#nondescriptive reader

[tokoyamisstuff]

Second Chance At Love Pt. 3

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: angst, blood, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, not proofread A/N: don't worry, this is not over yet! and sorry to all the og Mark fans lmao

[A few minutes earlier, Pentagon Medical Ward]

"So you left my friend alone with this freak the whole time?!"

Cecil's thumb was hesitating on the trigger for the high-frequency device, not wanting to stain his relationship with the original Mark any further - but after witnessing what his variants were capable of, he's certainly not taking any chances.

"Calm. Down." he urges the young Viltrumite while trying to remain amenable at the same time. "We needed to take care of the active threats beforehand, and also...he seemed quite fond of your friend." That last part he regretted immediately after saying it aloud.

"You can't be serious!" Mark now screamed, dramatically throwing his hands in the air, thus making all nearby agents cower in fear. "It was you who told me that one of those psychos tried to lure my mom out to kill her! What else do you think this is? He made my friend believe he's me, to play some sort of wicked game!"

All that had happened those past few days...the death and destruction...Mark blamed himself for all of it, because at the bottom line everything was inevitably caused by his own lack of resolve.

And there he was, hiding away at Eve's sickbed like a stubborn child, cowardly refusing to take responsibility as earth's last hope, while others were risking their lives to correct his errors, hell, while his brother and mom were still out there!

Once again he let everyone down.

But Mark won't let any more people he cares about suffer because of his own shortcomings. This time he won't hold back...

...he'll kill this variant and make him pay for what he's done.

Picking up his mask from the counter, he bids his still comatose girlfriend one last look, very well aware how disappointed she'd be at his latest decisions. She'd want him to go. So he mutters a silent apology before rushing into the hallway, with Cecil following closely behind.

"Teleport me to them. And you better send as many backup reanimen as you can."

[Current time]

"Careful Mark. If our observations are correct, this one is way stronger than the others." The hero huffs in annoyance upon hearing Cecil's voice from his earpiece, watching his other self come out of the debris with not a hair out of place.

Well, most of the variants probably never faced any real threat or even slight disadvantage in their lives. There was simply no reason for them to train properly, since the powergap between Viltrumites and any other species was just so ridiculously high.

This version of Mark however spent his entire life preparing his vengeance on Omni-man for taking the one and only thing he truly cared about...

...and his hard work seemed to bear fruit, since a single counterattack of his was painful enough to temporarily stun the original. He seized the opportunity to pin his opponent down, landing one severe blow after another until both of them were completely covered in the original Mark's blood.

"NO!" you screamed at the top of your lungs, having thrown yourself onto the variant's back as you - brave yet very foolishly - tried to to get those two behemoths away from each other. And in the end, your struggle and pleas actually made the variant stop in his tracks. "Please...don't kill him."

For a split second you see the look of heartbreak and betrayal in the man's face, since seeing you still care so much for the original erased all hope he had started to harbor.

Your world's Mark has everything he ever wanted, and he doesn't even understand how lucky he is.

This is so fucking unfair, it's driving him insane.

The Viltrumite raises his bloodied knuckles to his temples, his jealousy spiraling into a violent, irrational urge to tear the original apart and take his place.

And yet he tries to keep it together for your sake as he couldn't bear to cause you any more sorrow. He glares you down with so much malice "That was self-defense" he scoffed through strained breaths, desperately trying to prevent himself from having a mental breakdown. "I wasn't actually going to-"

Now it was the original Mark's chance to turn the battle around, grabbing the variant by the throat as he crushed him against a mountain not far from the hill you were on.

While your former friend was completely disregarding you, rationality overthrown by his wrath, the other Invincible's eyes were practically glued to you in concern for your safety. At first he was holding back, letting the attacker use him as a punching bag in hopes it'd calm him down...

...but when he recognized the capsules transporting reanimen falling from the sky, he pounced on you with no forethought, shielding you from the impact with his own body.

"Shit, are you oka-" Another time he was torn away from you, with Mark yelling at him to keep his filthy hands off of you. And yet with every move, no matter what, the other Mark did a way better job to prevent any harm than the one who came to 'save' you from that very same man.

"Dude, that's exactly why we cannot fight here!" the variant reprimanded his counterpart while severing the head and limbs from several cyborgs. "Think about your partner's safety! We both only want what's best for them, right?"

"Huh?" The original Mark gave a puzzled look at that statement, the word 'partner' obviously made him think of Eve, but his eyes briefly flickered towards you. "What's that supposed to mea- ah, whatever."

In any other context you would've probably been so embarassed that you wished for the earth to swallow you whole - but this is neither about you, nor was it the time for this kind of talk. And luckily, Mark didn't overthink the variant's words but focused on the truth in them instead, swiftly throwing you over his shoulder to bring you away, so that they could continue their battle without endangering you.

"Let. Me. Go!" You repeatedly punch against Mark's back, horrified to see your newfound friend down below trying to stand his ground against the reanimen. "Tell them to stop! None of this is necessary!"

"Hey, it's me!" Mark tries to soothe you, convinced that you're just overwhelmed by today's events. "The real me, okay? Stop being so irrational!"

"Yeah, I know that, you blockhead!" you blurt out in anger, "And you're one to talk! You let your emotions dictate your actions, as always! I thought Invincible spares the bad guys and tries to talk it out?"

"...not anymore. We all saw today how that way of dealing with villains turns out." Letting you down so far away that you can't even see how the variant is holding up anymore, Mark is about to leave and finish the job when you manage to get a hold of his wrist. "Wait. Listen to me, that Mark is not entirely evil!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" So not only did you know it was a variant, but now you're also defending him?! "The trauma messed with your head or something. Let Cecil's people pick you up and check on you."

"Seriously, Mark." He finally turned around to take a proper look at you, grinding his teeth as he recognized that naive, caring attitude of yours that always had a positive influence on him in the past. It made his heart swell with both admiration and envy...

...because why the hell were you advocating for a malicious version of himself, especially after throwing away your friendship over something he had no control over?!

"You know this guy one fucking day and suddenly you're on his side?" the hurt in his voice was so tremendous, you felt as if the guilt of it swallowed you whole. "You were supposed to be my friend, and he's the one who participated in making mine and many other's lives a living hell! So why?!"

"...it would be a waste to kill off a potential ally of this strenght, would it not?" Your reasoning got accentuated by the sound of metal and flesh clashing in the background, and you secretly hoped the variant was doing okay. "Maybe he can be rehabilitated."

"God, you sound like Cecil...but even he draws a line at some point. This guy is irredeemable!" Mark ran a hand through his hair, pacing around in circles to clear his head - and yet it was like your role in all this was the one drop that made the pot boil over. "He needs to be stopped! You've seen it yourself, he leveled several cities to the ground and killed a great amount of heroes! Shit, he's caused millions of deaths, do you have any idea what that means?!"

There was nothing to add to this. He was right, about absolutely everything. And yet...

"He-he needed to fullfill his part of the bargain, or Angstrom would've-" A loud bang echoed through the air as Mark's fists met the ground in frustration, effectively cutting you off. "Fuck, do you even hear yourself?! He always had a choice to join the fight on the right side instead of wasting his time chasing after yo-" There was a gleam of epiphany in his eyes that made you a little anxious whether he had picked up on the hints.

"Look, I'm not trying to justify his actions." You pry one of Mark's fists open, intertwining your fingers with his. "But we need him..."

"...we, or you?" That question caught you off guard, but when you wanted to stumble away but Mark pulled you right back. "What he talked about earlier...are we a couple in that other dimension?"

Sometimes you tend to forget that he isn't as dull as he comes across. Damn it.

"I-I-I....it's more complicated than that. I...died in his world." You shouldn't even be arguing about something so pointless right now, and you also don't want to burden him any further, but he keeps prying.

"So what, you want to become the moral support of a mass murderer?" Worded like this it does sound pretty awful. "I know you cut me out of your life, but I still care about you. No way I'm gonna let that happen. It's too dangerous."

Those feelings you harbored over the past decade were like a chain weighting heavy around your heart - but instead of communicating like an adult, you dwelled in self-pity and pushed your friend away. And as crazy as it sounds, over time you convinced yourself there's no way out of this, nothing else awaiting you...

...that was until you met the other Mark, however.

No better timing to free yourself than now, you thought, but Mark connected the dots faster than you were able to confess. "...why did you never say anything?"

"Oh c'mon, you've been doting on Eve since highschool." Mark was not the person to back out of a friendship like this, even if though he didn't reciprocate. If you had told him he'd certainly would've found a way to make this work, since he didn't want to lose you. And yet you didn't want to give the two of you the chance to overcome this, rather choosing to hurt him before you get hurt.

What a stupid, selfish teenager you were back then...

"Now it all makes sense" he speaks to himself, shyly glancing over to you again as he covers his blushing cheeks with his hands. "Fuck, I'm such an idiot..."

"Nonsense, I'm the ass for ruining our friendship over a silly crush." That was the understatement of the year - you were head over heels for this man.

He seems almost melancholic thinking back to all the moments he should've noticed what's going on. All this time wasted going no-contact when you could've worked things out instead...but it takes two to do that, and he's certainly not the one to blame.

Turning his head towards the noise of the ongoing fight, he shakes his head in disbelief. "This is so fucked up..."

"Tell me about it" you chuckle, playfully poking his side in an attempt to lighten the mood, and both of you give each other an appreciative smile. "But we shouldn't make rushed decisions in our current state, right?"

Mark lets out a shuddered sigh, realizing just what kind of hole your absence has tore in his life. But you'll manage to get back to how things were between you. This was a ray of hope cutting through the storm he's been caught into, ever since becoming a superhero.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed you..."

There's no more time to waste, everything else has to wait until much later. Mark brings you back with him, a safe distance away from where the variant was still battling reanimen that just kept coming. Upon seeing Invincible he raises his guard again, but much to his surprise he's not attacked again, quite the opposite.

"Cecil, stop them!" your Mark exclaims into the comm as he jumps in between the crowd of cyborgs, giving a quick nod of acknowledgement to his other self. "He won't resist if we take him prisoner, right?"

"Sure..." the variant murmured, raising a brow in confusion. But indeed, the mechanical soldiers stop and he gets immobilized by Mark without fighting back. He looks up to you as if seeking your approval, and you quickly rush to their side, scolding Mark for being so harsh with his precautions.

"Are you hurt?" you whisper as the GDA agents transport you back to the Pentagon by helicopter, only the real Mark having flown ahead. You however refused to leave the variant's side, even though you've been strongly advised to go home, at least until the situation was less intense.

"This is nothing..." The Viltrumite huffs in amusement that you were worried about him of all people. He looks down to the shackles around his arms and legs that could never actually hold him, daring to crack a smile which you gladly mirrored. "But thanks that you stood up for me...even though I still don't understand why."

"Because I believe in you, so you better not disappoint me!" you chant, whearing a quiet whimper escape his throat when you put a reassuring hand on his knee. "Everything is gonna be alright, I'm sure of it. We're gonna figure it out...together, okay?"

A few hours later and you were still waiting in a hallway of the GDA, the feeling of suspense only worsened by all the pitying and disgusted looks some of the agents were shooting you. It was understandable, of course, since they probably saw you throwing yourself at the enemy live and in HD.

"I couldn't care less about whatever you two got going on" Cecil explains with his usual stoic manner, "but he refuses to talk and we don't have time for this."

You knew the opportunistic geeze was at least partly bluffing - he's most likely already planning on how to utilize Invincible's affection for you to control him.

Upon entering the prison cell you gasped at the gigantic apparatus containing him, all of his limbs encoated by a metal you didn't recognize in order to keep him from making any move. Honestly, it felt like no matter what they tried, he was only here because he wanted to be. If you told him to break out right now he'd most likely wreck this place in one milisecond.

The variant's defeated features brighten as he recognizes who was paying him a visit, but the initial excitement was soon pushed back by his newfound guilty conscience. He didn't expect to ever see you again, let alone you voluntarily entering the lion's den.

"I'll accept whatever punishment you deem necessary" he rasps, greatly worried at the possibility of them using you against your will. "Just leave them out of this."

Cecil nudged the bridge of his nose, groaning exaggeratedly. It sure isn't easy making objective decisions when you're that emotionally involved with the Grayson family - although he'd never admit the soft spot he had for them.

Not to mention, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get his hands on one of the two literal strongest men on the planet.

"Well for starters you'll help with rescue and rebuidling" he ultimatively decides, talking to the young man like one would scold an unruly child. "Consider this your last chance. And don't you dare taking a break until this whole planet has recovered from the aftermath of your crimes. I don't want to see you eating, sleeping or even breathing without any supervision. Got it?!"

"Yes, Sir..."

A single gesture of his hand enough to make his underlings free the Viltrumite from his confinements. "Give him a new costume so he doesn't scare the survivors...and insert an ultrasonic implant, just to be sure."

Mark rubbed his sore wrists, baffled with this decision. He had expected nothing less than torture, that they'd experiment until they'd find a way to execute him...but this? Ridiculous. Hardly a punishment.

Not that he's complaining, though.

At long last, you were facing each other again, those brief hours of separation feeling like an eternity apart. Crazy to think you barely even know this man - well, the fact that he was so much like the original Mark may have messed with your perception of time...

...or you were simply going crazy as well, who knows. Anyways, it did not feel wrong. If anything you've never been this happy in years.

The Viltrumite seems conflicted, his muscles occasionally twitching out of the desire to be close to you, to touch and hold you and never let go again. But then he detects the tears of relief in your eyes, misinterpreting them negatively and backing off even further.

Right...he doesn't deserve to be anywhere near you.

"You didn't need to...you shouldn't be here." He faces the ground in shame, blinking back tears of his own as he speaks. "Not after what I did."

"Damn it, Mark..." you half-yell, half-whine as you run straight towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso as if to press all of his broken parts back together. "Just...shut up. I'm capable of making my own decisions, whether you like them or not."

What a strange one you were. He wasn't even sure if his dimension's version of you had been that amazing of a person.

"Can't argue with that..." His hands tentatively finding purchase on your sides, and you instantly feel him melt at the feel of your body against his. "But it seems like we won't be able to meet each other for a while..."

"I can wait..." you shrug, beaming up at him with an almost playful tone. "...as long as you promise to take me on another date, would you? Without robots and death-matching yourself next time, if possible."

Mark smiled.

He did so many times ever since you met of course, but it always seemed like he was mimicking genuine human interaction, as if he was forcing himself to put on a facade in order to make you comfortable.

But this one, right here, right now...it was real, and so, so beautiful.

Hopefully you see more of it in the future.

"Oh, I think after you've seen how far I'd go for you, it's safe to say I can't deny you any wish..."

[Next Part]

[willofthequill]

Three Tickets To Paradise

Well.... Hey there, hiya, howdy! And Welcome to another smutty one shot that got away from me and turned into an over 9k word fuck-fest. This time it is Reader x Kyojuro x Akaza and things are getting hot, hot hot!

If you prefer to read on AO3 please click here!

Summary: After another lousy date you ended up coming home and hanging out with your roommates. One thing led to another, to another and so started the most sexually fulfilling night of your life.

WC: 9500

CW: MDNI, SMUT, Fem reader, Threesome - M/M/F, PURE SMUT, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, light choking, creampies, anal finger, anal sex, Double Penetration, oral sex (M! and F! receiving) - for the full list of all CW please check the AO3 link.

You had been friends with Akaza and Kyojuro since your first year of high school. You had been roommates since graduating and all through college. Now that you had graduated, the three of you were busy with careers and sometimes it was hard to get time together. 

Tonight was not much of an exception. Another lousy date with a loser. Your feet were heavier than normal, your steps louder than intended, as you trekked up the stairs with your heels in your hand. Because the date wasn’t a shitty enough way to spend your Saturday night, the elevator just had to be broken down too. 

You let your thoughts wander as you climbed the stairs. Dating was so hard. No matter where you met these guys they turned out to be creeps or losers who were not worth your time. Why were there no damn good guys left? Well… other than the two you lived with, who you definitely were attracted to, but in all the years of friendship and living together, neither had ever once even seemed slightly interested. Which you were able to rationalize as a good thing given your living situation, but alone at night, your imagination was known to go wild with possibilities if they had. 

It looked like it was going to be another night of you, your wand and an empty bed next to you. It had been too damn long since you got laid. Your toys were starting to not be enough. Your frustration, with your date and your sex life, were mounting when you shoved your key in the door to unlock it and stomped inside.

“You had the stompy feet on the stairs. Another bad date?” Akaza asked, not looking away from the TV screen where he and Kyojuro were playing Soul Caliber. In typical late night gaming fashion they were shirtless in their lounge shorts and the table was covered in empty beer cans and open snack bags. 

“Yeah, something like that,” you grumbled, tossing your shoes on top of theirs. You started to walk past and head to your room when Kyojuro called out to you.

“It’s only 10pm. Why don’t you come game with us? We’ll even let you play Nightmare and win a few rounds…” Kyojuro called in a tone meant to be playful and tempting.

“And we’ve got beer and cookies!” Akaza added.

“You had me at playing Nightmare and letting me beat you up. Let me get out of this dress and I’ll be right out,” you answered, feeling a smile curl your lips for the first time since you had left the house earlier tonight. 

“You can keep that dress on if you want,” Akaza called as you opened your bedroom door.

You looked down at the low cut, very short red dress you wore. “Yeah, no.”

As you shut your bedroom door you hear Akaza call, “Can’t blame a guy for trying, now can you?”

You shook your head and chuckled. Akaza was a natural flirt. You needed to remember that. You could not count the amount of times over the years Akaza had intentionally flirted or been salacious towards Kyojuro just to make the other man blush or get flustered. And he had certainly said more than his fair share of things to you. 

You always clapped back but the truth was, you liked it. Your fantasies at night were filled with him and Kyojuro saying the filthiest of praises as they filled you in every way possible. You took off your dress, tossing it onto the laundry pile and fanned your face with your hand. 

If you were going to game with them you needed to not be having those thoughts right now. Though their shirtless state might prove to cause problems with stopping those thoughts. You glanced in your full length mirror, your eyes catching the sexy bra and panties you had worn on your date just incase. 

The set was black silk with your favorite color of lace laid over it to give them texture and design. The bra barely contained your breasts and the panties were a silk t-back thong of black that even you had to admit framed your ass perfectly. 

You stared at your reflection for a moment before discarding the bra but keeping the panties on. Just incase. 

You giggled softly to yourself at your thought and finished changing into your shorts and camisole pajama set. The shorts were definitely short and a peak at your reflection showed that the outline of your thong and nipples were both clearly visible through the light weight fabric. This shirt did nothing to hide the fact that you had gotten your nipples pierced. 

Normally you wore a bra or a thicker tank top. Tonight you were not. If they could lay around shirtless with their nipples hanging out, you could do this version of the same. A part of you hoped they noticed and took a look. A long, long look.

You headed out to the living room to find a cold beer, a bag of your favorite candies, a plate with cookies and a pillow on the floor between them waiting for you. The two of them knew you so well. And honestly, they took great care of you. And you did the same for them.

You plopped down between them and gingerly accepted the cold beer that Akaza cracked open and handed to you. You raised your can for a toast. “To another night of the three of us gaming, drinking and snacking! May they never stop!”

“I’ll toast to that!” Akaza said.

“Yes! Indeed!” Kyojuro’s grin was as bright as the sun as he too lifted his can. “To the three of us!”

“To the three of us!” You and Akaza echoed in unison.

The three cans clinked and you each took a sip of the frothy, bitter ale with a smile on your face. None of you knew that toast and proclamation was going to set things in motion a short time later. But none of you would regret it either. 

“How the fuck do you do keep winning when all you do is button mash?” Akaza almost growled as he set the controller down on the coffee table with a pout on his handsome face.

“You are such a sore loser,” you laughed and rolled your eyes.

You took a sip of your umpteenth beer and leaned back against the couch. That shit date may have been a blessing in disguise since it sent you home earlier than planned and you got to enjoy this evening with two of your favorite people in the world. You let out a contented sigh. Life was good.

“What are you thinking about with a sigh like that?” Akaza asked, his face resting in his palm as his elbow rested against the kotatsu.

“That I’m happy,” you answered simply with a shrug.

“So no more stompy feet tonight, I take it?” Kyojuro asked, leaning back against the couch next to you. 

“No more stompy feet,” you chuckled. 

“What was so bad about the date?” Akaza asked.

“He was just… kind of a creep. He gave me a bad feeling. Like a seedy used car salesman,” you answered, shivering in revulsion. “The food was okay but he tried to get handsy in the restaurant and when I told him to stop he got pissy.”

Douma was very handsome. He had seemed charming when he first approached you at the conference you had been attending. You had happily given him your number and agreed to go out with him. You supposed it was lucky he had shown his true colors early on and not wasted more of your time.

The guys normally did not ask for details, but it would have been the same story every time. You didn’t mind telling them the truth. The date sucked. He was a creep. End of story.

“Guys like that just piss me off,” Akaza said, his brows pinching in annoyance.

“Indeed! That is not the way a gentleman should treat a lady,” Kyojuro agreed, a tick in his jaw. He took another sip of his own umpteenth beer and got candid with you. “Why do you go out on dates with these… Poor excuses for men?”

“They always seem decent upfront,” you shrugged. 

“But why?” Akaza echoed Kyojuro’s question, sipping on the beer in his freehand.

“What type of question is that? Why do I go on dates?” You shook your head and took another sip of your beer, feeling the buzz in your head and relaxing into it. Unfortunately that also loosened your tongue a bit more than usual and you got candid with them. “Contrary to popular belief, girls go on dates for the same reason guys do. Because they are looking for love and hoping for a good fuck.”

“Is that so?” Kyojuro asked. You watched his adams apple a bit too closely as he down the last of his beer in several gulps and added his now empty can to the collection on the table. 

“It is,” you shrugged. 

“You know you have all of that and more right here, right?” Akaza asked as he too finished his beer in a few sips and put down his can.

“I do?” you asked. To process that question would require a lot of soul searching and heart opening and that was not what you were in the mood for. 

“Indeed you do,” Kyojuro stated plainly.

“I didn’t know I have a good fuck around here,” you teased, sipping your beer.

“You could if you wanted to. At any time.” Akaza let his eyes openly roam your body. 

His gaze paused on your chest where the booze in your system had caused your nipples to harden. You could swear you felt them tighten more as his gaze slid lower to take in everything he could see.

“Is that so?”

“It is. It very much is,” Kyojuro said in a tone that felt like velvet against your skin.

You wet your lips and took in their words. The three of you drank like this all the time, so you knew they were in the same state as you. Feeling that delicious buzz but still in control of your thoughts and actions. Just more relaxed and with a few less inhibitions. 

You wanted them. You always had. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take. “And if I said I did indeed want it and I wanted it now?”

“We would happily give it to you,” Kyojuro answered. His crimson and gold gaze was becoming glossy and you could feel desire like you never had before. 

“Happily,” Akaza said, moving to sit closer to you. 

You had one of them on either side of you. Close enough to feel the heat of their bodies and the warmth of their breath on your skin. “If you wanted to give it… I would happily take it.”

“Again and again?” Akaza asked.

“And again?” Kyojuro added.

“Yes. Again, and again, and again.” You gulped down the last of your beer. A small amount missed the mark and trickled down. The liquid made a trail down your chin, the slope of your neck, your collar bone and lower into your tank top. 

Kyojuro took the empty can from your hand and set it on the table. He gripped your chin and turned your face fully towards his. His intense gaze locked with yours. “You are certain this is what you want. Even when you are not intoxicated?”

“Very certain,” you answered. Your cheeks felt hot but so did the rest of your body. You felt a pulse in your center at the thoughts of what implications could come from these admissions. “What about you guys?”

You shivered as Akaza’s breath tickled your ear on the other side of your head. When had he gotten so close?

“Very, very certain. Have been for so long.” His tone was sultry and his lips ghosted over the curve of your ear.

“So long.” Kyojuro’s eyes lingered on your lips as his thumb brushed against your lower lip. His eyes met yours. “What are your hard nos?”

You blinked, a little stunned at that question coming from the most gentlemanly of men you had ever known. You felt yourself getting wetter by the second. “Don’t slap my face and nothing with bodily fluids or excrement.”

“We would never do either anyways,” Kyojuro answered, seeming pleased with your answer. 

His lips ghosted across yours as Akaza’s peppered kisses down the side of your neck. “Safe word?”

It was becoming clear to you who was in control of this situation, and while it surprised you that it was not the bubble gum headed menace who’s hands were starting to roam your thighs, it was quite the turn on to see this side of the normally easy going man. Your pussy clenched around nothing as desire coursed through your veins.

“Safe word, huh?” Your brain was fuzzy and your eyes fluttering, struggling to stay open as your veins began to buzz with arousal. Akaza’s lips on your skin were awfully distracting, but you knew you needed to answer. You stuttered out the first thing that came to your mind. “St..Stop lights?

“Stop lights it is,” Kyojuro grinned. 

His hand on your chin slid to rest gently on your throat and he started to lean in for the kiss. Akaza shifted positions to be more in front of you, his kisses now trailing across your shoulder and your collar bone. 

You wanted… no, you needed this… needed them… needed more. You moved your hands to cup both of their heads, nudging them closer. You said the only thing you could think of at that moment. “Green means go.”

Kyojuro’s lips claimed yours and Akaza’s head dipped down. With the flat of his tongue he licked up the trail of beer that had escaped your lips moments ago. You moaned into the kiss and your fingers flexed against the backs of their heads. 

“I have an idea,” Akaza pulled away.

Kyojuro broke the kiss and turned to face him. He groaned as your lips brushed against his neck and your tongue tasted his skin. “And what is that?”

Akaza grabbed the trash can from the corner and in one move swiped everything that was on top of the kotatsu in the bag. The table top now cleared, Akaza knelt next to it and gestured towards it. “Why don’t we move her up here?”

Kyojuro grinned. “I think that is a fantastic idea, and what about you?”

You placed one more kiss on the thick, muscular column of Kyojuro’s neck and nodded, your thoughts racing with possibilities. “Okay.”

You moved to your knees to get on the table only to have Kyouro’s large hands grab your hips and stop you. You glanced over your shoulder at him. Confused as to why he stopped you.

“We need to take these clothes off you first.” Kyojuro’s hands slid under the hem of your camisole and began to pull it up. 

You started to move your hands but Akaza had moved closer and stopped them. He brought them to his lips and kissed each palm. “Let us.”

“Okay,” you nodded, leaning back into the warmth of Kyojuro behind you.

Kyojuro took your chin and turned your head up so he could again meet your gaze. He had a smile on his face and heat in his eyes. “Remember, you’re supposed to take what we give. Let us take care of you.”

“Sounds good to me,” you smiled, reaching up a hand to run fingers through his hair. Your other hand reached out to Akaza, softly cupping his neck and pulling him closer. You wanted to feel both of them close to you. You surrendered to them and the moment. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“That’s our good girl.” Kyojuro claimed your lips in a kiss that was hungry from the start.

You moaned into the kiss and arched your body into their hands. Kyojuro broke the kiss and Akza turned your head towards his, taking his turn to ravage and memorize the cavern of your mouth and the feel of your tongue brushing against his.

Kyojuro’s hands worked to pull up your shirt, pulling it over your breasts and stopping to cup and squeeze the mounds. His fingers found your nipples, pinching, pulling and twisting. His lips sucked at the back of your neck and your shoulders as he experimented, smiling against your skin when he found what made you break away from Akaza’s lips cry out. 

“I must say, I am a big fan of these piercings,” Kyojuro said against your skin as he gave the hoops a tug, smirking at the sound that left your lips.

Akaza pulled your shorts down in one smooth move but left on your thong. His hands cupped the rounded meat of your ass and pulled you close against him, pressing his bulge against you. 

“Lets move her now,” Akaza said to Kyojuro as he rubbed his bulge against you. 

You moaned softly as Kyojuro adjusted to have his hands on your ribcage, holding your top half against him and moving to be able to press his own bulge against you as well. The feeling of their bare chests against your skin and their hard cocks pressing against you only made you wetter. 

To think two of the hottest guys you had ever seen in your life were so fucking hard for you was an incredible feeling. Again your mind and your body screamed more, more, more! 

Akaza guided you to the kotatsu and watched as you moved to sit on it in the middle. The sound of rustling clothing caught your attention. Akaza gently took your chin in his and turned it towards Kyojuro. “Watch.”

Kyojuro had a cocky grin on his face as he untied his pants and slid them down his hips and off his legs. You bit your lips and made a soft noise as you took in the gorgeous sight of Kyojuro naked. You had spent plenty of time appreciating his top half and were grateful to finally get to ogle the rest of him. 

He was thick all over. His v-cut hips directed your gaze lower. He had large, thick thighs that made images pop into your mind of riding them. He had a dark haired happy trail that dusted down from his naval to a trimmed thatch of hair surrounding his cock. And between his legs, hanging heavy, hard and already leaking was his cock. He was long, thick, and even from this distance you could see several very prominent veins. Your mouth watered at the sight. You could not wait to feel his cock inside of you.

He grinned at your staring and moved in closer, he pulled you closer by the beck and kissed you passionately. His hand replaced Akaza’s on your chin. He turned your face towards the other man and mouthed at your neck.

“Now watch him.”

You sucked in your bottom lip as Akaza took his turn taking longer than necessary to remove his shorts as well. While slightly more V shaped than Kyojuro, he was still thick with muscle. The tattoos that decorated his skin from his neck down had never looked so sexy as they did right now. His pink happy trail was thicker than Kyojuro’s and the hair framing his cock was trimmed. His cock was huge with a slight downward curve that you were already imagining inside of you.  

“Turn around and lay down, beautiful,” Kyojuro said, kissing the side of your head and pulling back. 

You followed his instructions, scooting down a little to be more in the middle and turning to face away from him. You laid your back flat against the cool top of the table. You could clearly imagine doing this during the winter and feeling the heat of the kotatsu against your back. 

Your head was at the edge of the table, hanging off just slightly but cushioned slightly by the blanket still under the table top. You instinctively bent your knees and closed your legs, your feet resting on the opposite edge of the table.

You felt movement and glanced up to see Akaza had moved to the other side of the table and was now kneeling at your feet. Kyojuro moved in closer behind you, his arms lifted your torso so that you were partially sitting up but reclined against him. With the height of this table he was still able to press his hard cock against your back and you could feel the wetness of the pre that had smeared across your lower back with that movement.

Akaza grinned like the Cheshire cat and your eyes caught the movement of his hand stroking his cock. He bit his lip as he took in the sight of you in Kyojuro’s arms. His hands gripping your breasts, groping and toying with your nipples and the silver rings dangling from them. 

“Spread her legs,” Kyojuro instructed as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Keep your eyes on him.”

You nodded and relaxed your muscles. Akaza’s large hands slid from your knees to your inner thighs as he spread you wide open. The slid in further, framing your still covered mound and sliding his fingers up and down the hems on the side of the silk cupping your pussy. 

He placed one hand on your inner thigh as he rubbed his fingers over your pantie. He grinned up at Kyojuro. “Her panties are soaked.”

“Good,” Kyojuro said, squeezing your breasts for emphasis. He locked eyes with Akaza. “I did not say to stop.”

Akaza leaned down and ran his tongue up and down your covered slit, pushing your panties deeper into your folds. You whimpered with wide eyes as he toyed with your clit through the silk. His hands were on both of your inner thighs now, pressing down and keeping you wide open for him. 

“Oh shit,” you gasped as his tongue slid under the side of the silk and he used the flat of his tongue to lick the lip on that side of the panties from bottom to top and again on the other side. 

Kyojuro groaned against your neck as Akaza used the fingers of one hand to pull your panties aside and pressed the width of his tongue between your lips, licking up your slit, gathering your cream on his tongue and ending with a slap of his tongue against your clit.

“Lets get rid of those panties now,” Kyojuro said, his teeth grazing the column of your neck. He nipped the bottom lobe of your ear. “I want to see all of her beauty.”

You helped Akaza remove your panties and spread your legs wide again. You held your breath as Kyojuro’s hands slid down your body, pressing his fingertips against you in a firm manner, making sure you felt his hands on your skin. He kept going until he reached his destination between your legs.

Your jaw fell open slightly as Kyojuo used his fingers to spread your juicy pussy open. Your cheeks felt hot at being so exposed like this and your heart pounded in your chest. You were not sure you had ever been so aroused in your life.

“You have a beautiful pussy,” Kyojuro praised as he ran his calloused fingers over your lips and folds humming in appreciation. His thick finger teased the edges of your center before sliding into your dripping core. 

“You’re so wet and so tight,” Kyojuro groaned as he moved his finger in and out of you, making eye contact with Akaza. “Why don’t you have a feel too?”

Your moan was louder as Akaza smirked and slid his finger into your cunt next to Kyojuro’s. Your breath was labored as the two men worked their fingers in and out of your hole, prepping you and stretching you open for their cocks. 

“Oh gods,” you moaned, your hips rocking against their hands. You looked up at Kyojuro, desperate. “I want to touch you too… please.”

“Such nice manners,” he smirked, not passing up an opportunity to kiss you passionately. 

He pulled back, leaving you breathless. He removed his finger from your cunt, but before you could whine Akaza shoved another of his own thick fingers in to replace it and curled them slightly so that they pressed against the gummy walls of your slick tunnel.

“Doing so good, pretty girl,” Akaza purred. He let out a satisfied laugh when your cunt clenched around his fingers at the praise.

Kyojuro moved back and let you lay down. He held his cock in his hand and dragged the leaking tip back and forth across your lips, smearing the pearls across your lips like gloss. “Three taps on my thigh if you want me to stop. Understood?”

“Understood,” you nodded, appreciating him giving clear instructions. It would seem even in bed he knew how to direct you. 

“Good. Now open wide,” he said, biting his bottom lip and stroking his cock. 

“Oh shit,” you moaned as Akaza’s free hand started rubbing your clit in time with the rhythm of his fingers. 

Kyojuro tapped his cock against your lips to remind you of what you were supposed to do. You leaned back your head and opened your mouth. You wanted to taste him on your tongue so badly you were almost giddy at the thought.

Kyojuro guided his cock into your mouth, groaning at the feel of it as he worked more and more in. Akaza’s movements on your cunt and clit slowed to a pace that kept you humming and aroused, but wasn’t overwhelming with Kyojuro’s actions.

You gagged as Kyojuro’s cock hit a certain spot in your throat. The constriction and ridges of your throat caused him to swear and grind his hips for a second longer before he pulled his cock all the way out. 

“Relax your jaw and use your spit…. Yeah… shit…. Just like that…” Kyojuro’s eyes were at half mast as he slowly fit more and more of his cock in. He rested a palm on your throat and pulled all the way out to the tip and slid back in several times. He growled softly at the feel of his cock in your throat against his hand. “Doing so good.”

He did this several more times before he changed to more shallow thrusts and he leaned over you. He pressed his fingers into Akaza’s mouth, getting his spit on them before working his finger into your seeping cunt alongside the two of Akaza’s. The moans you were trying to let out were vibrating along his cock and making him twitch against your tongue. 

Kyojuro removed his fingers, his hand moving up slightly to use two of his fingers to keep your pussy spread open for Akaza. You attempted to cry out in pleasure when Akaza put in a third of his own fingers to replace Kyojuro’s and his mouth returned to your clit.

He sucked, flicked and licked at the small bundle of nerves as Kyojuro’s hips moved faster and deeper again in your throat. 

You felt your body begin to tense and your cunt began to clench down on Akaza’s fingers as pressure started building in your lower belly. This was the stuff you dreamed about and you couldn’t believe it was actually happening. Your orgasm hit hard, shattering any coherent thoughts you still had as it tore through you.  

Kyojuro straightened up and pulled his cock out of your mouth just before you teetered off the edge. “There you go! That’s it! That’s our girl!”

His words of praise only added to your enjoyment. You cried out loudly in pleasure as your pussy coated Akaza’s fingers, lips and chin with your cream. Your head was thrown back and your back was arching off the table, legs trembling and eyes clenched shut. Akaza worked you through it, his fingers slowing and working to draw out your pleasure as long as he possibly could. 

You panted and worked to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the force of your orgasm. Your eyes opened to find Kyojuro squatting beside you. He stroked the side of your face tenderly and grinned. “You did well. Are you ready for more?”

You smiled back and eagerly nodded. “Oh gods, yes. Please.”

Akaza chuckled from between your legs and laid a kiss on the very top of your pussy. “Good, because I am dying to feel you on my cock.”

“Same,” Kyojuro chuckled. He helped you sit up slowly so you did not get a head rush. He tilted your chin up again and kissed you. He nipped your bottom lip. “I would like to see you ride Akaza’s cock. What do you think?”

“I think I would like that alot,” Akaza answered.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Kyojuro’s lips turned up in one corner in amusement.

“He took the words right out of my mouth. I would like that too. Very much,” you grinned and chuckled. 

“Then it's settled,” Kyojuro nodded and pulled back. 

Kyojuro moved to kneel by Akaza’s feet as the other man laid down on the ground. You scooted off the table and moved to straddle him, grateful it was not a far distance as your legs still felt like they were made of jelly. You settled down so that his cock was not inside of you, but sandwiched between your slick pussy lips. You leaned down and kissed him.

Akaza’s kiss was just as dominant as Kyojuro’s and you could taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into the kiss and moved your hips, sliding your juicy cunt back and forth over his hard shaft, giving yourself the friction you so wanted and covering him in your cream. 

The kiss heated up quickly and so did your movements. Akaza’s hands gripped your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the fat of it as he pressed you down against him. He pulled you back from the kiss by your hair. Just enough to be able to attach his mouth to your neck, sucking a bruise onto the skin and giving your ass a playful but resounding smack. 

“I need to be inside of you. Now,” he said firmly, his hand now rubbing where he had swatted you. 

You obliged, straightening up and lifting your hips so he could line the head of his cock up with your opening. With his hands under your ass he helped guide you so that you could sink down onto his cock. You threw your head back and cried out. “Oh fuck! Akaza! Your cock is so fucking big… I can feel you so deep…”

“Shit, you are so fucking tight,” Akaza said as he ground you down against him. 

You took a second to adjust before you started to move. With your hands planted on his broad tattooed chest for support, you began to move. You started with a back and forth rolling of your hips, only lifting up slightly, rocking on his hard cock. But soon, that was not enough.

You began to lift and drop in slow motion, pulling off more and more of his cock and dropping back down with a bit more force with each rise and fall of your hips. 

Your jaw hung open as you rode the pink haired man beneath you, watching the look of wild abandon in Akaza’s glossy eyes. He alternated between clenching his jaw and letting it hang slightly. His groans and grunts were becoming louder as you moved.

He was so handsome with that almost golden gaze, and his square jaw. He was an incredible sight beneath you. Watching the looks of pure enjoyment on his face made this moment even sexier because you were the cause of that.

Akaza’s hands moved to your face. He pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, and held up two fingers on the other hand. You opened your mouth and let him slide them in. The hand on your face slid down to rest on your throat, squeezing lightly as he fucked your mouth with his fingers and thrust his hips, fucking up into you. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth and slid them between the top of your folds to rub your clit as you moved. His fingers pressed more firmly on your throat and on your clit.

“Ride me harder,” he said. His eyes locked on the way your breasts bounced and swayed as you fucked yourself on his cock. 

You did as he said, digging your nails into his chest and leaving behind bright red crescent welts on his skin. The feel of him holding your throat and the back and forth, firm swaying of his fingers against your clit sent you over the edge.

“Ohhhh fuck!! Shit!! Akaza! I’m cumming!”

“Oh gods yes you are! Shit! You’re clenching me so tight! Shit! Good girl!” Akaza babbled as you bounced and rocked on his cock. His hands moved to grip your ass and help you move.

You dragged out your orgasm as long as you could. The pleasure and sensations pulsing throughout your body were incredible, and you never wanted them to stop. Your hips slowed to a stop and you sat on top of Akaza, still hard and throbbing within you, trying to catch your breath. 

A deep moan behind you caught your attention and you turned over your shoulder to see Kyojuro stroking his cock as he watched the two of you closely. He caught your gaze and the look in his eyes made you clench on the thick cock inside of you, making Akaza groan and dig his fingers into your hips. 

“Bend over more,” Kyojuro instructed as he met your eyes. 

You watched him stroke his cock for a few more moments before turning around to face Akaza. You smiled as you took in his disheveled hair, his flushed cheeks and the sheen of sweat glistening on his body like it did on your own. You were sure you looked no more put together than he did right now, but you really didn’t care.

You turned your head around and leaned forward as instructed, momentarily startled when Akaza suddenly pulled you forward. His lips met yours in a hungry, passionate way and he rocked his cock up into you a few more times, swallowing down your moans. He broke the kiss and moved his hands again to your ass.

His hands kneaded the fat of your ass and then spread you wide open for Kyojuro’s gaze. His thrusts were slow and deep, his feet now planted on the floor and he bent his knees. He used them to keep you as wide open. Akaza was obviously making a show of it for the flame haired man moving closer behind you and that only turned you on more.

Kyojuro leaned over your back, pressing his body against yours, his cock nestling between your ass cheeks. He kissed your shoulder and your neck before he moved to slightly to the side of you to kiss Akaza in a sloppy passionate manner. Your cunt clenched on Akza’s cock at the sight of them kissing.

“Oh fuck, that was hot.” You were not sure you had ever been more turned on in your life. 

“Liked that, huh?” Kyojuro chuckled against your cheek when they broke apart.

“Y-yeah. Fuck… ahh… yes, yes I did!”  Akaza’s cock was hitting all the right spots inside of you and it was hard to speak when you were fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back inside of your head. 

“Maybe later we’ll give you a little show, huh?” Akaza asked, one hand leaving her hip to hold her chin. “Yeah?”

“Please! Yes, please.” You were absolutely willing to beg, on your hands and knees, to see them together. The thought made your pussy clench again.

“Oh, fuck. Kyo, she clenches down so hard on me when we talk about it,” Akza groaned, sucking in his bottom lip.

“Is that so?” Kyojuro let out a dark chuckle. “Tell me, Akaza. Does her pussy also clench at the thought of the two of us fucking her at the same time.” 

The thought of having both of them inside of you at the same time almost made you cum right then and there. 

“Ohhhh fuck yes it did,” Akaza let out a deep breath and a shudder ran through his body.

“You like that thought, beautiful?” Kyojuro asked, his hands now groping up and down the sides of your body. 

“I do, I do!” You purred, tilting your head back so it rested on Kyojuro’s shoulder. Akaza took advantage and mouthed at your neck. You groaned and tightened your hands into fists where they rested against the floor. 

“We’ll let you have both of us, greedy little thing,” Akza teased and tugged on your nipples. He smirked at you and gave a roll of his hips making you moan at the sensation. “But first, I really need to see you get dicked down by Kyojuro.”

“Oh Gods, yes, please!” You whimpered when you felt Kyojuro’s thick cock twitch against you. You bit your lip, raising your hands and reaching behind you blindly for Kyojuro, desperately wanting to touch him. 

Akaza gave a dark chuckle before he smirked at Kyojuro over your shoulder. “So, how do you want to fuck her?”

“Why don’t you just scoot back a bit and have a nice, close, personal, upfront seat to the show?” Kyojuro said, his hands sliding up your rib cage to your breasts and squeezing them as he pressed you more firmly against his front. Akaza lifted his hips and squeezed your thighs, rocking against you in a teasing manner. Kyojuro locked eyes with him and in a more firm tone, that said there was no room for argument or discussion, he said, “Go on, Akaza. Get moving.”

Kyojuro proceeded to sit back on his knees and pulled you off of Akaza’s cock and into his lap, his arms wrapping around you instantly and his mouth on your neck. Akaza sat up and gave you another scorching kiss. That was broken when Kyojuro’s hand shot up into Akaza’s short pink hair and pulled his lips off of yours to crash into them with his own. He dominated Akaza’s mouth and the sight and sounds made your drenched pussy drip a little more, made you clench around nothing, wanting so badly to be filled again. 

Kyojuro yanked Akaza’s lips off of his and nipped his chin. “Go sit and be a good boy for a change.”

Akaza grinned and moved back a few feet to lean against the wall, his amber eyes watching every move the two of you made. He openly reached for his cock, still shiny with your pleasure, and stroked it as he took it all in. He licked his lips and made eye contact with you as Kyojuro began to move you forward so you were on your hands and knees, facing him with your ass up, legs and pussy spread wide open for Kyojuro behind you. 

You closed your eyes and bit your lip as large hands gripped your ass cheeks and spread them apart, opening your pussy even wider. You gasped and shivered as you felt Kyojuro’s tongue lick from your clit, up your slit and right into your hole. You cried out his name as you felt his tongue thrusting and swirling inside of you. He moaned against your folds and pressed his mouth even closer against you. His nose rubbed against you as he ate your pussy from behind, his hands on your hips holding you back against his gluttonous mouth as the absolutely sinful sounds of his feasting filled the room. 

“Tasty! So tasty!” He said as he pulled away, biting the fat of one of your ass cheeks playfully and laughing when you reached back to try and swat him. 

He grabbed your wrist and kissed your palm before letting it go. He positioned behind you and rubbed the head of his cock up and down your slit, groaning slightly at the feel of you while he gathered some of your honey on the swollen head of his cock.

“Oh fuck, Kyo!” You threw your head back and howled in pleasure as he bottomed out inside of you, his balls flush against your ass. You groaned at how full you felt, how deep you could feel him. In a tone that more resembled a pleasured groan than speaking you said, “Your cock is so fucking huge.”

“That is definitely something you can say louder, beautiful,” he chuckled. He leaned over and kissed between your shoulders, his hands on your hips massaged them in a gentle, firm way. “Let me know when you are ready for me to move. Take your time,” he laid open mouth kisses across the width of your shoulders. “Because I don’t think I’m going to be able to be gentle with you. Not this time. You two got me too worked up. Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Oh gods,” you almost sobbed. You reached a hand up to bury in his hair, pulling his head closer and giving him a desperate kiss. “I’m good. Fuck me, please, Kyo, fuck me.”

“I have waited so, so many years to hear you say those words,” he said, his intense gaze burning into your own. He ignored the “o” shape your lips made at that confession and kissed you again before he straightened up. 

You turned your head back around and found your gaze colliding with Akaza’s. Staring into his eyes your jaw fell open and you moaned, deep and low, as Kyojuro began to move within you. Your eyes fluttered close but your mouth still hung slightly ajar, guttural noise falling forth as the man fucking you from behind built up speed and force. He pounded into you, his growls and groans, moans and your name falling just as freely from his own lips as his cock split you open again and again. 

Kyojuro pushed down on your back, making you arch deeper and forcing you to lower your head to rest your cheek on top of your hands on the floor. He moved one leg, bending the knee and bracing his foot on the outside of your thigh to be able to go even deeper, even harder.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck Kyojuro!” You cried his name. He was hitting that perfect, hidden spot deep inside you on every thrust. You felt like every inch of you was tensing and shaking, damn near vibrating as you raced towards the edge once again.

“Are you getting close again? Am I going to get to feel you cum all over my cock too?” Kyojuro moved a hand from your hip to reach under you, shoving his fingers between your lips and fanning his fingers back and forth against your swollen clit in a firm, fast motion. “Keep your eyes open and on Akaza.”

A few more hard thrusts later and one perfectly timed bite on the crook of your neck had you screaming his name as you came, instinctively slamming your hips back into his thrusts. Your pussy was throbbing, spasming, pulsing, and absolutely coating his cock and balls with your pleasure. You were clenched down on his fat cock, never wanting this pleasure to end and dragging out your orgasm as your nerves spasmed and tingles spread from your skull to your toes. You closed your eyes as you tried to catch your breath.

“Good girl,” Kyojuro praised you as he slowed his hips to give you a slight reprieve as you panted and trembled beneath him. “Good fucking girl.”

“Can I come play with you guys too?” Akaza cut in, stroking his cock faster and harder, his grip on the thick length noticeably tighter than a few moments before. 

“Yes. Since you were such a good boy, you can come play too,” Kyojuro replied. You could hear the smirk in his voice and confirmed it with the reaction on Akaza’s features as he spoke. 

“Where do you want me, my lord?” Akaza got to his knees and prostrated himself sarcastically before them. 

“What do we say we turn your around and see if you can take both of us at the same time?” Kyojuro leaned over you again, his hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts and squeeze as he kept making shallow thrusts into you.

“Oh gods, yes please!”

You did not long to miss the feeling of Kyojuro’s cock being buried inside of you before he was laying on the ground and you were moving to straddle him and lower your cunt onto his cock. You both moaned as you sank all the way down, impaling yourself on him.

“I’ll be right back, you two keep going,” Akaza said, standing and leaving the room. 

Kyojuro’s hands on your hips started guiding you to move, helping you lift and set a rhythm as he stared up at you, pleasure dancing across his features and making your heart flutter. You glanced up as Akaza came back into the room, smiling at him before biting your lip and moaning as Kyojuro’s cock kissed a deliciously tender place inside of your gummy walls. 

Kyojuro slowed his thrusts as Akaza settled in behind you. He pressed you forward until you were laying on Kyojuro’s chest. The flame haired man held you close with one arm around your waist and the other on the back of your head, pulling your lips to his to be able to kiss you deeply and passionately. 

You heard the sound of a cap popping open just seconds before you felt cold gel on your other hole. Akaza’s finger started by teasing your tight muscle, running his fingers in a massaging way around the rim and just dipping the tip of his finger inside. He slowly worked his finger into your tight hole, his throbbing cock twitching with every sound you made.  

Kyojuro stayed still inside you as Akaza worked you open. He tried to distract you with kisses and nips. He offered words of praise sprinkled with lewd moans at the feeling of Akaza’s fingers thrusting inside of your ass, rubbing against the wall between his fingers and Kyojuro’s cock.

You were captivated by the new sensation of Akaza’s, now 3, fingers moving in and out of your ass. It felt so, so, so good. It was a pleasant pressure that only added to the feeling of Kyojuro’s cock still inside your pussy. “Oh shit,” you moaned, your chin resting on Kyojuro’s shoulders, hands underneath him holding onto him to ground you to reality.

“Feels good?”Kyojuro asked, his voice a deeper tone than usual as desire and the need to be fucking his cock up into you were taking over all of his thoughts, pushing him closer to the breaking point of his self control.

“Very,” you moaned, shivering as Akaza hit a sensitive spot. You licked your lips and pressed up a little to look over your shoulder at Akaza. Your eyes fluttered as he gently twisted his fingers and smirked at you with eyes already fucking you like you wanted his cock to be. “I want to feel you inside of me, Akaza.”

“Me too.” He let out a low moan and gave several more thrusts of his fingers into your tight hole before he withdrew them. 

Your face turned back to rub your chin against the side of Kyojuro’s head as his lips trailed the column of your neck, leaving a mark on the side opposite of Akaza’s 

“His cock feels so good. You’re gonna love this!” Kyojuro muttered against your skin. He pressed his lips to your ear. 

“You’re.. You’re a bottom?” you asked, his words sparking curiosity in your cluttered mind.

“We are both switches,” Kyojuro answered. 

“So that means you will get to watch both of us fuck each other and get fucked by eachother,” Akaza purred, leaning over you and mouthing at the back of your neck. “You’re one lucky little lady, aren’t you? To get to have us fuck you, and to get to watch us fuck?”

“Very, very lucky!” You muttered in agreement, a bit preoccupied to give a more enthusiastic response but meaning what you said.

“You ready?” Akaza kissed your shoulder.

You appreciated him checking again. “I’m good.”

“Just remember, you have to relax. Okay? Can you remember that for me?” Kyojuro pulled back and directed your chin with his thumb so you had no choice but to look into his big, beautiful, ochre and crimson eyes.

“Yes, I am pretty sure I can. I’m not fucked that dumb yet,” you turned your face to kiss him with a smile. 

“Then we still have a way to go it seems,” he pulled on your bottom lip. 

Akaza moved to be behind you again, his hands ran down your sides and kissed down your spine from your neck to the top of your ass. Kyojuro’’s hands spread you wide open. You recalled his words mere seconds ago and relaxed into him. 

Your breath stuttered and a whimper escaped your throat as Akaza pressed the head of his cock into your tight hole. He paused and rubbed hands up and down your back. He waited a few moments and began working more and more of his big, thick cock into you. Slowly rocking back and forth, feeding your ass inch by inch of his cock until he was seated fully inside of you.

“Oh gods, you are so fucking tight,” Kyojuro almost whimpered, his hands kneading your thighs.

“So. Fucking. Full,” was all you could manage to say. Your jaw hung open and your eyes had watered just the slightest bit.

You had never felt so full in your life. You took a few slow breaths before you gave your hips a little rock, making both men groan. It felt good, different but good and once again you wanted more. “Move, please… someone move…”

Akaza obliged, dribbling a bit more lube onto his cock to help lube your ass as he began to rock his hips. The feeling was so good. And the fact that this pleasure was still considered ‘forbidden’ made the act even better. You moaned and began to babble as Akaza’s thrusts became steady and picked up speed. Kyojuro waited until you seemed comfortable before he too started moving. 

You lost the battle and your eyes rolled back in your head at the pleasure coursing through your body as their cocks see-sawed in and out of your body over and over again. The feeling of being so full, of their cocks so fucking deep inside of you, of feeling their cocks brush against eachother through your walls was a high you had never experienced before but knew you were going to want again and again.

“More! Please… more!” you cried out, not even totally sure what it was you wanted more of right now, but it was the only word you could think of.

Their hands tightend on your body and the two men began fucking into you in earnest. Hard deep thrusts accentuated with the sounds of skin slapping together and the feeling of their balls colliding with your flesh. 

You cried out in pleasure as Kyojuro gripped your hair and pulled your head down so you were face to face. His eyes gleamed with enjoyment at the noise you made when he pulled your hair. He grinned before he kissed you deep, messy and hard. 

Akaza continue fucking his cock into you, but kept his grip on your hair. You were letting out the most delicious sounds he had ever heard in his life and he could hear them much more clearly with your face no longer buried into Kyojuro’s chest. Akaza moved a hand between you and began to toy your clit again.

You were so over sensitized, so full and they were fucking you so good that it didn’t take long for you to finish again. Cumming harder than you ever had in your life. You were clamping and spasming, pulsing and throbbing on both of their big fat cocks at the same time. Your wails of pleasure and their names only made them fuck into you harder and faster.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” Akaza growled out. “Where? Tell me where?”

“Right where you are!” you moaned, wanting to feel him cum inside of you. “Fill me up! Cum in my ass, Akaza!”

“Ah fuck!!” Akaza roared, slamming his hips into you and pulling you hips back to meet his until he came.

You moaned as you felt the throbbing and kicking of Akaza’s cock as he emptied his load inside of your ass and kept fucking into you until spent, praising how hot and tight and good your ass felt on his cock.  Kyojuro slowed his thrusts up into you for just a few moments, letting Akaza finish before he began to chase his own high.

“Oh, gods, yes! Shit, Kyo!” you moaned as his cock began to slam into your cunt hard and fast. His grip on your hips would probably leave bruises but you didn’t care. All you cared about right now was how good it felt to have Kyojuro fucking your cunt with his big, thick, veiny cock. You could feel Akaza’s cum dribbling out of your ass and down into your pussy as Kyojuro kept fucking you.

“Gods, you feel so good on my cock!” He growled, thrusting as hard and deep as he could. “I’m going to cum soon!”

“Cum in me, Kyo! Please, cum in my pussy!” you answered, lost in another wave of pleasure coming over you. You were still so sensitive from your last orgasm that you could feel yourself hurtling towards another at a rapid speed. “Wanna feel you cum in my so bad!”

Akaza’s cock slid out of you and his hand moved around your front, sliding between your and Kyojuro’s sweat slick pelvises, and ending between your slick, puffy folds to rub at your clit.  “Cum for Kyojuro, beautiful. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You can do that for him, right?””

“So good! I’m so good!” You nodded, your mind a pretty much a blank slate, fucked out completely.

You could tell Kyojuro was getting close by the way his rhythm was getting lost, his thrusts were getting sloppy, and he was pounding his hips into you in a feral manner, his growls and groans filling your ears.

He leaned closer, and pressed his lips to your ear, kissing it one time.Then he said in a firm tone just one word. “Cum.”

Your orgasm robbed you of your breath and tears of pleasure filled your eyes. You cried out his name over and over again as he pounded into you. “Oh, Gods! Kyo! Cum with me, baby! Fill me up!”

“Oh gods! Fuck, I’m cumming!” Kyojuro cried out, fucking up into your hot, tight, velvet core until he could go no more, spilling his seed into you and holding you in place, twitches and tremors running through his strong body as his orgasm raced through his veins.

Kyojuro worked to catch his breath and recover from his orgasm. He pulled you down against his chest and placed kisses on your shoulders. He wrapped an arm around your waist and with his other hand he reached for Akaza who gingerly leaned in closer to the other man’s touch and let his fingers rake through his short hair, cupping his head and pulling him down against your back so he could have both of you in his arms. Akaza’s strong arms moved to cage you and his hands slid over Kyojuro’s waist to slide underneath him and splay on his back against the floor. 

You laid between them, not even minding the extra weight of Akaza on your back. You were fucked senseless and lying inbetween the two men you had always loved. Full of their cum. 

This was definitely the most pleasurable, filthy, sexy, sweet, and respectful fuck you had ever had in your life. What a night to remember this was going to be! You had been spoiled like a princess, respected like a queen, and fucked like a whore. 

Thinking about the conversation earlier, you almost certain this was not going to be a one time occurrence and for the first time in a long time you were optimistic about the future. You relaxed into their embrace, soaking up their warmth and closeness. You let out a contented sigh. You had been right earlier, you thought to yourself. Life was good.

[zannilove]

Uncharted Moments

Word count — 1,018 Character(s): Caleb x non-descipt!reader Warnings: None Note: A little drabble for Caleb loosely based on this. I've been loving this man since he first appeared and I am beyond ecstatic to have him as a LI, not that ever doubted he would be. I purposely left out the "spicy" stuff to leave that up to reader's discretion.

The faint hum of the spaceship’s engines created a gentle vibration beneath you as you stepped into Caleb’s quarters. The air smelled faintly of him; clean, crisp, with a hint of something deeper, something that made your skin prickle in anticipation.

“You’re early,” he murmured, his violet eyes lifting from his holopad. A small smirk played on his lips, one that made your heart stumble in its rhythm. “I thought you’d be too tired after today’s mission.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “And miss an opportunity to distract you? Not a chance.”

Caleb chuckled, setting his device aside before stretching his arms lazily, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the day. “You should know by now,” He leaned forward, his voice dipping lower, smooth like velvet. “…you’re never a distraction. You’re an exception.”

The words sent warmth curling through your chest, and maybe a little lower, too. You perched on the edge of his desk, nudging his arm with your knee. “So, what’s next on the fearless Colonel’s schedule?”

He let out a small, exaggerated sigh, pulling up the digital interface on his wrist. “Well, according to this very official itinerary, I should be responding to messages.” He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “But I think I’d rather spend that time on… something else.”

Your breath caught as his fingers traced an absentminded pattern against your thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric, leaving a trail of tingling anticipation in its wake, like a teasing whisper. He was testing you, waiting. Caleb never rushed these things, he always made you lean in first, always made you crave it.

“And what if I asked you to stay on schedule?” you teased, though your voice betrayed you, already wavering.

His eyes darkened slightly, though his smirk remained. “Then I suppose I’d have to make my case.” His voice was smooth, but you could hear the challenge laced within it, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. He tilted his head. “Persuasively.”

He didn’t close the distance right away. Instead, he let the moment stretch between you, electrified and charged, until you finally gave in and reached for him. The satisfied hum he gave was almost infuriating, almost, but then his lips met yours, and you decided you didn’t mind letting him win... this time.

As the ship drifted through deep space, time seemed to slow, and for once, Caleb abandoned his schedule entirely.

` ` `

Hours passed in a haze of whispered words and stolen kisses, the line between duty and indulgence blurring with every passing moment. His touch was unhurried, deliberate, as if savoring every moment, every inch of your skin beneath his fingertips. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine as his lips traced a slow path along your collarbone, lingering just enough to make you gasp before retreating.

When Caleb finally pulled away, it was only to press his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. His fingers slid lazily along your waist, tracing delicate patterns as if memorizing the shape of you.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement, yet there was something softer beneath it, something unspoken. “I never deviate from my schedule like this.”

You smirked, though your heart was still racing. “Maybe you just needed a better reason to.”

He chuckled, his lips brushing your temple before his fingers ghosted over your bare skin again, leaving trails of warmth that made you shiver. “Maybe.”

He shifted, tucking you closer against him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat matching yours. Silence stretched between you, comfortable and full, until a sudden chime from his communicator interrupted the moment. Caleb groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“That would be the fleet expecting me to check in.” His voice was laced with reluctant amusement.

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You should probably check in. Wouldn’t want them thinking their leader has gone rogue.”

Caleb sighed dramatically before rolling over to retrieve his communicator. He flicked it open with practiced ease, his expression shifting into something more composed as he responded. “Colonel here. Status update?”

As the conversation unfolded, you watched him, admiring the ease with which he commanded respect. Even half-distracted, he was in control, every word calculated, every order precise. And yet, the moment he ended the call, that playful smirk returned.

“Now... where were we?”

You shook your head, laughing as he pulled you back down beside him, fingers tracing idle patterns against your spine. His body was warm against yours, anchoring you in the present moment, and as his lips found your shoulder, pressing slow, languid kisses along your skin, you knew neither of you were in any rush.

Caleb’s schedule could wait just a little longer.

` ` `

The next morning, you found yourself wrapped in the soft glow of the ship’s dawn cycle, Caleb’s arms still securely around you. His warmth seeped into your skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a quiet rhythm against your back. You sighed in contentment, enjoying the rare moment of stillness.

“We’re going to be late,” you murmured groggily, though you made no effort to move.

He hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head, not bothering to open his eyes. “Let them wait.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real protest in you. His fingers skimmed lightly over your arm, feather-light, as if savoring every second before his duties inevitably called him away. You felt the teasing curve of his lips against your temple as he spoke again, voice still thick with sleep. “Unless, of course, you want to be the one to tell the fleet why their captain is indisposed.”

You laughed softly, turning in his arms to face him, meeting those violet eyes that still held traces of drowsy warmth. “I’m sure they’d understand.”

His smirk deepened, one hand trailing lazily down your spine. “I think I’d rather keep this reason to myself.”

For once, being off schedule didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

[icedb1ackcoffee]

Ecologist!Reader aesthetic | Corrupted by Design | Feyd-Rautha x Reader

You stood out compared to the Harkonnens, in more ways than just one. You wore loose clothing: rich brown pants or skirts and deep greens tied around your torso and arms, sometimes flashes of red or blue—all washed out under any sunlight. You carried with you strange jars and herbs, your dark, sunblocking glasses atop your head if not perched on your nose, your waist satchel stuffed with samples—you must have looked completely alien to their more minimalist sensibilities. “You dress oddly for someone from the Imperium,” one of your workers remarked. “Is it your goal to one day turn into a plant, and not just look like one?”

Corrupted by Design (Rated E)

[wedontdeservethestars]

JOHNNY CAGE X SHORT CHUBBY READER I TELL YOU HE LOVES HIS WOMEN THICC

ANON I'M NOT EVEN GONNA SAY THIS A CORRECT OPINION BECAUSE IT'S SO CORRECT THAT IT'S A STRAIGHT-UP FACT. Johnny prefers his girls chubby change my mind!!!!!!!!!!! (Hint: you cannot)

Anyways I know I say that I never write smut but I uh. I did this time. Congrats anon you got me to come out of my shell for Our Boy

Content: reader has female genitalia, smut, fluff, body worship, overall just a Lovely Time between you two

(Pspspsps I also put this on AO3 if anyone would like the link for that teehee)

You had no idea what it was about red carpet events that made Johnny up act but, but every time he invited you out to accompany him, it was a constant fight not to let the paparazzi see his hands all over you. Not that you minded much, but hey, one of you had to have some decency. Maybe it was the stream of complementary alcohol, maybe it was seeing you all dolled up in a pretty silk dress, maybe it was the inherent nature of red carpet events essentially being an excuse to say, “Hey, look how pretty I am, look how pretty my partner is,” or maybe, just maybe, it was a combination of all three. 

Never mind, you thought as Johnny pushed you up against the front door. It’s definitely the dress. 

Just like they had been for the past few hours, his large hands were grabbing and squeezing ever part of you he could manage like a fucking kid in the pillow section at Bed, Bath & Beyond. And the more he felt each curve, the more excited he seemed to be getting, attacking your throat and shoulders and face with his mouth.

“Hey,” you chuckled breathlessly. “Easy.”

“Don’t know–” Another kiss on your neck. “What you’re talkin’ about–” This one landed on your soft jawline. “Doll–”

“Can we at least get to the couch or something before I’m fully nude this time?” you whispered, a smirk playing on your lips. Johnny looked at you very seriously and shook his head.

“No shot.” He grabbed he straps of your dress and, with a not-too-unhappy sigh, you slipped your arms out of them. Your puppy of a boyfriend knelt in front of you and slowly, teasing both you and himself, pulled the front of your dress down. He really did love how it looked on you, the tight material hugging every single rondure and roll, the deep red shimmering in each crease of the fabric. But even more than he loved you in that dress, he loved you out of that dress. 

You let out a soft sound as his hot sigh of breath tickled your skin when he saw you standing there just in your bra and panties. Without fail, he always acted as though he was seeing you for the first time whenever you were in any state of undress. 

“Fucking goddess,” he murmured, and then his lips were all over your front. He was hugging your thick thighs like they were the only thing that would save him. His mouth dragged all around your belly and chest, pausing on occasion to kiss more deliberately or nibble a piece of soft skin. Each pause earned a small gasp or sigh from you.

“Johnny,” you whispered. 

“Huhm?” He glanced up at you, midway through giving one of your love handles a hickey and not bothering to stop. 

“You’re…” Your thoughts swam madly. The only thing you could focus clearly on were the warm tingles coursing through your nerves. You could hardly put a sentence together. “I need you on top of me…”

A smirk fell upon his lips and he pulled away from your tummy, admiring his work for a moment. Then, he grabbed your ass with both hands and squeezed hard, humming. 

“I can do that.” 

In a flash, he was lifting you into his arms. You couldn’t stop a smile from coming across your lips–somehow it always surprised you when he carried you, even though you knew that he was more than strong enough to support your weight. All that time spent building up his muscles wasn’t just for show.

Your bedroom was an agonizingly long way away up a whole entire flight of stairs. Clearly, Johnny couldn’t wait that long, because he brought you to the nearest couch instead (well, technically it was a fainting couch; Johnny said he needed it for dramatics, whatever that meant). 

Johnny wasted no time in unhooking your bra and discarding it on the floor. Your panties were next. The velvet sofa felt foreign against your bare skin, but not unwelcome. He took a breath as he straddled you and began to unbutton his dress shirt. The whole while, he stared down at you. His brown doe-eyes gleamed with adoration. 

“Look at you,” his voice rumbled like distant thunder. 

“You’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?”

“Ohhh, longer than that,” he chuckled. His hands were tracing you again. He couldn’t seem to help himself. “I’m always thinking about this, stardust.”

“It’s so hard to tell,” you teased, your own fingers dancing along his toned thighs. His skin felt hot, and you didn’t think it was just because of the Californian summer heat. 

“Like it’s my fault?” He leaned down and peppered kisses all along one of your breasts. Pausing before continuing on, he grinned up at you, “How’m I supposed to keep it in my pants when I have the most gorgeous girl on earth around me all the time?”

A moan slipped out of you as he pulled your nipple between his teeth and grabbed the other between his thumb and forefinger. You squirmed beneath him and tried to get a coherent response out. 

“Can–God–can you–” Your breath was short. “Need you to touch me…”

“Yes, ma’am.” Johnny gladly slid himself down, taking the time to admire and graze your belly with his mouth. You could feel how hard he was against your plush thighs, one of which he grabbed and hung up over the back of the couch while the other he spread so it swayed over the floor. 

“God damn, you’re so fucking wet already, aren’t you?” he grinned, running a finger up your folds. You felt it all the way through your spine and it made you buck your hips up. 

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, dazed.

His tongue was next, pressing hard against you and flicking expertly between your sensitive lips. A sound that you had never made in your entire life escaped your throat. It only seemed to encourage Johnny as he quickened his pace. For once, he was completely silent save for the occasional grunt or groan, and for the absolute most blissful reason possible. You wanted to praise him, tell him to keep going and that you loved him and that you were in heaven right now, but your words wouldn’t work. Fortunately, the way you were moaning was probably sending the message pretty clearly.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, watching his head bob beneath you. From the way his own hips moved, you could tell he was rubbing his bulge against the couch as he worked on you. His hand, not to go unexercised, gripped one of your thighs–the one propped up on the backseat–and began to massage it. In turn, you yanked on his hair, making his groans vibrate against your pussy. You did it again and again, feeling your heart race. Warmth built up in your chest, and your stomach, and especially your nethers.

After a bit, you pulled his hair more gently, guiding his mouth away from you. Johnny seemed confused and hazy, like he’d just been pulled out of a dream. “I don’t wanna cum yet,” you whispered. You were too close, and too fast. You needed this to last. 

“Can do, babe.” He flashed a smile and sat up. “Gives me some time for this…”

You watched as Johnny finally pushed his slacks down and pulled his length out of his boxer-briefs. He was throbbing and hard, and as he began to stroke himself you could see his tip glistening with precum. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groaned, leaning his head back as he ran his thumb over his slit. 

Suddenly, you decided that you did need to cum. Right now, in fact. You grabbed his hips and guided them forward, an eager look in your eyes. Immediately, Johnny understood.

“Yeah?” he breathed, his lips curving into a smirk.

“Please,” you nodded. Johnny spat into his hand and rubbed it along himself. He tilted your rear up a bit and positioned himself at your entrance. He paused and looked down at you. He smiled.

“What?” you breathed.

The smile, mischievous and greedy, widened. He didn’t move. You let out a whine and pouted. 

“Johnny! Don’t—don’t tease, I can’t right now—“

“Then tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please?” You looked up at him with shiny eyes. “Please fuck me…”

He pushed forward—just enough to brush up against you. “I’m not convinced.”

“Please!” you cried out again. “I need it so bad, you feel so good, and—and I wanna cum, please?”

Johnny chuckled and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the center of your chest.

“Only I can make you feel like this. Right, baby?”

“Right,” you nodded quickly. “Yes. You’re fucking—amazing, and, and so hot…”

“Yeah, I am,” he whispered, and then without warning he slid right into you. You let out a whimper so loud that you clapped a hand over your mouth afterwards, your cheeks turning bright red at whatever that was. Johnny chuckled breathlessly and took your hand away, pinning it behind your head.

“No, no, babe. I gotta hear all those pretty little sounds my gorgeous goddess wants to make.”

On cue, the remark made you moan. He rewarded you with a firm thrust against your soft hips. His unoccupied hand sank into your side as he pumped over and over again.

“God—so pretty—“ he muttered. His face was growing several shades darker as he continued.

“Please, please,” you begged again, curling your fingers into fists.

“You close again?” His soft voice broke through.

“Mhmm…” You writhed for a moment before letting your body flow with his, both of you bouncing back and forth. Your eyes fluttered open every now and then. Each time you did, you saw Johnny gazing down at you, his eyes lusted over but filled to the brim with complete obsession with this. With you.

“Oh–” you whispered soon, squeezing your eyes shut. “Johnny, I–I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead, princess,” he nodded, his voice husky and low in a way that you only ever heard during times like this. It drove you over the edge. With one last cry, your legs quivered and you felt yourself close around him, causing a similar moan from him, and each nerve in your system was full of warmth and complete euphoria for a split second. Your breaths began to even out. Your muscles relaxed. Johnny pulled out as you lay there, panting, and finished the job for himself above you. A warm spray landed on your tummy as he grunted and groaned, and then it was over.

Both out of breath, both smiling like idiots, both completely satisfied. 

“Oh, babe,” Johnny sighed about nothing in particular. He sat back and let you shift into a more comfortable position. Everything felt warm and sticky, but you didn’t really mind. 

Johnny trailed a hand up your still-wet stomach and rubbed it gently across all your belly, coating the front of it with his cum. You gave him a shaky sigh at the gesture. It felt strangely nice. 

���I’d offer to clean you up, but you look so pretty like this,” he admitted, giving you a half-hearted shrug. You laughed softly as he stood up anyway and, after nearly forgetting to tug his boxers up, wandered down the hall to one of the first-floor bathrooms, leaving you to bask in the veil of after-arousal. 

You didn’t even notice he’d returned until you felt the towel touch your skin, damp with warm water and no doubt imported from some European country. Once you were all cleaned up, you reluctantly sat up and noticed the dark velvet of the couch was stained where you two had been before.

“Oops,” you chuckled, feeling a little guilty for ruining the luxury fabric but not enough to regret anything. 

“Eh, that’s what the maids are for,” Johnny shrugged, taking a seat beside you. He rested his head against your chest, sighing contentedly.

“I’m so tired now,” you mumbled. “We didn’t even do much…”

“Minus the whole night of drinking and partying?”

“I guess.” You rolled your eyes and rumpled his hair. The pomade he’d slicked it back with had come loose a few hours ago, leaving several strands hanging down in his face. It was cute.

“You’re pretty,” he said suddenly. 

“So you’ve said.” But it still made you blush.

“I know. But I mean it. You’re the prettiest…ever,” he decided on. 

“Hun,” you laughed softly. “Well, thank you.”

“I’m lucky.” He pouted for a moment as he thought. “People always say that. I get lucky breaks and lucky with auditions and lucky with all the deals…but that’s not luck. It’s charisma and talent and whatever. Lucky is, is meeting someone like you out of the blue. Finding you out of seven million people on this earth.”

“Billion.”

“Huh?”

“It’s seven billion people.”

“Whatever.” He buried his face in your chest, muffling is speech. “You get my point.”

“I do,” you whispered. You stroked his hair again and smiled as he gave you a big squeeze. You said, “I love you, too.”

[the-videodame]

hey bg3 fic writers. if your Tav has a name that isnt "Tav" then use the damn "named tav" tag on ao3 or im beating you to death with hammers

[porcelaintoybox23]

Me: getting into an x reader post

The post: your pale skin, your light complexion, you blush

Me: black as hell 😑

[apprenticestanheight]

me when my default job for the reader to have in any given reader insert fic I write changes completely bc the course of what I think of as a decent job has changed: W O A H !!

[tokoyamisstuff]

omg I definetly need more about the Invincible variants if you may!!

Second Chance At Love Pt. 2

After -> this <- silly lil' adorable idea by @rainydaygotham (but I made Reader a civilian instead).

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: stockholm-syndrome, mentions of death, angst, (fabricated) tragic backstory, canon divergence, not proofread

A/N: whew, I never imagined you people would enjoy it this much. thanks for all the feedback, it really means the world to me! 💌🐞

"Our satellites found the missing variant, Sir."

"And what?" Cecil unintentionally stared daggers towards Donald, probably due to the stress and the fact that both of them had given their everything those past 32 hours. "Spit it out, damn it!"

Even through the reflection of his glasses Donald's mannerism were an open book for the head of the GDA, and right now he acted like he always did when he was unsure how to deliver troublesome information to his boss.

But this time it wasn't particulary bad news that made him hesistant, but the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"He-he is...with an old friend of our Mark, and...currently not attacking anyone."

The elder man rubbed his temples, lack of sleep being a steady companion in this profession but damn his advancing age sure made it harder to function properly.

"I want him on screen immediately!" he commanded harshly, voice not even slightly hinting the extent of his exhaustion.

This one apparently is more clever than the original Mark if he was able to slip past their organization's surveilance, Cecil concluded as the spitting image of his involuntary ally popped up on the monitor.

The young Viltrumite perfectly blended in with the crowd, sitting in a tiny suburban cafè far away from all the chaos. On the opposite end of the coffee table were you - not an unknown face to the GDA solely because of your affiliation with the world's strongest hero.

Cecil worked his jaw in irritation at the unfitting piece to this mess of a puzzle he was expected to solve. No way one of them came here merely to catch up with an old acquaintace...

...and yet for now, there were more urgent matters that he was needed to tend to first.

"Keep an eye on them and report shall he do anything out of the ordinary." As if this right now wasn't enough. "As long as he's preoccupied we have one less monster to worry about...for now."

Meanwhile you were sitting in front of your still untouched drink, watching your reflection on the liquid surface.

There was a radio running in the background, almost constantly updating you about how the other variants were still wreaking havoc everywhere, laying waste to the world as you knew it while you were trapped here acting as if it's a normal fucking tuesday.

You really shouldnt't be playing all domestic with a man that's just as much of a villain as his alternate selves currently on the run, and yet you keep reminding yourself that the only reason you're still alive is the uncertain benevolence of that very same person.

Trying to convince him to see the error of his ways or maybe even switch sides was out of the question - this Mark, just as the other sociopaths you saw in the news, has totally lost it a long time ago. You should be glad that he currently entertains himself with this little obsession of his, but that's no guarantee he couldn't snap and reduce you to a bloodied pulp any time.

And still, even though you have no other choice, it felt so terribly wrong to have a date - that felt more like a hostage situation - during an international emergency of apocalyptic scale.

Starting to feel sick as reality of your predicament dawned on you once again, you shoved the cup to aside, bracing yourself to interact with your kidnapper that hasn't initiated anything by himself until now.

Invincible on the other hand had destroyed Levi's orb long before finding you, never having disclosed his true intentions of joining this war. Also, with all the damage he's done the other 19 versions of himself would be sufficient, surely their 'boss' wouldn't care if one went astray from the plan. Not that he ever trusted Angstrom to not stab him in the back at some point, so who cares.

Back in the day you always had some spare clothes for this world's Mark in your room, in case he needed them - which was frankly quite often as they tend to get either torn or bloody from spontaneous fights. Maybe it was the sentimental value that made you keep them long after your friendship had ended, but right now they came in handy.

The other Mark nervously picks and tugs on the fabric, not used to wear civilian clothing after what felt like an eternity. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable to present himself this way. For years his costume had served as a barrier between himself and humanity, a symbol that the person he once was had long since ceased to exist so his Viltrumite side could rise.

Still, those familiar clothes, especially since given to him by you of all people, offered a strange comfort all the same.

At least he looked remotely normal like this, but god this man can be awkward at times. Some things really never change, even across different dimensions. Right now he was a perfect picture of misery, looking at you expectantly like a lost puppy that had just been kicked. Almost adorable, if you shun out the circumstances.

An uninvolved stranger would never believe that this is the villain who reduced entire cities to ashes just a few hours ago.

"So" you finally dare speaking up, casually leaning back in your seat as you take a sip of your already ice cold drink."I take it you're not a Seance Dog fan anymore?"

Noticing the bright logo on his shirt, Invincible actually managed to crack a smile - that trademark lopsided smirk of his that seemed more like a snarl now that you saw it after all this time. "Oh, you'd be shocked: The author is actually one of the few people I deliberately kept alive."

He's right, you are shocked not only with the answer, but the delivery as well. Suddenly you regret having pried in the first place. "Just a joke" he adds as soon as he sees the slightest shift of your expression, clutching the edge of the tabletop in frustration until it left a dent of his handprint.

You don't want to laugh. This isn't even remotely funny, and his reaction was awfully concerning as well. And yet you force yourself to snort, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to keep up the facade. "Glad to know you're as much of a weirdo as the original one."

It amazed yourself how calm and collected you could act, despite being as terrified of him as in the very beginning. Maybe you got used to the feeling already, or you had discovered a hidden talent of working well under pressure. May apply for a job at the GDA if you're ever alive and free again.

For the remaining duration of this afternoon, the two of you exchanged trivial stories about the past with your respective counterparts, many of whom were shared experiences. And as much as you tried to deny it, deep down you were aware you enjoyed this conversation more than you should.

There were only mild differences between your two dimensions as it seemed - at least when it came to your friendship, that was.

Invincible was pretty secretive about anything else really, but judging from the bits he threw in between you deduced he got his abilities way earlier than your Mark, which caused his father to never lose track of his original goal.

Occasionally Mark would state contradictionary opinions and you were sure most of it was just him mindlessly repeating the indoctrination his father had hammered into his head through inhumane methods.

You can only imagine what it meant for a gentle, sensitive soul like Mark to be subjected to a Viltrumite upbringing.

The sun was already starting to set when you were scooped up once again, however this time around you weren't afraid of the height in the slightest. You felt his chin resting atop of your head as he carried you through the sky, holding you firmly but carefully like you were a precious porcellain doll - and compared to his strenght you might as well be.

Yet all you could think of was the beauty of the twilight sky, and how oddly content you felt at that very moment.

Your date had promised to bring you to a secret location with a breathtaking view, and he really did not disappoint. It was in the midst of nature, absent of any human intervention. Just the two of you, surrounded by the sounds of the earth and the sight of the most horrible day in history of mankind slowly coming to an end.

Invincible spread his jacket out for you to sit on, and you secretly appreciated the gesture. A murderer, but also a gentleman, you mentally noted. Ironic. He slumped down on the damp grass an appropriate distance away from you, subconsciously starting to rip out some leaves.

You lean your head against his shoulder and he freezes in his tracks at the unexpected display of affection - or at least he hopes it's the absence of fear. For a long while you remain like this, admiring the view and each other's closeness, until you disturb the comfortable silence.

"How did you..." You hesitated for a moment, but then you met his eyes, so completely and utterly filled with genuine affection that caused something to blossom beneath your ribcage which you didn't want to acknowledge.

Even though you were still wary of him, it was hard to stay objective in the proximity of a literal carbon copy of the love of your life in nearly every single way.

"...how did you become like this?"

There was a long pause between your question and his answer.

"I got my powers shortly before my 13th birthday..." In hindsight, after having met the other variants who got them even earlier, it could've been worse. At least he was granted a few good years. "...and from then on, everything suddenly changed. My mom had an 'accident', so my dad was left to raise me on his own. It was-"

Mark's voice cracked, eyes glossed with unshed tears he was long since taught to repress as they were a sign of weakness. "The only times I felt truly happy was when I sneaked out to see you...I think for a long time those visits were what kept me sane. But nothing went past him..."

He balled a fist in the fabric over his sternum, and there was so much agony in his tone that it made your own heart clench painfully. "Dad- no, he's not a father. Never was. Anyways, Nolan tolerated it for a while, thinking I'd outgrow this sentiment and understand humans are beneath us. But when I turned 18..."

A tidal wave of shame and guilt washed over him, making him unable to bear looking at you as he continued his story. "He made me watch...I should've done something, I should've defended you, but...I was so scared of him. I just stood there when he snapped your neck."

The disclosure of the other's fate ultimately caused the panic attack that was seething inside of you ever since your first encounter with this variant to finally unravel. You frantically tug on your collar as you began to hyperventillate, feeling as if it was actually your neck that was being assaulted.

"Don't worry, I took care of it..." Invincible still had his face buried in his hands, and there was an eerie coldness in the following statement. "It took me a while, but I got stronger just to avenge you...ripped his sorry excuse of a heart right out of his fucking chest."

That's hardly a solace for either of you, isn't it.

Mark looks down at his palms as vivid images of his past crimes creep up on his mind, accompanied by a neurotic laughter that could only be described as absolutely broken...

...until you cup his hands with yours, the gesture conveying emotions you would never be able to put into words.

"Everything felt so pointless after you were gone..." he snivels, not resisting as you couldn't help but tug his head towards your lap. "You have no idea what emptiness you left behind...at some point I started doing unspeakable things just in order to feel something, anything to distract myself from the grief..."

You hum in between choked sobs, weeping for this lost soul as you rake your fingers through his hair, listening to him repeat countless apologies. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...I should've just flown into the sun...I should've been stronger, better...I didn't want to become cruel...I wanted to be good...for you..."

What were you even doing here? Have you lost your mind?! Snap out of it, this is insane!

"Shh...it's enough. Stop tormenting yourself." No. He deserves far worse. Victim of circumstance or not, this man is beyond saving.

"Accompany me to my homeworld. Let me indulge you the way you deserve. Never leave me again" was what he desperately wanted to say, but instead he gulped harshly around the lump forming in his throat before announcing "I'll take you back home soon...phase one of Angstrom's plan is over, the variants will leave and you're safe again."

"Huh? I thought-"

"Drop the performance" he ordered as he fought to regain his composure. "You can speak freely. I meant what I said, I won't hurt you. Even if you hate me, even if you hurl all kinds of insults and accusations at me...I can take it. I'm just grateful for today. I'll cherish this memory forever."

Yes. This was more than he could possibly ask for. He already destroyed the life of your counterpart in his world, it's not fair of him to do the same to someone so precious twice.

Mark doesn't care what happens to him from now on, because thanks to you he was able to make peace with what happened.

"Come." He jolts up as he wipes his tear-stained cheeks clean, not biding you another look as he fears that otherwise he won't be able to pull through with his good intentions. "It's getting cold, we should-"

"No!"

Out of a whim you tackle hug the Viltrumite, who is caught off guard enough to stagger and fall. You softly punch against his chest and he allows you to let it all out, though he has no idea what you're on about.

"You-you're not like those other variants of Mark...please..." Your bottom lip is trembling as you speak, voice wavering with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher yourself. "Don't leave. If you have nothing to live for in your timeline, then...just stay in this one."

"And then what? Go to the Pentagon and say 'hi, I'm one of the Invincibles that ruined simply everything, but now I'd like to stay here'? They'll never believe that I don't have an ulterior motive!"

"So what? It's not like they can contain or even scratch you. And even if they could, I-I'll make sure to visit you every day!" You giggle like an infatuated teenager as you add that last sentence, and even a maniac like him realizes you must've lost your mind.

God, this is all his fault...

"What are you even talking about?" he almost yells, now on top of you and softly grabbing your shoulders to shake you ever so slightly. "Why are you trying to convince me? That can't seriously be what you want!"

"I-I...don't know." You're staring straight at him now, a stubborn determination in your eyes that almost frightens this unstoppable man. Wrapping your arms around his neck to make your foreheads touch, you whisper "All I'm sure of is that you didn't deserve any of this, and maybe...shit, just give us some time to figure it out, would you?"

Mark's hands were hovering over your body, giving it his best to hold back yet it was a lost battle before it even started. He utters vile curses under his breath before finally crushing you flush against his body, lips brushing against yours as if to ask for permission. You're quick to take the initiative, tossing all reason overboard as you give in to this all-consuming madness some might call hope...

...but just when you were about to pull him in for a long overdue kiss, the man that was straddling your waist mere seconds ago had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The soundwave reached your ears much later than the actual impact, and much to your shock, when you saw not one but two Invincibles - yours having been knocked into a nearby rock formation - you immediately understood what it meant.

"Mark, wait!" you screamed, but your plea went on deaf ears.

After everything your world's Invincible had to endure those past few days, he wasn't even slightly in an amenable constitution. The only thing he was able to feel at this moment was rage, and he needed to direct it to something or otherwise he'd burst.

Sadly the next best target of his fury was the variant right in front of him - a man who not only attacked his homeplanet, but tried to violate someone he once held dear.

Mark will make him pay for trying to harm you.

"C'mon, stand up. Right now all I want to do is hit something...as hard as I can."

[Next Part]

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (sorry!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), teammates to lovers, angst, talk of insecurities, john is an asshole who’s emotionally constipated, mention of violence, wound tending trope, heavy kissing, groping, teasing, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, mild body worship, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, missionary position, john has a huge praise kink, aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen ,,, I know he’s a bad person & he’s flawed but he’s so well-written and hot … and it’s wyatt russell !! first time writing for john and I loved this, I hope you guys love it too! thank you so much for your support! 🫶

Ash floats through smoke-laden air in the aftermath of an explosion, chunks of a building blown into the streets, screams of civilians pounding within your ears. Time stills, as if it’s come to a crawl, and everything slows around you.

Missions still paralyze you from time to time, fear and doubt creeping in, keeping you frozen in-place. It’s gotten somewhat easier, adapting to chaotic situations, attempting to fit in with your new teammates.

A clammy perspiration clings to your flesh beneath your suit, the design nondescript. Valentina had pushed for something flashy, more in-line with your abilities, but you refused. The less that you stuck out, the better.

It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the rest of the team, healing powers at the expense of your own energy, but you were designated as the ‘medic’, for obvious reasons. Whenever someone was injured or too roughed-up, you were there to help.

“You still with us over there?”

John Walker’s snide quip emanates from the communication link sitting in your ear, and it’s enough to effectively shatter your stupor. It wasn’t a malicious remark — just a little annoying, likely furthered by his tone of voice.

Steve Rogers was someone you knew, years ago — an acquaintance, really, but he’d helped get you out of a bind with undercover H.Y.D.R.A operatives. When he wore the shield, when Sam wore the shield, it stood for something greater than themselves.

Walker had been thrown into enough turmoil already; losing the role of Captain America, murdering an innocent, losing his family. It was all his fault, he knew this — it didn’t make the pain any less, knowing he was at the root of it all.

The both of you butted heads more often than not, two differing personalities that clashed in verbal sparring matches or thinly-veiled hostility. You’d tried to empathize with him, but he made it difficult with his condescending attitude.

Bucky had played mediator more times than you could count — you didn’t enjoy getting angry, the feeling never benefited you. Nevertheless, you were trying to get along with Walker and learn to work better as teammates.

Things were progressing, albeit slowly. Even after extending the olive branch and being kind to him, maybe too nice, he still held some lingering indifference towards you.

“I copy.” In the aftermath of thwarting enemies of the state, you prefer to help the civilians, ensuring that they were out of harm’s way, healed. Jogging toward a group of people attempting to move rubble aside, you’re quick to assist.

“There’s still one more, if someone wants to take care of it,” Ava’s voice comes over the communicator, muddled by background noise of emergency vehicles. “Unless you need help.”

“I got it.” Quick to volunteer, Walker’s voice cuts in before dissipating. You’re busy helping move wreckage aside, freeing any trapped citizens and making way for ambulances. Wailing sirens fill the air, and things move swiftly.

The air smells of burning, intermingled with a twinge of copper, a streak of crimson splashed upon your cheek. It’s a shallow cut, something trivial and minor, muscles aching with a dull throb after the dust begins to settle.

Helicopters begin to circle overhead, the media soon to follow. It was some rogue section of former H.Y.D.R.A operatives that had caused this mess, and with the formation of the New Avengers, these threats seem to appear more often.

The public is torn — one side openly celebrating that there’s protection again, the other side scornful of a ragtag group of government rejects. You aren’t one to pay attention to the discourse, focusing on finding your own footing, building relationships and making amends.

Despite having the team to lean on, you had a complicated relationship with your own family. After your powers manifested, you became isolated, kept at a distance, prompting you to run away and find S.H.I.E.L.D, when it still existed.

Still, you felt alone sometimes, but the pain had lessened with the passage of time. Alexei, of all people, treated you like a daughter, and Ava proved to be a reliable friend, despite her constant grimace. The more you assimilated with them, the more the bitter sting dissipated.

The team was a conglomerate of fragmented pasts — scars, veiled wounds, regrets; but they had become your family, or something close, and that meant the world to you.

As first responders began to flood the scene, you regrouped with the rest of the team, scraped and battered from the fighting, but all intact. Bucky and Yelena typically helmed any media events following a battle, but this time, everyone wanted to go home.

“Look at us,” Alexei laughs, placing a hand on John’s shoulder, and Yelena’s. “We are good team! The best team that the world has ever seen!” He cheers, and you find his enthusiasm endearing. John winces, stepping away from the Russian’s hold.

“You say that after every mission.” Yelena points out, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The jet is somewhere down the street, and you all begin the arduous process of walking back.

“It is to remind of the truth, of our strength.” Alexei boasts, gleeful as ever as he jogs to keep up with Bucky. Bucky’s taken to letting him pretend that he’s the “co-captain”, just to keep his spirits high.

Morale is Alexei’s specialty — there is never a dull moment when he’s around, and his enthusiasm evokes a small smile from you, curling at the corners of your mouth. Dull, throbbing pangs of sore muscle ebbs through your body.

Straggling along at the tail end of the group, you step through some of the smaller pieces of rubble, a majority of what remains to be disposed of by a clean-up crew. Your mind is elsewhere, and the idea of sleeping once you’re back to the Watchtower is very appealing.

John is there too, uncharacteristically quiet as he walks a pace or two ahead of you, and you notice the slight stutter in his gait. There’s crimson blooming from a gash on the back of his suit, a deep wound, and your brows furrow together.

He didn’t say anything about it, which is typical, but you can’t help but be concerned. You didn’t dislike John, simply abhorred his attitude and the way he sometimes believed that he wasn’t at-fault.

Closing the distance, you come up on his flank, softly clearing your throat. “You’re hurt,” You murmur, low enough for only him to hear. He has an issue with getting injured, as if his pride is simultaneously bruised, so you keep it cordial. “I can take care of it.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept your help, allowing himself to fester within the pain, as if it’s some sort of penance for all the wrong he’s done. His muscles ache, and the gash, bruises, and cuts don’t make anything easier.

“I’m fine,” Dismissive, John brushes your concern aside, focusing on getting back to the jet without collapsing. The serum does its part, easier to manage the pain, but it doesn’t take away the sting. “It’s not that bad.” He utters, hoping you’ll drop it.

It’s his tone again; bitter, indifferent, swatting your offer aside as if you’re more bothersome than helpful. For reasons you can’t explain, it makes you angry, as if he’s too good for your help. Your jaw clenches, and you try again.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, John. When we get back to the Watchtower, I can —”

“I said I’m fine.” Walker retorts, snapping at you without hesitation. It’s born from an amalgamation of agony and his own innermost demons that he’s wrestling with. He stares ahead, not wanting to look at your expression.

Bewildered, you fight against getting frustrated with him, wondering if there’s something that extends beyond his surface-level condescension.

Though, you wonder what you did to make him hate you so much — you sparred about the past, sure, but you were trying to bury the hatchet.

As if pierced by something sharp, you scoff, attempting to smother the flicker of fury that burned within your chest. It overrides your judgment, mouth moving before you can tell yourself to stop. “What’s your problem with me? Jesus, Walker, I just want to help you.”

The both of you are far away enough for the rest to remain oblivious to your sudden squabbling, and John grits his teeth, a sharp inhale splitting his lungs. “I can handle this on my own.” His tone is edged, but there’s something more beneath the surface.

Cerulean hues issue a warning for you to drop the subject, and you do, albeit reluctantly. Anger diminishes into confusion, uncertainty; you didn’t understand. Despite your efforts, he continued to swat you away as if you were a pest.

The splinter of desperation in your cadence turns his stomach, verbal sparring settling into a tenuous silence. John steals a glance despite himself, noticing the forlorn look that is etched into your brow, as if you’ve done something wrong.

He knows it’s not you — never has been, it’s him. John’s agitation dwindles into guilt, knowing that your intentions were wholly good, selfless. It’s something that he wishes he could have, and he’s working on it, but the process is emotionally heavy.

Scorned, you keep pace with him, even if he’s pushed you aside, ensuring that he makes it to the jet intact. The rest of the team regards you with perplexity, though you’re dismissive of it, settling into the webbing of your flight-seat.

The aftermath is often hushed — bodies catching their breath, a wordless recuperation, senses beginning to climb down from heightened adrenaline. Bucky’s piloting you out, heading back to the Watchtower.

Exhaustion settles in, replacing the exhilaration that comes with missions, the surge of vigor in your bloodstream. Tilting backwards, your head meets the cool interior of the jet, engine’s idle buzz thrumming beneath your boots.

John sits beside you, unexpectedly, his strenuous sigh rattling your body, passing from the bulk of his bicep to you. His visage is contorted into a look of thinly-veiled wistfulness, glancing sideways at you, a faint grimace of apology.

Quiet, you don’t relocate, simmering in the silence without so much as a murmur. Copper stings your nostrils, the scent of his blood, and you pretend that it doesn’t phase you; it does.

Your arms loosely fold over your chest, listening to the drone of the quinjet. The ride home is short, shorter than expected, and you’re eager to crawl beneath scalding water and let it burn the rush away.

As Bucky prepares for landing on the helipad outside, your gaze flutters toward John, whose stare is attempting to sear through the metal walls of the jet’s interior. He seems gone, as if his mind is a thousand miles away.

It was the same look he had when you were in the Void with him; loathing, conflicted, ripping himself apart for you to see.

The jet tremors violently as it descends onto the helipad, the noise scraping against your ears, a sound that’s still jarring to you. John remains unphased — he’s done it hundreds of times, terse as the hull begins to open.

Saying something now seems meaningless, words fading to ash within your throat, raw from thirst. Your fingers idly curl into the sleeves of your suit, tension relinquished as the team begins to file out of the jet, bearing the bruises and scrapes from the mission.

When you enter the Tower, a sense of relief finds you, the comfort of home, shoulders slouched as you make for your room. Bob is lingering beside the window, a book in his hand, headphones dangling from his ears.

“Good work today,” Bucky calls, attempting to boost morale. He’s at the helm, trying to steer this ship in the right direction, but it’s harder than it looks. “Get some rest.” He moves toward the lounge, hoping to get a status update on the cleanup.

Alexei chimes in with an echoed remark about how everyone did a good job, mirroring Bucky’s own statement. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth despite yourself, feet dragging as you sluggishly stumble toward your room.

Through the light clamor, you don’t see John, disappearing through the tinted pane of your door, feeling it hiss and click behind you. Your room is warm, cozy; it’s a sanctuary you’ve created, making something within the ruins of your old life.

A hush falls throughout the Tower, typically a quiet evening after returning from a mission. Outside, the skies turn to a swirling ink, veiled by heavier clouds that signal the onset of rain.

Peeling away your suit, your flesh is exposed to the coolness of your quarters, glittering with a layer of perspiration, body speckled in light cuts and fresh bruises. The shower calls your name, inviting, and you marinate beneath the water for half an hour.

Bruises pulse with a dull ache, remnants of crimson swept away by the water, leaving you renewed as you change into loungewear. Perched along the edge of your bed, you towel-dry your hair, gaze flickering toward your door.

You shouldn’t be the one to apologize.

The thought of checking on John crosses your mind, and then it stays, leaving you frustrated and torn. You didn’t hate him, you never have; if anything, you were left wondering why the strange hostility still lingered, after everything.

Even then, your desire to help overrode the brief spat that you had. He was your teammate, and leaving him to lick his grievous wounds without ensuring his safety felt cruel.

A tremulous inhale invades your lungs, steeling yourself as you cross into the corridor, leaving your room behind. His quarters are down the hallway, towards the very end, marked by blanched lights on either side.

No one sees you, and you creep over the cold tile as if you might be apprehended in the process. The walk there feels as if it’s stretched on for an eternity, taunting you with each step as you make it to the tinted panel.

His lock is off, you realize, and you try to knock, the sound eerily soft. There’s nothing, only an awkward stretch of silence that makes you shift uncomfortably, the chill of the floor sending a shiver down your spine.

“John?” Abandoning the use of ‘Walker’, you idly pace before the door, weaving in idle circles as you wait for him to answer. Still, nothing — you wonder if it’s intentional, if he’s purposefully ignoring you to prove a point.

Intending to ask for forgiveness later, you slide the door open, stepping into his room with a twinge of anxiety. You shouldn’t be skulking around in here, but his lack of answer had you worried — more than you should’ve been, really.

“So much for knocking,” His voice cuts through your scrambled thoughts like a serrated knife, though lacking the sardonic poise. “Could’ve waited a minute.” John utters, and you spot him in his bathroom.

Startled, your gaze draws to him, attempting to patch himself up with bloodsoaked fingertips and a disgruntled countenance. His back is facing the mirror, head craned over his shoulder, blonde brows creased together, throat stirring with a noise of agitation.

“You didn’t answer.” With a weak protest, you hover in the doorway, shuffling forward to let it close with a subtle click. Everything seems devoid of personal decorum in his room, as if he’s still deciphering what goes where, some belongings still in boxes.

“You didn’t give me a chance.” John retorts, lips parted to make room for a strained sigh. He’s been harsh enough today — he recollects, composes himself, and lets his guard waver.

“I was worried about you.” The weight of your confession brings him pause, hand poised against his back, attempting to apply gauze. He’s failing miserably, cerulean hues darting toward you, arms folded over your chest.

John stops, jaw tense as he huffs with frustration, discarding the roll of gauze onto the bathroom countertop. The low glow of the light glitters against his skin, pleasantly sunkissed, muscles taut and broad, speckled in violet bruises.

There’s a rawness to him, sinewy yet firm, the honed strength of a trained soldier. He’s visceral, nothing grossly herculean, but he’s worked for his physicality, sacrificed plenty for it.

You realize you’ve been ogling him, gaze carefully tracing over the blonde hair smattered over his chest, trailing along his abdomen before it disappeared beneath his tactical pants.

Tendrils of heat snake across the back of your neck, a twinge of something desirous stirring within your stomach. You aren’t used to it, and you feel yourself attempt to rip your gaze away to something else; and you can’t.

He’s a man beneath it all, beneath the shield, the armor, the facade of an inflated swagger, all of the peacocking — he’s vulnerable, now. John’s countenance softens, startled by the sincerity that permeates your voice.

It’s unusual for him to be this quiet, as if you ripped the bravado and smugness right from his throat. Pacing forward, you decide to extend the offer again, hoping that he’ll accept your help and throw away the pride.

“I can help,” Your tone is disarmingly tender, something that John knows he’s undeserving of, given his behavior towards you. You vex him, but not because of your demeanor — he’s falling, and he’s trying to stop himself; he can’t. “Please.”

John concedes, head bobbing in a brief nod as he turns to face the mirror, lukewarm water ridding the crimson that stained his fingers. Coiled muscle cuts across his back, flesh littered in old scars and a colorful variety of bruises.

With a soft exhale, you awkwardly move into the doorway of the bathroom, blanketed by the pale orange of the lights, the distant buzz something of a comfort to you. The gash stretches from his left rib to spine, an ugly wound, oozing red that trickles over his back.

Scraped, calloused hands grip the edge of the counter as he props himself up, gaze flickering toward your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, still damp, tousled and disheveled, a cut on your cheek, mannerisms somewhat shrewd.

It’s quiet — too quiet for your liking, but you don’t want to be the one to break the ice. Wordlessly, you reach out, palm beginning to mist with wisps of a faint green, your powers manifesting.

“I’m sorry for today,” John murmurs, stopping you in your tracks. The mist wavers, concentration effectively shattered by his apology, which happened to be entirely unexpected. “About not letting you help me.”

“Is it something I did?” Your inquiry evokes a pang of melancholy, as if his heart is bleeding, still halfway stitched together. “Listen, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m trying to move past it.”

John sighs, exiting through his nostrils; measured, restrained. “You didn’t do anything,” He’s learning to admit when he’s the problem, digits tightening against the dark granite; it groans beneath his grasp. “I don’t hate you.”

Relief blossoms within your chest, as if some weight is lifted from your shoulders. Still, you wonder what exactly is wrong with him, festering below the surface, something he’s trying to bury. “Be honest with me — what’s wrong?” You question, brows furrowing together.

He’s reluctant to tell you why he’s comfortable with sitting in the pain — why he feels he deserves it. John knows that you mean well, always looking out for everyone else, showing kindness when you didn’t have to.

“This is what I deserve,” John utters, cadence embittered, withholding a wave of emotion. Tears swim, unshed within his eyes, and he actively fights against it. “The pain — for what I did, for what happened.”

For Lemar, for Olivia, for the blood on his hands, for the son who’ll only know his father as a deadbeat. He hates himself, deep down — he’s learning to be a better man, if that were even possible.

His transparency startles you, attempting to process this information in a way that evokes empathy. No one on the team is truly, wholly good — there’s amends that need to be made, most of them in the healing process, including you.

It’s a bleak contrast from the man constantly barraging you with snarky remarks, constantly engaging in banter with you. You don’t remember him opening up like this with anyone else.

Still, your hand drops, fingers twisting together as you scramble to come up with some encouragement. You’re so accustomed to his general smugness and cocksure attitude that this blindsides you.

“Just because you’ve done bad things doesn’t mean that you deserve to suffer, or rake yourself over the coals again,” It’s gentle, sound advice — John’s eyes screw shut. “Everyone deserves to heal, including you.”

The blood on his hands feels heavy, like some anchor dragging him down. After being stripped of the role of Captain America, spiraling, losing his family, he briefly considered it — a way out. He was glad that he never went through with it.

In the Void, when you found your way into his room, it was the moment Lemar had been killed. Replayed, over and over again, unable to be prevented — but his reaction could’ve been.

He could’ve been a better man.

In the beginning, he tried to justify it, rationalizing killing someone in cold blood. After time passed, he knew how wrong he was, how he desecrated the shield, the mantle; all for something else, to sate his rage. No matter how much healing he did, that would haunt him forever.

“Thanks.” He grits, as if he doesn’t fully believe your words. John understands your intentions, that you’re being empathetic and kind despite the abrasive way he’s acted towards you. It makes him feel worse. “I am trying.”

“I know,” Placating, your digits begin to shimmer with wisps of emerald energy, your power manifesting. “I know you are, John.” Oozing with a tender amiability, you can hear the tremor in his exhale.

When you called him John, it startled him; he’d gotten so accustomed to ‘Walker’, but he didn’t mind this in the slightest. Despite the rough beginning the both of you had with one another, he was warming up to you.

Admittedly, he thought it was the right thing to do, not fully letting you in to protect himself. When you had cordial conversations, he felt your kindness shroud him like a warm blanket; you’d moved on from the past.

Quiet, your hand finally lifts to his wound, brows creased in concentration, energy expelled into healing mist as it curls around the flesh. It feels like cold water, albeit soothing, pluming over torn skin and blood until it sinks inward.

A low grunt rips through his throat, somewhat startled at the sensation of your powers; simple, but wildly effective. It’s as if he’d never been slashed to begin with; the bruises and scrapes don’t go away, but the rest of it does.

Strained, your arm quivers, resolve slipping as you step away, using the doorway as a form of support. You’re always a little weak after you’ve healed someone, almost as if it’s an exchange of life.

“Better?” With a tender smile, you watch as he nods, inspecting himself in the mirror; nothing left behind. “Next time this happens, I hope you’ll let me help you.” You prompt, and he chuckles; it isn’t the typical condescending chide he gives you, either.

“I can’t make any promises.” John’s tone loses that bite, the indifference; it’s disarmingly soft. “Thanks again, for that. I’ve been an asshole to you — wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to help.” He murmured, tone lacking mirth.

“You have, but that can change,” Lips remain poised into a smile, one that makes his heart lurch within his chest. “You don’t have to keep being an asshole.” Your remark makes him scoff, though it’s more of a bemused sound, than anything else.

“I’ll lose my charm,” John counters, but he’s being sarcastic — somewhat, at least. You suspect he’ll still remain sharp-tongued and smug, but lose the indifference with you. “I know it’s something I need to work on.”

Grateful for his acknowledgment, you finally feel your energy return, a slow ebb that spreads throughout your body. Leaning off of the doorframe, you awkwardly step aside, figuring that this was your queue to leave.

“For the record, I never disliked you,” He utters, jaw clenched as he carefully navigates on what to say next. “Never had a problem with you, either. Your problem with me was justified.” John shrugs, his stare even-keel.

Bewildered, you let the pang of surprise fester, head cocking to one side. “I never really had a problem with you, or disliked you,” After this, you were beginning to understand why he was an asshole sometimes. “It’s all in the past, now. I want us to move forward.”

John’s halfhearted smile oozed with sincerity, a genuineness rarely seen by others. “I can do that.” Even still, he wouldn’t blame you if you had some sort of gripe against him, but you were kind — you were good, even if you didn’t think so.

His gaze hasn’t left you, cerulean hues fluttering over your countenance; you’re beautiful, eyes beset by kindness, half-dried tresses strung over your crown. The shirt you’re wearing is a size too big, sweatpants baggy, too.

He’s acutely aware of how obvious he’s being, ogling you; he always thought you were pretty, but in the bathroom’s faint glow, you’re stunning. You weren’t subtle either, he knows this, catching your shrewd gaze as it lingers on his arms.

John’s hands reach for his shirt, black spandex all wrinkled, balled up, stained with dried blood. The tension becomes unusually thick, mere embers kindled to life, now a fire that he doesn’t know if he can extinguish.

“Can I ask you something?” Your inquiry pierces through the tenuous silence, and there’s some momentary relief you gain from it.

“Yeah.” John’s tone is barely above a whisper, warm; as if he’s trying to calm himself down, ease the tension. With his shirt still clenched in one hand, he’s offering you his undivided attention.

With arms loosely folded over your chest, your fingers idly pluck at frayed stitching on your sleeves, a fleeting distraction. “Why were you always indifferent towards me, if you didn’t hate me?” You’re not accusatory, just curious.

Shit — John’s mind is scrambling for an answer that doesn’t make him seem strange. He’s got feelings for you, and you’re slowly drawing them out into the open; he doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Sometimes it’s easier for me to not let somebody in,” He shrugs, gaze wavering, flickering toward the ground. The vulnerability is something he’s still growing accustomed to — rawness of pain, feeling his emotions, choosing the right way to cope. “Because of what’s happened.”

Even then, his explanation still feels like he’s covering up for something else. Nevertheless, you let it rest, offering him a threadbare smile. “We don’t judge here, if you haven’t learned that already,” You sigh. “I’ll be here for you, if you choose to let me in.”

He already has — he’s appreciative, nodding as a display of gratitude before he finds your gaze again. “Thanks.” John smiles despite himself, swallowing down the words that want to escape him.

Silence settles between, the same tension simmering like before, causing you to shift your weight. He’s staring again, but you’re oblivious to it this time, angled away, trying to figure out what to do next.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, your shoulders begin to slouch with relaxation. “I should probably go — you need rest.” You blurt, fumbling over your words, maintaining a sheepish smile as you shuffle toward the door.

John doesn’t really want you to leave; and he knows it’s selfish of him. His lips part, as if to ask you to stay, but he’s frozen, rooted in-place. Still, he nods, quietly resigning to letting you go back to your room.

His feet feel anchored to the floor, each step a drag as he trails after you, following you to the doorway. He’s quiet, still deliberating, turning over every word, every action within his mind. John comes up short, watching as you stop to say something else.

The closeness is sudden, wracked with tension; you’re nearly brushing arms with him, gooseflesh crawling along your spine. You’re both reaching for the door panel simultaneously, fumbling, fingers ghosting over one another; you recoil like you’ve been burned.

In the slim proximity, he catches a whiff of your shampoo — vanilla and peach, something sweeter, causing his jaw to tick. He’s looking again, unable to stop himself, gaze wandering over your body, appreciative; he grips the door frame as a distraction.

When you catch his stare, it burns you, something incendiary, as if he’s searing you into his mind. A subtle hitch forms within your throat, and you’re prepared to tell him goodnight, end it there — but you won’t move.

Silence stretches on, the sort of contemplative quiet before the onset of a storm, the deep breath before the plunge. Bodies linger within arm’s reach, screaming, and you have the audacity to stare at him, doe-eyed.

Then, you say his name, a feather-light whisper, gentle and placating. It barely registers, but he hears it, notices the parting of your lips, the way you haven’t recoiled from the closeness.

John’s mouth is suddenly pressed against yours in a heated frenzy.

A sharp inhale splits your diaphragm, lungs quaking, filled with a sudden surge of ecstasy when he kisses you. There’s a gasp stuck in the back of your throat, swallowed by the snare of his mouth.

His lips are unexpectedly soft, a stark contrast to the sharpness of his smart mouth. There’s a charged passion that echoes beyond the kiss, as if he’s walking the fine line of restraint.

Bewildered, your head is spinning, brain foggy, as if someone knocked you out. Left reeling, you don’t know what to say, what to do. Though, you’re receptive, mouth shyly moving against his, hands frozen at your sides.

When he pulls away, gauging your reaction, you appear as shocked as he does.

Each breath is labored, wrought with the sudden sting of exhilaration, butterflies beginning to pool within your belly. “I’m sorry.” John’s voice is low, a pleasant hum within your ear, but you don’t seem upset by what he did.

“Don’t be.” Without pause, your lips fly to meet him again, reciprocating the kiss, one that seems sluggish and passionate instead of frantic.

He’s kissing you back, hand dropping from the door to your hip, calloused digits caressing you through your shirt. The gesture ignites a fire within your bones, unable to stifle your mounting excitement.

Shyly, your hands move toward his chest, soft like velvet, smoothing over his pectorals as he presses you up against the door. A low groan vibrates through his chest, reveling in the feeling of your skin touching his.

There’s a poised strength coiled within his body, firm, flesh and blood, chest rising and falling underneath your hands.

His kiss is disarmingly gentle, something unexpected, but not unwelcome. You feel his body nudge against yours, distance now nonexistent.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, gotten into him, but you’re enjoying yourself — you want him, need him, starving for contact.

He tastes metallic, an amalgamation of copper and a natural musk. Digits idly smooth over the coarse, blonde hair that covers his chest, descending toward his groin. The thought alone makes your knees weak.

Each kiss sends you spiraling, clawing for his mouth, leaving you ragged, desperate for his touch. You can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like this — even then, your experience is thin.

His scruffy countenance melds with yours, bleeding heat, kissing you with enough vigor that it prompts you to hold onto him. Your heart gallops, races — it’s quick and erratic, beating in your ears.

Recoiling from the kiss, your fingers tremble, deftly tracing over his collarbone, over scar-kissed skin, over faint clutches of freckles. “John, I — Are you sure?” You whisper, hoarse, afraid that he might regret it all in the morning.

“Wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t sure.” John murmurs, voice low, curling thickly as his hands rub circles into your hips. He’s strong, secure — you didn’t expect to feel so comfortable with him. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”

His lips make contact with your jaw, mouth clamoring over your skin, kissing the spot beneath your ear. Flush to you, his confession makes your bones lurch, and you wonder what else he’s thought about, too.

Flustered, you’re quick to melt into him, visibly smitten, as if you’ve wound yourself into a tight knot. John notices, mouth twitching into a smirk as he places a string of kisses beneath your jawline.

“John …” A soft mumble rolls from your tongue, hands beginning to trail from chest to shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. His beard burns against your flesh, a pleasant scratch, reminding you that he’s real, this is real.

Warm breath feathers over your throat, your jaw, your cheek — he’s still smirking, too. “You’re getting shy on me.” He mumbles, able to taste the heat that bristles from your flesh. A hitch forms within your throat, his remark making you burn.

“No,” Posturing a weak defense, your body succumbs, lips parted to make room for a dizzying sigh. “I’m not.” It’s pathetic, your retort, but he’s still grinning as if he’s caught you in a trap, attempting to reign in the smug attitude.

“Right.” John’s cadence is dangerously low, little more than a pleasant husk that scratches the back of your brain. He’s teasing you still, cerulean hues alight with mirth, fingertips barely skirting underneath your shirt.

He’s charming — too charming, and it makes your flesh burn with an embarrassed heat. His lips plume over your throat, hips brushing against yours, and that’s when you feel it. Something firm through his kevlar pants, briefly grinding against your pelvis.

A noise echoes from John’s throat, somewhere between a grunt and groan, causing you to smile, as if you’ve discovered his secret. “Already?” It’s playful, sure, but you’re simultaneously flattered that it didn’t take much work.

It’s his turn to blush, scarlet crawling over handsome features, red spreading towards his neck. “Can’t help it,” John mumbled, gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’re beautiful.” His low timbre made you shiver.

Unable to smother your smile, you urge him closer for another kiss, digits clamoring for the nape of his neck, toying with the blonde hair there. Each entanglement of lips seems to grow in fervor, charged with mutual excitement, passion.

His hands are fisted in your shirt against, giving it a soft tug, as if silently asking you for your permission. Mouths continue to clash, a mess of lips and teeth, tongue when John initiates it, eliciting a moan from your maw.

With a brief nod, he breaks from you, only to assist in removing your shirt, tossing it elsewhere in his room. You aren’t wearing a brassiere, which catches his attention, stopping in his tracks as he admires your physique.

“Jesus,” John sighs, rapturous, noticing the doe-eyed look you’re giving him again. Lips part, jaw unclenched as he not-so-subtly ogles your collarbone, letting it drift toward your chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Swallowing your anxiety, you feel yourself melt beneath his stare, incendiary enough to turn you to cinders where you stand. “The thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Barely above a whisper, your gentle teasing evokes a half-smile from him.

A huff leaves him, hand steady as he kneads into your hip, dipping lower, grasping at your haunch as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his hips. You’re still kissing him, held aloft by John’s arms, bearing your weight without effort.

He carries you to his bed, gray sheets already disheveled, laying you down as he crawls on top of you. A soft exhale whistles through your nose, arousal beginning to coalesce between your thighs, warmth pooling in your belly.

“You sure?” John murmurs, wanting to ensure that you’re certain about this. He is, but he wants to make sure that all cards are on the table. He’s not used to this, to showing vulnerability, but it feels comfortable with you.

“Yeah, I am,” Gazes twine together, the only illumination being the glow from the bathroom, blanketing you in swirls of orange and shadow. “I want you, John.” Your admission is saccharine, steeped in a warmth that he clings to, savors.

Christ, he wants you, too — craves you more than air, cerulean hues glistening with a thinly-veiled ardor. It���s a sudden shift from how things were before, but the tension had finally come to a boiling point, and he was glad that it had.

Mouths connect instantaneously, eliciting a pleading moan from your throat, swallowed by his kiss. Your legs drop, spread apart to accommodate for his frame, lean muscle wedged between your thighs.

His palm kneads into your calf, dragging to the crook of your knee, caressing you over your baggy bottoms. Your hands thread against the nape of his neck, taking handfuls of his blonde tresses, ensuring that you weren’t rough with him.

Chests brush against one another, firm muscle exuding warmth, peaks of your breasts ghosting over his pectorals. Each kiss rips the air from your lungs, leaving you reeling, gasping as you feel his tongue prod against yours.

A whine bubbles from your throat, smitten, tongue shyly mingling with his as the kiss turns into a mess of passion. Your fingers are carding over the back of his skull, slipping over his hair as his teeth catch upon your bottom lip.

John grunts, the tent in his pants grinding recklessly against your core, friction causing both of you to writhe. As if to torment him, you roll your hips forward, evoking a groan from him, his gaze pleading with you to stop.

“Don’t,” He warns, strained, attempting to hold himself together. Your mouth quirks into a smile, one that he feels even as he kisses you again, your palm splaying over his shoulder. “Can I take these off?”

His hands curl into your sweatpants, fingers teasing the waistband as he waits for you to consent. As soon as you nod, accompanied by a breathy ‘yes’, he’s tearing into them, the stitching splitting apart beneath his inhuman strength.

A gasp slipped from your mouth, writhing beneath him to free yourself from the fabric, kicking them to the floor. John marvels at the sight of you, your body something perfect, malleable within his grasp, mouth planting a kiss against your jaw.

Cool air plumes over your heated flesh, offering some alleviation, a reprieve from the fever-pitch of your body. John’s hand smooths over your leg, squeezing into your thigh, digits flicking over the hem of your panties.

The brief gesture makes your head spin, desperate for him to touch you. He’s already got an idea in his head, calloused fingers rough like leather as he drags his hand between your legs.

Knuckles ghost over your clothed cunt, feeling the tangle of damp cotton, the way your throat sputters with a subtle gasp. Your thighs twitch, knees trembling on either side of him as your nails trace over the back of his neck.

“Christ,” He huffs, forehead nearly flush against yours, watching as you squirm from the brief caress. John repeats the motion, feeling your nails dig harder into his skin, mouth screwed open. “You like that?” His murmur makes you feel weak.

With a nod, you want more, hips urging into the friction of his hand. To your delight, he doesn’t torment you, doesn’t make you work for it as his fingers slip beneath your panties.

Two fingers stroke along your cunt, gathering the warm slick there with one sluggish swipe. To your utter bewilderment, he lifts his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean before he lavishes your throat in a myriad of kisses.

“John, please.” Moaning his name, the sight he just treated you to is sure to be burned in your mind forever, causing your thighs to rub together. Kissing a trail down your neck, he finds your sternum, mouth voracious, ceaseless.

A boyish grin settles onto his features, deriving enjoyment from your reaction, continuing to worship your flesh in rapturous kisses. No inch of skin is safe as he descends, lips pluming over your breasts, your ribs, navel; lower, and lower again.

You taste sweet, as if your skin oozed with sugar, and he’s savoring every piece of you, kisses steeped in a disarming reverence. His beard tickles your flesh, goosebumps cascading down your spine as he makes it to your waist.

His muscles flex, pulled taut as he crawls lower, face hovering beside your hip as he eases your panties down, letting them creep over your thighs. Everything feels hot, body set ablaze, arousal coalescing against your cunt.

Lips press to your thigh, shoulders creating space, bullying your legs apart. Digits flex, trembling as they lower to card through his tresses, gaze ensnaring with his own, causing you to shiver.

John kisses a trail over your inner thighs, toward the glistening heat at your apex, listening to your breath hitch. It’s labored, wrought with exhilaration as your back begins to arch.

That ghost of a cocksure grin feels like a hot brand against your thigh, softening when you make a strangled, pleading noise. Nearly prone against the sheets, he lets your legs recline against his shoulders, hands gripping your hips.

The first rake of his tongue over your cunt is agonizing, hot embers, scorching against your flesh as he laps traces the length of your slit. It’s sluggish, exploratory — he’s keen to know what makes you writhe.

With parted lips and eyes wrenched shut, a needy moan splits past your throat, unable to keep quiet. John’s chest stirs with a low grunt, greedy tongue deftly splitting past your folds, tasting you with a sudden fervor.

Still, he’s gentle, disarmingly so, careworn palms massaging into your hips, keeping you slotted against his face. The scruff of his blonde beard scratches ragged over the inside of your thighs, sandpaper to silk, the sensation pleasant.

John eases you into it, committing every detail of your body to memory; hoping there’s a next time, thumbs tracing circles into your skin. Lapping against your core, his ministrations slowly gather haste, nose grazing your clit.

A myriad of moans leave you, attempting to keep the sound hushed, as to not alert any unwanted attention. Your legs tense, flex on either side of his head before his shoulders nudge you apart again, mouth dragging over your cunt.

He maintains something of a rhythm, attempting to walk the line of restraint, as to not overwhelm you. Your body rattles beneath him, spasmodic tremors of delight rolling down your spine, waves of bliss felt all over, ebbing through your veins.

One hand haplessly fists at the sheets, fingers curled so tightly that you want to rip it apart. He’s too good at this, which surprises you — he doesn’t give that impression, initially.

The room feels like a furnace, bodies bleeding heat, each breath hoarse, tight with rapture. His mouth is a thing of perfection, pleasuring you as if it’s his sworn duty, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt.

John’s gaze flutters from the task at-hand to your countenance, contorted into an expression of ecstasy, effortlessly pretty. His heart skips a beat; you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

You’re wound up, coiled over and over again, into a tangle of heat, furled desire that’s begging to be released. Carding through his tresses, you gingerly scratch at his crown, briefly tugging on his hair, hips wantonly urging into his mouth.

“G—God, John,” A sheepish moan falls from your mouth, coupled with a sharp inhale that rips through your diaphragm. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, back arched from the mattress. “So good at this.”

It’s an inkling of praise, but it’s enough, evoking some hunger from John, who's eager to please. The tent in his tactical pants is borderline painful, erection grinding against the bed in a pitiful attempt to alleviate some of the friction.

Driven to the brink, you feel as if you’re beginning to toe the line of some steep plunge, his lips urging you closer to a release. Everything feels hot, as if you might combust, arousal coalescing between your thighs.

John has you pinned down, nose ghosting over your folds, tongue still ceaselessly lapping at your core until there’s a shift in rhythm. He presses a kiss to your clit, listening to the tremor in your exhale, feeling your legs tense.

Teeth catch across your bottom lip, biting down with an absent pressure, digits beginning to lightly curl against his scalp. His name emerges from your mouth again, desperate and wanton, breathy as you squirm.

“You’re easy to rile up.” John murmurs from between your legs, a breathy chuckle floating from his chest when your fingers pull on his hair. He plants a reverent kiss to your thigh, teasing, but the break doesn’t last for long.

If it weren’t for his lips pursing around your clit, you might’ve clawed for a retort, but he rips any remark from your throat. The sudden ripple of bliss sends you reeling, choking on a simpering whine as you shift beneath him again.

His mouth gingerly laps at that sensitive clutch of nerves, shockwaves shattering through your body, tingles of ecstasy following suit. A strangled moan snares in your throat, slipping through when he drags his tongue along your cunt.

He’s right, though — you are easy to vex, and he’s mapping you out as if you’re intimately familiar to him already. John’s mouth is voracious, tongue endlessly greedy, eating you out as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You’re getting close, body being pushed to a blissful oblivion, the white-hot heat that threatens to consume you. His hand drifts from your thigh to the slick warmth between, thumb seeking your clit like a missile, slowly circling around it.

“Fuck,” You moan, the expletive uncharacteristic of you, but he finds plenty of enjoyment in you saying it. His name is soon to follow, a bedroom hymnal, repetitive as it spills from your tongue, crying out his name to the ceiling. “J—John!”

It’s pathetic how easily he’s got you squirming, tension beginning to unfurl, the knot within your belly stretched to the brink. He’s careful, tender, intimate in a way that makes your features surge with warmth.

“That’s it.” John murmurs, timbre little more than a drawl as he coaxes an orgasm from you, thumb continuing to toy with your clit until you burst. He’s mesmerized, a super-soldier reduced to a lovesick boy, watching you with a thinly-veiled rapture.

With one simple circle of your pearl, you’re gone, ecstasy bleeding from you in one wave, nearly overwhelming. You’re blinded by euphoria, white-hot stars crossing your vision until you’ve melted into the sheets.

Nerves are frayed from bliss, tossed into the throes of pleasure, one that you may not fully recover from. Stars linger still, head foggy, dizzy from a desirous haze as you try to find a scrap of composure.

He tastes you again, one last time, committing it all to memory as he kisses your leg, kneeling in-between your thighs. You’re shaking, chest tight with drawn-out sighs, gazes ensnared, burning with adoration.

“You’re really good at that.” A soft whisper rolls from your lips, appreciative, but John looks like you’ve just called him perfect. He’s starved for praise, reduced to a mere beast, laying at your feet, preening for more.

John’s up on his knees, staring a hole through you, hands reaching for his belt. Driven by both excitement and instinct, you sit up, fingers clamoring with his own as you’re helping to wrestle his belt off, unzipping the front of his tactical pants.

“You drive me crazy,” John groaned, feeling you grow smitten in the wake of his admission, desperate to be inside of you. “Can’t think straight.” He utters, and you know it’s an intentional compliment.

He repositions himself, hunched in, blanketing you with his bulky physique, lean muscle glued to your frame. He’s much larger than you, you realize, listening to the shuffling of fabric, feeling his cock press incessantly against your navel.

You’re intimidated, bewildered by his size, startlingly large, unabashedly so. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, your hands come to hook around the back of his neck, no space remaining.

As if to ignite the tension further, your mouth catches his, lips locking together in a heated kiss. You can taste yourself, an added layer of debauchery, but he’s groaning into your lips, fisting the pillow near the side of your head.

John’s other hand finds your thigh, kneading into your haunch as he steadies himself, cock heatedly grinding against you. Mouths tangle, clash — it’s a war of teeth and tongue, thirst instead of hunger, as if he needs you more than anything.

Wanton, exhilarated breaths drag between bodies, the warmth of his sigh pluming over your features, his beard ragged against your cheek. His blonde tresses are tousled, disheveled — he’s painfully handsome, kissing all over your mouth.

He withdraws, heads flush together, mere centimeters apart as he adjusts himself, cock nudging against your folds. You’re clinging to him, a twinge of anticipation churning in your belly.

“You alright?” He utters, low and husky beside your ear, actively restraining himself from being too spirited. There’s something intoxicating about the way you’re staring at him; it’s tender, more than he deserves, he thinks.

Slowly, you plant a kiss against the scruff of his jaw, and then beneath, where a yellowing bruise sits. Hands wander to the firm muscle of his shoulders, kneading over freckled skin.

John exhales; a drawn-out, contented sound that releases coils of tension from his shoulders. With a nod of consent, you let yourself get comfortable. He drags his cock over your cunt again, biting back a stifled groan.

“Go slow,” You squeak, body already sore from the mission — he might add to it, if he isn’t careful. His lips seal themselves to your throat, peppering your flesh in a myriad of sweet kisses, nose brushing over your jugular. “I need you.”

Serum-infused blood pumps through his veins, oozing raw strength, but he knows to rein himself in, head bobbing in a brief nod. “Say that again.” John grunts, cock prodding against the warmth of your cunt, preparing to push past.

His head is partially buried into the hollow between throat and shoulder, beard prickling your flesh, a satisfying sensation. An excitable buzz wracks your body, sending tingles all over, a throbbing pulsing from between your legs.

“I need you,” Wantonly, your palm splays over his shoulder-blade, nails digging into his skin, eliciting a low groan from your paramour. “J—John, please!” It’s a plea, a desperate one, spoken through a beguiling cadence, one that winds him into tight knots.

With a shudder, John is thirsty for your embrace, a man lost within a desert, finding his oasis. His forehead nudges beside your temple, hotly grunting into your ear, sending waves of ecstasy through your belly.

His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance. Disarmingly gentle, John doesn’t move quickly or rough, heeding your words as he fists at the pillow, body kissed by perspiration.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, fighting against baser, lesser instincts. Clinging to him as if he might fade through your fingers, he moves at an agonizing pace, not wanting to hurt you.

He doesn’t, a husky groan ripping through his diaphragm when your hips accidentally roll, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hands. “Jesus,” John grits out, feeling your nails dig crescents into his shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

A moan tumbles from your parted lips, his cock filling you completely, nearly bottoming out as he sinks forward. Intermingled groans and hot sighs tangle in the thin space between, heat against heat.

Your knees squeeze near his waist, legs kept spread apart by his musculature, bodies clawing for one another, ardor thinly-veiled. John’s countenance is contorted into a look of concentration coupled with bliss.

“S’good,” You moan, having adjusted enough, allowing yourself a moment of composure; it won’t last, and you know it. “Move.” Breathy and wrought with exhilaration, you give him the signal to take things further.

John’s resolve is crumbling, foundation swept away in the wake of your affections, and your wanton moan doesn’t make anything easier. Propping himself up on one arm, the other holds steadfastly to your thigh, an anchor.

Foreheads knock together, noses ghosting over one another as he begins to thrust into you, bicep flexing with exertion. The first drag of his hips sends you reeling, and you know that you won’t last long — and neither will he.

A string of hoarse expletives flutter from his mouth, barely above a whisper, setting your bones ablaze as he pulls back and pushes forward.

The fit of him is tight, cock oozing with heat as he draws back again, following through as he jolts forward.

Beneath you, the bed frame creaks — faint, as if it shows some give with the super-soldier on top of you. Your digits coax him in for a kiss, mouths colliding in a messy clash of tongue and needy lips, fire feeding fire.

John groans into your mouth, pushing and pulling, hips urging into yours, cock filling you with each thrust. Between fervent kisses and pleading moans, your head is foggy, dizzy with desire.

He develops a rhythm, the pace steady, each drag of his hips ripping a moan from your mouth, and he earned it. His hand kneads into your thigh, squeezing on occasion when the pleasure mounts, muscles coiled within his stomach.

“Y—You’re perfect,” The praise leaves your tongue as a hoarse whine, a noise that leaves goosebumps trailing over John’s spine. It’s the validation he desperately craves, the veneration, knowing he’s doing something right. “Don’t stop.”

A husky, throaty groan pierces through his chest, the noise making you shiver, arousal slick and warm between your thighs. It makes each snap of his hips easier, cock sinking into you over and over again.

It’s unintentional, his shifting pace; it begins to climb, from drawn-out and steady to needy, rutting into you as if each stroke would be his very last. John is trying to keep himself controlled, but you make it so difficult.

He slows again, the pleasure mounting, a knot that is becoming frayed at either end, prepared to be pulled apart. His cock throbs incessantly, pulsing inside of you, feeling your cunt clench around him.

Perspiration glitters along his brow, glistening along his hairline as he hunches in over you, and you feel all of him, viscerally.

The bed frame rattles in protest, as if bowing to his strength, and he’s already tearing the stitching in the pillowcase beside your head. A soft gasp slips from your lips, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Grunts of ecstasy leave him in droves, cock easing in and out of your cunt as if you’re made for him. John’s countenance is one of bliss and concentration, frustration now dissipated.

Each snap of his hips drags you further into the throes of ecstasy, and he’s nearly there, cock spearing into you. His breathing is growing ragged, raspy as it curls beside your ear, hot breath pluming over your face.

Noises surge in volume, filling his room with the sounds of vigorous lovemaking; he doesn’t care if the team hears anymore. John’s rapturous groans make you shiver in delight, head flush to yours again, the closeness addicting.

Another grunt ripples through his chest, the sound stretched, the rest tapering off as his hips begin to stutter, pace erratic and desperate. He’s close, weighing the odds of finishing inside of you, nearly whimpering when your legs hitch around his hips.

His name spills from your lips like a confessional, sobbing to the heavens, feeling your body begin to unfurl with tension. Bodies move within one another, his cock buried deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust.

From the tension in his muscles alone, you can tell that he’s about to burst, combust like fireworks in your hands. You’re on the pill, and so you urge him closer, wanting him inside of you even still.

When your name emerges from John’s mouth, you’re awestruck, flustered by the way in which he says it so tenderly. “I’m on the pill.” It’s all you’re able to say before he’s swallowing your words, covering your mouth with his.

The kiss is voracious, needy — John is unable to mask how he feels about you, letting it all bleed into tangled lips as he cums. He releases inside of you with a groan, followed by a rush of warmth that blankets your insides.

Tingles of delight wrack your body, a subdued release that seems to twine with his, a muted buzz surging through your bones. John’s hips crawl to a sluggish rhythm, agonizingly slow, as if to absorb the last few traces of friction.

Each breath heaves for composure, shallow and taut with exhilaration in the aftermath, sweat-slick skin melded together. His forehead nestles against yours, labored breathing evening out quicker than yours as he stills.

His spend and your arousal feel slick between your legs, making a mess of his sheets, joined bodies bleeding heat. You’re reeling, slower to recuperate as he pulls out of you with a soft grunt, rolling over to lay beside you.

John doesn’t leave, cerulean hues glued to your countenance, as if his whole sense of gravity has been shifted, changed. It’s hushed, save for your labored sighs, in-tandem with one another.

Wordlessly, he coaxes you closer, muscled arm hooking around your middle, inviting you to lay against his chest. One palm remains splayed, flat against your ribs, soothing you with easy caresses.

“Are you still with me?” John’s wisecrack makes you blunder, a soft laugh escaping you, hand playfully bumping against his chest.

“Yeah,” Unable to smother your smile, you’re delighted to sink into his embrace, keeping your hand on his chest. The hair beneath is something you trace through, over muscle, over old scars and greenish bruises. “I …”

As you trail off, John’s head cranes down enough to brush his lips against yours, the kiss sweet, bristling with a thinly-veiled affection. He lets you finish your thought, watching as you sit up enough to see him fully, perched on your stomach.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” You utter, agonizingly soft, cadence wrought with an amalgamation of sentiments. John’s trying to be better, and it’s something you want to be a part of, if he’ll let you.

Neither did he, admittedly; it’s something John’s willing to admit to. “The thought never crossed my mind,” He murmured, blonde lashes fluttering as his hand cupped your jaw, calloused and careworn over satin skin. “But I’m not perfect.”

“I know, that’s why I like you.” With a dazzling smile, he’s caught right in the crosshairs, lips parting with a placating huff. It turns into a hum of a chuckle, his hand still firm against your side.

In a gentle clamor, his lips find yours, beard tickling your skin again, the sensation wholly pleasant. The kiss lingers, something that feels closer to home, a newfound warmth that the both of you desperately crave.

John’s mouth twitches into a half-smile, a peculiar mirth beginning to touch his eyes. He feels you plant a kiss against his shoulder, and he knows he’s completely screwed — you’re falling, but he’s falling harder.

[mandoalorian]

ride to you [bucky barnes x f!reader]

synopsis: seperated by miles, bucky barnes is out on a mission when he gets a late-night text message from you, and suddenly, he just can't do distance anymore.

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, mdni, unprotected p in v, fem receiving oral, fingering, breast play, sexting, mutual masturbation over video call, praise kink, bucky is all rough and desperate, and he struggles a bit with tech lol, …dog tags, motorcycle this smut has it all.

w/c: 3,885

masterlist | submit a request

The glow of your phone screen is the only light in your bedroom, casting soft shadows across the empty sheets. It’s 11:47 PM, and your desire for Bucky has you restless, your body aching with the need for him. He’s been gone three weeks, on some mission with Yelena and John keeping him a whole state away, and the distance is a cruel tease. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, then type out a message, heart already picking up speed.

You: Can’t sleep, soldier. Bed feels too damn big without you.

His reply pings almost instantly, like he’s been staring at his phone, waiting.

Bucky: Doll, you’re killing me already. Missing you so bad, I can’t think straight.

You smile, warmth curling in your chest. Bucky’s always been a little slow with tech—his texts are short, sometimes autocorrect mangles them—but the effort he puts in makes it sweeter. You can picture him, brow furrowed, big fingers fumbling on the tiny keyboard in some nondescript motel room.

You: What’s keeping you up, huh? Thinking about me?

Bucky: Every damn second. You in that little tank top you wear to bed? Or… less?

Your breath catches, a flush creeping up your neck. He’s bold tonight, and you love it.

You: Just a tank top. Barely. Wish you were here to see it.

There’s a longer pause, and you can almost hear the low groan he’d make.

Bucky: Sweetheart, you’re gonna make me break this phone. Tell me what you’d do if I was there.

Heat pools low in your belly, and you shift on the bed, thighs pressing together. You type slowly, savouring the anticipation.

You: I’d climb into your lap, kiss that spot on your jaw that makes you growl. Slide my hands under your shirt, feel those muscles… you’d be begging me to keep going.

His reply takes a minute, and when it comes, it’s a little messy, like he’s typing too fast.

Bucky: Fuck, doll. I’d pin you to that bed before you could tease me. Kiss you till you’re dizzy, hands all over you. That tank top wouldn’t last five seconds.

You bite your lip, pulse racing. The image of Bucky—broad shoulders, dog tags dangling, blue eyes blazing—has you squirming.

You: Oh, you think you’d have control? I’d have you groaning my name first, Barnes. Bet I could make you lose it just by grinding against you.

Bucky: You’d feel how hard you’re makin’ me already. I’d rip those panties off, make you scream for me.

Your fingers tremble as you type, the words coming faster now, dirtier.

You: I’d let you, Buck. Want your hands on me, your mouth… want you to fuck me till I can’t walk.

His next text is a single word, raw and desperate.

Bucky: Fuck.

Then, a follow-up.

Bucky: Call me. Now. Need to see you.

You hesitate, heart pounding. A call means FaceTime, and the thought of seeing him, hearing him, sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

You: FaceTime? You sure you know how to work that, old man?

Bucky: Shut up, doll. I figured out the damn button. Answer when I call, or I’m ridin’ to you tonight.

The threat—or promise—makes you grin, your body buzzing with anticipation. You adjust your tank top, letting one strap slip off your shoulder, and wait for the call.

Your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call, and your heart leaps into your throat. You swipe to answer, and there’s Bucky, filling the screen, looking like sin itself. He’s shirtless, sprawled on a motel bed, the dim light catching the glint of his dog tags and the sheen of sweat on his chest. His hair’s a mess, falling into his eyes, and those blue eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on you. 

But there’s a flicker of frustration on his face as he fumbles with the phone, tilting it at an awkward angle.

“Damn it,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “This thing keeps—hold on, doll, I think I got it.” He props the phone against something, probably a pillow, and the view steadies, giving you a full shot of his broad shoulders and the taut muscles of his stomach. He squints at the screen, like he’s not sure it’s working. “You seein’ me okay? Or did I break this already?”

You laugh, the sound breathy with nerves and desire. “I see you, Buck. Looking like a damn dream.” You shift on your bed, letting the silky camisole slip further down your shoulder, the thin fabric barely covering you. You angle the phone to give him a teasing view of your collarbone, the curve of your chest. “Like what you see?”

His groan is instant, low and guttural. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me.” He shifts, and you catch the way his hand moves off-screen, adjusting himself. “That top’s barely holdin’ on. Show me more.”

Heat floods your body, and you oblige, sliding the camisole down to reveal the tops of your breasts, your fingers lingering there. “Better?” you tease, voice husky.

Bucky’s jaw tightens, his metal hand flexing on the bed. “You’re playin’ dirty, doll. Keep goin’. Wanna see all of you.” He’s trying to sound commanding, but there’s a plea in his tone, raw and desperate.

You bite your lip, emboldened by his reaction. “Only if you give me something too, soldier.” You nod toward his lap, where his hand is resting just out of frame. “Show me what those texts were doing to you.”

He huffs a laugh, half-embarrassed, half-turned on. “Demanding much? Alright.” He adjusts, sliding his hand into his sweatpants, and you catch a glimpse of the bulge there before he eases them down just enough. He’s hard, and the sight of him touching himself, slow and deliberate, sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Touch yourself for me.”

Your breath hitches, and you don’t hesitate. You slip a hand under the hem of your camisole, pushing it up to expose your stomach, then lower, dipping into your panties. The first brush of your fingers against yourself makes you gasp, and Bucky’s eyes darken, his own hand moving faster.

“Fuck, doll, look at you,” he groans, voice thick. “So damn pretty. Keep goin’. Imagine it’s me touchin’ you.”

You do, your fingers circling as you picture his hands—rough, warm, and relentless. “Bucky,” you whimper, your hips shifting on the bed. “Wish it was you. Want your fingers, your mouth…”

He curses under his breath, his strokes growing rougher. “God, I’d devour you right now. Lick every inch of you till you’re screamin’ my name. Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so good,” you moan, your free hand gripping the sheets. “But not enough. Need you here, Buck. Need you inside me.” The words spill out, unfiltered, and you see the effect they have—his head tips back, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’m gonna lose it,” he warns, but his hand doesn’t stop, and neither does yours. You’re both chasing the same high, the phone screen a cruel barrier between you. “Tell me what you’d do if I was there. Right now.”

You’re panting now, the pleasure building fast. “I’d climb on top of you,” you say, voice shaky. “Ride you so hard you’d forget your own name. Kiss you till you can’t breathe.”

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, his eyes locked on you, intense and wild. “I’d flip you over, fuck you into the mattress. Make you come so many times you’d beg me to stop.”

The filthy promises push you closer to the edge, your fingers moving faster, chasing the release. 

“Bucky, I’m—” you gasp, unable to finish the sentence as the pleasure crests.

“Me too, doll,” he grits out, his voice breaking. “Come for me. Let me see you.”

It hits you like a wave, your body arching as you cry out his name, trembling under your own touch. Bucky follows, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spills over his hand, his chest heaving. For a moment, you’re both silent, just breathing, the intimacy of the moment hanging heavy between you.

Then he laughs, rough and a little sheepish. “Well, damn. Never thought this phone thing could be that good.” He grabs a tissue, cleaning up, and you giggle, pulling your camisole back into place.

“Still hate technology?” you tease, your voice soft, sated.

He smirks, but his eyes are serious. “Not when it’s you on the other end. But this ain’t enough, sweetheart.” He leans closer to the screen, voice dropping. “I’m comin’ to you. Tonight.”

You blink, still hazy from the high. “Buck, you’re in—wherever you are. You can’t just—”

“Watch me,” he says, and you see him grab his leather jacket, tossing it over his shoulder. “Got my bike. I’m ridin’ to you. Be there by dawn.”

Your jaw drops, but the determination in his eyes tells you he’s not kidding. “You’re insane,” you whisper, but your heart’s racing again, thrilled.

“Insane for you,” he shoots back, already moving. “Get some rest, doll. You’re gonna need it when I get there.”

The call ends, leaving you staring at the blank screen, your body buzzing with anticipation and disbelief.

Bucky’s breath is still uneven as he ends the FaceTime call, the image of you—hot, panting, whispering his name—burned into his mind. His body’s buzzing, sated but nowhere near satisfied. 

The phone’s screen goes dark, but it doesn’t matter; he can still see you, feel the ghost of your voice in his ear, your words pulling him apart. “Need you inside me.” Fuck. He’s done waiting.

He’s on his feet in seconds, the motel room’s stale air doing nothing to cool the heat coursing through him. His leather jacket is slung over his shoulder, but he shrugs it on, the familiar weight grounding him. His duffel’s already packed—a habit from decades of moving fast, never settling. He grabs it, slings it across his chest, and heads for the door. The keys to his Harley jingle in his pocket, a promise of freedom, of you.

Outside, the night’s crisp, the motel’s neon sign buzzing faintly. His bike’s parked under a flickering streetlight, all black chrome and raw power, just like him. He swings a leg over, the leather seat creaking under his weight, and kicks the engine to life. The roar tears through the silence, vibrating in his chest, matching the thrum of his pulse. He’s in Pennsylvania, but you’re in New York, a good five-hour ride if he pushes it. He’s pushing it.

The highway stretches out, a dark ribbon under a sky smeared with stars. Bucky leans into the wind, the speedometer climbing as the bike eats up the miles. His mind’s a tangle of you—your teasing texts, the way you looked on that call, your body arching as you came for him. He grips the handlebars tighter, the metal of his left hand glinting in the moonlight. He’s not built for distance, not when it comes to you. Every mile feels like a taunt, every second a reminder of how bad he needs to touch you, taste you, feel you under him.

He replays the call in his head, your voice a siren song. “Ride you so hard you’d forget your own name.” His jaw clenches, a low growl escaping his throat, lost in the wind. He’s half-hard again just thinking about it, the memory of your fingers slipping into your panties, the soft moans you made. He shifts on the seat, trying to focus on the road, but it’s no use. You’re in his blood, and no amount of miles or cold air can shake you out.

A gas station looms ahead, the only light for miles. He pulls in, the bike’s rumble dropping to a low purr as he cuts the engine. His boots hit the gravel, and he stretches, rolling his shoulders. The attendant, a kid barely out of his teens, eyes the metal arm warily but says nothing as Bucky fills the tank. He checks his phone—2:37 AM. A text from you, sent just after the call.

You: You’re really coming? Be safe, soldier. I’ll be waiting…

He smirks, typing back with one hand, still clumsy with the touchscreen. Bucky: Damn right I’m comin’. Don’t sleep too deep, doll. Gonna need you awake.

He sends it, pockets the phone, and swings back onto the bike. The kid mutters something about “crazy night riders,” but Bucky’s already gone, the Harley roaring back to life. The road’s emptier now, just him and the hum of the engine, the world blurring past. He thinks about what’s waiting—your apartment, your bed, you in that flimsy camisole or maybe nothing at all. His foot presses harder on the throttle, the needle pushing past 90.

Dawn’s starting to bleed into the horizon when he hits the outskirts of New York, the city’s glow a faint promise. His body aches from the ride, but it’s nothing compared to the ache for you. He weaves through early traffic, the bike’s growl turning heads, but he doesn’t care. Your address is burned into his brain, every turn taking him closer. The thought of you, warm and waiting, maybe still flushed from earlier, has his heart pounding harder than the engine.

He pulls up to your building as the sky turns pink, the Harley’s rumble echoing off the brick. He cuts the engine, the silence sudden and heavy. His boots hit the pavement, and he takes a moment, catching his breath, running a hand through his wind-messed hair. The duffel slung over his shoulder, but all he can think about is you—steps away, behind that door, real and his.

He’s here. And he’s not leaving until you’re screaming his name.

The stairwell to your apartment is a blur as Bucky bounds up, boots thudding on the creaking wood, his pulse a war drum in his ears. The five-hour ride on his Harley—wind tearing at him, miles bleeding into the night—has only sharpened his need. Your door looms at the end of the hall, and he’s there in seconds, fist hovering for a soft knock. It’s 6:13 AM; he won’t wake your neighbours. The rap is quiet but urgent, his metal hand twitching, impatient.

The door flies open, and you’re a vision that stops his heart. That silky camisole clings to you, one strap slipped off your shoulder, barely containing the curves he’s been dreaming of. Your hair’s tousled, eyes wide with shock and want, lips parted like you’re about to speak. But Bucky doesn’t give you the chance. His duffel hits the floor, and he’s on you, hands cradling your face as he crashes his mouth to yours. The kiss is raw, all-consuming, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, weeks of pent-up longing spilling out. He tastes you—mint toothpaste and something sweeter, something you—and it’s better than any fantasy.

“Bucky,” you gasp when he pulls back for air, your fingers knotting in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him growl. He kicks the door shut, the slam echoing, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist, thighs tight against his hips, and he groans as your heat presses through his jeans. The leather jacket’s cool against your bare arms, but his body’s a furnace, searing where he holds you.

“Told you I’d come, doll,” he rasps, voice rough from the road and desire.

He carries you to the bedroom, lips trailing fire down your jaw, nipping the pulse point on your neck that makes you shudder. Your nails rake his shoulders, shoving at his jacket, and he shrugs it off mid-stride, dog tags jangling as it hits the floor. You’re clawing at his shirt now, and he yanks it over his head, tossing it aside, leaving him in just those damn tags and jeans slung low on his hips.

He sets you on the bed, stepping back to drink you in. The camisole’s riding up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach, your thighs parted just enough to make his mouth water. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown, and the way you’re looking at him—like he’s everything—has his chest tight.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, voice thick with praise, the words wrapping around you like a caress. He crawls over you, caging you with his body, his flesh hand snagging both your wrists and pinning them above your head. The restraint sends a spark through you, and he feels it, sees it in the way you arch. “Gonna make you scream for me, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

The possessiveness laces his tone, and you shiver, lips curving into a defiant smirk. “Prove it, soldier.”

That’s all he needs. His mouth claims yours again, deep and filthy, tongue stroking in a way that promises what’s coming. His metal hand slides under your camisole, cold against your fevered skin, and he doesn’t bother with finesse—just rips the fabric down the middle, the tear loud in the quiet room. You gasp, but his lips are there, soothing, kissing the sting away as the scraps fall. “I’ll buy you another one,” he murmurs, but you’re too far gone to care, your hands straining against his grip, wanting to touch him.

His mouth moves lower, hot and deliberate, sucking at the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple until you whine. He laves it with his tongue, then moves to the other, leaving marks you’ll feel tomorrow. “So fuckin’ responsive,” he growls, voice vibrating against your skin. He trails kisses down your stomach, each one slower, teasing, until he’s settled between your thighs. His hands—flesh and metal—grip your hips, spreading you open, and he just stares, eyes black with hunger. “Look at you, doll. So wet for me. Been like this since our call, haven’t you?”

You nod, breathless, and he chuckles, dark and dirty. “Good girl.” The praise hits like a drug, and then his mouth’s on you, no warning, just a slow, devastating lick through your folds. You cry out, hips bucking, but his metal arm pins you down, unrelenting. He groans, the sound rumbling through you, and it’s like he’s starving, tongue circling your clit, sucking hard, then dipping lower to taste you deeper. “Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever had,” he says, voice muffled, and you’re already trembling, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming.

His flesh hand joins in, fingers teasing your entrance, circling until you’re begging, voice broken. 

“Bucky, please, need you—” He doesn’t make you wait, sliding two fingers inside, thick and curling just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision white out.

You moan, loud and shameless, as he pumps them slow, then faster, his tongue never stopping, sucking your clit like it’s his mission to ruin you. “That’s it, doll,” he says, lifting his head just enough to watch you writhe. “Love those sounds. Keep makin’ ‘em for me.”

You’re close, too close, the coil tightening with every thrust of his fingers, every flick of his tongue. He senses it, doubles down, sucking hard as his fingers twist, and you’re gone, screaming his name as you come, body arching off the bed. He doesn’t stop, working you through it, licking every shudder until you’re gasping, oversensitive, tugging at his hair to pull him up.

He crawls over you, kissing you deep, and you taste yourself on his tongue, the intimacy making you dizzy. “So damn beautiful when you come,” he whispers, and the praise sinks into you, warm and perfect. His jeans are still on, tented painfully, and you reach for him, fingers clumsy with need as you pop the button, drag the zipper down. He helps, kicking them off with his boxers, and you pause, just looking—his cock’s thick, hard, leaking at the tip, and the sight makes your mouth water.

“Need you, Bucky,” you say, voice raw, reaching for him. “Now.”

He smirks, but his eyes are soft, reverent. “Gonna give you everything, sweetheart.” He settles between your thighs, teasing your entrance with his tip, dragging it through your slick until you’re whining. “You want me to fuck you, doll? Want me to make you mine?”

“Yes,” you breathe, legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer. “Please, Bucky.”

He doesn’t tease anymore. He pushes in, slow and relentless, stretching you inch by inch, and you both groan, the feeling overwhelming. He’s big, filling you completely, and he stills, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out, voice strained, his dog tags dangling, brushing your chest. “Feel so damn perfect, doll. Like you were made for me.”

You clench around him, and he curses, low and filthy. “Keep doin’ that, and I won’t last,” he warns, but you just smirk, rolling your hips to take him deeper. He growls, pinning your wrists again, the restraint making you burn. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, sweetheart.”

He starts moving, and it’s everything—deep, powerful thrusts, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking under the force. You meet him thrust for thrust, arching up, the friction perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every stroke. “Fuck, Bucky,” you moan, and he leans down, sucking a bruise into your neck, marking you as his.

“Mine,” he growls, each word punctuated by a thrust, his metal hand gripping your hip, anchoring you. “Say it, doll. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, the word a prayer, and he rewards you, angling his hips to hit even deeper, the pleasure blinding. His pace quickens, relentless, and you’re both panting, sweat-slick and desperate. 

“Love how you feel,” he groans, voice rough. “So wet, so tight, takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

The dirty talk pushes you higher, and you claw at his back, nails digging in, making him hiss. 

“Harder,” you beg, and he delivers, fucking you into the mattress, the headboard rattling. His flesh hand releases your wrists, sliding between you to rub tight circles on your clit, and you cry out, the added sensation too much. “Bucky, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he commands, possessive and fierce. “Wanna feel you, doll. Let go.”

It hits like a freight train, your body convulsing, clenching around him as you scream his name, pleasure tearing through you. He groans, thrusts growing erratic, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he pants, and then he’s coming, spilling inside you, hot and deep, his hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt.

You’re both trembling, locked together, and he doesn’t pull out, staying close, kissing you slow and deep, tongues lazy now, sated. His weight is grounding, his tags cool against your chest, and you feel every shudder of his breath. “No more distance,” he murmurs, voice a vow, his lips brushing yours. “I’m not leavin’ you again, sweetheart.”

You smile, fingers tracing his jaw, his stubble rough under your touch. “Better not, soldier. I’m keeping you forever.”

He chuckles, soft and warm, rolling to his side and pulling you with him, still inside you, like he can’t bear to break the connection. “Forever sounds good, doll.”

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

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[barnesonly]

A Night from the Past

bucky barnes x reader

trope: friends to lovers, fluff to smut

summary: you take bucky to 40s’ themed bar

word count: 2355

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, praise kink, oral (f receiving), PiV.

Bucky Barnes was not a man easily surprised. Nor was he particularly enthusiastic about surprises.

But you were different. You always had a way of sneaking past his defenses with that damn smile and eyes full of mischief and sunshine. Usually such behavior annoyed him (as If annoyed wasn’t an understatement) but when it came to you… It was different. So when you told him to “wear something nice” and refused to explain anything else, he grumbled, groaned, and did it anyway.

Now, standing outside a nondescript building in Brooklyn with the soft golden glow of vintage sconces lighting the sidewalk, Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“This better not be a cat café again.” He muttered.

You snorted, tugging at his hand. “You liked the cat café. Mr. Whiskers fell asleep on your lap, remember?”

“That demon scratched me.”

“Because you tried to move!” You giggled. “Come on, Buck. Trust me.”

He sighed dramatically but followed. As you pushed open the door, the soft croon of Billie Holiday spilled out, rich and warm like honey in the air.

Bucky stopped in his tracks.

The inside was like stepping into 1941 — velvet booths, checkered floor, amber lights swinging low, couples swaying slowly to the music. A jazz trio played onstage in front of a deep red curtain. Waitstaff in suspenders and old-school dresses weaved through the crowd. It smelled like bourbon, lavender, and nostalgia.

“Surprise!” you whispered excitedly, smiling up at him.

Bucky’s throat worked, but no words came out. He just stared, wide-eyed.

“I found this place a few months ago,” you continued, gently tugging his hand. “Thought you might like it. I know it’s not the same, not really. But I wanted to give you a little piece of… before.”

He turned to look at you, eyes softening. “You did all this for me?”

“Well, yeah.” you said, beaming. “You deserve a night where your world makes sense.”

Something cracked open in him then. Maybe it was the music, or the effort you made, or the way you looked at him like he was still the man he used to be.

“…You’re gonna make me dance, aren’t you?” he muttered, lips twitching.

“Obviously.” you said, already dragging him toward the floor.

He let you lead at first, all stiff limbs and awkward fidgeting. But the music started to seep in. So did the memories. The rhythm. The feeling. And soon, Bucky Barnes — grumpy, tired, sarcastic Bucky was spinning you under warm lights, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re not too bad, Sergeant.” you teased as he twirled you.

“You’re lucky I like you.” he said, but it came out soft. Fond.

As the song slowed and faded into another, he didn’t let you go. Just held you close, one hand on your waist, the other tangled with yours. His forehead pressed lightly to yours.

“Thank you.” he murmured. “For reminding me I’m still part of the world.”

You leaned into him, swaying gently. The night wore on, but Bucky didn’t let go of your hand. Not once.

He wasn’t sure if it was the music, the golden haze of the place, or just you, but the weight he always carried felt a little lighter tonight. Like your presence wrapped around him like a warm coat on a cold day.

You had insisted on staying until the last song, and he didn’t even argue. That surprised both of you.

As the final notes drifted through the air and the band packed up, Bucky helped you into your coat with surprising tenderness. The walk back to your place was quiet, but not in a bad way — comfortable, like shared silence between two people who didn’t need to fill it with anything else.

When you unlocked the door to your apartment, Bucky hesitated on the threshold. You turned back, quirking a brow.

“You comin’ in, or are you going to brood outside like Batman?”

He huffed a laugh and stepped in. You grinned, throwing your keys in the dish and flicking on a lamp. “So, was it too much? The bar, I mean.”

Bucky shrugged off his jacket and set it neatly over the back of your couch. “It was… perfect.”

You blinked. “Perfect?”

“Yeah… Perfect.” he said, quieter now. “You made it feel like home. Like… like something I didn’t think I’d get back.”

You stepped closer, smile gentling. “You’ll always have a home here, Buck. You know I’m here for you, right?”

His eyes met yours, something fragile flickering in them. “You mean that?”

You reached up, fingers brushing his cheek. “Of course I do.”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath he didn’t even know he was holding. His gaze flickered to your lips for just a tiny second. He leaned closer, and you didn’t even realize you did the same.

And suddenly you were kissing. Soft, sweet, a little unsure at first until Bucky’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him like he’d been waiting years for this. He kissed you like you were something he thought he’d never deserve but finally, finally had the courage to want.

When you broke apart, breathless and a little dazed, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I wanted this for so long.” he whispered.

“I know…” Your palm caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch almost immediately. „and you’re really bad at hiding how much you like me,” you teased.

He smirked. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

“Not for a second.”

You tugged him gently toward the couch, and he followed without protest. Eventually, you both ended up tangled together beneath a blanket, your head on his shoulder, his metal arm wrapped around your waist like it belonged there.

For once, Bucky didn’t feel like the Winter Soldier. He didn’t feel broken. He felt human. Warm. Real. And maybe that was all because of you?

His fingertips brushed lazy circles over your hip as his flesh hand tucked under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him.

There was a beat of silence.

“You know…” he murmured, voice gravelly from the hour. „if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna do something about it.”

You raised an eyebrow and your smile curled slow and inviting. “Oh yeah…?”

He studied you for a moment, like he was making sure — really sure — but once he saw the certainty in your eyes, something shifted in him. His lips were on yours again, deeper this time, slower, like he had all the time in the world and planned to use every second kissing you breathless.

His hand slid up your thigh under the blanket, warm and deliberate. You gasped softly as his metal fingers cupped your jaw, angling your head just right as his mouth moved against yours with growing hunger. The kiss turned messier, needier, as he pulled you into his lap, your legs straddling him.

“You always this sweet,” he whispered against your mouth, “or do I just bring it out of you?”

“You bring out a lot of things.” you breathed.

He smirked, but it was soft around the edges, adoring. His lips trailed down your neck, kissing and nipping gently as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingertips warm and reverent. When he reached for the hem, you lifted your arms to help him peel it off.

“Fuck,” he exhaled when he looked at you — bare, blushing, trusting. “You’re beautiful.”

Your skin tingled as he kissed down your chest, his voice dropping low. “Been thinkin’ about this… thinkin’ about how you’d sound…”

Your hips shifted on his lap, and he groaned quietly, fingers gripping your thighs. “Lay back for me, doll.”

You obeyed, settling on the couch as he pulled the blanket over you again, shielding you from the cool air. His hands dragged your pants down slowly, reverently, kissing every inch of newly revealed skin.

“Gonna take my time with you,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Make you feel real good. You okay with that?”

You nodded quickly, breath catching. “Please, Bucky.”

The way you asked — so sweet, so open — he couldn’t resist. He spread your thighs, settled between them like he belonged there, and pressed a warm kiss to your core over your underwear.

“You’re already wet for me,” he rasped, dragging the fabric aside to run his tongue over your slick folds. “Such a good girl…”

The first touch of his tongue was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every part of you. He licked a long stripe up your pussy, then circled your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk.

“Stay still for me,” he said, voice thick. “Let me take care of you.”

And you did. You let him eat you like he needed it — like he was starving. He used his fingers to part you, tongue flicking and sucking at your clit, slow at first, then faster as you moaned his name like a mantra. His metal hand gripped your thigh, anchoring you, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Fuck, Bucky—don’t stop, please—”

He didn’t. He kept going, praising you and murmuring sweet nothings between kisses and licks.

“Sound so pretty when you beg,” he groaned. “Taste even better than I imagined…”

Your back arched, fingers gripping the couch as the tension coiled in your belly. He felt it, sensed it and doubled down, tongue moving in perfect rhythm until you shattered with a cry, thighs trembling around his head.

He stayed there through your orgasm, easing you down, licking softly as your body twitched with aftershocks. Then he kissed the inside of your thigh and rested his cheek there, content.

You blinked down at him, dazed and warm and utterly loved.

„Atta girl…” He chuckled, then crawled back up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. „You’re so perfect like this… So fucking perfect.” His voice rumbled low against your skin as he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to tell you without words just how much he needed you.

Bucky brushed your slightly disheveled hair back from your face, metal fingers lingering at your jaw while the warmth of his flesh hand traced a line down your ribs. You shivered under his touch, still sensitive from his mouth, still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and craving.

“I want you, Buck…” you whispered, impatient and still needy.

He looked into your eyes like he was memorizing the way you said it. “Yeah?”

“Need you inside me, Bucky. Please.”

A sharp breath left him, almost a groan as he kissed your neck and said against your skin, “Fuck, baby…”

You watched him sit up enough to shrug out of his shirt, revealing strong shoulders and scars that told stories he never had to explain. He leaned back down to kiss you again, slow and messy, as he guided himself between your thighs. You could feel him now — hard and heavy against your thigh and your hips shifted instinctively, seeking more.

“Condom’s in my wallet.” he muttered against your lips, gesturing for you to reach his jacket that was laying somewhere beneath you.

You reached blindly for the jacket and found the wallet, and passed it to him with a grin. “Prepared, huh?”

“Wasn’t gonna assume,” he said, tearing the wrapper with his teeth, “but I hoped.”

You laughed softly, breath catching as he rolled the condom on. He kissed you through it — slow, grounding and when he lined up at your entrance, he paused, eyes locked with yours.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he said, voice serious beneath the arousal. “I mean it.”

“It’s you,” you whispered, hands cupping his jaw. “Everything with you feels good.”

With a low moan, Bucky pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you in the best possible way. “Take all of it, baby… I know you can. You’re so good for me.” He whispered and your nails dug lightly into his back as he sank into you, filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You feel like heaven.” He stilled once he was fully inside, breathing hard against your shoulder. “Can I move?”

“Please…” You moaned out with furrowed brows from the overwhelming sensation.

He pulled out almost all the way, then rolled his hips back in with a slow, fluid thrust that made you gasp. He did it again — slow and deep and perfect. There was nothing rushed about it. He made love to you like it meant something, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“You’re takin’ me so well, sweetheart.” he murmured into your ear, voice thick with praise. “So warm… fuck, this pussy’s perfect.”

You whimpered under him, lifting your hips to meet each thrust. “You feel so good, Bucky—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—”

His rhythm stayed steady, controlled, but his grip on you tightened, like he was holding himself back from giving in completely.

“Could stay buried in you forever,” he whispered against your neck. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You met his mouth again, the kiss turning feverish, messy with love and heat. Every time he rolled his hips, he hit that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

“I’m close.” you breathed.

“Yeah? Let me feel you come again, baby. Wanna feel you flutterin’ around me.”

He brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing gentle circles as he fucked you just right, coaxing your orgasm with filthy praise and that relentless, perfect rhythm.

“That’s it… there you go… come for me, doll.”

And you did. With a cry muffled by his mouth, your body arched, pulsing around him, and he followed with a broken moan, hips stuttering as he came hard, buried deep inside you.

He collapsed over you with a quiet laugh, brushing your hair off your forehead.

“You okay?” he whispered, still breathless.

You smiled up at him, blissed-out and glowing. “Better than okay. I think I saw God.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and kissed your cheek. “Nah. Just me.”

[asxgard]

Handprints | [3/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!reader

Previous |

Summary: The birth of your first child and all the little moments that you cherish with your husband.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’m honestly enjoying this Robby and Reader, so I might do something with them/inspired by them. Let’s see where season 2 takes us👀

This one got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it!

Word Count: 4.4k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, pet names (my love, sweetheart), mild angst, comfort, fluff, birth scene (nondescript), postpartum, mentions of a prior panic attack, therapy, Mother’s/Father’s Day, vague smut (minors dni!!!!), Robby getting good things because he deserves it

not beta read

Langdon returned in the last few weeks of your pregnancy, rolling into the Pitt with something to prove. He wasn’t as cocky as he had been, but he threw himself headfirst into the chaos of it all — which worried you that he would only fall back into his addiction.

Michael had put strict rules in place for him after he was done rehab — random urine tests, he needed sign offs for most of the drugs he could prescribe, as well as having him attend NA meetings. You could see plainly that even if Frank succeeded in all of that, Michael would need so much time to trust him as he once had. You didn’t know what had transpired between them during that shift, not really, but Frank had let your husband down majorly.

Most in the Pitt might not have known he had been stealing the drugs from patients, or the ED, but with one glance at you and it was clear Frank knew that you knew about it. How could you not? You were Michael’s wife, his one true confidant in the mess of it all.

Frank sucked up to you, maybe thinking it would be an easier way to soften Michael’s heart to him again. Brought you a muffin from the cafeteria when he saw you hadn’t eaten, pulled a stool over to your computer so you could sit, even taking the meaner or nastier patients from your plate. All with a smile. All with a humility you hadn’t seen in awhile.

You appreciated the gestures, but it did little to help gain your trust back.

“It’ll just take time,” you said to Langdon one afternoon. “He won’t trust you again if you take the easy way out.”

He seemed to consider it. “And you? When will you trust me again?”

You turned away from the computer screen to look at him, “Pass all your drugs tests. Show me that coin you get after one year in the meetings. Don’t fuck with my patients again. Then we’re square.”

He gave a curt nod, “Okay, I can do that.”

You smiled softly at him, “I hope so, Frank.”

Due to your large bump, you were not frequently in the trauma room, not wanting to risk bumping into anything or anyone. Like usual, you stuck to triage and the non-critical patients. Michael wanted to keep your stress and adrenaline levels down, which you accepted with little pushback. He also ensured you always sat down to have lunch, even pulling himself away from the chaos long enough to eat with you when you demanded requested it.

If he was going to make sure you ate, you were going to make sure the same.

It was roughly lunchtime when the cramping started, starting as just a mild sense of discomfort before edging closer to moderate pain. Braxton Hicks contractions, you thought, seeing as you were only in your 38th week. You had been getting them periodically since starting your third trimester, but they never got any worse than mild.

Dana found you hunched over the nurses station, trying to take slow, even breaths. The cramping had gotten substantially worse, edging closer to you not being able to think properly.

“Honey?” Dana called your attention.

You took another deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth. “It’s nothing, I’m okay.”

“You and your husband, I swear to god.” She let out a long breath before raising a careful eyebrow at you, “How long has it been going on?”

You hummed, thinking, “I don’t know, noon?”

Dana grinned at you, “Looks like you’re about to have this baby, kid.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No. I still have two weeks.”

“Babies come when they’re ready, not when you are.” She chuckled.

You groaned. Adam, you really had to make an appearance now, huh? Couldn’t have waited a week and a half for when I started maternity?

You clenched your teeth, “Where’s my husband?”

“I just saw Robby head into Trauma-1.” Frank said as he passed, eyeing you warily. “You okay?”

“Baby Adam just decided he didn’t care about the plans I had, no biggie.”

“You better get used to that.” Frank said with a laugh.

You only rolled your eyes at him, trying to catch your breath after the contraction. You watched as Frank ran to grab Michael from the trauma room, and you mentioned to Dana it might be smart to call in someone to cover until the end of your shift. In one fell swoop, two ED doctors were about to be unavailable.

You tried not to feel guilty.

Michael exited Trauma-1, hiding his annoyance of being pulled away well enough, before he spotted you. His eyes flashed before he was jogging over to you, hand immediately going to your back.

“Sweetheart?” His cool mask had slipped, the one that kept everything between you two mostly professional while you were at work.

You squeezed his hand, “Adam has decided he’s ready to meet us.”

Michael’s eyes widened, gaze flickering between your belly and your face. “What?”

“Contractions edging closer to five minutes apart, for about a minute. They’ve gotten worse since noon.”

“Noon?” Michael yelled, though not at you, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly five! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We were busy.” You said, “I thought it was just Braxton Hicks, like it’s been all month.”

“We were busy.” Michael echoed, tone disbelieving. “You were seriously—”

You hushed your husband as another contraction hit, clutching his hand tightly.

It felt like mostly a blur after that. You had gotten up to Labor & Delivery a little bit later, and Michael called a friend of yours to go get your go bag and baby bag to bring to the hospital.

As the contractions got closer, so did your desperation.

“Why did you do this to me, again?” You panted. “Jesus Christ, just get him out of me.”

Michael grinned at you, “Last I checked, you were the one begg—”

You swatted him away like he was nothing more than an annoying fly. “Michael Robinavitch, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking mildly amused, though he tried to contain his grin.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said a few minutes later, after another contraction, kissing your hairline.

“Trade with me?” You asked with a sly grin.

He chuckled, “I would in a heartbeat.”

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, trying to catch your breath, using the techniques you had learned in birthing classes.

“Now you say that.” You said, closing your eyes. “Wish you had said that before I went into labor.”

Michael kissed your forehead and rubbed circles onto your back. “Tell me what you need.”

You hummed, “I think I want to walk around. Might help.”

He helped you from the gurney to your feet, holding you steady. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned on him for support, swinging your hips from side-to-side. After breathing through a particularly bad contraction, Michael helped you walk back and forth across your room.

You breathed through each of them, taking them one at a time and trying not to get overwhelmed with how far you still had to go. Michael was steadfast beside you, nearly intuitively understanding what you needed when you needed it. Cold washcloth, soft caresses over your shoulders, squeezing your hips together while you leaned over the gurney, whispering encouraging words to you, or holding you close when the pain subsided.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, tone soft, standing behind you and swaying with you while you breathed in and out, arms wrapped around you. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Strongest woman I know. I love you so much.” He kissed your neck, moving to your jaw and then your cheek.

You hummed in acknowledgement, though you kept your focus on breathing through the contraction.

A few agonizingly slow hours later and you were ready to push. You felt ready to cry, clutching Michael’s hand with a grip that rivaled a vice. He soothed you, kissing your forehead.

“You’ve got this. Push when you breathe out, come on,” he encouraged.

Part of you wanted to kiss him. The other wanted to throttle him.

During the next contraction, that was what you did, breathing out as you pushed. Slow, controlled, powerful. It ripped through you and you screamed.

You had once wanted to be dignified during your labor. You worked at this hospital and these people were more-or-less your colleagues, even though you did not always work with them directly. The thought of remaining composed now made you want to laugh.

“Alright, he should be out on the next push.” your OB told you, looking over to Michael. “Would you like to do the honors, dad?”

Michael’s eyes got glassy, though he looked at you. “I’ll stay right here if you need me to.”

“It’s okay,” you breathed out, mustering a smile. “I know you want to.”

He kissed you, before moving to assist your OB with delivering your son. Thankfully, she had been right, and it only took one more push before your son was in Michael’s arms.

Adam Robinavitch was finally here.

You cooed at him softly when he was laid on your chest, though he cried loudly — clearly upset to be anywhere else but your womb. You could hardly blame him, but you felt overwhelming joy finally holding him in your arms. Tears leaked from your eyes, a warmth cascading through your insides at the sight of him, at the feeling of his tiny hand on your skin.

Michael had his hand on your head, stroking your forehead softly with his thumb. His teary eyes remained, looking between you and your son with a soft smile on his lips.

Adam gurgled on your chest, making small noises to highlight his displeasure. You kissed the top of his head before letting your head fall back onto the pillow, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion.

“I love you.” You said, blinking through your fatigue to look at your husband.

“Thank you.” He whispered back to you, big brown eyes soft and warm as he held your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow.

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “For this life. For loving me. For giving me a chance. For bringing our son into the world. I don’t know why you decided to take a chance on an old guy like me, but I’ll forever be grateful that you did.”

Tears blurred your vision and you blinked them away, “Oh, Michael. I’m so grateful it’s you. Even before I knew it, it was you. It always has been.”

He kissed you tenderly, whispering ‘always will be’ against your lips.

—

Postpartum was no joke, and add in being new to motherhood? You were in the trenches. You were thankful Michael had gotten a decent amount of time off to be in the throes of it with you, but at times, it still felt like you were drowning.

You tried not to feel guilty when you knocked out on the couch or turned in early, leaving the brunt of night shift to Michael. He was an ever faithful partner, and never even flinched when you felt he was shouldering too much of it. All he asked was that you rest, heal and spend time with Adam.

He took time in the mornings for himself, even started seeing a therapist via Zoom and you could see it helping. His shoulders seemed lighter and it created healthier habits for when he went back to working.

Michael’s first shift back did not come home with him, though you knew it was not likely to always be that way. Not when harder patients hit, or major casualties, but you hoped the things he was learning in therapy would help him whenever that day came.

You were rocking Adam back and forth, trying to get him to fall back to sleep, humming a lullaby softly. You caught movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, tired smile stretching across his lips.

“Hey, my love,” you said lowly, trying to keep your voice quiet so as to not stir your baby, who still would not fall asleep. “How was your shift?”

He gave a small shrug, “I’ve had worse.”

You raised a careful eyebrow at him, but didn’t push. “I think Adam missed his daddy.”

Michael stepped into the room, walking until he was beside you, looking at your son in your arms.

“Yeah?”

You made a small noise of agreement, moving to hand him over. As he stirred, Adam opened his eyes to look up at his father, their eyes complete mirrors of each other. It was undoubtedly one of your favorite features that he had inherited from Michael.

“I think he likes your lullaby much more than mine, actually.” You said, kissing the top of your son’s head.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, is it buddy? No, mommy’s lullabies are the best.”

Despite having a tough day of your own, your heart warmed. You leaned your head on Michael’s shoulder, staring down at Adam and rocking side-to-side with Michael’s movements.

Perhaps this was a healing all its own, in the quiet of your son’s room, just the three of you.

—

Mother’s Day came shortly after you got off maternity leave, and while it was nice to return to work, you missed Adam. It was nearly painful. But all your co-workers made it feel like a second home.

Dana and McKay were happy to swap baby stories with you, while Langdon attempted to give you and Michael tips. You seemed more receptive to it than your husband was.

You had decided that for your first Mother’s Day, you wanted the day off to spend with your son. Michael also ensured he had off, and let you sleep in. It was peaceful to wake up to a quiet house.

Michael brought you breakfast not long after you woke, and you showered him with kisses in gratitude. It really was the little things.

“I have a full day planned,” he told you, sitting beside you in bed, sipping a cup of coffee. “Slow morning, then when you’re ready, we’re gonna go out.”

“Out?” You questioned. “Care to be more specific?”

A sly grin formed on his face. “Nope.”

You scoffed, but you were smiling.

Sometime after noon, Michael was packing a lunch bag while you got changed, curious to see what he had planned. He got Adam ready, and you met him at the car with an eyebrow raised. He only smiled at you.

It was easy enough to guess what he was up to once you pulled up to the park. It was a beautiful spring day, and you enjoyed the little things — a picnic in the park with your family of three was perfect. Not too complicated, or required too much effort from you, and it was simple enough that you weren’t worried about Adam fussing too much.

You relaxed on the picnic blanket, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin, the warmth sending a happy buzz through your system.

Adam was only four months, but he took in the world around him eagerly. He was beginning to roll over with only a small amount of assistance, and he clapped his hands when he was excited, babbling nonsense.

It seemed like such a short amount of time since he had been born, but he was already beginning to grow far too quickly for your liking.

Michael kept Adam entertained while you read a bit, before you ate together. Michael really had quite the spread, aside from the sandwiches, he also had fruits and cheeses and crackers and your favorite chocolates.

“This is exactly what I needed.” You told him. “Thank you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, “You think this is it?”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He only smirked.

You discovered when you got home that Michael had hired a babysitter for that night. He said he wanted to take you out to dinner, and an excitement thrummed through you. You and Michael had barely had any alone time since Adam came into your lives, and while you enjoyed all the time you got with your son, you knew a night out with your husband would be good for you.

The restaurant he had picked? It was where you had had your first date.

A quaint little Italian place, and you nearly cried when you pulled up to it. It was not fancy or lavish, but it meant the world to you.

“Thank you for today.” You said, sipping your drink, trying not to cry in the middle of the restaurant.

He grabbed your hand on the table and ran a thumb over your knuckles. “You deserve it, sweetheart. You’re the best mom Adam could ever ask for, and I always want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

Your face heated, suddenly feeling sheepish.

Conversation flowed easily, and it was nice to be able to feel normal again — not just a mom, or a doctor, just you. It made your chest feel lighter. The topic eventually leaned back to Adam, and the fact that you missed him.

“We can take dessert to go.”

You smiled in relief, “Yes, please.”

On the ride home, you intertwined your fingers with Michael’s.

“So…any thoughts on another one?” You ventured quietly, a teasing smile on your lips.

Michael choked on an intake of air, “What?”

You laughed, “Eventually. Maybe. I don’t know. Just popped into my head.”

“Give a guy a little warning next time.” He chuckled.

“Consider yourself warned.”

He squeezed your hand, “Do you want another?”

You shrugged even though he was looking ahead at the road. “I don’t know. Adam’s still so little, but he’s also already so big, you know? I already miss how little he was. I wouldn’t be opposed in a year or so, but I wouldn’t be upset if we just stuck with one.”

“So…possibly another?”

“What do you think?” You asked instead of answering.

There was a long pause, and then a sigh, “I’m not getting any younger, I’d like to watch Adam grow up, go off to college. If we decided to, I wouldn’t want to wait too long.”

“So possibly another?”

You could hear the smile in his voice, “Possibly another.”

—

Father’s Day came with another day off, Michael wanting his first to be spent at home as well. You knew these kinds of holidays might need to be sacrificed in the future, so you were grateful that at least your first of each would be spent at home.

Knowing Michael, you knew he wasn’t one to want much fanfare, so you planned most a day in. From breakfast and lunch, to a few nice things to grill for dinner. It was mostly about spending time together, and you were happy to supply it. The details of his present sat in a card on the dining table, a cabin rented in the Poconos to fish with enough room for Jack and Jake to tag along (both had already agreed).

The day turned into a well deserved relaxing day, though you could see how much Michael was enjoying spending some time off with his family.

After dinner, you handed Michael the card, Adam in your lap. You bounced your legs, making car noises with your mouth, making him giggle and clap. You heard Michael open the card and silently he read over it.

“Jack and Jake already took off, and I worked something out with your shifts, you’ll be all set.”

He blinked at you before he was out of his seat and kissing your face, making you giggle. Adam squealed in your lap, clapping more eagerly while he babbled at his dad.

“This is…thank you.”

“You haven’t taken any time to go back up there in a really long time.” You shrugged, knowing he used to try to get away more frequently earlier on in your relationship. Sometimes you tagged along, but you thought a boys weekend away was just what the doctor ordered (you, you were the one who ordered it). “Soon you’ll have to bring Adam with you.”

Michael grinned, looking down at his son. “You’ll love it, I can show you how to…”

You watched Michael excitedly explain fishing to your son, who watched him with big brown eyes, mesmerized.

You put Adam down to sleep sometime later, before joining your husband in the living room. You curled up next to him.

“Thank you for today…it was very needed.”

You kissed his cheek, “You’re an amazing father, you know that? I’m incredibly thankful for you.”

He pulled you closer and kissed your head. You turned in his grasp and kissed his lips, moving into his lap to kiss him deeper. Michael responded instantly, one hand going behind your head and the other going to your hip.

The first time you had been intimate after giving birth to Adam had been a process riddled with your insecurities. Michael kissed his way through each one and took his time, like he was relearning your body. It took an incredible amount of pressure off your shoulders, and you revealed in his touch.

Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tongue licking along his bottom lip. His grip on you tightened, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Warmth pooled in your abdomen, and you moved your leg to straddle him.

His fingers ghosted over the skin of your hips, making you shiver. He moved a hand up your torso, grabbing at your flesh and you moaned into his mouth. You moved your hips down to find some sort of friction. A groan echoed low in Michael’s throat, and the sound set you on fire.

Michael had you up and on your back on the couch in a swift motion, settling between your hips. You pulled at the hem of your shirt until he helped you pull it over your head. He kissed down your neck and across your torso, moving lower until your head buzzed with pleasure.

You felt like your body was thrumming under his touch and you lost yourself in it. It wasn’t long before all of your clothes were scattered across the living room, Michael back between your hips.

He whispered his love for you against your skin, and proved it with each slow drag of his hips, until you were a moaning mess under him, a blinding heat overtaking your senses. He was everywhere, feeling so full of him, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, blissed out and overwhelmed with all the warmth swirling around in your chest.

Michael came with a few low grunts, groaning against your throat before pulling you into a rough, sloppy kiss.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, panting with him, foreheads touching. You leaned up to languidly kiss his lips again. He brushed a thumb across your cheek. He kissed along your cheek and nose, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle. You lightly pushed him away.

“Get off me, old man.”

An eyebrow rose, “Old man, huh? This old man can make you come again, if you—”

You laughed, “Get off.”

He moved his head in such a way that the softest touch of his beard ran along your neck and your face, making you squirm. The sensation was incredibly ticklish.

“Alright, alright, I yield. I yield!” You laughed again, turning your face away from him. “You’re not even that old anyways.”

He laughed and kissed your cheek, moving to sit back on his haunches. He looked down at you with a soft smile.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, “If you’re gonna keep looking at me like that, I might have to take you up on your offer.”

A sly grin spread across his lips, “Yeah? Thought I was an old—”

You reached up for him, “Just get back down here, Michael.”

He laughed, but complied.

—

A rare quiet morning was always a welcomed thing in your household, slow and lazy. With the hectic reality you both faced at work, you had begun to cherish these days. Adam on his playmat, you and Michael sitting on the couch eating breakfast and enjoying the company of each other.

When Michael came back into the kitchen from taking a shower, you had Adam sat in his highchair. You had a spread of paints and a canvas print sat on the dining table, a handful of newspapers protecting the wood from any mess.

Michael looked over it all with a face drenched in curiosity.

“Care to fill me in? What’s all this?” He looked over all the paints, raising an eyebrow at you. “This a new hobby, or something?”

You shrugged, “Not quite.”

He stayed silent and waited for you to elaborate, but you were messing with a few different colors, mixing them on a paper plate.

“Blue or red?” You asked.

“...blue?”

You handed him a paper plate with blue paint.

He stared down at it, “Do you want me to..?”

You looked at him and smiled, “Put your right hand in it.”

“Right, right. Of course. Logically, that was my next step.”

You chuckled, “I thought it could be a cute art piece for Adam’s room. Your hand, my hand and his in the middle.”

A softness warmed his face, and then he did as you asked. You pulled over the canvas print for him to put his now paint covered hand on. You handed him a damp paper towel when he was done. You dipped your hand into the red paint and copied your husband, so that your hands mirrored each other.

Adam seemed thrilled to be involved when you dipped his hand into the purple paint you mixed, placing his hand between both handprints you and Michael had left. You wiped his hand off and gave him a kiss on the head.

“It’s perfect.” Michael said in your ear.

You pulled him close, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You stared down at the little art piece of your handprints, your heart swelling at your little family you and Michael had carved out for yourselves. Even amidst the chaos, you had found your home.

“Always?”

“Forever.”

No matter what you two faced, you knew it was a promise you would both keep.

FIN.

All Dr. Robby content taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph

Robby deserves only good things. This brought me back to the layout I did for A Lesson in Firsts and omg it was another great journey.

Damn, s1 of The Pitt is over. What am I going to do with myself?? Write a lot? Probably

Also?? Heartbeat has over 1k notes?? That’s insane, thank you guys so much🥺🥹

[mercvry-glow]

love me hard love me soft

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. jack abbot isn't a soft man, but he'll learn for you.

warnings. age gap (jack mid/late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), typically pitt medical drama stuff, hospital setting, work place kind of relationship, they're pining but not kissing, other pitt characters, santos is mouthy, no use of (y/n), but let me know if there's more!

notes. the jack abbot grind is real and alive within me, I need so many more fics with him to come out. not much to say here, but since my requests are open I will mention I do try to keep my readers as nondescript as possible so every one can feel welcome here! please enjoy and any and all feedback is welcome, ask box is open as always!

wc. 1600+

It was no secret to the PTMC staff that Jack Abbot wasn’t a soft man. Rough around the edges and tough as nails, the ex army medic was as stoic as they come. He had been at the pitt for a number of years before you came around, working day by day to provide the best care he possibly could for the people that came to the ER. 

It was a hard job, physically and mentally taxing on the body. Everybody kenw that, it was basically in the job description—but you made it easier on him, and everybody saw. 

You, the nurse who had come in as a temp, were the saving grace of quite a few people in the pitt. 

Jack included. 

Sure, he was a hardass but he was genuine and kind if not a bit guarded. 

“You could take it easier on some of the interns ya know,” you said, taking a seat next to Jack as he finished charting a few things on one of the computers at the nurses station. 

He left a small scoff, not turning to look at you “the job isn’t easy, they can go to Robby if they want someone nicer.” 

You gave him a knowing look, “You’re plenty nice, Jack. They just want to learn from you, being more approachable is what makes you a good teacher.” 

Tough love was more Jack’s style, patience was yours. 

“Jesus, woman. You come over here to lecture me or something? I’m sure someone needs their temperature checked.” That remark earned him a slap on the arm and an indignant scoff from you. 

“Oh don’t be an asshole Jack! I’m just saying you’d go a lot farther with some of the younger staff if you could lighten up.” Sitting forward in your rolley chair you scooched closure to the older man, clearly invading his personal space as the two of you continued the conversation in a small moment of peace. 

Jack leaned back in his chair just slightly, eyeing the way your knees bumped against his. You were always doing that—getting in close. Somehow you weren’t scared of what might be underneath all that steel-plated attitude.

He tilted his head toward you. “You know I don’t do well with ‘lightening up.’ That’s your department, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you warned, trying not to smile.

He smirked—just a twitch of the lips, but enough to count. “Then stop smiling every time I do.”

“Touché.”

There was a beat of quiet between you, broken only by the distant rattle of a gurney being rolled past and the soft clack of a keyboard a few feet away. It was almost peaceful. Almost.

“You really think I’m too hard on them?” he asked, voice lower this time—quieter, more honest.

You blinked. He rarely opened the door like that, even after years of working together, of being together. 

“I think you’ve seen a lot of bad, Jack,” you replied, nudging his foot with yours under the desk. “And I think you want to make sure they’re ready for it. That’s not wrong. But… compassion doesn’t make you weak. And letting them in, letting me in, more doesn’t make you soft.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the monitor, lips pressed tight.

Finally, he said, “You made the Pitt better when you walked in here, you know that?”

You looked at him, surprised.

“That’s not me being soft,” he added gruffly. “That’s just the damn truth.”

You smiled again, leaning back with a little satisfied hum. “See? You can say nice things.”

He groaned and went back to typing. “Don’t get used to it.”

On the otherside of the pitt, a few of the interns (namely Whitaker and Santos) stood watching the interaction. 

They couldn’t understand what was different about you, why Dr. Abbot let you get so close or why it even mattered to them. 

“Is he actually smiling?” Whitaker whispered, brows furrowed like he was witnessing some kind of natural phenomenon.

Santos squinted, arms crossed over her black scrubs. “I think that was technically a smirk. But yeah. I’ve never seen him do that before. Not even when a guy walked in here with a screwdriver in his shoulder.”

Whitaker huffed. “What is it about her? Like… we’ve been here for weeks and the guy barely grunts at us outside of traumas.”

“She called him an asshole once,” Santos said, deadpan. “To his face.”

“That’s what I mean! Anyone else’d be doing triage on themselves. But her? He likes her.”

They both watched as you leaned in and nudged Jack’s arm again, laughing softly at something he said. The kind of sound you don’t really expect to hear in an ER.

Whitaker shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe it’s because she doesn’t try too hard,” Santos mused. “She just… gets it. The pace, the patients. Him.”

Whitaker rolled his eyes. “You think it’s cute, don’t you?”

Santos shrugged, hiding a grin. “Kinda. But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll say you’re lying.”

The brief quiet between didn’t last long—peace rarely did in the Pitt.

“Trauma incoming!” someone called from the double doors, and instantly, the mood shifted. The air snapped to attention. Everyone shot to their feet at the same time, chairs rolling and shuffles heard in unison.

“Room 3,” Dana’s voice rang out. “Ped versus auto, ETA three minutes. Bystander started compressions.”

You and Jack were already moving, grabbing gloves and snapping them on. He tossed you a look, his version of “ready?”—and you gave a nod back, adrenaline kicking into gear.

Inside the trauma bay, the gurney rolled in hard and fast. Blood, pressure alarms, panicked shouts. A young teen, unresponsive, with a cracked helmet and the visible deep red staining the right side of his jeans said it all.

Jack took command like always. “Let’s go! O2 on, wide bore IVs—Kid, stay with me.”

You moved into position while the interns filtered in along the wall, wide-eyed and stiff. Santos lingered a bit too close, trying to be helpful but also trying to see everything at once as per usual.

“Pressure’s dropping,” you called out, hand on the young man’s wrist. “Palpable at 70.”

Jack was already cutting through fabric, assessing the damage. “Get that line in now. If he’s got internal bleeding—”

Santos blurted, “Damn, this is intense. No wonder she’s always stuck to you like glue.”

You froze for a split second—so did Dana and everybody in the room—and Jack’s head snapped up like a missile had locked on.

“What did you just say?” His voice cut through the chaos like a ten blade.

Santos blinked, caught completely off guard. “Uh—I didn’t mean—”

“This is a trauma room, not a gossip circle,” Jack barked. “If you’re not focused on the patient, you can get the hell out.”

Silence fell for just a second before another doctore pushed past Santos to jump in on the line.

“Intern out,” Dana said firmly, giving Santos a nudge toward the door without even looking at her.

You didn’t have time to react, not really—not when a kid’s life was in your hands—but you felt Jack’s presence tighten beside you. All steel again. The warmth from earlier was gone. Not for you—but for everyone else.

And Santos would probably think twice before running her mouth in the middle of a trauma again.

The rest of the team worked in a tight rhythm, the energy electric and focused. Fluids in. Monitors up. The suction buzzed while Robby barked vitals. You stayed glued to the patient’s side, hands steady, voice low and soothing despite the pressure.

After what felt like forever but was only about ten minutes, the kid finally stabilized. Pressure creeping up. Oxygenation improved. No sign of a brain bleed on the portable.

It was a win, another save. 

“Get him up to CT,” Jack instructed, peeling off bloodied gloves. “Page ortho for that femur. Kid’s gonna have a hell of a time if he wants to bike again,”

As the gurney rolled out, the noise faded into the hallway. The tension broke. Air was breathable again.

Jack leaned against the wall as people filed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. You stepped up beside him, just outside the room, letting the buzz of the hospital fill the gap.

“You alright?” you asked softly.

He gave a low grunt. “Would be better if I didn’t have interns running their mouths in the middle of a code.”

“She was probably just nervous,” you said gently, though you couldn’t begin to excuse Santos’s timing. “And maybe a little dumb.”

Jack snorted.

You nudged your elbow into his. “Things look different for everyone.”

His brow quirked, eyes flicking toward you. “That’s what that was?”

You smiled, giving a little shrug. “I mean… could be worse, right?” 

Jack rolled his eyes but didn’t push you away, which for him might as well have been affection after what had just happened.

“I’ll talk to Santos,” you added. “She’s got so much potential. Just needs to learn when to shut up.”

“I’ll make Robby talk to her too,” Jack said quietly, voice low and a little rough around the edges. “But not today. She already got lucky once.”

You leaned your shoulder against the wall, mirroring his posture.

“Y’know, for what it’s worth…” you said, glancing sideways at him, “You were kind of amazing in there, as always.”

Jack looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in those tired hazel eyes.

“Don’t start,” he warned lightly. “You’re already ruining my image.”

You smiled, placing a small kiss on his cheek. “Too late.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[scarlet-star-witch]

His Sacrifice

Summary: Aemond makes the decision to save the one he loves over his brother.

Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and is in a secret relationship with Aemond

WC: 1.5 K

Tumblr is a piece of shit that deleted the request but to whoever sent this, hope you enjoy xx

Part 2

~~

The screams of men below were almost inaudible over the roar of her dragon. She felt powerful, she felt vindictive, a smug satisfaction washing over her as she decimated the Green army below, the traitors who dared to usurp her mother.

Yet her heart was aching. 

Her eyes scanned the skyline, nervously awaiting Vhagar’s presence, awaiting his presence. 

Her throat tightened and she blinked rapidly to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. She’d cried enough tears over him, over the divide that wedged between them, threatening to break them apart completely. She had to be done. 

A trill made her perk up, looking over her shoulder, her eyes wide, her chest aching, but as she caught sight of the smaller, gold dragon headed her way, her devastation soon turned to anger. 

Aegon. 

Her face shifted, her agony now hatred. Her teeth grit with effort as she pulled at the reins, swooping dangerously close to the soldiers below her, a smirk painting her lips at their cries of terror. 

“Vermithor… attack.”

The dragon below her roared, a mighty sound that shook the bones of those who watched from below. 

She distantly heard Aegon’s call and held onto the handles of the saddle in a white-knuckled grip as she swerved out of the way of the stream of fire Sunfyre spat at her. She winced, flinching away from the barrage of flames that met her too closely. 

The dragons fought a vicious and bloody fight, Vermithor’s talons tearing Sunfyre across her belly, her cries echoing, shaking the ground below. 

Over her dragon’s head that now had the other poor dragon’s neck in his jaws, she met Aegon’s eyes, her gaze alight with hateful glee as she noticed the fear in his eyes. 

But suddenly, his expression shifted, a smile growing as he breathed out in relief. 

Turning, she saw the enormous figure of Vhagar looming forward, like a killer stalking its prey, ready to devour her with ease. 

Her heart dropped, the grip on the reins slipping from her hands, as if she already accepted her fate. 

Swallowing against the lump in her throat that grew, she closed her eyes, refusing to see the look on her lover’s face as he ended her. 

~~

They met in the dead of night, as they always had, meeting on a nondescript island halfway between Dragonstone and King’s Landing. 

He was already waiting for her as she descended from the skies, landing Vermithor beside the hulking figure of Vhagar. 

He was approaching her before she could unsaddle herself. 

His hands were on her before her feet met the ground. 

She was brought into his arms before she could say a word. She embraced him as she always did, desperately, as if it would be their last. With the state of their families, it might just be. 

“Are you alright?” She asked worriedly as she pulled out of his arms, her eyes frantically searching for his face, finding only despair.

“You cannot go tomorrow.” He told her swiftly.

“What-”

“They commanded me to take Vhagar to Rook’s Rest.”

Her face remained impassive as she took in his words, though the storm that raged within her was devastating, shattering every ounce of hopeful excitement she’d felt when she received his raven to meet her that night.

“Aemond, I-”

“You cannot go. Please.” He begged her. 

Her gaze met his and the frantic desperation she saw in his lone eye stirred sadness within her, the divide between their families that had slowly been tearing them apart delivering another fatal blow. 

“I have to. You know I have to.” She answered quietly, mournfully, as if she was already accepting her fate. She couldn’t fight Vhagar, she couldn’t win against him. 

He cursed and took a step away from her, placing his hand over his mouth as he tried hard to rein in his anger, his fear of what would happen to her, to them, as they met on the battlefield.

They always knew it would happen eventually, but it didn’t mean they were ready for it. They had been content to live in a fantasy together, as if they could pretend they weren’t living their reality, that they could’ve lived a happy life together. 

He stepped towards her again, taking her face in his hands. 

“Please, you cannot- I cannot-” He stammered and let out a shaking breath, his tortured gaze locked on hers. “Love, please, don’t go.”

“We always knew this would happen.”

His anger flared at the resolution he heard in her voice, at how quickly she was willing to accept this, that they were to meet on the battlefield, with only one of them returning victorious. He couldn’t accept it, he wouldn’t.

He shook his head wordlessly, his brows furrowed as if in pain. Her arms wrapped around him and he was quick to return the hug, holding her to him tightly. He let out a shaking breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he held her, silently praying it wouldn’t be for the last time.

“We should’ve left while we still had the chance.” She spoke with a small laugh that held nothing but sadness. Aemond nodded, his hands gripping her firmer, his thoughts a mirage of what their life would be if he had taken her up on her offer to escape to Essos all those years ago.

He desperately wished he had agreed. 

“Whatever happens tomorrow-”

“Don’t.” He begged, his heart already aching at the thought of what they would face. 

“Whatever happens,” She repeated more sternly as she looked at him intently. “It won’t change what we have. Nothing will change how I feel about you, even if I cannot feel anything at all.”

He practically shuddered at the thought, the mere notion of losing her too much to fathom and bowed his head until his forehead met hers, their shaking breaths shared. 

“I’ll love you even after the end.” 

He couldn’t hear any more. He kissed her firmly, pouring every bit of love he had for her and had felt for her for years into every caress of his lips, every tantalizing swipe of his tongue, every heated touch that he bestowed onto her beautiful body he had worshiped in secret. 

~~

I’ll love you even after the end

The words echoed in his mind all night. As he left her side to return to King’s Landing before the sun rose, they wouldn’t leave his head, torturing him over and over again, until he felt as though he couldn’t take another breath. 

Now, as he sat atop Vhagar, eyeing the battle in the skies above with bated breath, he knew he had only one choice to make. 

A choice that came all too easily, a choice he would make again each and every time. 

He commanded Vhagar to fly, her large frame taking to the skies slowly, his eye locked onto Vermithor, his heart in his throat as he saw her small frame duck out of the way just in time before Sunfyre’s jaws locked onto her. 

He felt nothing but relief as Vermithor trapped Aegon’s dragon in his jaws, he felt nothing as his brother’s dragon cried out in pain. 

But the blinding rage he felt as he watched Sunfyre swiped her claws against Vermithor’s face, dangerously close to her, made his blood boil.

His hands clenched, his jaw tight, his lone eye dark with resolve as he soon accepted the consequences he would face, the judgment the Gods would place on him. 

But he didn’t care. He would slay his brother if it meant she lived. He would slay millions to save her, without thought. 

“Dracarys!” He yelled, his eye remaining on Aegon who tried to shield himself from the flames that descended upon him. He grunted as Vhagar crashed against Vermithor, harshly nudging the dragon out of the way, Vermithor growling menacingly at Vhagar, before jerking to the side, her command of the reins forcing her dragon not to engage. 

He watched, his heart racing, as she flew away from the scene, away from Aegon as he fell alongside Sunfyre’s broken and burning body. 

He paid little mind to anything else and followed after her. They flew for a few minutes, away from the chaos of battle, away from any prying eyes that would reveal their secret.

He descended just a second after her, landing Vhagar next to Vermithor, his hands shaking as he undid his ties, jumping down his dragon’s frame unsteadily. 

“What the fuck was that?!” She yelled as she stomped towards him, tears in her eyes, unsure of what to make of the emotions overwhelming her. “Do you know what you have just done?”

He ignored her yells and grabbed her hands, pulling her to him, his arms wrapping around her tightly. She squirmed in his grip for a moment, her adrenaline still thrumming through her veins,  before finally giving in as she felt him shaking against her. 

She let out a trembling breath, her arms coming up to wind around him. She let her eyes fall closed as his hand rested on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. 

“What did you do?” She asked wearily, her voice hoarse and weak with exhaustion.

“What I had to.”