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buckyhoney-library · 4 years ago

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𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲, 𝐛.𝐛

a/n: i had to turn this into a whole ass blurb/one shot, this is different than anything that i've written in the past.

reblogs/likes/feedback is greatly appreciated & highly encouraged! However, do NOT steal/repost ANY of my fics!

18+ warning

Warnings: 18+, no plot- just porn, dubcon, age gap (early/mid 20's), stepdad!bucky, dom!bucky, sub!reader, virgin!reader, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, innocent kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, fingering, oral (f), masturbation (f), sorry for any missed typos!

Word Count: 2.2k

Chills spread over the surface of your body- his fingers trace along the tops of your shoulder and up your neck- stopping at your jaw. The sound of his breathing is the only thing you can hear. His clothed chest presses against your back- his crotch flush with your ass.

Having another body so close and pressed against you is foreign.

Nerves bundle in your stomach as his fingers slide up the sides of your waist, stopping right before your breast- cupping them through the thin fabric of your tank top. Your sensitive nipples pebble and poke through the tank top.

A surprised gasp falls from your lips, he chuckles into your ear.

That tank top is what landed you here with your breasts being groped and messaged. Bucky had gotten fed up with you wandering around the house with tiny clothing that barely covers your most intimate areas.

With the innocence of what such clothing does to a man, you thought nothing of it- as it’s been warmer outside, and you needed to cool off.

“Daddy…” Breathlessly whining, your core began to tingle- something that has been happening more often.

Humming, Bucky moves the strands of floral-smelling hair to the side- exposing your neck. Pressing soft pecks along the base of your neck, he trails up to the bottom of your ear.

“Honey, have you ever played with your special place?” Your shoulders tense.

The rough callused palm roamed over your tummy, stopping at the band of the muted pink pajama shorts.

Bucky knew the answer. He heard the soft muffled moans and whimpers that come from your bedroom. This sparked curiosity.

Through the crack of the door, Bucky witnessed the sinful act of your hips rolling on your stuffies.

Accidently grinding against one of your bear’s nose in the middle of the night was the act that started the exploration of your body. You knew that what you were doing wasn’t allowed- but the feeling you got when you grind your clit into the face of the teddy was unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

The first orgasm you had took you by surprise, drenching your favorite teddy in your juices.

From that night forward, your fingers exploded the sensitive bud and the aching hole.

When your fingers weren’t enough, you teased your needy clit with the hard nose of your teddy. The simulation became addicting and masturbating with your teddy became a daily occurrence.

Tweaking your nipples and toying your clit are acts that you knew would get you in a world of trouble- if you caught by your mother. So, you kept the touching and teasing for when she went to work- but you had no idea that this whole time you had an audience for your private sessions.

Breasts swaying, nipples barely grazing the sheets, and the sight of the light brown teddy bear, that he gifted to you for your birthday, stimulating your clit- left Bucky no option but to stroke himself in the hallway.

Praying silent prayers that his wife wouldn’t catch him cumming in his hand to his precious stepdaughter.

Overtaken with the pleasure, your grasp on your teddy’s head tightens as the rocking of your hips became more aggressive. Simulation from the nose on your clit becoming too much for you to bear. The sounds fell from your lips like honey off a spoon- Bucky could listen to your whimpers on a continuous loop.

Your eyes flutter shut as your mouth jaw fall opens- this time, no sound comes out. The overwhelming wave of intense pleasure washing over you- causing your body to twitch and your eyes roll back.

Bucky became addicted to the beautiful sight in front of him, he watched you explore your body almost every day.

“Yes.” Heat flushed your cheeks, and you look down at his fingers playing with the strings.

“Do you want Daddy to touch your special place?” Bucky’s breath is hot on your neck.

The question made the heartbeat between your legs grow louder. All you could manage to do is nod. The sensation of your nipples mixed with the hot breath on your neck put you under a spell.

You knew that Bucky shouldn’t be touching you, but you wanted his fingers to play with your cunt- knowing he could make you feel better than any of your teddy’s.

“Has anyone else ever played with you?” Embarrassed, you shake your head.

The answer makes his cock twitch and harden. Bucky dreamed of being the first one who gets to stretch your tight hole. The first one to feel how sweet you tasted as your dripped with arousal- The image of your cunt swallowing his cock has made him cum too many times to count.

“How honored I am to be the one to ruin your innocence.”

The grip on your breasts moved to your hips, leaving your assaulted breasts sore. Twisting your hips, forcing them to turn to face him. Your doe-eyed expression only made Bucky’s cock throb.

Guiding your shaking fingers to his cock, Bucky's eyes are mesmerized at the innocence beginning to drain from your body.

The yelp that you made from the feeling of his erect cock- makes him chuckle.

“Don’t be scared, Honey- Daddy is gonna be gentle with you before I stuff you full of my cock.” The fallen piece of hair is moved ever so gently from your cheek.

The adrenaline soaring through your veins and dampening panties gives you a confidence boost, you squeeze him.

A low groan from Bucky causes you to giggle and your eyes light up. Bucky smiles, tilting your chin upward. He plants a small kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“See, little one? You made Daddy feel good- do you want Daddy to make you feel good too?” The softness in his voice relaxes your tense shoulders, trusting that you’re in good hands.

Heat rises in your cheeks at the taboo question, you nod anyway.

“Use your words. Tell Daddy exactly what you want him to do to your special place,” His fingers slide down the thin strap of the tank top, stopping at the base. Your mouth runs dry as he traces the tank top, circling over your nipple.

“I want your cock… inside me…” The request takes Bucky back- thinking you’d ask for your clit to be played with.

“Oh, little one… I’m too big for your little cunt, I have to stretch you out first.” Forming a pout, you frown.

“I promise, Daddy is gonna fill you up real nice, okay? How about you show me how you play with yourself, yeah?” Still pouting, you nod.

Motioning to your bed, you sit on the edge of the bed. Bucky takes a seat on the small ottoman next to the bed.

Tugging the ends of your tank top upward, your breasts drop. An incoherent mumble escapes past Bucky’s lips as his legs spread. The self-control that his exhibiting by not shoving his cock down your throat is astounding.

His flustered reaction causes you to giggle. Leaning back to the bed, you slide off the pajama shorts. The clothing is discarded to the floor beside you.

Legs spread wide, you let one hand play with your nipples, and the other slide down to your glistening cunt.

“You’re so wet, honey- I can see you dripping from here,” Bucky’s palm is over his bugle, messaging himself through his pants.

Hips dig down at the relief from your touch, sliding your fingers between your folds. The juices coat your fingers, you bring them to your mouth- closing your lips around them, sucking off your arousal. Bucky is in disbelief from how natural it was for you to taste yourself and how comfortable you were playing with your cunt in front of him. He begins to fiddle with his zipper.

Your light breathy whimpers fill the room as your fingers toy with your clit.

Bucky’s fingers wrap around himself, slowly stroking himself- attempting to process the breathtaking sight of your cunt on full display.

Your hips buck into your fingers, while whimpers beginning to recklessly fall from your mouth.

Blindly reaching around for your stuffie to grind your now swollen clit into, but instead, feel a pair of calloused palms on your inner thighs.

“Couldn’t take it anymore- I need to taste that cunt for myself.” The sound that leaves your mouth surprises both of you as you feel his mouth attack your cunt.

His tongue dragging all over your cunt, licking up all the juices. The new sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before- the way his tongue flicked your clit and lapped up your fallen juices pulled you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck. I’ve never seen such a stunnin’ pussy before, honey” Bucky can’t stop himself.

The moment your hips began to squirm, and the squeals and whimpers fall from your lips- his forearm holds your tummy down. Bucky wants to savor every last bit of you. The pad of his finger glides over the moist fold, examining you up close.

“Gotta see how tight you are,” He inserts his middle finger.

Curling in them in, grazing your g-spot. The force on your tummy enhances the pleasure building.

“Oh, honey- Daddy needs to stretch your little cunt,” The ring finger joins the middle, sending you flying into a euphoric state.

Bucky pumps his arousal-coated fingers, growing in speed. You ball the sheets in your fists, bucking your hips into his fingers.

“Please Daddy!” You choke pathetically.

“Please what? You need to cum?” You can barely manage to nod as you feel the lower half of your body become weak.

“I need you to tell me with your words.” You’ve entered another world and your fingers desperately try to unhook his grasp on your tummy.

“I can’t hold it- Daddy, please let me cum all over your fingers!” Proud of how quickly you’re learning his rules, he grants your wish.

Twitching and bucking aimlessly, you are overwhelmed with the shockwaves of pleasure that are soaring through every nerve of your body. Bucky continues to stretch your pussy, curling his fingers into your g-spot.

Another wave of pleasure takes you, you're blinded by who powerful it is- no sound comes from you, body silently convulsing.

“I’m so proud of you, honey. Can’t wait to ruin you with my cock,” Bucky discarded the rest of his clothes, dropping them with the others.

Regaining your vision and the rest of your senses, you met with his cock looking right at you- angry, swollen, and dripping with precum.

“See what that pussy does to me?” He chuckles, watching your eyes go wide and chest rise.

“I’ll be gentle,” He coos, kneeling down, placing a tender kiss on the top of your heat.

The confidence you once had vanishing as he grabs hold of himself. His cock throbbing against your folds as he slides his tip up and down.

Your moans don’t sound human as his tip finally enters you. The grunts match your moans. The tightness of your walls around Bucky catches him off guard. His fingers were nothing compared to his girth and length.

“Daddy- you’re too big for me I can’t-“ Tears form in the corners of your eyes the further he pushes himself.

“I’ll make it fit, ‘m filling you up.” With one swift motion, his pelvis flushes with your thighs.

The sweet sound of your cries and the instinct to pull off him- turns him feral. Bucky’s palms spread your thighs out, keeping them from pulling away from him.

“Don’t pull away. You’re doing such a good job,” Each thrust releases an animalistic sound from you, your body feeling numb with bliss.

Bucky feels your body relax completely, opening you up more, granting him the ability to go deeper. Turning into his fuck toy, you’re a babbling whimpering mess. You’ve lost vision and the ability to form words.

After being stuffed inside you, there is no way that Bucky going to be able to use his hand again. There is no replicating your cunt- how tight, warm, or the sounds you made.

“Daddy is so close, little one. Do you want Daddy to fill you up? Want him to stuff you full of his cum?” Bucky’s voice almost mocking how pathetic you look you’re your breasts bouncing, and your body paralyzed by his cock.

“Fill me, p-please!” You cry through the pleasure and pain.

Bucky’s palm presses on your tummy, increasing the pleasure of his cock ramming into you. Bucky’s foul curses and strings of praises of how amazing your cunt feels around him sound muffled to you.

As he presses on your tummy, he can feel himself filling you through your tummy. You cry out in pure bliss, desperately trying to move your hips from the sensitivity. The third wave crashing into you and wrecking you completely.

“Oh, look at that! Look at all my cum inside you,” Once he removes himself from you, your body twitched.

Bucky can’t take his eyes off of your cunt, cum dripping out of your abused hole. You’re laying heaving on the bed, processing all the pleasure rushing through you.

“I’m so proud of you,” Bucky lays next to you, tracing patterns on your tummy, bringing you down from your high.

Bucky grabs the towel from the hook, opening your shaking thighs. He wipes away the spilled cum. Still sensitive you whimper at the contact of the towel. Bucky peppers kisses around your inner thighs and on your tummy.

“Thank you for letting me ruin this pretty pussy,”

taglist: @hunter-of-baker-street @ifeelloved @freshluiana @multiplums

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes agnst #stepdad!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female oc #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes imagine

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soundtrack-scribe · 4 years ago

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Pushing Limits

Summary: Bucky reminds you of who’s in charge.

Content: female masturbation, edging, fingering, phone sex, oral sex (fem receiving), sex, choking, dom!Bucky, after care

Word Count: 2.2k

And away, and away we go!

You didn’t stop to think twice as you sent Bucky the small video clip of you getting yourself off.

But you should have.

Halfway across the world, Bucky’s phone pinged in his pocket. The smile that crossed his face at the notification from you quickly turned to a stifled groan as the audio of your soft panted moans, finger fucking yourself, and then the small cry of “Bucky,” sounded in his ears.

Quickly he called you. “Did I say you could do that?” he asked, his tone low and sharp the second you picked up.

“Hi, Buck. Love and miss you, too. How’s the mission?”

“Did I say you could do that?” was all he repeated in a tight growl.

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”

“Well, I hope you had your fun.”

“Oh…” you sighed dreamily. “I did. Still be more fun if you were here to help me out though. Your fingers are so much thicker than mine,” your voice was a teasing taunt as you dipped your hands between your thighs. “Wish you could see how wet that makes me,” you breathed into the phone’s speaker as you slowly inserted a finger in your pussy.

“Y/N,” came the warning.

“Mmm, Bucky,” you moaned, pumping your finger faster.

He let out another growl, feeling his jeans tighten. “Enjoy it, doll. Cuz that’s gonna be your last orgasm for a while.”

“Oh, shit…” you mumbled, immediately pulling your hand away, knowing he was dead serious. “Buck, I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized.

“I’ll be home tonight, and we’ll see just how sorry you are then.”

“Bucky, please! You’ve been gone two weeks!”

“Yeah. And I was really looking forward to making it up to you for being gone. I thought you were my good girl, doll… Such a shame…”

“I am!” you whined, not able to stand the disappointment in his voice. “Bucky, I’m sorry!”

“You’re only sorry because you got caught. If you hadn’t sent that video I never would’ve known, and tonight you’d be getting more orgasms than you could handle. Again… what a shame.”

“It was a present!” you tried to explain your way out of trouble. “Bucky… please.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

No “doll”. No “I love you”. No “can’t wait to see you”. Fuck… you really should have thought twice.

~~~

In an effort to get Bucky to believe that you genuinely were sorry and seek sympathy, you set about cleaning up the apartment, making sure his favorite meal was on standby for when he got home, and, as a last ditch effort to make him reconsider his earlier threat, changed into one of his shirts. The shirt held traces of his cologne, and was long enough to cover your ass, while being short enough to reveal how you were only in his shirt.

Then, there was nothing to do but wait, and hope that the anticipation of his homecoming would be considered punishment enough.

“Doll, I’m home,” Bucky called out, the front door clicking shut behind him, and the sound of boots and a duffle bag hitting the floor.

“In here,” you answered back from the kitchen.

You listened as his footsteps got closer, then his hands were on your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, his lips finding a home along your neck. “Mmm, missed you, doll,” he murmured against your skin.

“Missed you too,” you said with a giggle, turning in his arms to face him, looping your own arms around his neck. “I got you your favorite if you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” was the confession. “But I have something else in mind.”

“Oh?” you asked, a smile coming to your lips as you took note of the lust swirling in his eyes. Maybe the flight home had made him rethink. Maybe the two weeks apart was overriding whatever disappointment still lingered. Maybe forgiveness had already been granted.

“Bedroom. Now.”

You didn’t dare disobey now, quickly detangling yourself from him, and heading for the bedroom.

Similarly, Bucky wasted no time following after you. Wordlessly, he guided you to the bed, your back hitting the mattress as your feet stayed planted on the floor. The action caused his shirt to ride up on you, the hem stopping tantalizing so just above your exposed pussy. “No panties, huh?” he asked, leaning down over you as one of his fingers brushed through your folds, slickness already gathering on his fingertips. “Who made you this needy, doll?” His voice was sickly sweet as he popped the finger in his mouth, tasting you.

“You, Bucky,” you answered, already breathless.

He hummed his approval at your response as he sank to his knees in front of you. His hands gripped into your thighs, spreading apart your legs for him, your pussy lips parting slightly, but still clinging together with small threads of your wetness. “Spread yourself for me, doll,” he commanded in a low tone.

You brought down your hands to hold your pussy open for him, a shudder going through your body as his tongue swiped across your core. “Bucky,” you moaned softly, arching your hips to meet his mouth.

His hands tightened on your thighs, pining you into place as his tongue skillfully worked you over. The scratch of his beard when he moved, and each flick of his tongue was enough to drive you mad after the two weeks apart. And when his lips wrapped around your clit and two of his fingers teased at your entrance, you were ready to come undone for him. “Fuck! Bucky! Mmmm!” you called out, hips rising to follow the movements of his mouth.

“You gonna cum for me, doll?” his voice sent vibrations throughout your body.

“Mhm! Yes! Please, please, PL-!”

In a swift motion, his fingers and mouth pulled away.

“Bucky…” you wanted to cry as you were left empty and unfulfilled.

He laughed darkly as he rose to his feet, leaning his body over yours to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” he cooed in your ear.

“That was mean,” you told him pitifully.

“Aw, poor baby. I’m sorry. Want me to make it up to you?”

Not sure if he was mocking you or not, you only nodded.

He joined you on the bed, sitting up against the headboard, and spreading his legs. “Come sit with me,” he said, patting the empty space for you to fit in his lap. His voice was soft, and inviting, and you willed yourself to believe that the worst was over as you shifted to sit with him, your back pressed to his chest. “You okay?” he asked, his fingers tracing lightly over your throat.

You wanted to say no. That your pussy ached for him and your denied orgasm. But instead, you nuzzled your nose against the underside of his jaw, before stamping it with soft kisses. “Mhm,” you murmured.

“Good.” His hand trailed from your throat to your stomach. Your breath hitched as his fingertips ghosted across your clit. “No,” came the stern demand as his other hand pressed your hips back down when you started to lift them.

“Please?” you breathed, digging your hands into his thighs, your eyes fluttering shut. “Please?”

“Please what?” he asked, his finger teasing your entrance once again.

“Please make me cum.”

“You wanna cum for me?” His finger slowly pumped in and out of your pussy, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

“Mhm.” You tried your best to keep still for him. “Please, Bucky? Wanna cum for you.”

“Yeah?” He slid in a second finger. “You wanna cum all over my hand like a good girl?”

“Yes!” you cried out eagerly as his fingers started to fuck into you at a unrelenting pace. “Yes! Bucky! Ooooohhhh, please! Please, Bucky, I’m so close!”

He felt the quiver go through your legs, and when your mouth dropped open, a long moan ripping out of your throat, he pulled his hand away, slapping harshly at your clit. “Only good girls get to cum, and you’re not a good girl.”

Your eyes snapped open, a sob stuck in your throat. “Bucky,” you whimpered, twisting in his lap to look up at him. “Please, I’ll be good. I’m sorry. I was trying to do something nice for you. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Please, Bucky, I wanna be your good girl again.”

He mulled your words over, as he looked you over. Your hair was a wild mess from thrashing against him. Your eyes glistened with the unshed tears that came from two denied orgasms, and your own hurt that he was still disappointed and mad. And every so often the muscles in your legs twitched with how sensitive the rest of your body was growing. You were absolutely ruined by him and he still hadn’t even let you cum yet. An orgasm would split you wide open at this point. Could your body handle it?

He became aware of his own body at that point, his cock throbbing against the constraints of his jeans which were now uncomfortably tight around him. Shit… could he handle it?

“Bucky?” you asked in a small voice, drawing him out of his thoughts, your fingers playing with the dog tags around his neck.

“Hmm?”

“Please? We can both cum.”

“Oh, we can, can we?”

“Mhm,” you said, moving to straddle his lap more properly, rubbing your bare core against his jeans. “We can cum for each other, Bucky,” you elaborated, slowly rocking your hips, his dog tags clenched tightly in your fist.

His hand wrapped around your throat, “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? You like to cum all over my cock while I fuck you senseless?”

“Yes, please,” you gasped, rocking your hips more.

A giggle left your lips as he knocked you onto your back, his hands quickly freeing him from his jeans. “Who do you cum for, doll?” he asked, swiping his cock through your folds to coat himself.

“You, Bucky.”

“Does that mean you get to cum without my permission?” He pushed his cock into you.

“N-No, Bucky,” you gasped at the stretch.

“So next time you wanna cum and I’m not home, you’ll ask me, right?” His hands dug into your thighs, as his hips snapped into you.

“Y-Yes, Bucky.”

“And what were you thinking about when you were getting yourself off earlier, hmm? What thoughts could possibly be filling that pretty head of yours to make you that needy?” The slow pace would almost be torturous if it wasn’t for the force of each of his thrusts driving his cock deep into you.

“You, Bucky!” Your voice was high, and if he kept asking you questions, you weren’t sure how many more answers would be coherent. You felt your eyes flutter shut, your mouth falling open.

“Cuz who’s the one who makes you feel this good?”

You worked your throat to answer him, but all that same out was a low moan of pleasure.

“Look at me,” he instructed, his hand wrapping around your throat again. “I asked you a question.”

“Y-you,” you forced out, opening your eyes to look up at him.

“That’s right,” he grinned proudly, picking up speed. “Cuz you’re my good girl, right?”

“Your good girl,” you moaned out with your own smile. “Bucky’s doll.”

“Ffffuuuucccckk,” he groaned, throwing his head back as your pussy clenched tightly around him. “You take me so well, doll. Such a good girl for me.”

Whimpered moans fell freely from your lips at his praise, as you felt your orgasm building, and you hoped he’d let you have this one. “Gonna cum,” you told him.

“Yeah?” His pace grew as relentless as his fingers had been, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “You gonna cum all over my cock?” His hand dropped from your throat to rub fast circles at your clit.

“Really want to. Please? I’ve been so good, Bucky. Please?” you begged, needing permission before you exploded.

“Cum for me, doll,” he finally said, and you shattered around him with a scream. “Fuck!” he yelled out with you, his own release spilling. “Fuck,” he chuckled, his chest heaving. “Oh, fuck.”

You grabbed his dog tags, tugging him down towards you for a kiss. “Never say I’m not a good girl, again.”

“Aw,” he chuckled again, pulling his cock out of you, and peppering your face in soft kisses. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yes. And your punishment was really mean.”

“Mmm, but consider how hot it was for me to watch you come undone.”

“You can make me come undone without making me cry, Bucky.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. How about,” he started to suggest, kissing a path down your body, “I give you back those two orgasms I stole?”

You shivered, your hands bunching up in his hair and tugging sharply. “I don’t think I can handle anything more right now, Bucky. Rain check?”

“Rain check,” he agreed with a nod, becoming aware of his own exhaustion. “Think you can stand for a shower, or should I run us a bath?”

“Bath, please. My legs feel like jell-o.”

“Okay,” he said with a last chuckle, and a last kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m glad you’re home, Buck.”

“Me too, doll. Me too.”

Tag List

@cxddlyash @stanofalotofthings @philthepegacorn @youngblood199456 @binxiboo @creator-appreciator @felixtok @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @jessalyn-jpeg @lilyoflower @mychemicalimagines @rougese7en @milea @partiesandblurrypolaroids @summerdaughter

#pushing limits #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #calpal irwin

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tonixe · 3 years ago

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❛❛ ICE ❜❜

matching ・Coach!Steve Harrington x Ice Skater!Reader

genre・Fluff, maybe enemies to lover trope(?) 😏

warning ・None :/

words・1140

ೃ⁀➷

Walking into the skating rink with your backpack in hand, holding your skates in hand, today was the day your new coach came in to help you improve your skating skills.

You sat on the bench, put on your skates, tied them up in the process, 'Might as well practice than waiting.'

The scarping of the ice once your skates hit the ice echoed in the skating rink; you were the only person there practicing your skills on the ice; it was owned by one of your childhood friends that granted permission for you to practice.

Skating Ice was fun; it was satisfying to hear your skates cut the layer of ice in the rink, wearing your ordinary sweater and legging as you skated around.

Practicing toe loops to the lutz, your jumps were perfect, landing onto the smooth ice with the crisp sound of ice being cut from your skates, but even with your everything, your rhythm was somehow always lacking some emotion, they say.

The thought of the idea of your dances lacking emotion anger you. "Does it even matter," you puff out. The lights shined on the ice giving it a white glow; the glow was enhancing you.

Wondering to yourself how the smooth ice was to skate on, how something frozen would be beautiful, not like normal icy water was appearing like an unawakened bear in its hibernation.

The scraping sound of ice filled your ears with glee.

As you held yourself in your arms, skating away on the rink, not hearing or being aware of who came into the skating rink, you were too busy with your thought to comprehend.

The door cracked open, with a cold hiss sound echoing the skating arena like opening a freezer.

Footsteps echoed and took your mind out of thought as you looked towards the arena entrances; he was holding in a duffel bag and had their skates in hand.

His luxurious, delicate locks bounced every time he took a step; you gazed in awe, wondering who this man was, especially when you thought this place was closed and wasn't always anyone in.

Your eyes couldn't take your eyes off him. It was something enticing about him; maybe it was about how he came in, how he walked, or perhaps it's his gorgeous hair alluring you.

Until his eyes spotted you and stared at you, you looked away in embarrassment and skated away from the area inaccessible to the benches.

Your face was hot, practically sweating from the encounter even though the whole rink was freezing; ghastly to say, he was reasonably attractive.

After that, you came up with somewhat of a decision. So you skated to the benches where you threw all your stuff on and did a couple of stretches so your body wouldn't cramp up while you were in the lesson.

Waiting for your new coach to come, since your old coach quit out of you because you were 'too hotheaded,' it is not your fault that they rated your triple axel loops wrong.

You did break some of the signs, but you couldn't hold it in; you rubbed your neck and rotated it to loosen your tense muscles and sighed; this coach is taking a long time to come here. Finally, when you close your eyes, he appears in front of you, not even admiring your personal space, "Your L/N, right?" his modulated voice ranged into your ears.

No way this hunk was your coach; your eyes widen in astonishment "…Y-yeah, are you my new coach?" you should have rethought that answer because it was a stupid question to ask.

"Mhm, I'm Steve, well my full name is Steve Harrington, but you can call me Steve for short," he utters, putting his hand out, signaling for a handshake; you are in a trance by his beauty not even admiring his hand, you just shook your head.

"Not much of a contact person, are you?" he pulled his hand away from you. Not much came out of your word; you just stared at him and crossed your arms.

"Well, shall we start on the ice?" he insisted, "Okay." you sat up from the benches and entered the ice sink with your coach, "Show me one of your routines, so you will know what is lacking. In?"

Did he say lacking, not even one second, and you already have a problem with him? You're never lacking; you are simply perfect and flawless in everything you do, especially ice skating.

You skated away from him and got in position, your arms twirled around your body, as your feet followed the rhythm of your arms, it was a bit awkward since there was no music, as your one of legs dismounted from the ice as you turned your body as you took flight, completing a 360 spin and landing on the ice.

As you push yourself back and accelerate your speed on your skates as you turn around, kicking your right leg back, using the weight of your body, turning yourself, landing on the ice with your right leg being held with your right hand, having your left arm out, to balance yourself on ice, completing upright spin.

You felt confident until you looked at him; his face emitted an unimpressed look; oh boy, that took a toll on you.

You lower your leg, propelling yourself around the ice as you spread your arms away from each other as you turn back and propel yourself up, doing a 360 spin and landing on your right leg as you tuck your arms.

Taking the speed, jumping up and spinning into the air, completing a toe loop and having your left leg in the air, bending yourself 70 degrees and turning in the air while your right leg takes the weight of your body, completing a camel spin.

You lower your leg to the ice, decrease your speed on the ice as you finish up your routine, pose on the ice, have a smug grin on your face, sweat dripping off your face, and your heavy breathing echoes in the arena as the sounds of clapping were followed up.

"That's good." he puts his hand back in his pockets, walking towards you; you turn yourself as you were looking face-to-face with him, "But your turns and jumps were lacking," he utters.

A big hit to the ego.

If that comment didn't make you angry, his critiques would. Releasing your anger was something he wanted you to do honestly; you didn't want him to be right about you at all.

He was breathing in and out, changing your state of mind to be calm. Then, dismissing him with a thank you, that smug smile formed on his annoying face angered you more.

"So..should we get started?"

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earlgreydream · 4 years ago

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slytherin parties (3).

| draco x reader | smut |

anon requested. But part 3 to slytherin parties?? Maybe add in someone new and they can kinda introduce them to what the do

a/n: this part is *slightly* different than the other two, and there’s a bit more of Theo being his sweet, soft dom self ♡

Draco’s hands rested on your waist, standing over you protectively. His lips pressed against the back of your head, giving the encouragement you needed.

“We can teach you, how to touch a girl,” you explained, stumbling a bit over your words. Cedric’s golden eyes were wide, and his gaze flitted up to Draco.

“You’re okay with that?”

“Of course, as long as I’m there. We play as a group.” Draco’s hands squeezed your waist, nodding at Cedric.

“I’m—okay,” Cedric stammered excitedly.

“Tonight then?”

“Tonight.”

Cedric had been eating lunch with you and your friends when he’d confessed to being nervous about not knowing how to please a girl. You, Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and Draco discussed letting him join your party, suggesting that they could teach him how to please a girl.

You waited patiently, wearing snowy white lingerie under your shift. Blaise was stretched out on the lounger in the corner, Pansy on his lap. She sipped from the glass of wine in her hand, his dark eyes watching your every movement.

You were growing a little nervous. You trusted your slytherin friends, and honestly, you did trust Cedric too. But the idea of him joining your intimacy had you a bit on edge. The desire overshadowed nerves though, and quiet excitement was buzzing through the room.

You leaned back into Theo’s chest, his arms going around your smaller body. His fingers brushed gently over your skin, sensing your anxiety.

“Nervous, love?” Theo asked, earning a hum in response.

Draco had gone to retrieve Cedric, needing to escort him to the slytherin prefect dorm where the four of you were waiting. Wine had been passed around, but Theo cut you all off at one glass, needing to be sober for inviting Cedric to the party.

The door opened, Cedric entering with Draco. Draco nodded at Theo, and Cedric looked at everyone with wide, fascinated eyes.

“Welcome, Cedric,” Pansy smiled, breaking the tension in the room.

“Hi.”

He was immediately distracted by the sight of Pansy in all-black lingerie. She smirked at his reaction, amused by how easily enamored he was.

“Look at me,” Draco ordered, and the boy turned.

“Either of the girls are uncomfortable at any moment, you stop. Got it?” Draco’s sharp gaze trapped Cedric.

“Yes, of course.”

“If not, we will fucking kill you.”

“I understand. I’m here, I’m playing by your rules,” Cedric nodded.

“Good.”

Theo tapped you gently, pushing you off of his chest and toward your boyfriend and Cedric. Draco’s fingers dragged you forward by the silk on your body, his lips latching with yours.

“Are you going to let Cedric touch you? Teach him how to make you feel good?” Draco’s voice was soft, his lips brushing your cheekbone as the words settled between you.

“Yes, it’s okay,” you consented, letting him slip your shift over your head, revealing skimpy white lace.

“Isn’t she sweet?” Draco asked, skimming his hands down your sides before slipping his hand into your panties.

“Very,” Cedric agreed, smiling at you.

Your fingers gripped Draco’s shirt and he leaned down to kiss you again, calming the storm in your head. Pansy rose off of Blaise, leaving him to entertain himself with Theo. Her delicate hands smoothed over your body, dipping under the cups of your bra.

“Go ahead, Cedric,” Draco granted the brunette permission as he stepped away. Pansy slipped the lace off of your shoulders, baring you to Cedric. She kissed your neck gently, drawing your hair away.

Draco hesitated and whispered something to Cedric. You didn’t hear what, but it sounded vaguely threatening. Cedric nodded quickly before Draco pushed him toward you, his careful hands running up the front of your body. You nodded shyly, dropping your head back on to Pansy’s shoulder. Cedric’s thumbs gently circled over your hardening peaks, his movements slightly hesitant.

“Be noisy, love, let Cedric know how good he makes you feel,” Pansy murmured against your cheek. You sighed softly in approval, and you watched the other three. Draco mouthed along Theo’s jaw, stroking the larger boy under his tight black boxers.

You turned back to the situation you were in, and your fingers went to Cedric’s hair as his lips closed around your nipple, making you squeak happily.

“No, ma’am. Hands off, you’re not in charge tonight,” Pansy scolded, gripping your wrists and pulling them back around her neck. You made a noise of pain as she bit your shoulder, a reminder that you would be punished for misbehavior.

“Y/N, are you being naughty? Thought you promised to be good for Cedric.”

“I am being good,” you whispered shyly to Draco.

“Cedric, you can be more forceful.”

Cedric drew away from you for a moment, and Draco slapped your breast, making you gasp and lean into Pansy.

Cedric jumped a bit, but before he could think too much, you were tossed onto Draco’s bed. Draco made a hand gesture, and Theo was sliding in behind you. Draco knew Theo would be able to ease your anxiety about Cedric joining, and Pansy could take care of Blaise.

Theo’s fingers threaded in yours, taking a more gentle approach to restraining your hands. Cedric looped his fingers in the lace around your hips and pulled it off of you, leaving you bare in front of him. Draco gently slapped your inner thigh, wordlessly instructing you to spread your legs.

“Tease her a bit and make sure she’s wet. You don’t want to hurt Y/N,” Draco patiently instructed Cedric, demonstrating with his own hand, expertly applying pressure to your clit.

“Unless she asks,” Pansy smirked, laying beside you under Blaise. Cedric’s movements on you halted as he watched Blaise slowly fuck Pansy with her legs over his shoulders. Her moans of pleasure only furthered your desperation, and you wiggled your hips, trying to get the boys to help.

Cedric immediately turned back to you, long fingers dragging slowly between your folds. You squeezed Theo’s hands, and he leaned down to softly kiss you.

“You’re being so good, sweetheart,” Theo praised softly against your lips.

Under Draco’s encouragement, Cedric carefully eased two fingers inside of you, pumping slowly and filling the air with lewd noises.

“Hold still! Pansy, put her to work,” Draco scolded as you tried to grind down on your hand. Theo gently hushed your whimpers, softly telling you to be still. His tenderness balanced Draco’s strict domination, reminding you that you were so loved.

Pansy gripped your hair, guiding herself to hover over you. Draco slapped your sex, muttering to Cedric to curl his fingers forward. Your vision flashed as he found the spot Draco was urging him to search for. Pansy sat on your face, and you ate her out, though her grinding was doing most of the work. You wanted to pull your hands free from Theo to grip her ass and guide her deeper, but you were powerless to their attempts to control your body.

You worked to get her off, growing light headed by the time she finally came with a scream, pulling your hair roughly and sending pain prickling through your scalp. Blaise lifted her body off of you, and you breathed deeply. You struggled to hold back the orgasm Cedric was dragging you toward, and you shot Draco a pathetic look.

Draco pulled Cedric off of you, licking your taste off of his fingers. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and pressing back into Theo at the sight of Draco being so filthy.

“Good girls are quiet, my darling. Do you need some help?” Theo lightly chastised you, tracing his fingers over the curves of your face. You parted your lips, letting him slip his fingers into your mouth, satisfying your oral fixation.

Your noises were silenced by Theo as Draco bent your knees to your chest, Cedric filling you up.

“Leave some handprints on her, Cedric,” he smirked, groping you roughly before Cedric slapped your ass, gaining momentum as he pounded his hips into yours. You gagged a bit as Theo’s fingertips brushed the back of your throat, and the sight had Draco straining for release.

“Pansy, come here please,” Draco spoke, his eyes not leaving yours.

Your gaze finally broke when Pansy crawled in front of him obediently. He grasped her chin and tilted her face up to look at him before lightly kissing her forehead. He slid off the mattress and moved her to lay down, her head hanging off the side.

“I’m going to fuck your bratty mouth, while Cedric here keeps railing Y/N. I want him to rough her up so much she wouldn’t even be able to take me after,” Draco sneered, making you whimper around Theo’s fingers. Cedric’s already forceful movements got rougher, and your eyes rolled back, feeling like he was tearing you open.

Pansy sucked off Draco, giving you a break from multiple rounds of intensity, knowing Draco would never go easy.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Cedric hissed, biting your inner thigh while he fucked you as hard as he could. Draco knew you could take it, you’d been passed around between him, Theo, and Blaise, and even Pansy on many occasions.

Theo let you speak when you lightly bit him, signaling him to pull out.

“Draco, please let me-” your own scream interrupted your speech, your body jolting against Theo.

“You’ve been good, go ahead,” Draco said, reaching over Pansy to play with your tits, aiding you in getting off.

You screamed as you came around Cedric, the pain mixing with the euphoria and sending you spiraling deeper into the subspace you’d been in all night.

“Not inside of her,” Theo ordered, stepping into Draco’s authority as he was lost in his own orgasm.

Cedric pulled out of you and came all over your chest, making your oversensitive body wince. His dark hair stuck to his skin and his eyes were wild and dazed as he tried to catch his breath. He dropped your legs, and Blaise waved his wand, taking pity and cleaning you up.

Theo pulled you onto his lap, letting you snuggle into his chest. Blaise helped Pansy up, and the two of them left with Cedric. You were left alone with Draco and Theo, sleepiness and ache settling over you in a thick haze.

“Hey, my gorgeous girl,” Draco’s voice was soft now, the authority faded from his tone and replaced with sweet gentleness.

You hid your face in Theo’s neck, snuggling deeper into the tan boy.

“You did so well. You were so perfect for us.”

Draco kissed your shoulder, gently trailing his fingertips along your body. Theo’s lips pressed to your forehead, and his quiet whispers relaxed the anxious part of your subspace.

“Look at Draco, sweetheart. Show him your pretty eyes,” Theo murmured, and you weakly turned to your blonde boyfriend. Draco smiled, leaning forward and kissing your cheek.

“How’re you feeling, my love?”

“Achey,” you confessed shyly.

“I’m sorry. Let me help, yeah? You’re done, we’re not going to rough you up anymore,” he promised.

You nodded, and Theo stood with you, the three of you moving into the hot water. Draco gave you sweet kisses, cheering you up as the two boys bathed you and massaged the pain out of your body.

“I think...” you started, yawning in the middle of your sentence. They smiled, waiting patiently for you to finish. Theo’s fingers combed vanilla conditioner through your hair, distracting your thought.

“I think that you should let Cedric rail you next time, see how you fair,” you giggled softly at Draco. He grinned at you, smoothing his fingers over your cheek.

“Next time? So you’re not traumatized and angry and dumping me for letting him rough you up like that?” he teased, masking the very real fear in his voice.

“No, put I think I prefer you two being rough with me. Know my body better,” you looked back into Theo’s dark eyes.

“Him, rough with you? Hardly,” Draco laughed, accepting a gentle kiss from Theo. You were showered with kisses then, making you giggle and squirm between them.

Ten minutes later, you were snuggled in bed between the boys, dried off and wearing Draco’s oversized quidditch sweater. You had tea in your hands, put there by Theo. Your head rested on Draco’s chest, his fingers dragging through your still damp hair.

“You need to drink, love.”

You tried your best, but the hot tea didn’t sooth your raw throat. Draco apologized sincerely, and you hummed, curling up under his arm. You promised you were okay, just sleepy. Theo’s hands rubbed small circles between your hips, and you fell asleep once you’d satisfied Draco with an empty cup.

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randomrosewrites · 4 years ago

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At the break of dawn

Pairing: Diluc x GN reader Summary: Diluc returns late - very late - from his vigilante duties one day, exhausted and worn out. At the break of dawn, he crawls back into your loving embrace. Words: ~1K Warnings/ tags: Fluff, comfort, Diluc getting affection he deserves TM, kaeya makes an appearance.

A/n: *shakes bags of treats* diluc simps come get your food. (It's been a while since I wrote anything, apologies for the roughness of this. Just a little idea that's been worming its way into my mind.)

You’re awoken by the dim, blue light, filtering in through the curtains. Morning has arrived, but the sun has not yet risen, the window wet with condensation.

You can immediately tell that no one’s in the bed from the lack of warmth, but for good measure, you crane your neck - wincing at the ache you feel; you slept on it funny - to confirm. Feeling along the bed, you’re only met with cold, undisturbed sheets.

He’s late. Very late coming home.

You stretch out on the plush bed like a cat, working out your aching muscles. Swinging your legs over the side, you slide off the bed, wrapping a nightgown around your body. The manor is quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood or the faint tick of the grandfather clock. You tip-toe out of your bedroom and down the hall with careful steps, not wanting to disturb the tranquil atmosphere. No signs of the person you’re searching for - he really didn’t come home last night. How unusual.

On the first floor, you poke your head into the kitchen, nearly scaring the staff half to death. A few maids and cooks who’ve - by the looks of their half-done-up uniforms - have just arrived. They all rush to fix their uniforms, not wanting to be caught in an unprofessional state.

“M-master…” one of them murmurs your name. “We were just about to get started on your morning breakfast. It will be ready shortly.”

“No rush,” you reassure them. “It’s still early, take your time.”

With a chorus of “thank you’s”, you leave them to get to work, treading over to the living room.

It’s tidy, as is everything in the manor. Adeline - the head maid - personally sees to that. Yet you can tell there’s a struggle between her and her employer. The desk by the window is cluttered with papers, accounts, bills, receipts, and all the like in an organized mess, stacked several inches high. Your partner always liked overseeing everything himself, even if it usually ended with him exhausted beyond measure. The papers on his desk are unorganized, left behind after he went out for his nightly duties and never returned to put them away.

You adjust a paperweight on the stacks so they don’t scatter before leaving the desk to curl up on the couch by the fireplace. Pulling a blanket over you, you open a book and begin reading.

The maids come from the kitchen ten minutes later, wheeling in a cart of delicacies and tea. They spoil you at the winery, heavily. Your partner’s wealth ensures you have anything you’d ever need and more. (Though rich or not, you know he would always spoil you.)

“Anything within my power that I can grant you will be granted,” he’d told you, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckle. “You’re precious to me.”

In response, you’d hold him how equally precious he was to you.

Just as your morning tea is being poured, the front door opens with a bang, startling the maid so much she nearly drops the pot.

A tall, hooded figure stands in the doorway, adorned in black clothing. Red-rimmed gloves lift to tug his cloak from his face, and you can’t help the way your stomach flutters nor the way you break out into a smile.

“Good morning, Diluc.”

Diluc Ragnvindr shuffles into the manor, handing off his cloak to the maid and rubbing his shoes against the entrance rug. “ Good morning.”

He looks and sounds exhausted. His shoulders sag as he rests his claymore against the wall before sluggish shuffling over to you on the couch. His eyes are half-lidded, weighed down by fatigue. His hair is a mess as well, it snags on the tassels of his coat as he tries to remove it, earning a mumbled curse from him.

“Busy night?” you inquire, taking the coat from him and laying it over the arm of the couch.

“Very,” he sighs, exasperation seeping into his voice. He kicks his boots off and collapses onto the couch, undoing the ruby crystal at his tie.

You raise a hand to cover his. “Allow me.”

Diluc complies, letting your careful fingers undo his tie. You place the item on the coffee table and scoot over, patting the spot beside you.

“Lay down, darling.”

Diluc is drawn to you like a magnet, body seeking to press up against yours. You pull him into your arms and lay down on the couch together. He sighs deeply as he buries his face into your chest, pressing his ear right over your heart. His arms loop around your torso and his legs intertwine with yours. Snug. Warm.

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging at the elastic holding his crimson locks back until it unravels. Diluc’s hair pools around you, silky, long, and with a hint of smoke.

“Thank you…” he mumbles, so quiet you almost miss it. You don’t miss the affection soaking his words.

You press a kiss atop his head, petting down his hair. “You’re welcome.”

He’s asleep almost instantly in your arms. His breathing steadies and the tension leaves his body as he sinks into you. Your hand remains at his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Diluc’s very warm, and with his body heat, the blanket, and the fire in the hearth, you feel your eyes begin to close, too.

You’re almost asleep yourself when there’s a sharp knock at the front door. It swings open before a maid can get to it and a familiar head of blue hair pops in.

“Good morni- oh Arcons.”

You put a finger to your lips as Kaeya carefully shuts the door behind him, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and joy plastered on his face.

“Quiet, you’ll wake him.”

“Is he sleeping? Oh my god, look at him.”

“Kaeya,” you repeat, fighting off a laugh. “Hush. Let him sleep.”

Kaeya creeps closer, craning his neck like a peacock to get a better view of Diluc. “I wish I had one of those kamera things. I’m never gonna let him live this down. He looks like a little lamb when he sleeps.”

“What do you need, Kaeya?”

He waves a small stack of papers in his hands. “For sleeping beauty, from Jean,” he places the stack of papers on the coffee table with a wink. “Enjoy your morning, I’ve leave both of you to it.”

He leaves as quickly as he comes, slipping out through the front door with a flourish of his cape.

“A nuisance, as always…” grumbles a sleepy voice, making you jump.

“Did we wake you? Sorry.”

“Not you…” Diluc mumbles, shifting in your arm. “Kaeya’s always...loud…”

You can hear the adorable pout in his voice.You rub his back soothingly. “He’s gone now get some rest,” and because you can’t help it, you add, “Sleeping beauty.”

The noise Diluc makes is enough to make you laugh, pressing a kiss against the top of his head in apology.

#i put off finishing this for so long and idk why #love love love diluc he deserves all the hugs #genshin impact #diluc x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc x gender neutral reader #diluc imagines #rose writes #my writing

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spikybanana · 3 years ago

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@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: afraid [once upon a green haze]: masterpost

Well, we know where we're goin'

But we don't know where we've been

And we know what we're knowin'

But we can't say what we've seen

(Road to Nowhere by Talking Heads)

They took a long time to draw apart. Sirius bodily clung to Remus, his one piece of solidity, as reality cracked and unravelled and remade itself in his head. Time, funny little thing that no one should have reasons to doubt— even in all the unreality of London, time had been straight forward, universal, taken for granted— but now the threads began to come loose. He’d known, vaguely, the possibility of time travel, of revisiting the past and putting yourself in two places at once. Perhaps that’s what he was, too. A time traveller. Even now, he was in two places at the same time— though what did “same time” even mean, if time itself was not the same, incommunicable between the two worlds?

And to what end was this whole ordeal? A war. Two wars, one in each of the worlds they inhabited, or perhaps it was the same war, after all. His life was to be woven into the fabric of it all, folded twice over, inescapably threading between every action, incident, accident, as orchestrator, participant, until he bled into the war and the war bled into who he was. His life stretched out in front of him like a mission he was bound to carry out till the end, bound, to the train tracks of time that wound and looped around the two worlds and the one point in time that was maybe four. Everything he will ever do was already inked and sculpted into the cold mural of time— so much of which Remus had already witnessed. Destiny wasn’t the calling of some higher power from a misty Beyond; destiny was the simple, bloodless fact of the matter: his future had always been there, and he was only marching inevitably towards it.

But between all that was harrowing, Remus was there too, fighting the same two wars along his side, tumbling haplessly along the same tracks, even if they were strangely staggered. They were two threads so messily tangled, inseparable, and that alone was comfort. To think: he’ll one day be— he’d already been— in London, guarding and guiding by Remus’ side, just as Remus had done for him. If the universe decided that Remus was fatedly part of his destiny, then, maybe destiny was not all that bad. So why, then, why had Remus been so distraught?

“You were so afraid to tell me this. Why?” Sirius asked when he finally pulled back. His hands slid down Remus’ arm and he searched Remus’ eyes insistently for an answer. Perhaps Remus hadn’t nearly told him everything, perhaps whatever it is to happen, they don’t make it out with all their pieces. Sirius remembered his vehemence at who he’d been, if he had caused Remus pain— and realised with a bone-deep shudder, that it was precisely who he was going to become. “What did I do… what will I do?” he said, in a fearful whisper.

Remus’ eyes widened as he caught on to Sirius’ train of thought. He let out a little gasp, and at once pulled Sirius forward, kissing him fiercely. “Nothing, Sirius. Nothing,” he said urgently between kisses, “I’ve never told you this out loud, because I’d be embarrassing myself, but— Sirius, you are— fierce, and brilliant, and a hundred times braver than I’d ever been—”

At Sirius’ noise of protest, Remus only pulled him in again, effectively shutting both of them up. The thoughts in his head quieten, and Sirius welcomed it gladly. So they could lose themselves in each other, for the moment.

At the same time, along the horizon, a storm was rolling in.

#my writing #once upon a green haze #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction

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after-avenging-hours · 5 years ago

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Under Consent of the King: Steve x Reader x Bucky

This story is inspired by the myth that the word ‘fuck’ comes from Fornication Under Consent of the King, where sex had basically been outlawed unless permitted by the king. I have spun the myth a little to make it so that sex out of wedlock can be permitted by the king. This fic follows an established poly-relationship between King!Steve, the Reader, and Knight!Bucky.

Word Count: 10,481 (holy cow this is the longest one-shot I have ever written)

Warnings: NSFW Content (18+), Poly relationship, m/f/m, oral (f/r), unprotected sex, oral (m/r), threesome

The metallic twang of clashing swords rings in your ears. The sound travels through your eardrums as a vibration, just as the power vibrates through your arms with each hit. You ground your feet into the dirt below you, planting yourself like a tree to be unmovable as your opponent tries to force you to yield.

In a battle of strength, you and Natasha are fairly evenly matched. You know that she’s testing how tired you’ve become. Sweat beads down your temple and makes the cotton of your loose tunic stick to your back. Your chest heaves for breath, the air burning in your lungs from the exertion of the fight.

The weight of her blade is lifted and you immediately shift your stance. No longer planted down, you move light on your feet as the two of you circle each other. You keep your balance easily with the leather boots on your feet and your movement is unencumbered by the tight breeches you wear.

Both of your hands tighten their grip on the hilt of your sword as you prepare for her next attack. You don’t have to wait long. She darts forward and your swords meet with another clang. There’s an uncomfortable screech of metal as your blade slides down the length of hers until you have locked the hilt of your sword against hers.

Natasha’s momentum is still driving her forward as you twist to the side while your swords remain locked. Her eyes widen a fraction as one of your hands slips from the hilt of your sword to grip one of her wrists. You use her momentum against her and while she careens forward, you unlock your blades and tug at her arm. This forces her to flip forward before she lands with a harsh thud on her back.

With the wind knocked out of her, she lays motionless for a second. Just long enough for you to place the tip of your sword at her throat and call an end to the match.

She coughs the air back into her lungs before her lips split into a wide grin as she looks up at you. “You’ve got some new tricks up your sleeves.”

You grin back, sheathing your blade and holding your hand out to help her to her feet. “I may have picked up a few things on my travels.”

“I do hope you’ll share.”

With a hold on each other’s forearms, you lift her out of the dirt. “In time. I do thoroughly enjoy the idea of using them to best you first.”

Her green eyes narrow, but her smile continues to shine.

“Are the two of you quite finished?” you both turn your gazes to the approaching knight. Dark brown hair falls in waves just passed his stubble chin. Focused and piercing blue eyes capture yours. A small frown tilts his plump lips. “She had barely stepped foot on the castle grounds before you whisked her off to a duel. At least let her rest from her journey, Natasha.” Though he speaks to the redhead beside you, his gaze is solely trained on you.

You can hear the snicker from your friend. “He’s been insufferable the entire time you’ve been gone,” she tells you, low enough that he can’t hear. “They both have.” Releasing your arm, she takes a step back and gives a sweeping bow. “I leave her in your capable hands, Commander Barnes.” She smirks knowingly before heading off.

Taking Natasha’s lead, you place a fist over your heart and bow. “You bless me with your presence, Lord James.”

“Stop that,” he chastises lightly as his frown deepens.

He catches sight of your cheeky grin when you straighten back up. It’s infectious and melts the frown from his lips. His eyes soften as he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek. His gaze sweeps over your features, taking in everything within sight. “How was your journey?”

“Sam should have given his full report to the council. Were you not paying attention?” Your eyes light with mischief and amusement. You had spent the better part of the last four months on a diplomatic mission with one of the King’s most trusted advisors, Sam. You traveled the neighboring kingdoms, reviewing terms of the treaties in place to keep the peace between your lands. Sam, with his charming smile, kind eyes, and fair-weather attitude had been perfect for the task. He could ease tensions between two bickering nobles with a grace and finesse like no other.

You had been assigned as part of his protection detail. Though it was really only a formality. Sam Wilson was more than capable of taking care of himself. But as the Black Rose of Brooklyn, a name granted to you by your King upon achieving your knighthood status, you had a reputation of your own to uphold.

James narrows his gaze at you. “Yes, I paid attention. I’m not asking about the diplomacy, I’m asking about you.”

You laugh, enjoying the fact that you can still so easily get under his skin. Looping your arm through his, the two of you walk side by side as you leave the training grounds and head for the gardens.

“Did any of those idiot noblemen give you trouble?”

You grin to yourself, sensing the jealousy in his voice. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“They try to touch you?” he presses, his jaw tightening at the thought.

You look at him with amusement, “They couldn’t have even if they wanted to.” Pulling him to a stop beneath the shade of a large tree, you turn to stand in front of him. “If it’s my virtue you ask about, you needn’t be so concerned.”

With just a few short steps he has your back pressed to the trunk of the tree. Blue flame flickers behind his gaze, as the heat from his body seeps into yours. “How can I be concerned over a virtue I have already taken?”

His lips are on you before you can respond. You moan into his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair and pull him closer. His hips rock forward, grinding the beginnings of his arousal against you. You realize that he must have already been half-hard after seeing your duel with Natasha. It’s no secret that watching you wield a sword gets his blood hot.

You can count on one hand the number of men you would willingly relinquish control and submit to. James knows that he’s one of them. He dominates the kiss and controls your body as if it were his own. One of his hands slides passed your hip and over your thigh, slipping beneath the sword strapped at your waist to lift your leg up and more easily slot his erection between your spread thighs. He locks your knee against his hip and thrusts into you.

A whimper escapes from your lips as he pulls his away.

“I missed you,” his hushed confession wisps over your face.

“Yes, I can tell,” you giggle teasingly.

His eyes blaze in warning before he gives a harder thrust against you, catching the head of his cock against where you’re certain that your own arousal is beginning to seep through your pants. “Did you miss me?” he prompts in question.

Your teasing smile turns tender, “You know that I did.”

He brushes his nose against yours and kisses both of your closed eyelids. “I will have you again tonight,” he pledges with promise.

You hum languidly, pulling your hands from his hair to rest them over his broad shoulders. “You will need consent from the king.”

His eyes flash with desire. “Meet me tonight when the moon is at its peak. You know where.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He gives you one last bruising kiss before escorting you back to the castle and returning to his duties. You make your way through the castle to your personal chambers where lunch and a hot bath are already waiting for you. A soft smile curls at your lips as your heart flutters for the man you know is responsible for ensuring these were made ready for you.

A grape is plucked from the lunch platter and popped into your mouth, the sweet flavor bursting on your tongue as you bite into its flesh. Your hands then move to the belt at your waist, undoing the buckle with familiar ease and resting your sword against the wall. You discard the remainder of your clothes and choose a few scented oils from the selection in the basket left near the tub. Once the desired fragrance has filled your senses, you sink into the delectable heat of the bath.

The lunch platter has been strategically placed on a table within arm’s reach from your reclined position, so you continue to enjoy your lunch while simultaneously basking in the bliss of your bath. After the months of travel and the strain of spending days at a time on horseback, your body is more than happy to receive a little pampering. Your muscles relax with the swirling heat and your head floats on sweetly scented clouds.

With the platter mostly cleared and the water beginning to cool, you take the time to wash away the sweat and grime from your skin and hair before stepping out of the water and wrapping yourself in a drying cloth. With a full belly and sated muscles, you spend the rest of your afternoon cooped up in your chambers, allowing yourself to indulge in the rest you know your body is going to need.

It’s late in the evening when you finally emerge. Most of the castle is asleep. With a finger curled into the loop at the side of the metal holding dish, the single candle helps to light your way as you travel through the darkened halls. Your bare feet are silent on the plush red carpet that stretches over the expansive hallways. The material of your dressing gown swirls around your legs with each step.

You climb a set of stairs and follow the length of another long hall before reaching your destination. Your free hand reaches out to caress the ornately carved wooden doors. They are certainly a welcomed sight after spending so long away from the castle. Curling your hand into a fist, you rap two sharp knocks against the wood.

It takes a short second before the door on the left is pulled inward. Icy blue eyes catch the light of your flickering candle as his gaze sweeps over you. James smirks and steps back, permitting your entrance into the grand chambers. He takes the candle holder from your hands and indicates for you to step deeper into the room with a jerk of his head.

Following his line of direction, you spot the seated figure in the middle of the spacious bedroom. The fire burning in the hearth at the far corner of the room casts shades of red and orange through his normally golden locks. He watches your approach with a sharp gaze. Gathering the folds of your dressing gown between your fingers, you stretch the fabric out and fall into a curtsey. “Your majesty,” you greet humbly.

You keep your gaze lowered, despite hearing the rustle of fabric as he stands from his chair. He towers over your hunched form, but his hand is gentle when it cups your chin and guides you back upright. Your eyes lift and meet his, watching how they glide over your features.

“How is it that your time away has only made you more beautiful?” his hushed words caress your lips like a teasing lover.

Your heart pounds in your chest and there’s a pleasurable flutter in your stomach. “Thank you, my King.”

He tilts your chin up even higher, baring your neck to him as his own face angles downward. Your body shivers in delight at the way his nose slopes down your neck. He breathes in deep and slow, taking in the remnants of the scented oils on your skin. A low hum reverberates through his chest, sending prickling awareness to your nether regions. “Jasmine and rose. I trust you enjoyed the bath I had drawn up for you, then?” his head pulls back, eyes catching yours once against.

Your fingers clench at the fabric of your dressing gown, trying desperately to resist the urge to reach out for him. “Yes, very much. Thank you, my King.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he attempts to fight his smile. “How many times must I tell you that there is no need for formalities when it’s just the three of us? Why do you persist?”

It’s a losing battle to fight against your own smile. “Because I know how much you secretly enjoy it.”

He loses his own fight as his lips stretch into a tilted smirk. “Well then, your King would like to formally welcome you home.”

The blood runs hot in your veins as your body buzzes with the excitement of what’s about to come. “I accept your formal invitation but hope for a rather informal welcome.”

One of his hands, large and strong, glides against the small of your back, pulling you in closer to his frame. “As you wish,” his mouth slants over yours.

You hum happily into his kiss, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. The hand at your back pulls you even closer until any possible space between your bodies has been sealed. His other hand moves to cradle the back of your head, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Kisses from your king hit differently than those that come from your armored knight. Where Sir Barnes kisses you like you’re in the midst of battle, giving way to hurried touches and fervent desire; King Rogers kisses you like he’s leading you through a twirling waltz, providing languid caresses and passionate yearning. Both men have their own methods of stripping you down to your barest parts. Like fire and ice. Like wind and rock. Two sides of the same coin. It’s a currency only you can understand.

You’ve loved the two of them together nearly your whole life. As the daughter of the Knight Commander, you’d had the privilege of growing up in the castle alongside both of them. In your earlier years, you all shared your literacy and etiquette lessons. When Steve reached his twelfth summer and had finally begun to grow out of the ailments that used to plague his young body, he and Bucky were taken from you to begin their knighthood training. You were forced into new lessons better fitted for your gender. Or so you were told.

One afternoon, after spending the morning watching the boys train from the windows of the library, you’d managed to pin them both down after their lessons and begged them to teach you how to fight. Steve had seemed hesitant but amenable to the idea, but Bucky had flat out refused. He’d told you that a battlefield was no place for a woman. That girls weren’t even capable of wielding a sword. His words made you so angry that you curled your fist back and punched him straight in the nose.

Your mother had been horrified once news spread around the castle about what you had done. Your father, however, had been markedly proud. You had been made to openly apologize to Bucky in front of Lord and Lady Barnes, but you were also enrolled in the knighthood lessons with them the very next day.

Bucky in his later years would eventually confess that despite the bloody nose and bruised ego, that had been the very moment that he fell in love with you.

A moment of revelation had never really occurred for you. You’re not sure when the love of children and friendship had turned into one of romantic attraction. You just know that there had always been enough room in your heart for the two of them.

Bucky had been your first. He had also been the logical choice. His skill with a blade allowed him to rise through the knighthood ranks. It was clear that in time he would replace your father’s position as Knight Commander. He was boyish and charming, kissing you in the spiral stairwells, fleeting touches during combat practice, flirting while you held a blade to his throat. You gave him your virtue one night in the highest tower of the castle, beneath the light of a full moon. It was perfect. It made sense.

But there was still a part of you that seemed to long for your crowned prince.

When Steve caught wind of the budding romance between his two best friends, he began to recede into himself and drew away from the both of you. He dove headfirst into his royal duties as a distraction. He began to attend council meetings with his father, acting as the king’s shadow, learning all the intricacies of running the kingdom.

Your worry for his wellbeing grew the more that he shut both you and Bucky out. He always looked tired and stressed, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. You attempted to confront him on multiple occasions, asking if there was anything that you could do to help ease his burdens. You wanted to be there for your friend and to support the man you secretly loved. But he brushed you off every time.

As it would turn out, Steve’s dedication to his royal duties would be both a blessing and a curse. When the King and Queen of Brooklyn perished at sea during a winter storm, Steve was fully capable and ready to ascend to the throne. Your fear for his health grew tenfold when he completely retreated from everyone during the month of mourning after the loss of his parents. He took his meals in his study, sometimes slept in there too. He buried himself in work instead of allowing his mind and body a chance to heal as is intended for the allotted month before he would be crowned king.

On the night before his coronation, you snuck into his bed chambers, picking the lock with the method Bucky had taught you both as children to steal sweets from the kitchen pantry. Steve had been surprised to see you, curled up in a chair by the fire with a book in his lap instead of sleeping like he should have been before such an important day. When he asked what you were doing there, you’d responded by telling him you were there to support your best friend.

You remember seeing the hope flicker in his eyes before it was quickly snuffed out like a candle. He attempted to brush you off once again, telling you that he didn’t need anyone. When you stood your ground and told him that you weren’t leaving, he quickly grew angry, unused to your defiance. He tossed the book aside and stood from his chair, resorting to intimidation by lording his bulky frame over yours. You held his gaze challengingly and stated quite clearly that it was impossible for a single man to run an entire kingdom by himself. And that whether he liked it or not, he wasn’t alone in facing the trials that lay before him. You weren’t going to let him push you away any longer.

You had finished your speech by launching yourself at him, burying your face into his warm chest, wrapping your arms tight around his torso, and praying that he wouldn’t force you to leave.

He hadn’t.

For the first few moments of your embrace, he had stood perfectly still, like a statue, unable to reciprocate or push you away as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening. And then almost hesitantly, as if he was afraid you might vanish into thin air if he moved too fast, his arms began to circle around you. When he realized that you weren’t going to disappear on him, his hold on you became uncomfortably tight. He gripped you with a desperation that nearly broke your heart. When his shoulders began to shake and your own shoulder grew wet, your heart really did break.

You continued to hold him as he cried. You held him when his legs grew weak and he sunk to the floor. You pulled him in close and ran soothing fingers through his hair and down his neck, encouraging him to let it all out. He cried over the grief of losing his parents. He cried over the fear of the responsibilities and unknowns that would fall to him as king. He cried over the wasted weeks spent pushing you away when being here in your arms was exactly where he’d longed to be.

You sat patiently in his lap, allowing him all the time he needed to work through his emotions. It had been long overdue and you weren’t about to rush it. When he finally lifted his head from your shoulder, he had looked at you like you were everything. It was a look that made your heart race and your stomach flutter, even with his red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. It was in that moment that a confession of love had slipped passed his lips before he pressed them to yours.

Your eyes widened in shock at his unexpected kiss. You didn’t respond, but also couldn’t find the strength in your heart to push him away.

When Steve finally realized what he had been doing he pulled away abruptly with a string of apologies falling from his mouth. In a flurry of movement that your shocked mind had been unable to fully process, Steve had lifted you off the floor and deposited you into the hall outside his chamber door. His eyes flashed you a look of pure heartbreak as one last apology left him before the door fell shut.

You don’t know how long you spent standing there, eyes unfocused and fingers pressed to your lips. In a sort of daze, you made your way through the halls of the castle, barely regaining your presence of mind as your fingers rapped against a different door. Bucky was a light sleeper, so it hadn’t taken him long to come to the door. When he saw the upset look on your face, he knew immediately that something was wrong. All he had to do was ask before a full confession tumbled out of you.

You don’t even know why you had told him the complete and honest truth about what had just transpired between you and Steve. But Bucky wasn’t just your lover. He was also your best friend and confidant. You knew that you could tell him anything and would receive no judgment.

He listened intently and made no comment until he was sure you were finished. Grabbing the sides of your face, he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to your forehead. He whispered words of assurance, telling you that everything would be okay before he took one of your hands within his and marched you back in the direction you had just come from.

In true Bucky Barnes fashion, he barreled his way straight back into Steve’s private chambers. As he made his way straight for his future King a flash of fear shot through Steve’s eyes. You admit that you may have felt a bit of that fear yourself because you had no idea what Bucky had planned to do.

You never could have guessed what was going to happen next. As soon as Steve was within arm’s reach, Bucky’s free hand darted out. In the next second, he was slipping your hand into Steve’s. The blonde gave his friend a look of confusion before his eyes drifted down to where his fingers were curled around yours. Your hand fit perfectly against his like it was something that was always meant to be.

This time, it was Bucky’s turn to provide a confession. He told you that he loved you both more than anything in the kingdom. He admits that he’d always known that he wasn’t the only man to hold a place in your heart and that he believed the love you felt for both of them was not meant to cause a divide between their friendship but was instead meant to be shared. The three of you had always been your best when you were all together. Why should this be any different?

That night, you showered your prince with love and kisses while Bucky taught him all the methods he had come to learn in the art of bringing you pleasure. Like with most things, Steve proved to be a quick study. By the time the three of you collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs across Steve’s expansive bed, the sun’s rays had already started to peak over the horizon. Later that same day, both you and Bucky stood at his side while Steve was crowned King of Brooklyn.

You are pulled from your memories by the slip of Steve’s tongue into your mouth. You moan at the taste of him. You aren’t able to get nearly enough before he is leaning away. A low chuckle escapes him as you attempt to give chase. His hand moves from the back of your head to cradle the edge of your jaw, thumb swiping over the wet saliva clinging to your lower lip.

He looks at you with a hooded gaze. “Tell me, how did the other kingdoms treat our beautiful Black Rose of Brooklyn?”

You give him a knowing look. Both Sam and Bucky would have given him their full reports by now, and yet, he still wants to hear it from you. “I didn’t start any wars if that’s what you’re asking.”

He grins at the bite in your tone. “They have certainly started for less. If ever there were a face that could launch a thousand ships, it would be yours.”

A satisfied flutter tickles your belly as you laugh. “My, haven’t we become quite the flatterer? Those lessons with Bucky are surely paying off.” You glance over your shoulder at your dark-haired lover, who watches your every move with keen interest. You shoot him a wink before turning back to your king. “Has he asked for your consent?”

Steve’s gaze darkens considerably. “He has.”

The deep tenor of his voice makes you shiver. “And did you give it?”

“Not yet,” he releases his hold from your waist and steps back giving a long sweep of his gaze over your figure. “Acts of pleasure are a sin when conducted out of wedlock. Only permissible as fornication under consent of the king. First, you must present yourself to your King for inspection.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, a thrill of excitement running through you at the prospects of that. A teasing smirk tilts your already kiss swollen lips. Your hands fall to the tie at the front of your robe and your hips sway with every step you take backward toward the gigantic bed that’s centered against the back wall. “You both truly believe that I’ve been naughty, don’t you?” They follow your movements with heated eyes and tense shoulders. Two elite hunters after their delectably sweet prey.

With a slow tug, you free the knot at your waist. In one move, the dressing gown is pushed from your shoulders and pools delicately at your feet. The two men look poised and ready to pounce as your naked body is instantly bared to them. Taking it one step further, the back of your knees hit the cushioned bench at the foot of the king’s bed. You lower yourself elegantly onto the soft cushions before leaning back to prop your elbows up on the foot of the plush mattress behind you.

Your gaze flickers between two sets of gorgeous eyes in varying shades of molten blue. You settle back on those of your king. You continue to hold his gaze as your knees lift and pull apart until your feet are settled on the top edge of the bench as far spread as you can allow with your thighs stretched open. “I surrender myself to the king’s inspection.”

Both men swallow thickly, eyes traveling to the apex of your thighs where the firelight makes the slick of your arousal glisten. “Would you be opposed if I took her first pleasure this evening?” Steve asks, eyes still trained on the feast laid bare before him.

Bucky smirks darkly. “It’s within your rights, my King.” He yields, knowing that it will be just as pleasurable to watch while he waits for his turn.

Steve stalks toward you like an apex predator. His right hand grips the back of your calf, lifting your foot off the cushioned bench to hook your leg around his waist. His knee lands on the bench beneath your thigh aiding in locking your leg around him. His left hand falls to the mattress above your shoulder as he takes his place above your prone position.

The open collar of his cream-colored shirt hangs loose in the front, revealing a teasing hint at the muscles of his torso that lie beneath the cotton material. “Why do you conceal yourself from me?” you ask with a pout.

He breathes a short laugh, “In due time, my love. First, you must prove you are worthy of your king’s consent.”

Dropping from your elbows onto the mattress, you reach your hand out to grab his wrist above where his hand holds the side of your knee. You guide his hand as it travels the length of your thigh until his fingers are curled against your wet heat. “I trust that you will be pleased with your findings.” Your breasts heave in anticipation as you hold his gaze with lidded eyes.

His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks as he fights to maintain his composure. Thick fingers circle your entrance, ticking your folds and collecting your slick. He watches your face intently as one finger pushes its way into you. Your lips part in a shaky breath and whatever sound you had planned to make gets caught in your throat.

The king’s brow furrows. Even with the abundance of arousal, your body is slightly resistant to the intrusion of his finger. He works his way into you gently until you finally take him all the way to the knuckle.

“How does she feel?” Bucky’s voice sounds distant due to the blood rushing in your ears.

“Tight,” Steve responds, still looking at you curiously. “She can barely even take a single finger.”

You clench around the single digit, hips jutting against his palm. “Have I restored your trust in my faithfulness?” you ask, your voice breaking from the restraint it takes to not fuck yourself with reckless abandon against his one finger.

Steve’s kingly façade falls away in an instant as a look of tender affection softens his features. “Oh love… your faith was never in question.”

The bed dips to your right as Bucky sits on the edge of the mattress. His hand stretches out to slowly stroke his fingers across your cheek. “When were you last touched?”

Embarrassment prevents you from meeting his gaze until the feathered touch on your cheek makes you turn your head toward him. “The morning I left Brooklyn.”

Steve’s finger pulls out of you, drawing your attention back to him. “You knew that we were joking when we forbade you from any indulgences without us, didn’t you?” He shoots Bucky a worried look, wondering if they had taken their jests too far.

“Yes, I knew,” you assure him quickly. “I never once, not even for a second, believed that you could be serious in such matters. I just… couldn’t.” Your voice falls away, unsure of how to properly explain yourself.

“Did you not think of us when you were away?” Bucky asks you.

Your eyes widen, horrified that he could have such thoughts. You reach your hand out to clasp his and thread your fingers between his. “I thought of you both every moment of every day. My body ached with how desperately I missed you. But… the touch of my own hands cannot compare to how my body lights up when I am with either of you. I know that it had been said in jest the morning of my departure, but my pleasure really does belong to the two of you alone. Relishing in the memories of your touch is not enough to sustain me. I need you.”

“You have us,” Steve promises. “Always and forever.” He leans down and places a chaste kiss over your heart. With his head lifted back up, he meets your gaze once more. “Now four months is a terribly long time to have gone without the touch of pleasure. It would be my honor to bring you to release, my love.”

Your leg tightens around his waist as a shiver makes its way through you. “Please,” you beg. Your body is wound tighter than a bowstring that’s seconds away from the snap.

His hand returns to your leg. With a gentle nudge, he pulls your calf off of him for a brief moment, only to then promptly fall to his knees before you as he guides your leg to rest in place, draped over his shoulder. It’s both a humbling and empowering feeling that floods you whenever your king kneels before you. The man who holds the highest power in the kingdom and he will forsake it in the name of bringing you pleasure. It’s a feeling you don’t get to bask in for very long because once he has his mouth on you, all coherent thought vanishes in an instant.

Steve is an insatiable and enthusiastic lover. In everything he does, he gives his complete and undivided attention. He places your second leg on his other shoulder before clamping his hands over the tops of your thighs and ravishes you like a man starved.

“O-Oh!” you cry out, back arching and body writhing against the onslaught of his talented tongue. He laps over your slit and suckles your folds. Your slick paints his cheeks and his chin with the evidence of your pleasure, and he revels in it. The wet slurping sounds he makes as he devours you whole is enough to send you adrift.

Floating in an ocean of decadent carnality, there is no set course or final destination. There is only the here and now, and that is more than enough.

He pierces your entrance with his thick tongue. He laves at you, long and slow, getting your body to relax and give into him. When you are completely pliable beneath him, he pulls his face back enough to slip his finger back into your moist heat.

He watches how your body takes him as he gently thrusts the one finger into you. The wet squelch of your arousal encourages him to slip a second finger inside you. The resistance is minimal and this pleases him greatly. He shows his appreciation by trailing a series of wet butterfly kisses across your thighs and lower belly, all while continuing to bring you to the brink with his fingers.

They curl into your upper wall, pressing and rubbing at the place he knows will make your thighs shake. By the time his lips begin to descend back down your pubic mound, he’s got you stuffed full with three of his fingers.

His last kiss settles over your straining clit. He knows that he’s been denying her, but that had been his plan all along. Now that he was finally where your body craved him to be most of all, he had no plans on leaving until after you screamed his name in ecstasy.

“Oh my- Ah!” your hips buck against his face as you thrash beneath him. The hand at your thigh hooks over your abdomen to keep you pinned down. He works at your pleasure center from both angles, driving his fingers in deep and curling them into you, while his mouth ravishes your clit from above.

He flicks his tongue over the taut bud and sucks her deep into his mouth. He moans from deep within his chest and the sound travels straight to your core. Your climax starts to come at you like a charging boar. It’s strong, loud, and makes the entire earth quake.

“Steve! Don’t stop! Oh! I’m going- I’m coming- STEVE!”

Your thighs clamp around his head and though they are powerful from your knighthood training, he persists in his endeavor to bring you the greatest pleasure you have ever known. His fingers fuck you through your orgasm, feeling how you clench and tremble around them.

When the pleasure becomes too much to handle, you reach your hand down and tug gently at his blonde locks. He releases your clit from the confines of his mouth and blinks his stormy blue eyes up at you. You laugh breathlessly, “If the ladies of court knew what you could do with that mouth of yours, there would be a line from here to Asgard.”

His lips spread into a wide, self-satisfied smile; the evidence of your arousal smeared from cheek to cheek. “Now who is the flatterer?” He carefully removes his fingers from between your legs and presses a soft kiss to the inside of each of your knees as he slides your legs off of his shoulders. When he stands back up, he gives your form one last sweep of his eyes before looking to Bucky. “She’s ready for you.”

Steve turns his back to you and with all the regal confidence that comes with being king, he makes his way back to his chair. He lowers himself evenly onto the plush cushioned seat, back straight, knees spread. He sets his elbow on the armrest and with his chin resting on his palm, he slips the fingers that had just been inside of you into the hot cavern of his mouth. His free hand settles over the bulge in his trousers, stoking at his hardened length through the material.

You feel Bucky’s hands clasp your arms just beneath your shoulders. That’s the only warning you get before he completely hoists your body up onto the mattress. You laugh in giddy arousal at his display of strength. After only one orgasm, you’re already drunk on pleasure. You turn your body to face his and are pleasantly surprised to see that he’s already shed his clothing. He must have disrobed while Steve was having his way with you.

You crawl into his lap settling quite comfortably over his thick thighs. A wide grin stretches your lips as your arms circle loosely around his neck. “Hello, Dearest,” you greet, nudging your nose playfully against his.

His eyes sparkle in amusement. “Did I not say that I would have you again tonight?” he grins in triumph, arms curling around you with his hands splayed across your back.

You run your fingers slowly over the stubble along his jawline. “I do believe the real question here is how will you have me, Commander Barnes?” You rock your hips forward, pressing your wet heat against the hardened length that rests between your thighs.

His hands fall to your ass giving each globe a generous squeeze. “I will have you screaming out my name until the entire castle knows who it is that brings you such pleasure.”

“My, aren’t we confident?” you laugh sensually.

With strong arms keeping your body pinned to his chest, he begins to lower you down onto your back, stretched out horizontally across the foot of the bed to ensure that Steve still has the best view. “I will have you quivering on my cock and begging for more.” He settles himself over you, dark strands tickling your cheeks as they fall in a curtain around your face. “I will have you balanced on the edge of ecstasy, pleading for a taste of sweet relief, but unable to claim it until your Commander allows it.”

He grinds his erection against your folds, coating himself in your slick. He continues to hold your gaze as he balances on one bent arm to reach down and align his bulbous head with your entrance. A gentle nudge is all it takes before be he starts to sink into you.

“God in heaven…” his shaky breath fans over your cheeks. “You really haven’t been stretched in a while,” he grunts at the way you squeeze around him. He keeps his pace slow, moving only an inch at a time. “She won’t be taking us together any time soon,” he sends a smirk over his shoulder to Steve.

The king sends back a dark smile, his fingers falling from his mouth and tracing wet trails over his lips. “We can work her back up to it.”

Both his response and the feeling of the cock stretching you out cause a needy whimper to fall from your lips.

When he is finally sheathed, Bucky guides your legs up around his waist. He grinds into you with slow circles, allowing your body to adjust to being stretched around his girth. He peppers your face and neck with sweet kisses. “I have longed for our reunion from the moment you rode passed the castle gates. Four months is far too long to be without you, my love,” he declares, rubbing his nose against yours. “You are correct in stating that the memory of our lovemaking is nothing in comparison to our actual joining. Nothing on this earth can compare to the feeling of being inside you.”

He pulls out about halfway before slowly easing back in, testing the limits of your body. However, there is no resistance and no sign of discomfort on your face, just complete adoration and love for the man above you. His lips slant over yours as he begins to quicken his pace, so that he may taste your pleasured moans on his tongue.

He slams into you with feverish intent, driven by the sound of skin slapping against skin. Your nails dig into the muscles on his back and your hips rise to his every thrust. There are some nights when you attempt to fight him for dominance, but tonight you are supple and pliant beneath him. Like iron burning red hot from the flames of a forge, yet malleable and ready to be formed into something new. He can bend and mold you into any shape. Pound you down and smooth you over. He’d work his hands to the bone until you were absolutely perfect.

Your moans taste like heaven against his lips. He pulls his mouth back so that he might hear them ring like bells around the room. You gasp for breath and inhale the heady scent of raw sex. Your head falls to the side, eyes a little bleary as they land on your king.

His bare chest glistens in the firelight with a thin sheen of sweat; his shirt discarded to the floor. His trousers have been unbuttoned and shoved down just enough to free his straining cock. He strokes his length with deliberate slowness and watches the sight before him with rapt interest.

Bucky takes the opportunity of your turned head to sink his teeth into your exposed neck. You cry out as pain mixes with pleasure, eyes falling shut and back arching into him. An arm slips between your bowed back and the mattress, locking you in place against him. He sucks on the fresh bite and laps at it with a wet tongue. You shiver within his hold.

When your eyes blink back open and the haze in your vision has cleared, you realize that the chair is now empty.

A small frown of confusion pulls at your lips before you hear the voice come from behind you. “Bring her to the edge.”

A flood of arousal nearly makes Bucky slip out of you at the sound of Steve’s voice. You tilt your head back as far as you can against the mattress. Even upside-down, he’s an absolute vision. He stands naked at the side of the bed, one knee propped up on the mattress, a hand still stroking his cock. It’s enough to make your mouth water.

Bucky uses the power of his hips to thrust your body over the sheets of the bed and to the edge where Steve waits. You are guided into place with your head just hanging over the edge. Your hands quickly reach up to replace Steve’s grip with your own.

You hear Bucky’s low laughter, “Look how eager she is.” He holds himself still, buried to the hilt inside you.

“See? There’s still a way for her to take us both,” Steve grins back.

His hands cradle the sides of your face, palms to your cheeks, and fingers curling over the edge of your jaw. His thumbs slide to the ends of your mouth before pulling back your plump lower lip guiding your mouth open. Your hands bring the fat head of his cock in closer until the salty taste of his pre-cum hits your tongue.

You moan your appreciation, lapping at the slit for more. Steve shudders at the sensation of your tongue against him. Your jaw opens as wide as it can go as you begin to work him deeper into your mouth.

“That’s it,” he huffs, thumbs stroking your jawline encouragingly.

With your head back and your neck stretched, it opens your throat and makes it easier to take his length deeper. You swallow around the head of his cock and use your grip on his base to encourage him to keep going. Both men watch in highly aroused fascination as your neck expands around the intrusion of Steve’s cock down your throat.

You take him all the way, tightening your throat around him and ignoring the tears in your eyes that are welling up from taking him so deep. Steve forces himself to remain still and resists the instinct to rut into your sensitive throat. But god, the way it tightens around him is driving him insane. After a few seconds pass, he pulls himself back to give you room to breathe.

You swallow the excess saliva in your mouth and take a few panting breaths before urging Steve’s cock back into your mouth and down your throat. It’s easier to take him the second time. By the third round, Bucky has begun a gentle series of thrusts, his own cock twitching from inside you.

Both men find a rhythm that works for them without making you too uncomfortable. They work at you from both ends, using your body to fulfill their own needs. Bucky’s thrusts make your throat jolt around Steve’s cock and the abuse of your throat makes you clench around Bucky’s. They take their pleasure from you and you are more than happy to give it to them.

When it starts to become a bit too much for you to handle, a squeeze at Steve’s hip is all that is required to have him pulling back. “Are you okay?” he asks, curling a hand to the back of your head to lift it up and meet your gaze.

“A little dizzy,” you admit, your voice coming out hoarse.

Steve immediately moves to help you sit up while Bucky pulls out of you to do the same. You’re instantly sandwiched between their warm, muscular bodies; Bucky holding you to his chest while Steve molds his to your back. It makes your heart leap at how quickly they can switch from seeking their own pleasure to ensuring your comfort and well-being. You know that your love for them would never have run this deep if they weren’t such caring individuals.

“Sorry I couldn’t-” you try to begin an apology but are gently shushed before you can finish.

Steve’s hand cradles your face and turns it toward him. “You did well, my love,” he assures you. Another reason to love him. There’s no disappointment or resentment that you weren’t able to take him until completion, just gentle understanding and tender affection. He places a chaste kiss to your spit-soaked lips.

When he pulls back, Bucky guides your face to his until your foreheads touch. “If you are feeling unwell, let us know and we will stop now.” You know without a doubt that the two of them would abandon their arousal in an instant if you told them you couldn’t proceed.

You give him a fond smile. “I am alright,” you assure him. “And I will not rest until both my lovers are fully sated and satisfied.”

Steve releases a low chuckle, lips pressed to the hair above your temple. “You may be in for a long night then.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” you grin cheekily. With one hand, you reach for Steve’s hold at your waist. You pull his touch across your stomach until his arm is banded around your torso. Your other hand trails down Bucky’s Adonis belt to curl around the base of his shaft. His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks as you give him a long stroke. “Now, where were we?” you ask breathlessly.

His hands grip the back of your thighs as you rise onto your knees and align him with your entrance. Your body welcomes the now-familiar stretch as you sink down onto him. He grunts low through gritted teeth as he is enveloped back in your wet heat. He’d been close before stopping to come to your aid. Very close. The denied climax has made him overly sensitive. It sits just below the surface of his skin and sends tiny pricks of pleasure up his spine.

Steve pushes in tight against your back, molding every inch of bare flesh to yours. As you circle your hips around Bucky’s cock, you can feel that Steve’s is slotted between the globes of your ass, pressed to his lower abdomen. He grinds hard and slow against the cleft of your cheeks. His heavy breath on the back of your neck makes you shiver.

Bucky leans forward to mash his lips against yours and uses his powerful thighs to start thrusting up into you. The kiss is sloppy and wet. You’re sure that he must taste the remnants of Steve’s cock on your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he may even like it. The wet slap of sweaty skin fills the room, overpowering the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Every bounce on Bucky’s cock makes your ass jolt around Steve’s. Their balls slam into each other’s with a steady thwack and muscular thighs brush side by side beneath you. Bucky’s hands slide up your thighs and grab your ass in a bruising grip. He spreads your ass cheeks, making more room for Steve’s thick cock between them.

Steve’s hands glide up your rib cage and settle over your breasts. He molds them in his large hands and tweaks your nipples until they have grown stiff and over sensitive. Your mouth rips away from Bucky’s as you cry out to the heavens and throw your head back against Steve’s shoulder. You are being worked at from all angles by the two men you love most in the world. It’s pleasure beyond words. Beyond imagination, even.

Bucky uses his grip on your ass to change the angle of your hips just enough to ensure your clit catches against his pubic bone every time he slams home inside you. Your moans are getting louder and higher in pitch. Which is a good sign, because he is seconds away from bursting.

“Oh Bucky!” he hits you deep and grinds against your sensitized clit. The scent of sex is so thick it starts to make you dizzy all over again. Your thighs are shaking from barely restrained release. Every muscle in your body is pulled taut. Your arousal flows out of you in such abundance, it not only soaks Bucky’s cock, but also catches against the underbelly of Steve’s and also flows down their balls.

Your pleasured cries drive them both mad with desire. The heat that comes off their bodies traps you in an inferno. You have one arm tossed back to grip Steve’s neck; the other is thrown over Bucky’s shoulders. You draw them both in impossibly closer, allowing the perspiration on your skins to fuse you together into one being.

Animalistic instinct and carnal desire take over as lovemaking transitions to brutal fucking. Like the collapse of a log consumed by flames inside the hearth, there is a flare-up of energy. The control in both men is ripped to shreds as they rut against you like wolves in heat.

Each thrust is punctuated by their feral grunts and erotic moans. Their panting breaths send scattering waves across your feverish skin, providing only temporary relief from the savage heat that consumes you. Their muscles grow tense, balls pulled in tight, hands leaving bruises from their fierce grip on your body.

With your head thrown back, you cry out their names to the heavens above, alerting whatever God may be listening just who it is exactly that controls your pleasure. Your body begins to shake, hips jerking and breasts heaving as you hit your peak. Your walls clamp tight around Bucky and the muscles in your glutes clench as well.

“Oh fuck!” Bucky cries out before one last thrust results in his euphoric release. His body shudders and he buries his face into your neck as he spills into you.

From behind, Steve continues to rut against you. Once, twice… After the third, he releases a low grunt from deep within his chest, and then there is a hot splash against your lower back.

The three of you hold each other through your shared release; trembling from the aftershocks; covered in sweat, slick, and thick white cum. Some might call it debauched or hedonistic, but all you feel is the unbreakable threads of love that bind you to these two men. The moments where the three of you are able to bask together in your indulgence always seem to last an eternity. You feed off each other and reach new heights that had previously seemed impossible to grasp.

And when you’re ready to finally come back down to earth, it’s the embrace of each other’s arms that you return to. Bucky is nuzzling the hollow of your throat and Steve has his lips pressed to your temple. “I love you,” your voice comes out a little broken and raw. All the screaming certainly wouldn’t have helped after the way you took Steve’s cock.

Speaking of that, “Steve, you…” You hadn’t expected him to finish when he had.

“I know,” he soothes, thumbs gently tracing circles around your areolas, easing some of the aches in your breasts from his unrestrained hold earlier. “It has been a long four months for us as well. I hadn’t realized that I wouldn’t be able to stave off my release until it was too late.” His gentle hands release your breasts so that his arms can tighten around your torso. “No matter. Now that you are home, there will be plenty of time for me to refamiliarize myself with your body,” he pledges to you.

“Only if you are not pulled into council for hours on end,” your lips tug down into a pout.

He turns your face toward him with a touch to your jaw and kisses the pout from your lips. “You know that I will always make time for you. I love you, too,” he promises with one last kiss before guiding you into Bucky’s hold so that he can shift off the bed. Steve pads across the room, in all his naked glory, to a side table where a basin of water and a folded cloth lie in wait.

You are pulled from your observations when Bucky falls unceremoniously onto his back against the mattress, taking you with him. You land in a giggling heap against his chest. There’s a smug grin on his face and a satisfied flush to his cheeks. You fold your hands against his chest and rest your chin on top, continuing to hold his gaze.

You can hear the water getting rung out from the washcloth moments before the bed dips beneath Steve’s returning weight. The wet cloth is pressed to the base of your spine, eliciting a full-body shiver from you.

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes, “The water was warm earlier.”

“No, it feels good,” you assure him. The cool cloth is like a taste of heaven against your hot skin.

He cleans the mess of his release from you, wiping the evidence from your back and the curve of your ass. When he’s finished, Bucky rolls your relaxed form onto your back and takes the cloth into his own hands. His flaccid cock slips from between your legs. He’s quick to press the cloth against you to collect his own release as it leaks from between your slick folds. He uses gentle strokes against your sensitive channel, treating you with delicate care and sweet caresses.

After they have both made sure that you are comfortable and taken care of, they then clean themselves up before the three of you move to lay beneath the covers of the massive bed. You recline back, propped up slightly on a mountain of pillows. Steve lays to your left, cheek pressed to your shoulder while his fingers brush gentle patterns across your bare torso. He paints masterpieces across the dips and valleys of your breasts and stomach using just the touch of his fingertips.

Bucky is stretched out to your right. He is turned onto his side, with a bent elbow against the pillows, propping his head up to allow him to look down at you. His crystal blue gaze sweeps over every feature of your face. Once he has completed the path, he begins it all over again.

You do the same with him, a content smile tilting your kiss swollen lips. You lift your hand and run the back of your index finger along his jawline. “You are the most handsome knight in all the lands,” you mutter quietly, not wanting to disturb the tranquility that has settled over you. He releases a scoffing laugh with a sharp exhale through his nose, lips twitching in amusement. The smile on your own lips only grows. “Now that I am so well-traveled, I can say that with full confidence.”

Words that were meant to tease instead place a contemplative look on his face. You arch a curious brow as you wait for him to finish his thought and speak his mind. “If you had met someone else on your travels, you would tell us, wouldn’t you?” he finally asks.

Your head tilts in confusion. “I don’t believe I know what you mean…”

“Buck.” The stern tone of Steve’s voice sets you immediately on edge. Nothing ever good comes when he uses that tone of authority with either of you.

You turn your gaze quickly and catch the disapproving look in Steve’s gaze before he has the chance to school his features. “What does he mean?” you ask your blonde lover directly.

“It’s nothing that can’t wait until morning,” he attempts to appease you. When he sees the set of your jaw, he knows immediately that he has said the wrong thing.

You pushing yourself up to sit straight and square your shoulders. “I think I should like to hear it now.”

Steve releases a long sigh and runs his fingers through his unruly strands, sitting up as well. “Letters have been coming in at a constant rate from the other kingdoms over the last few months,” he begins.

“Letters addressed to you,” Bucky supplies next.

You give them both an expectant look, still not understanding the full picture.

“It would seem that in your journey, you left a string of yearning hearts in your wake,” Steve continues. “The letters are from various suitors asking for your hand in marriage.”

You stare at the two of them in blatant shock, eyes sweeping back and forth between their solemn gazes. “And you both thought that meant that I had met someone new…?” You can’t really help yourself when the laugh works its way out of your chest. It starts as a single burst, but quickly turns loud and boisterous until you manage to slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself restrained. “I’m sorry,” you giggle from between your fingers. You clear your throat and swallow the last of your amusement, noting the severity in your lovers’ eyes. “I can assure you that there is no one else. Those letters are only coming from a line of fools who wish to conquer the Black Rose of Brooklyn. They see me as a prize to be won. A trophy after completing their conquest. Nothing more.”

You reach out and take their hands into each of yours. “I know that the love we share is far from conventional, but I promise that my heart only belongs to the two of you. There is no space for anyone else. You will be my only loves for all of eternity.” You bring their hands up to your face and place a gentle kiss on their knuckles. They both give a light squeeze to your hands in return. “Is this why you have both been in such foul moods during my departure? We have spent time away from each other before, but I have been informed that you were both particularly brutish these last few months.”

They both share a chastened look.

“Oh, my loves,” you sigh softly, that look of theirs speaking volumes. You tug at their hands until the three of you are settled back under the covers and are thoroughly wrapped around each other. “Rest well, knowing that I am back home in your arms. That I belong to no other and my heart beats only for you. And when morning comes, you will apologize to the others for your abhorrent behavior.”

The two men share a look, eyes shining and lips tilting.

“Do you believe it wise to order your King and your Commander in such a way?” Steve’s arms tighten their hold around you as he lands a playful nip to the back of your shoulder.

You giggle joyfully. “I have gotten away with it before and I’m certain that I will again.”

“I think a lesson in respect may be in order, my King,” Bucky smirks wide.

“Oh, most assuredly,” Steve agrees.

A shriek of laughter escapes from your mouth as both of your lovers descend upon you. Looks like you’re in for a long night after all…

#steve x reader x bucky #stucky x reader #stucky x reader smut #king!steve x reader #knight!bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #sam writes

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lightsovermonaco · 4 years ago

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head.

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote. He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background.

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument.

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little."

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time.

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him.

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine.

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal.

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows.

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy."

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul.

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly. "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing.

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal.

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

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gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough Am I giving enough Have I paid my debts Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker - and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

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