. She couldn't help where she came from and thus she knew all too well what the bone meant. She could even hazard a guess as to whose bone it was. After all, only one significant Zaunite had died recently, and that was Silco. Of course, he would twist Powder up so much that she ate him to commemorate him. Though Vi had to admit that the bone bullets were a new thing, even for her.

Vi pulled a chair beside the desk and plopped down upon it. She put her temple into her hand as she stared at the bone bullet. Undecidedly flexing her claws, Vi wrecked her skull as to how to break this topic to Caitlyn. After all, there was being a Vastaya descendant and then there was something, which was particular and only found in Zaun. Something, which in other cultures was frowned upon for a very good reason.

"Janna fucking damn it!", Vi blurted out and bonked her head on the table, "How am I supposed to explain this shit to you? I hate being a Zaunite... Why are we like this? Ffffuuuucccckkkk." She groaned in exasperation.

Full permission to continue this plotted ask.

[narraboths]

lena hugging her beefy kryptonian from behind resting her cheek between kara's shoulder blades when aron when

[read on Ao3]

Some days, it’s like this:

It’s early in the morning, a quiet, hazy hour. 

The pair of them move idly around in Kara’s apartment, basking in the gentle warmth of the sunshine streaming into the open space. Kara’s hunched over the stove, still in the loose t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs she’s worn to bed, humming to herself as she’s flipping pancakes. The hair on the back of her head is sticking up a little, messy from sleep and even messier from Lena’s morning ministrations. The pancakes smell a little burnt.

As far as images of domestic bliss go, it’s all rather mundane and unglamorous.

Lena’s utterly, hopelessly in love with every minute detail of it.

She’s always in awe of Kara, her towering, magnetic, just-stepped-out-of-a-heroic-tale kind of presence, but loves watching Kara like this, cozy and chipper and all hers. It’s the kind of ordinariness Lena’s never thought she’d have in her life, the kind that’s been only more ridiculous to imagine considering Kara’s day-job. But here they are, in the comfort of each other’s presence, Kara burning their meals and Lena watching her committed fumbling and thinking she’s the luckiest woman in the universe.

This is what draws her closer and closer until she’s pressed against Kara’s back, arms wrapped tightly around Kara’s middle. It draws a low, rumbling laugh from her wife that reverberates in Lena’s very core.

“Breakfast’s almost ready,” Kara says. She shifts a little on her feet to lean into Lena’s embrace, and Lena delights in the feel of every minute flex of her muscles. She nuzzles her face between Kara’s shoulder-blades, snaking a hand under Kara’s shirt to palm at her abs, tickling the coarse hairs of her happy trail.

“Are you planning on distracting me?” Kara asks, and Lena knows she’s smiling now, bright and ever so slightly smug. She nips at her back in response, and Kara yelps, indignant: “Hey, no nibbling!”

“I know you can multitask,” Lena drawls. Kara lets out a theatrical, I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-deal-with-this huff, and Lena’s already pressing a kiss to the same spot with a giggle, gentle, soothing, her tongue instinctively wrapping itself around a string of much-used Kryptonian words next: “I love you.”

She feels the muscles in Kara’s body go slack the second the words leave her mouth, feels her truly sink into her arms, a quiet, loving surrender. She twists around so she can wrap her arms around Lena too, slotting their bodies together, and Lena tips her head back, eyes fluttering shut, already anticipating the soft kiss Kara bends down to press to her lips.

“I love you too,” Kara breathes into her mouth. Lena drinks the words like nectar, sweet, intoxicating: she kisses back, sloppy and overeager, tugs on Kara’s bottom lip and giggles into her mouth when one of her wife’s hands expectably finds its way to Lena’s ass.

Then something starts smelling decidedly burnt, and they break apart just so, with Kara twisting around and yanking the unfortunate remnants of their breakfast off the stove. Lena’s arms are still wrapped around her middle, her face pressed against Kara’s back, shaking with laughter as Kara huffs and puffs.

“I was so looking forward to making you breakfast just once!”

“I appreciate the intent, darling.” Lena tickles Kara’s side, pressing one last kiss to her back. “Here’s your excuse to grab some sticky buns from Noonan’s again.”

There are worse ways to spend one’s morning than sitting in Kara’s lap, hand-feeding her Noonan’s best pastry item and taking any excuse to kiss off the sugary mess it leaves on her wife’s lips, after all.

–

Some days, it’s like this: 

It’s late night, the sky outside already inky black and Lena doesn’t even really notice when Kara’s touched down on her balcony. 

Sometimes, Kara likes to play coy, leaning back against the railing and eyeing her through the glass with a little smile until Lena realizes she’s there and rushes out into her arms. Other days, when the world has gotten too loud and too much and Kara just wants to be near her, she’s happy to sink silently into the background, face turned towards the city’s skyline, pensive and quiet, ears attuned to Lena’s heartbeat.

Those days, Lena rises from her chair and pushes the balcony door open and stalks out, knowing that Kara can hear her approach. She moves slowly, letting Kara decide how to react to her presence – turning with a tired smile and drawing Lena into her arms, or staying still and silent until Lena reaches her.

(It would be wrong to say Lena prefers the latter. There’s something about it, though, that muted, timid dance, like searching for bruises that need to be tended to after a fight. There’s something so dear to her in the way she has to coax Kara to let the weight of the world fall from her shoulders for a little while, to surrender her armor and let herself lean on someone else.)

Kara doesn’t turn around.

It starts with the merest touch then, Lena’s fingers brushing against Kara’s shoulder. A single point of connection, a delicate hint. Kara doesn’t pull away, she never does – and Lena’s hand can slowly start to wander, fingertips dragging softly along the hard line of Kara’s shoulder, until they meet the nape of her neck.

Kara hums a little and the tension breaks, dissolves with a startling suddenness. She’s leaning into Lena’s touch now, a silent assent, and Lena draws closer and closer until their bodies are pressed together, her arms wrapping around Kara’s middle, holding, protecting.

“Long day, my love?”

There’s only a weary sigh in response, the tender burden of Kara’s body heavy in her arms, so Lena does what they usually choose to do when words fail them. Her lips can only press against the smooth, cold material of the cape and the collar of the suit now, impossible for Kara to really feel. Lena kisses her anyways. She clings to Kara tighter, tighter, until Kara’s head drops against her shoulder and a hand slowly covers her own, and Lena, tiptoeing, can nuzzle against Kara’s face, pressing a small kiss to her cheek. “I’ve got you.”

–

Some days, it’s like this: 

Kara’s warm and pliant beneath her, spread out on the bed. Her face is pressed into a pillow, arms wrapped around it so tightly that her muscles are straining with the hold. It doesn’t quite hide the rosy blush on her cheeks, though, nor does it stifle the low, huffy whimpers that she tries to choke back with every languid thrust of Lena’s hips.

It is an exquisite thing to watch her wife come undone like that, bit by bit.

Lena’s intent on savoring every second of it.

The muscles on Kara’s back tense when Lena runs her hand down the line of her spine, then relax again when she gently scratches her nails over them. Kara mumbles something into the pillow, the indistinct words turning into a broken moan when Lena jogs her hips again, harder, deeper. She does it again and again, hands braced against the small of Kara’s back, delighting in the way Kara’s eyes flutter shut, the sweet, beautiful sounds of her pleasure–

Until Kara bites down her lip and buries her face fully into the pillow again.

“Oh, don’t do that, darling,” Lena chides. She drapes herself over Kara’s back, nipping at her shoulder, the crook of her neck. She gets a low yelp in response, Kara bucking up against her and Lena giggles, stretching out a little so that her lips ghost the shell of Kara’s ear as she whispers: “I want to hear you.”

She punctuates her words with a forceful roll of her hips. This time, there is a moan, loud and unabashed and sinful enough to reverberate in Lena’s chest and settle deep in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs into Kara’s shoulder. Her voice feels hoarse, startlingly rough. Kara’s cheeks bloom even redder, and her mouth moves, but the words are low, unintelligible.

“Can’t hear you, baby,” Lena coos, teasing.

Kara grunts. She wets her lips and slides her hand over the covers until it meets Lena’s own, linking their fingers together and squeezing ever so gently.

“Harder,” she pants, and a heartbeat later, in that tone of needy gruffness that Lena could never deny: “Please.”

For one long, excruciating second, Lena doesn’t move. (She likes it, sometimes, to hear Kara really beg, to drive her to the edge before seeing her surrender. But not now, not this time, not when it’s so sweet to give Kara all she asks for.) She drops her head, and presses a small, tender kiss to Kara’s back.

“As you wish.”

[wkemeup]

The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[noteguk]

hickeys | jjk | m | drabble

[ ! ] this is a “bad influence” drabble

— summary; Jungkook gets a bit jealous. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, the endless adventures of badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, enemies with benefits, jealousy/possessiveness!!, kind of angry sex (it’s one-sided, jk is going through a Moment), unprotected sex, marking (hickeys, mentions of bruises), dirty talk, overstimulation, creampie, mentions of oral (f rec) and of cum eating, jk has a big dick, the oc being clueless but overall having a good time 

— words; 2,2k 

— author’s note; this was supposed to be shorter but, well, that’s the story of my life. A few people asked for a bit of jealous!jk so here I am to deliver it 😌 Inspired by this ask I got. 

~ 

Jungkook hated the wintertime. He hated the fact that you no longer used skirts because of the cold weather, hated that you had to go away for a few weeks because of winter break and, above all, hated those stupid turtlenecks you wore. 

Not because you didn’t look good in them — in fact, he had grown to appreciate them over the weeks, the way they made your breasts pop out and how your body felt so comfortable and warm against his — but because it became extremely easy for you to cover up the hickeys he gave you. Which completely missed the point of even having hickeys in the first place. 

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” You asked him, fingers pulling slightly on the messy strings of his dark hair. Jungkook was hovering above you in bed, his mouth glued to the skin of your neck, sucking on the flesh. He simply moaned in response, hoping that the roll of his hips against yours would make you shut up. Which obviously didn’t happen. “You better not be doing it.” 

Jungkook pulled away from your skin with a pop!, watching the blossoming red that appeared close to your jaw. It would be hard to cover up that one. “And what if I am?” He smirked, placing a kiss against your lips. His cock was deep inside you, and it was incredibly difficult to argue with him when he was fucking you so well. Not that it would stop you from trying. “What are you going to do about it?” 

You playfully hit him on the shoulder, the frown on your face only making him smile wider. “You’re such a jerk, I’m going to spend all the concealer I have left with this one,” you complained, and Jungkook hummed and leaned back towards your neck, resuming his devilish ministrations. Only one hickey wouldn’t be enough, Jungkook realized, he wanted you to go out to buy more makeup for that. “What’s the deal with you today?” You tried again.

Jungkook’s irritated groan vibrated throughout your skin, his hands tightening around your hips as a flame of anger sparked inside his chest. His deal was that you had cancelled on him at least three times last week to go out with some stupid guy named Jimin from your Wednesday afternoon class. He knew that he shouldn’t care about it — you two were obviously not exclusive, barely even a thing, and you didn’t seem to give a single fuck when he told you about one of the girls that he was going out with. And yet there he was: pissed off out of his mind because someone else might have interest in you, fucking you hard into the mattress because he wanted you to remember that no one could be as good as he was. 

There was also a second layer of indignation when it came to that subject: Jungkook was frustrated with himself because he was balls deep inside your pussy and he couldn’t even focus on it without thinking about your stupid date. It was the fourth week of the semester, he hadn’t seen you for the entirety of winter break, and it was the first time that he was fucking you in your bed (since your roommate was out in some idiotic spiritual retreat). He could actually have you for as long as he wanted, as loud as he wanted, not a single worry about being interrupted. And how was he using that time? Being jealous of a guy he barely even knew, just because he took you out for coffee or whatever. 

It really wasn’t his best moment.  

“Jungkook, that’s so good,” you cried out, sucking him out of his thoughts. Jungkook grunted at the desperate tone of your voice, his name sounding so perfect coming from your mouth, and he just wanted to hear more of it. His cock was slipping in and out of you with ease, your wetness dripping down his length, and he forced himself to pay attention to you for the rest of the night. “I’m getting close.” 

“Yeah?” Jungkook groaned and pressed his forehead against yours — he could tell that already from the way you were tightening so perfectly around him, hugging his cock like you were meant to take it. “You like when I fuck your pussy like this, baby?” 

“Y-Yeah, I love it.” You closed your eyes, back arching off the bed as he continued to drill his fat cock in and out of you. No matter how many times he gave it to you, you couldn’t get used to the incredible pressure of his girth against your walls, filling you up so perfectly. “Feels so good…” 

“Is this all for me baby?” Jungkook finished his sentence with a particularly hard slam of his hips against yours — you didn’t even need to ask him to fuck you rougher, he already knew that was what you wanted. His eyes were a deep dark storm, glued to your parted lips as you moaned out for him, your perfect little cunt pulsating around him. Jungkook could only think about how wonderful you felt, how he couldn’t find someone better even if he tried. “Is this pussy mine? Was it made for me?”

Jungkook was fucking you so well that you could not help but nod, a pathetic whimper tearing itself from your throat as your hands fumbled to hold onto the nape of his neck. Your nails scratched his skin, the sensation making him groan. 

“Yeah, it’s yours.” You said it because you knew that it was all pretend, all his weird possessiveness that he only showed when he was hitting that deep inside you. Jungkook also knew that it was bullshit — but he allowed himself to dive into that fantasy as he felt himself throb inside you. “Fuck, Jungkook, I’m really close.” 

But he didn’t relent. Jungkook shoved his head on the curve of your neck, grunting as he quickened his pace in and out of you. He could feel your thighs trembling, your pussy fluttering around him, and yet it didn’t feel like it was enough. “Say it again,” he roared, hands digging to the flesh of your hips. It would leave a mark, both of you were aware of that, and yet there was a shared sense of wonder when you saw the purple bruises that he would leave behind. “Say that it’s mine.” 

“This pussy is yours, Jungkook,” you whined, head pressed hard against the soft pillows. At that point, you’d say and do anything he asked you to. “O-Only yours.” 

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice hoarse and deep as sin. Jungkook was drilling into you like a madman, hoping that the ache between your legs would be enough to remind you of him, of what he could do to you. He wanted you to keep that in the back of your head next time you had to pick between him and some other dude who wouldn’t know how to treat you. “All mine, this is all mine. Made for me.” 

He quickly got lost in his own praises, mind whitening out at the pleasure that monopolized his body. When you came around him, just as perfectly as you had many times before, Jungkook felt a wave of pride washing over him. It pierced its sharp teeth in his flesh, sucked him out of his worries — suddenly he didn’t give a shit about Jimin from your Wednesday class, because he knew that no amount of stupid coffee dates would ever equate to the way he had you. It was just a matter of time before you realized that as well. 

He felt you shivering beneath him, the way you always did when your pleasure was starting to become a bit too much. Jungkook leaned back so he could see your face, that blushy mess that got him sinking deeper inside you, the thin veil of tears that swam over your unfocused eyes. He would bet real money that Jimin from Wednesday class wouldn’t get you like that in a million years. Not that he was jealous or anything. It was just a fact. 

“J-Jungkook, that’s too much,” you whined. 

And he knew that it was, but he also wanted you to feel it all, and wanted you to cum around him as many times as you could. After all, you finally had some alone time, so he was definitely going to make good use of it. 

“Take it for me, baby,” he asked breathlessly, the rising pitch of his voice signaling that he was close too. Jungkook could feel his own orgasm growing closer, building up at the base of his spine and tugging at his balls, threatening to overflow. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” 

You bit your lip, fighting against a sob as he continued his frantic movements. You wanted to be good for him, wanted to fight through that sensitivity for him. But sometimes it was hard to focus, and the space between the pain and the pleasure could be a bit too long sometimes. “A-Are you close?” You asked. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” he spat. Jungkook’s eyes zeroed in on your own, watching as a coat of desperation painted your features. “What’s the matter, baby? You don’t wanna get eaten out after I’m done here?” 

“God, Jungkook,” you said. If you weren’t so lost in the afterglow of your orgasm, you’d probably argue with him further, perhaps try and ask for the millionth time what had possessed him. But you seriously couldn’t be bothered with any more arguments and your brain wasn’t fully functional yet, so you settled for a quick and objective, “Are you trying to kill me?” 

Jungkook chuckled, lowering himself so he could place a kiss against your lips. “I'm trying to make you feel good. Let me eat my cum out of you, baby,” he teased, feeling as your walls pulsated around him at the idea. The fact that he hadn’t cum yet was a miracle on its own, because he had been about to tip over for a while now. “Unless you want to keep it inside you.” 

The interesting part was that Jungkook didn’t fully understand his second option until it had spilled from his lips. Now that it had been spoken out loud, manifested into the universe if you will, it made his cock throb with the mental imagery of you walking around stuffed with his cum, making other guys think they had a chance when you were already his. He’d seriously have to try that sometime. 

Before he could stop himself, his hooded eyes centralized on the hickeys he had embellished your neck with, and his marking was enough to make him spill himself inside you, painting your walls with waves of his warm cum. Jungkook called out what sounded like a broken version of your name, throwing his head back and listening to the wonderful whimpers you were producing for him. Just for him. 

At that point, both of you were considering buying your roommate something as a way to thank her for her wonderful idea of a spiritual retreat. 

Jungkook breathed out hard and removed his cock from your pussy, watching as the white liquid dripped between your glistening folds, accumulating on the sheets. If you weren’t so exhausted, you’d probably have yelled at him for ruining your mattress. 

“Have you made up your mind?” He asked, flickering his gaze up at you. You were such a pretty mess, and he lived for the fact that it was all because of him. “Wanna keep it in or want me to eat it out?” 

Honestly, he realized there was no wrong choice and, yet, he wanted to know what you would pick. 

You bit your lip and, after a moment of hesitation, you answered. “Eat it out,” you said. 

Jungkook smirked, lowering his head between your legs. “Good girl.” 

~ 

Jungkook saw you wearing a scarf the next day and he wanted to smack himself across the face for not considering that possibility. It hid all his efforts to mark you, didn’t make you nervous talking to other people. He could see from the faint coat of sweat on your face that you were feeling hot, but he also saw you smirking at him enough times to know that you were planning to endure that for as long as necessary. He was stupid to believe he’d actually get what he wanted for once: it had been too easy. 

He really fucking hated the wintertime. 

~ 

Check out the rest of the bad influence collection! 

Taglist: @youurkryptonite @taehyungieskith​ @fan-ati–c​ @btstrasht​ @crazy4myself​ @sashimi-mochi @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky

[oppositeurmama]

The Bear and the maiden fair (Bjorn X Reader)

A/N - this contains smut with dubious consent! I don’t want anyone to get triggered, so if you are not comfortable with this, pls don’t read! <3

Warnings; violence, dub-con

P.s - I don’t condone any of the following actions, I find it repulsive.

The castle had been stormed hours ago. The villagers had died first, slaughtered in their homes and in their forges, the blacksmiths branded with their own tools, the butchers sliced and diced like prized hogs. And after the village had been burned to the ground, the plunderers came to the castle. They forced down the great oak doors, killed any who stood in their way. 

My father had been the first to die. He’d been on his throne when one of the barbarians had launched a spear, and it hit him straight through the gullet, the sharp iron tip pinning him into the wood backrest. My mother had been the second to die, after she screamed for god to help. 

But the gods were cruel. They didn’t listen to women anymore, even high-born ones like me, even though i was the lucky one. As my family were gutted, i had hid in the only place i could dare think to hide; my bedroom. It wasn’t a clever or sneaky place to hide, to be true, but the door locked and there was only one key, and i was the sole owner.

***

Hours passed. The screams filled my castle, blood splattered the wall and stained the cobbled floors, and those damned screams and pleas of help fell on deaf ears, forgotten by the barbaric cries of the savages who seeked only to slaughter, to take and to take, to never give back. 

I was beneath my bed when the door came crashing down. A great axe stuck through the wood and stripped back the bark, hack hack hack! I held my breath, placed my hands over my mouth as my chest heaved, seeking sanctuary in the dark low confines underneath my wooden bed. 

The door opened, squealing on iron hinges. Goosebumps prickled my skin. The viking stepped through the doorway, treading heavy over chunks of splintered wood and debris. “Princess.” He called, in a growling rasp. “You ran, little princess, and we didn’t know where.” The viking walked across the vast expanse of my room and he dragged his sword against the floor, the iron sparking against the cobbles. “i found you, princess. And now . . .” 

I swallowed a sob and the scraping of his sword stopped. He turned on his heel and before i could barely comprehend, he’d gripped my ankle and pulled me out from under the bed. “You’re mine!”

He pinned me down, and I glanced up at him, too frightened to dare speak, my words catching in my throat, my tongue growing fat from fear. And despite my terror, no tears fell. “Bjorn ironside.” I said, shakily. “You’re Bjorn Ironside.”

A flash of moonlight set his face alight. His smile was cruel and thin. “I am.” He admitted, and my jaw trembled. My chest heaved with the effort it took to breath and not scream for help, or even to sob. “Are you going to kill me?”

Bjorn smiled and gripped my jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He studied me as though i was a fine piece of art-work, his favourite book, a goddess of lore. Finally, he spoke. “No, i won’t kill you. You’re too . . . sweet, for a thing like that, princess.”

I tensed my shoulders, but his eyes were too bright, almost eerie. They cut through me like glass, stripped me bare, left me ashamed and uneasy. His voice was a low, guttural rasp. “Will you fight me, little princess?” He questioned, raising my hands above my head. “Will you beg me to stop?” He took a small dagger from the leather throng at his side, and used it to divulge me of clothing. 

I shook my head. “No.” I said, quietly, too meek to even resist. I truly beleived that, even if i tried to protest or even raise my knee to that tender spot between his legs, he’d beat me black and bloody. 

At my answer, the Viking smiled. “Good.” 

The stone floor was cold against my back. Even if i wanted to fight, i couldn’t. He was too heavy, covering me with his bulk. His hands were rough and careless against my skin, as the icy blade of his dagger slit the soft silk of my bodice and when he lowered his face to kiss me, i tasted blood.

Bjorn’s fingers were mean and cruel against my warm skin, and they travelled to my core, only to find me dry. He grunted against my mouth, irked. When we parted, i turned my face to the side, wrinkled my nose up in disgust. 

Bjorn chuckled lowly and spat on his hand, then lowered it between my legs. “Don’t worry, princess.” He assured, slipping a thick finger into my cunt. “You’ll learn to like this soon enough.” 

It was uncomfortable and foreign. I squirmed and his hot, hungry mouth lowered to bite and nip and kiss my neck. I tried to lift my torso, but he was impossible to move. “Don’t.” I said, harshly. 

He raised his face and smiled. I spat in his face. 

His eyes grew cold, like pale blue ice. It frightened me, and my heart beat heavy and hard beneath my chest, thump thump thump, faster than a snared rabbit’s. “Fiesty, huh?” He questioned, and laughed cruelly. 

The swollen head of his cock was at my entrance. He was big, and he was brutal. With one hand pinning my arms above my head, the other gripped my hip, leaving bruises in his wake. and with one sharp thrust, i wept. 

His jaw clenched and, as though he was punishing me, Bjorn pulled his hips back hard if only to slam back inside me again. The metal of his armour scratched my tender skin, and my cunt burned around his cock, raw and red and aflame.

His movements grew more frenzied, the harsh thrusting depriving me of air in my lungs. His hand firmly squeezed my hip, my back hit the ground hard, and then  I collided against his torso the next. It was almost as if we were fighting instead of coupling. When he thrust forward and the tip of his dick hit my cervix painfully, a bolt of hot pain shot through my stomach when he slammed back into me, harder than before. I shut my eyes and yelped. 

He grimaced and pushed me back to the floor, with his hand forcing my arms into the stones. His groin bumped against my sensitive mound, assuring that no trace of my precious maidenhead remained. “Hold onto me.” He grunted, lifting up one of my thighs. 

I glanced over his muscular shoulder, my eyes trained on the ceiling and the twinkling chandelier, though in the gloom everything was unrecognizable. I did as he bid, wrapped my legs around his hips and looped my arms around his neck, unwilling to fight anymore. 

When Bjorn thrust inside me, it didn’t hurt as much. Encouraged, i clutched at him as tightly as i could, the smell of sweat and blood filling my nostrils, the sound of his moans vibrating against the shell of my ear. I arched my back and predicted his cruel thrusting, and slowly, the friction from Bjorn’s cock pounding away at my cunt managed to rouse a queer tickling sensation at the pit of my stomach. My eyelids grew heavy.

Bjorn lowered his other hand to palm my breast, pushing aside the silk fabric of my slashed dress, as he rolled my hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You like that, princess?”

My cunt clenched at his incessant pounding. I dug my nails into the tanned nape of his neck, and whimpered. He pressed his warm lips to mine and kissed me, tasting strongly of iron. His beard scratched my face, and he plunged his tongue deeper into my mouth. He brought his hand between our bodies and i flinched, expecting more pain, only to find pleasure; hot, flashing bolts of pleasure. 

The friction of his manhood as he tirelessly impaled me, and the queer warmth which was pooling in my stomach tainted my thoughts. I moaned into his mouth and he cursed, “Fuck.” 

Beneath him, my whole body shook when he played with my clit. I hit my peak, toes curling, back arching, breasts pushed flat against his muscled chest, quivering and whimpering beneath him, my gasps and pleas smothered by his hot, hungry mouth. And with my climax, came his. 

Bjorn shoved himself to the hilt and uttered a long, low growl. He kept me flush against him for more than a moment, and after a few desperate thrusts, he stiffened and collapsed, crushing me beneath his bulk.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. When he pulled out and leaned back on his heels, lifting up my silk skirts to look admiringly at my tender pussy, he grinned. Between my thighs was a sticky mess of cum and blood. He leaned down and licked the entirety of my cunt from hole to mound, and i pushed him away, too tender to be played with. “Please.” I begged, shaking my head. “No more.” 

Bjorn crawled atop me and wedged his knee between my thighs to keep me from closing them. “Easy now, princess.” He muttered, capturing my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine. He kissed me rough and i tasted blood, my blood, on his tongue. “You’re mine.” He said, finally. “All mine.”

[ilovefandoms102]

Rough Love

Pairing: Chris Evans x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Chris notices bruises he left...

Note: AHHHH OMGOMG i got such a good response on my Chris blurb which you can find here, that I decided to make a sort of series with Plus Size Reader! I hope you guys enjoy this and let me know what you think!🥰

I’m also going to start adding warnings on my posts that contain smut just in case anyone is triggered by certain sexual acts.

Warnings🛑: smut(choking, hair pulling, scratching, bruising, spanking, degradation, dom Chris, oral(m/f receiving), penetration, unprotected sex)

Click here if you want to be added to my taglist!

Parts in bold italics are flash backs!

=====================================

Chris stared down at his beautiful girl, absolutely horrified. His memories of last night came flooding to the front of his brain, starting at the finger shaped bruises on your jaw…

=====================================

Chris had a hold of your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes on him as he pounded into you. You had been mouthing off to him all night, and he had enough of it. He had your legs over his shoulders, forcing you to take every inch of him. “You’re quiet now my love, can’t talk full of my cock can you baby?” Chris taunted, smiling even more when you shook your head no. He smacked your ass hard, adding to the already existing handprints that would more than likely bruise.You loved it though, and you let him know by cumming around him. “Baby fuck!” you screamed, legs shaking as Chris kept at you. He suddenly pulled out, his grip on your jaw leaving as he crawled up your body. You scooted down the bed as he straddled you, knowing what was about to come. “Gonna fuck your face just like your pussy baby,” he growled, shoving his cock down your throat. You moaned around him, relaxing your throat as much as you could. He groaned as your tongue flicked around his tip, his hands going on either side of your head before he started thrusting almost at the same speed he would if he was fucking you. “My princess loves having her throat fucked doesn’t she?” Chris questioned, but he already knew the answer. He smiled wide as you tried to nod. Chris grabbed a hold of your hair, forcing your head back into the bed as he went faster to chase his release. Spit was flying everywhere, tears were flowing from the corners of your eyes as you gagged around his enormous cock. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum down your pretty throat baby.” Chris moaned, his eyes closing. His cum shot down your throat, coating it as you sucked to get every last drop. =====================================

The both of you loved it rough, you had even admitted to him once that you loved the bruises he left. But, he felt something different this time. He felt like a monster, gawking at the darker bruises around your neck.

=====================================   He had you on your hands and knees before yanking on your hair so your back was against his chest as he railed you. His hands were gripped tightly around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your moans came out as mere squeaks, Chris grunted in your ear as you squeezed tighter around his cock. You had one hand on his ass, leaving crescent shapes as your orgasm approached. Your other hand kept a hold on his forearm, a safety measure for both of you in case you needed to have him let up a little. “Gonna cum for me my pretty girl? Hmmm?” Chris moaned, moving one of his hands to spank your clit which had you bucking against him. “Again,” you whimpered, feeling so close but just wanted that extra push. “My dirty slut likes her pussy spanked doesn’t she?” Chris asked, doing it again and again. “FUCK!” you shouted, coming undone as Chris restlessly spanked your pussy until you squirted everywhere. Chris rubbed your clit hard, causing your orgasm to intensify. He hammered into you, holding on for dear life as you started shaking. “My dirty girl, you made a mess.” Chris growled in your ear, biting your shoulder as he came inside you. Another orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, having to tap Chris to move his hand because you were so sensitive. =====================================

Chris moved the sheet that covered the two of you, looking down your body absolutely disgusted with himself. He stopped on the teeth marks that littered your thighs and the ones he could see on your ass, gulping as more flashbacks came.

=====================================   You were perched up on his face, the man eating you out like he needed it to survive. He stopped only for a minute to leave bites on the insides of your thighs which he knew you loved seeing. Chris pushed down on your back, throwing your upper body down towards his hard dick. Your mouth immediately watered, tongue poking out and licking all around the tip. You squealed when a harsh smack came down on your ass. “No teasing my love, you know the rules.” Chris growled, scratching down where his handprint had formed. Your moan was sinful, so pathetic even Chris chuckled. “My dirty, dirty little girl.” he smiled, shoving you back down on his face. He pushed you further to leave more teeth marks on your ass cheeks, his favorite part of you. You sucked him off faster, trying to get him as close as you were to cumming all over his face. Chris had his hands clamped around you, burying his face to taste every last drop. He could tell you were close by the way you were grinding down on him, so his focus moved to your clit. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking it rapidly. You did the same with his cock, both of you moaning into each other. Both your orgasms hit at the same time, Chris moving down to slurp up your cum as you took every drop he gave you of his cum. Chris pulled you off of him, spanking your ass a few times in the process. “My good slut,” he praised, your shutter causing him to chuckle. =====================================

“Why are you staring at me?” you asked sleepily, kissing his cheek softly. “Do they hurt?” Chris asked, a crack in his voice made your eyes shoot open. “What?” you questioned, looking down at your body which he was staring at in horror. “I’m so so sorry my love.” Chris whispered, his fingers shaking as they barely glided over his markings. “Chris why are you sorry? I told you I wanted it like that.” you spoke so softly it was barely above a whisper. “I know but I-I feel like a monster.” he stammered, eyes never leaving your body. You pulled the covers back up over yourself, bringing Chris’s arm around you over the sheets. Your hand pulled his chin up to look at you, his eyes glistening with tears. “You didn’t hurt me, and I know you’ll never hurt me. I loved every second of last night, and I love every mark I have from you.” you spoke softly, yet firmly hoping your message got through to him. His head went into your neck, his tears splashing against your skin. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, rubbing up and down his back as you soothed him. It broke your heart to see him like this, but at the same time it fluttered because you knew how much you meant to him now. “I’m ok my love,” you whispered, leaving gentle kisses across his collar bone. “Don’t leave me, please.” he begged. “Never ever, I love you and you mean the world to me.” you professed, your hands pulling his cheeks back to look into his eyes. You wiped under them with your thumbs, leaning and kissing his lips softly. “I love you more,” he whispered as he fell into your touch easily.

=====================================

Tagging:

@themaddies-obx​ @jeyramarie​ @deionswannabegirl​ @mxltifandoms06​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @evaporatedrosepetals​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ @haley-talks-too-much​ @outerbongs​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @bolaurel​ @noneofmybusiness-cl @nina1800​ @gracielou0518​ @fanficscuziranout​ @princess76179​ @justamarvelfan14​ @sambuckystyles​ @xoxonotme​ @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless​

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

0X1=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You were one and he made you both zero. He has it all, a stable life, all that money, a wife lined up, and your body as his drug, him coming back for hit after hit. They called you a bad influence. You called yourself Jeon Jungkook's ex.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; angst; cheating; stereotyping of tattoos; reader is verbally abused by JK's wealthy parents; JK and reader are foolish, wounded animals and act accordingly; rough hate sex (fem reader, biting / marking / scratching, f and m-receiving oral, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - exes, tattooed, rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader, ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK's best friend

–

now playing – 0X1=LOVESONG (i know i love you) by txt ft. pH-1, Woodie Gochild, Seori

"I hate you."

"Join the club. Current members, me."

He narrowed his eyes and tossed his keys onto the table next to the door, kicking off his sneakers.

"We gonna fuck or what?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You tell me you hate me and then you want to fuck?"

"Stranger things have happened. I could tell you I love you."

You made a gagging noise. "Disgusting."

He pretended to be shocked. "How could you say such a thing?"

You slammed the door shut and walked past him, not saying anything. You heard him stride behind you, following to your bedroom.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Right, and I'm a dog. We done lying now?"

"You are a dog," you replied, falling onto the bed.

His head popped into view, long black hair hanging down, half of it pinned back to reveal his undercut and two dangling black earrings on his right ear.

"You fuck dogs? Nasty. I'm not into bestiality, sorry."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Shut the fuck up, Jungkook."

Jeon Jungkook cocked an eyebrow, adjusting his black turtleneck by hooking a finger on the collar and sliding it from side to side, the small tattoos on his knuckles and fingers dancing with the action.

"Why are you stressed like a nun?"

He clicked his tongue. "Her idea of getting freaky was trying to chew my neck off. Went full piranha on me."

You snorted. "Maybe you deserve it. Would have saved me the trouble."

"Ha, ha, very funny."

He glared at you and you glared back from the bed.

"So, how was fucking my best friend?" he snapped.

You scoffed. "I didn't fuck Taehyung. I told you already."

"That's not what he said."

"So what? I've never seen his dick or had it near my pussy. If he wants to make up shit, that's his prerogative."

Jungkook didn't look like he believed you, but you weren't the one cheating on your girlfriend with your ex, so it wasn't something you cared about. He narrowed his eyes.

"Swear."

"On what?" you shot back. "Your right nut?"

"Your life."

You snorted. "Well apparently to you, that ain't worth shit."

He was reaching for the bottom of his turtleneck and pulling it up and over his head. You felt a tinge of annoyance, seeing the dark, spotted bites on his side and shoulder. He yanked the article of clothing over his head and you spied the one on his neck, a blotted, messy patch of red-purple. It was ugly on his pretty tan skin.

You could do better.

"Your girlfriend know the meaning of sexy?"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's not what she or your parents think."

"She and my parents can suck each other's dicks."

"Didn't know you liked dick. Guess that's why we didn't work out."

He tossed his turtleneck aside and growled, crawling onto the bed. Large, powerful, shoulders flexing, copious black tattoos covering his right arm and shoulder, a full sleeve. On the inside of his right bicep was a skull with a knife in its head.

You picked that one, a long time ago.

You looked into his eyes.

He had noticed you glancing at it.

She's ruining your life! Look at you! Tattoos all over your arm and hand! How could you get these ugly things?

Jungkook didn't say anything. He just grabbed your arm and started yanking your clothes off, just like how you grabbed his pants and started pulling them off his body, throwing them violently aside.

Don't you dare speak to our son ever again, you good-for-nothing whore. You think we wouldn't notice your poisonous influence sullying him? It took us months to find a nice, sensible girl willing to put up with your mistakes!

Hands and skin and teeth and hate, tumbling onto the covers, the taste of his flesh on your tongue and his cologne attacking your nose, his large hands gripping your soft thighs, pushing them apart, looking down into those chocolate eyes, the voices melding together, arguments, tirades, chaos, a fucking mess of you biting your tongue while Jungkook stood there and did nothing to defend you.

I hate you so fucking much, Jungkook!

And calling my parents dogs licking the shit off countryside roads is any better? The fuck is wrong with you?!

They were eating me alive in there and you said nothing! Absolutely nothing! I'd go to hell and back for you and you couldn't even say a single fucking word!

You were in hell. You came back.

And now you were in hell again.

"Damn, she must be fucking horrible at making you feel good if you keep coming to me."

Jungkook rolled his eyes and you clamped your thighs around his head, nearly a triangle choke as you dragged him along the sheets, him half-crawling to follow you, shuddering at the close proximity of your pussy to his face. When he spoke, his warm breath saturated your wetness.

"She doesn't even taste half as good as you and never fucking listens when I tell her what I like," he grumbled.

"Yeah? You tell her you like it when you shove your face into pussy?"

He scowled.

"Like I said, she doesn't taste good. I never give her head."

And he attached his lips to your heat, slurping noisily, sighing in satisfaction as you squeezed his head with your thighs, hot and slick tongue sparking your sensitive skin, fuck, yes, this is what pussy should taste like, so sweet, fuck, familiar and erotic, his hands sliding up and gripping your ass, firm and solid while staring up at you, opening his mouth and letting you see the pink, wet muscle flick and dance over your clit, ghosting it with pleasure but not giving it to you, your honey-like juices glistening on his lips and chin.

You clenched your jaw. "Get serious already. Stop fucking around."

Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

"I'm always serious with you."

His lips closed in and he made your mind go blank, soft black hair fanning out on your thigh, fast, swift, powerful licks all over your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending shocks and jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine from your core, one of your hands twisting in his hair, bunching it up, his sharp jaw cutting into your inner thighs because you were squeezing so hard, but Jungkook didn't care, always saying, do it, choke me with your thighs, if I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die eating you out, his long fingers splayed out over your ass and pushing your hips into his face, making you hump his waiting mouth and his punishing tongue, hot flames of desire taking over, your head tipping back, pulling on his long hair, moans of his name tumbling from your throat, suck harder, fuck, seeing black from the sudden blinding tension, his skillful tongue fiercely teasing your engorged clit in the overwhelming tightness, snapping the strings of sanity.

"J-Jungkook!"

The impossible high, the violent shivers, shooting into accelerated free-fall, your fingers unclasping from his hair and pushing his head into your throbbing core, his tongue shoving into your folds and moaning at the sensation of your muscles clamping around it, sucking it all out, your orgasm consumed by his greedy mouth.

Your name vibrated in your own pussy, delivered by sinning lips and hazy dark brown orbs drugged with lust.

Back then, when it was falling apart, you told Jungkook all sorts of things and he said all sorts of things back. Painful things, hateful things, pitiful things, pointless things, never having a real conversation about how deeply he hurt you.

Only later, a strange moment, seeing Jungkook at your front door, seeing it in his eyes. Something different.

He asked you if you wanted to fuck with no strings attached.

You bit back, as wounded animals do.

Why? You were such a waste of time.

Jungkook didn't know it, but his next words made you agree to this ridiculous arrangement.

Yeah, but I was your waste of time and that's all I ever wanted to be.

When he kissed you now, it was hungry and heady, drunk on your taste and you, forcing his tongue into your mouth and thrusting into your lips. Tangled bodies, tangled tongues, tangled minds, falling into the bed, his hands in your hair and yours in his, whispers of, she'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel, your lips and tongue all over his jaw and ear, biting down on it, earrings jingling against your cheek, his moan above your head as you traveled down, marking his skin with sharp bites and thick swipes of saliva, pretty pink marks all over his torso, contrasting the bruises.

"Of course not," Jungkook panted, a shuddering groan torn out of his throat as your nails raked down his back and then glided back up, fingertips pressing into the irritated skin, soothing it. "She never fucking listens to me or my body because she's an idiot."

You traced the curves of his muscles, lips ghosting kisses, hot and soft and sharp from breath and tongue and teeth, his body becoming yours from persistent, familiar touch, his name in your mouth and on his skin, your saliva dripping over his hard, thick length, and then your mouth was on it, his taste on your tongue, in your throat, and in your memory.

Jungkook moaned your name.

With longing, pain, and love.

When's the wedding?

Next year.

Huh. Good for you.

No, it isn't, and you know it. Bet you're glad I'm going to be miserable forever.

You've made me miserable forever, so serves you right.

"Get off, I don't want to blow my load in two seconds, fuck!"

You swallowed him as deep as you could and then pushed your head down so the tip was buried into your throat, swelling and twitching at the unbearable, euphoric constriction.

"F-Fuck, please, let go, fuck... oooh, shit..."

Your tongue outlined the underside of his length, humming around his cock, rubbing the base of the head and straining to slurp at it, letting him hear you, lewd, obscene, unafraid.

If he really wanted to, he could pull out now.

Jungkook breathed your name, savoring every syllable.

You stared into dark brown eyes, black pupils expanded, watching his jaw flinch and his shoulders shake, black tattoos shivering as you slowly removed your tight mouth, popping it off his cock with a wet plop.

His normally smooth, silvery voice was trembling, the pleasure deepening it.

"God, I hate you."

Jungkook and you could say it a thousand times, a million times, for all of time, and both of you would know neither ever meant it.

I love you.

Get out, Jungkook.

But–

Get the fuck out! You think you can fuck me and tell me you love me? Like that's going to somehow negate all the previous bullshit you put me though? No. Take your clothes and your pathetic self and get out. Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

He would. He did.

Over and over.

You towered over him now, waiting for him to roll the condom down, watching his face as you sank down onto his stiff length, seeing the elation, the gratification, the absolute bliss in the way your pussy suffocated him, tight, wet, his, your head dipping down and taking his lips, yours, fitting yourself around his girth that became harder as you bottomed out, his moan feathering over your lips as you rolled your hips into his with a firm smack.

"Oh, fuck, feels so fucking good..."

He knows you're not going to fuck someone else. You have to see other people so he finally realizes how important you are to him.

That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my life, Taehyung.

If you don't refuse him, he won't change.

I was never important enough to him in the first place.

Those chocolate orbs watching you, his strong hands on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin and leaving crescents of his nails, matching your pace, harsh, deep slaps of skin to skin, your name on the tip of his tongue, balanced in the tightrope of all or nothing, zero or one.

They want me to take over the family business.

Having a trophy wife is important for that kinda shit.

You're the perfect trophy.

Yeah, me and my mechanical heart.

Jungkook switched your positions, rolling over and pinning you down, perfect white teeth sinking into his pink lower lip, the black mole underneath prominent against his tense jaw, fucking you into your mattress, panting, giving you his all, aching pleasure with every rough thrust, your back arching and hands on his long black hair, clutching his head and raising your hips to meet that full hardness and to hit your favorite spot, sending bursting sparks of ecstasy up your spine and into your lungs, rendering you airless.

Nothing but pleasure, nothing but need, nothing but physicality.

“Look at me,” Jungkook rasped, hoarse from breathing so hard.

You lowered your head and raised an eyebrow. His parted lips had small cuts from stress-biting them. His tan skin was as lovely as ever, dotted with small moles on his nose, cheek, neck, underneath his lip, kisses from the moon, not bothering to wear makeup to cover them. He never did, not with you, not when his time could be better utilized being all over you. Dark brows and chocolate eyes, large, sharp, expressive, beautiful, your Jungkook.

Your country, your world, your universe.

You smirked as you looked at that face. He cocked a brow, black curls falling over his eye as you lifted your hand.

“You know what would piss them off?”

You didn’t need to say who.

He clicked his tongue and slammed his hips down on you, but you only clenched around him, causing him to pause and savor the feeling. His length wrapped in your warmth, connected in the most visceral way, his breath mixing with your breath. Dark brown orbs on you, half-lidded and shadowed by his lashes and long hair.

“What?”

You pushed his hair aside and traced his right eyebrow, stroking the hairs of the tail.

“If you got a face piercing.”

Jungkook grinned, low chuckle in his throat. “Yeah?”

You lifted yourself up to smack your hips into him, holding onto his broad shoulders with your other arm to balance yourself, devious smirk on your lips.

“You won’t do it.”

He leaned down, putting more force into each thrust. Your grip tightening, gasping into his face, eye to eye, dragged along by Jungkook’s intensity and passion, breathing in his exhale, drinking in his fervor, blind to the wrongness, deaf to everything but the sound of bodies, wetness to hardness, and the way he said your name, like there was nothing else, nothing but you and him and ecstasy, nothing but the sensation of how hard and how full his cock felt when he was inside you, nothing but how strongly and viciously you pulsed around him, toppling over the edge, moaning his name and staring into his eyes, into the eyes of the one that made you orgasm and mean it with every fiber of your being.

“Jungkook…”

He sucked in a breath and gasped your name, cock twitching and spurting into the condom, plunging forward, kissing you hungrily and deeply, shoulders shaking in your hands, stealing your breath, muffled cries sliding into your throat from his, anguish at the force of his climax, sweeping you up with him.

It was a long kiss.

He finally broke it, heavy exhale against your lips, not lifting his head, his black hair spilling all over your face, not letting you see anything.

Mouthing words against your cheek that you could feel, but it was a silent utterance, a soundless scream into the abyss that he alone was sinking, living a life without you.

Enjoy your piranha.

Ha, ha, very funny.

She’s not gonna notice?

He hadn’t said anything, pulling his turtleneck over his head and shaking out his long black hair like a dog. You had pulled your blankets over your naked body and looked away, not wanting to see him any longer.

You’re trash, Jungkook.

Yeah, but I could buy you a Louis Vuitton bag, easy.

You’ve been hanging around your parents too much. I don’t give a shit about your money or your influence and I never did.

Everyone likes money.

Everyone likes you too. Oh, wait, except me. I guess I’m excluded from everyone.

He hadn’t said anything more. You didn’t tell him goodbye when he left.

You waited until your heart became numb again. Then you mechanically crawled out of bed and cleaned up all traces of his existence, going all the way outside to dispose of the condom and the wrapper so you wouldn’t accidentally look at them in the trash later. You put your clothes back on, one by one, and went about your day. And the next day. And the next. And the.

And.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” you would say to whoever asked. You would smile and nod.

Time went on.

You would open the door and no one was there.

You would close the door and go back inside.

You would open the door.

And Jeon Jungkook was there, with a cut on his lip and a black-purple bruise underneath his left eye.

His right eyebrow was slightly swollen, two stainless steel balls connected by a silver bar pierced into the end of his brow. His clothes were torn up, his white dress shirt dirtied and his dark wash jeans torn, brown mud caked on one knee. He looked at you, chest shuddering, wheezing for breath.

“Hah…”

He smirked, the gesture not reaching his eyes. Those dark brown orbs were desolate, numb. He wiped his lip with the back of his hand and winced.

“I think they’re mad at me.”

You raised your eyebrows.

He flicked a hand through his now short black hair and ticked his head. “They told me not to show my face in front of them ever again and that I can kiss my inheritance goodbye.”

You leaned against your doorframe. “They took the silver spoon from your mouth over an eyebrow piercing?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I guess it pissed them off when I said I wasn’t going to take it out.”

He made eye contact and you saw him trying to tell you that he had changed.

Well.

Was forced to change, now poor and cast away.

“I know you said I was a waste of time,” Jungkook sighed, heavy and remorseful. “But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.”

You looked into those chocolate orbs that always told you they loved you.

“They knew, huh?”

He smiled ruefully. “I didn’t try to hide it. She knew, they knew, they probably all knew where I went.”

“And what will you do when they ask you to come back?”

Jungkook stood at your doorstep and told you words that you had always wanted to hear, but he had been too afraid to say, afraid of the repercussions, confused of his own feelings, too selfish at the time to realize how much he had hurt you. Time and emptiness had taught him pain and taught him what it meant to be without.

The time taught him how it felt to be not one, but zero.

“Tell them I should have left a long time ago and stayed with you, because you always let me be whoever I wanted to be even though all I was doing was wasting your time.”

He faced you, you and your mechanical heart that he created with his silence.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology meant nothing to you, far too late.

“Now I have nothing but time.”

It never mattered. You always knew Jungkook was sorry from the moment he asked to fuck with no strings attached. It was for him and for you. For him to touch you once more, even if it was all a lie, and for you and your mechanical heart, cleaning off the rust and giving it a moment to feel. He knew. You knew.

Without each other, you were both zeros when you could have been one.

And it was all his fault.

I know you’re not here, but I love you, Jungkook.

You sighed.

Then you shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I got nothing but time too.” You tilted your head, chuckling. “And even now, I waste it on you.”

Jungkook smiled sadly. He didn’t ask to be forgiven. He didn’t ask to be invited in. He just stood at your doorstep, finally able to say the words he should have said. He didn’t ask you to love him. You already knew he loved you. He mouthed it all the time, I love you, against your cheek, after each and every rendezvous, without fail.

Now he had nothing.

But you could see he was going to give it his all this time.

You stepped away from the doorframe and turned around, waving him in.

“If you’re gonna be my waste of time, at least wash your face.”

-

continued in LO$ER=?, m | jjk

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