#okay this one is a little more difficult for me to split between like

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[pucksandpower]

Say My Name

Oscar Piastri x streamer!Reader

Summary: when fans mistake Oscar for your ex while he is hanging around in the background of your stream, you get introduced to a side of Oscar that you’ve never seen before

Warnings: 18+ content

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you narrate the intense battle unfolding on your stream. “Oh damn, that was close! I almost got sniped there.” You lean in, eyes narrowed at the screen. “Gotta be more careful or this round is over.”

The chat explodes with messages cheering you on. Being one of the top female gaming streamers has its perks, like an incredibly loyal fanbase that hangs on your every word.

You glance at the viewer count — over 50,000 watching live. Not too shabby.

“Okay team, let’s rush B, I’ll try to draw their fire.” You move your character into position, heart pounding with anticipation.

Suddenly, a quiet thump comes from the living room behind you. You start, whipping your head around, but see nothing amiss through the open doorway. Must have been your imagination.

You refocus on the game, calling out tactics to your teammates. Another muffled sound, like something soft hitting the floor, catches your attention. You turn off your video and hit mute on your mic. “Hello? Is someone there?”

No response. You’re just about to unmute when a very familiar face pops into view from the hallway. It’s your boyfriend of nearly two years.

Your face splits into a huge grin as you take in his messy hair and the rumpled clothes he slept in on the flight. “Oscar! You’re back early!”

He crosses to you, bending to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Missed you,” he mumbles against your hair.

You tilt your face up for a proper kiss, “I missed you too, ba-”

But you’re cut off as his lips crash into yours, insistent and heated. Heat blooms in your cheeks at the sudden, passionate embrace. Far too soon, Oscar pulls away, leaving you flustered and breathless.

“Sorry,” he says with a smirk that suggests he’s anything but. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You shake your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous. I’m working, you know.”

“So I noticed.” Oscar settles onto the couch just off-camera, casual as can be. “Don’t mind me, keep going.”

“You sure?” You eye him skeptically. The stream has been on a short period without your commentary and the chat is getting restless. “I can take a break if you want.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’m just going to hang out here for a bit. Go ahead.”

Hesitating only a moment, you turn your video back on and unmute your mic. “Alright folks, sorry about that little pause. I, uh, got a surprise visitor.” You gesture vaguely toward where Oscar lounges behind you.

The chat instantly lights up with questions about who was there. Smiling to yourself, you ignore them for now, re-focusing on the game.

Over the next hour, it becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate. Oscar keeps distracting you, making silly faces and gestures whenever you glance his way. More than once you have to stifle a laugh after catching sight of him. Your fans seem to find your giggly mood delightful, though they remain oblivious to the cause.

Finally, in a rare break between matches, you swivel in your chair to face him. “You’re being so disruptive,” you stage-whisper. “Don’t you have better things to do than pester me?”

Oscar feigns innocence. “Who, me? I’m just sitting here, love.”

Rolling your eyes, you stretch your arms overhead with a groan, back popping from sitting so long. Oscar’s gaze shamelessly rakes over you, darkening.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, fighting a smile.

“Like what?” His eyes glint with mischief.

You open your mouth to respond, but a new donation notification pops up on your stream, cutting you off. “Oh, wow, thanks for the ten thousand bits, Legend27!” The expensive donation isn’t that unusual, but the comment attached gives you pause.

I’m so happy you and Eric made up! You two are couple goals for real.

Frowning, you scan the new barrage of messages flooding the chat … and find dozens echoing similar sentiments.

Your stomach drops as you finally realize what your viewers think is happening. They assume Oscar is actually your ex, the one you briefly dated and had an awful breakup with over two years ago. Apparently his surprise appearance has led them to believe you two have reconciled.

Heat floods your face at the misunderstanding. Objecting seems pointless though — you’ve learned it’s better not to discuss your private romantic life on stream. “Ah, thanks guys, you’re too kind,” you finally say, aiming for a neutral tone.

Beside you, Oscar stiffens, catching the implications of the messages. His jaw clenches and you watch as his face cycles through a series of micro-expressions — first surprise, then confusion, quickly followed by displeasure and … jealousy?

Uh oh. This could get messy fast if he gets worked up. You try to subtly shake your head at him in a silent plea to ignore the chat.

No such luck. His brow furrows deeper and you can practically see the tension ratcheting up in his shoulders.

Suddenly, Oscar surges to his feet with a muttered curse. Before you can react, he’s stalking around the side of your chair until he’s directly in view of the camera’s frame.

“Oscar, what are you-”

But he cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands and kissing you hard. Your startled squeak is smothered by his fierce, possessive mouth moving over yours.

Powerless to resist the onslaught of sensations, you melt bonelessly against him as the kiss stretches on and on. Only the escalating number of notifications showing the shock and exclamations from your viewers finally breaks through the heady fog.

With extreme reluctance, Oscar ends the kiss, both of you panting. He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your flushed skin as he growls, “She’s mine.”

Then, before you can respond, he reaches past you and slams his palm into the power button of your streaming setup, shutting everything down.

The simultaneous howl of outrage from tens of thousands of confused fans cuts off abruptly as the screen goes black. Only the two of you are left in the ringing silence that follows.

“Oscar!” You finally manage. “What was that?”

He pulls away enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his brown eyes blazing with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I got … jealous,” he admits, seeming almost surprised at his own vehement reaction. “When they thought I was your ex. I didn’t like that at all.”

Your expression softens at his uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. Reaching out, you trace his sharp cheekbone with gentle fingers. “You have no reason to be jealous, silly man. It’s only ever been you.”

Some of the blazing heat in his stare banks into smoldering embers at your reassurance. “Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Good.”

He leans in again until his lips are a hairsbreadth from yours. “Because you’re mine, okay? And I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, dizzy with wanting him. “I’m all yours, Oscar.”

The possessive words seem to flip a switch in him. With a low, rumbling sound of approval, his mouth slants over yours once more in a searing, demanding kiss that makes your toes curl.

The abrupt ending to your stream is already causing a social media firestorm of epic proportions. But surrounded by the circle of Oscar’s arms, his familiar warmth and love, you can’t find it in yourself to care even a little bit.

After all, you think dizzily as he deepens the kiss, your fans should have recognized that you two were a couple from the very start — because Oscar Piastri is most definitely not your ex.

He’s your everything.

***

Oscar’s hands are everywhere, seemingly unable to get enough of you as his kisses grow more and more fervent. Your back hits the wall with a gentle thump as he crowds closer, caging you in with the solid warmth of his body.

“Missed you so much, love,” he rasps against the heated skin of your neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A whimper escapes your lips at the scorching path his mouth blazes over your pulse point. “I m-missed you too, Oscar.”

His name falls from your lips like a prayer and he rewards you by sucking a mark into the sensitive spot just below your ear. Pleasure zings along your nerves at the hint of delicious possession in the act.

When he finally pulls back to gaze at you with dark, hooded eyes, his lips are reddened from enthusiastic use. The sight sends a molten flare of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Say it again,” he commands roughly, voice gone low and gritty in that way that never fails to make you melt.

You blink up at him, momentarily lost in a lust-fueled haze. “W-What?”

“My name.” His large hands skim over the curve of your waist, bunching the fabric of your shirt. “Say my name again.”

“Oscar,” you breathe without hesitation, watching raptly as his pupils blow wider at the sound. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...”

Each breathy iteration seems to stoke his hunger hotter. His fingers flex against your sides like he’s holding himself back from something.

On a daring whim, you slant your mouth near his ear, letting your lips brush the shell with every word. “Oscar Piastri,” you practically purr. “My Oscar.”

A broken groan is your only warning before he’s on you again, mouths crashing together in a heated crash of lips, teeth, and tangling tongues. His hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck, angling your face for deeper exploration.

When you finally manage to tear your lips away, you’re both panting harshly, chests heaving. “What’s … gotten into you?” You pant.

Rather than answer, Oscar just shakes his head and dives back in for more fervent kisses, like a man dying of thirst and you’re the most delicious drink he’s ever tasted.

It’s not until he suddenly grips your waist and spins the two of you around, depositing you on the desk with a surprising lack of finesse, that you realize just how wildly affected he is.

Oscar licks into the seam of your lips like he’s staking a claim and something within you shatters at the stark, naked wanting in his eyes when he pulls back the tiniest bit.

He just stares at you, chest heaving, gaze roving hungrily over your features like he’s memorizing you all over again. His pupils are blown wide, just thin rings of molten brown remaining around the black.

When he speaks, his voice is low and gravelly in a way that vibrates through you. “Say. My. Name.”

“Oscar,” you respond immediately, not even having to think. His hungry gaze burns over you and you feel stripped bare and vulnerable under the weight of it.

But rather than make you want to cover up, it has the opposite effect — you’re reeling him in, hands fisted in his shirt to pull him closer. You never want this delirious, frantic sense of possession and desire to end.

“Again,” he grinds out, sounding utterly wrecked already.

“Oscar.” You bare your neck for him as you say it, like presenting an offering. He groans low and deep, instantly ducking to mouth along the column of your throat.

His hands are everywhere, pushing up the hem of your top, kneading along your sides and ribs as he nips and sucks bruising paths across your collarbones and chest.

“Don’t stop saying it,” he orders, more plea than demand.

So you let his name become a breathless prayer falling from your lips, over and over between gasps and keening whimpers. You lose yourself in a heady feedback loop — the more you speak his name with naked wanting, the wilder it seems to drive him until his touch grows scattered and devouring.

At some point his hands finally succeed in tugging your shirt up and off. Your name doesn’t even register when his scorching mouth closes over one peaked bud, your back bowing at the shuddering bolt of sensation that lances through you.

All you can seem to process is the feel of his calloused palms mapping every inch of newly-exposed skin and the desperate mumble of “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...” spilling shameless and endless from your lips.

Eventually, the heated exploration of his mouth and hands becomes too much to simply lay there and take. With a low, guttural sound you haul Oscar upright and swing your legs around his hips, relishing his full body shudder.

“Not enough,” you accuse roughly, rolling your core against his in clear invitation. “Need you closer, Oscar.”

His heated groan at your wanton demand is music to your ears. Strong hands grasp your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist as he surges against you.

“So impatient, my darling girl,” he teases. This close, you can make out the faintest brush of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones that you’ve mapped and memorized with lips and fingertips a hundred times before.

You can’t help but reach out to graze them with your thumb, gazing up at him with naked adoration. “My Oscar,” you murmur reverently.

His eyes slip shut for a beat, jaw ticking as if your words have an unexpectedly profound effect on him. When he opens them again, his gaze is fierce and intent.

“Yours,” he vows simply, leaning in to seal the promise against the plush of your lips.

The kiss is somehow softer and headier than before. You get lost in the lush glide of his mouth, every sliding brush of lip and tongue shorting out whatever rational thoughts remain until all you know is his name — the shape and taste and weight of it against your own.

It’s the only thing that seems real, vital, until at some point Oscar’s mouth leaves yours to trail hot, openmouthed kisses down your chest and stomach and lower still.

Your back bows as you squirm incoherently against the press of his lips and tongue. His restraint seems to have finally snapped, movements growing hungry and rough as he works you steadily higher.

“Oscar,” you sob out his name like you’re breaking apart, pleading for something you can’t quite name. He answers with a rumbling sound of satisfaction that vibrates hotly against your sensitized flesh.

More, is all you can think as he redoubles his efforts.

At some point, you must have arched helplessly off the desk because suddenly his hands are at the small of your back, fingertips digging in hard as he holds you arched for his questing mouth.

The intimate angle of his positioning has your jaw dropping open on a silent scream of overwhelmed pleasure. All that escapes is a strangled gasp of, “Oscar!”

He growls something incoherent against you that might be praise, might be reassurance, might just be your name groaned out roughly in shared bliss. But you honestly can’t tell anymore — you’ve transcended far past coherent speech and rational thought.

Everything has devolved into just sensation and feeling and the endless loop of his name spilling over and over from your lips like a benediction.

Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...

Just when you think you might actually shatter into pieces from the intensity he’s wringing out of you, strong hands are abruptly hauling you up and off the desk in one smooth motion.

You cling to him with heavy limbs, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he staggers the few steps to your shared bedroom. At some point his shirt has vanished, allowing your hands free rein to roam over flexing muscle and heated skin.

When the backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses to claim your mouth in another searing, shattering kiss. He whispers something fervent and intense against your lips, your name perhaps intertwined with endearments or promises.

You can’t be sure. All you know is the shape of his name against your tongue, the only word your mind seems capable of holding onto as he lowers you reverently to the sheets and stretches out over you.

When he finally sinks into you with a harsh groan of relief, your back bows and you let out a broken, high keen — his name once more torn from your lips in breathless ecstasy.

“There you are, that’s it love,” he growls hoarsely as he begins to move, words interspersed between drugging, thorough thrusts. “Let me hear you, let me hear my name on those pretty lips.”

So you do, shamelessly loud and incoherent now as he gradually unravels you from the inside out. His name and gasped pleas and frantic praise all blur together in a continuous stream of blissful delirium.

At some point, his own control seems to splinter apart, hips snapping hard and deep as his pace turns utterly unrestrained. Still, you chase that shattering edge, crying out for Oscar as your whole world narrows to the merciless intensity of his driving thrusts and demanding hands kneading your flesh with staking ownership.

When you finally go soaring over that dizzying peak with his name torn hoarse from your throat, he follows you over almost violently with a ragged shout. Oscar’s arms shake dangerously as he holds his weight off of you, pupils swallowing up the copper of his eyes entirely in onyx pools of spent lust.

As you slowly float back down from that searing high, limbs heavy and sated, you reach up to trace the sharp line of his cheekbone. He turns his face into your palm with a shuddering exhale as if grounding himself.

For several long breaths, all that can be heard is your shaky inhales mingling together while your racing heartbeats gradually return to normal.

Finally, Oscar presses a warm, lingering kiss to the center of your palm before shifting to stretch out beside you, his weight dipping the mattress.

You immediately curl into the reassuring heat of him, despite the sweat still cooling along your skin. One of his arms bands around your waist, holding you flush against his side while his other hand comes up to card soothingly through your hair.

Nestling your face into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, you press a gentle kiss to the hollow of his throat and whisper, “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” he murmurs back, low and slightly scratchy in the aftermath. You can hear the smile in his voice as his fingers keep carding idly through your hair.

Silence falls again, comfortable and peaceful in the aftermath of your frantic passion, both of you simply basking in the warmth of shared nearness.

Eventually though, the question you’ve been avoiding asking slips out in a hazy murmur. “What brought all … that … on, Oscar?”

He’s quiet for so long, you begin to wonder if he fell asleep. Just when you’re about to shift to look at him though, he speaks up.

“When your fans assumed I was your ex … the way they were celebrating that the two of you got back together ...” His fingers stroke almost absentmindedly through your hair as he pauses. “I dunno, something in me just .. .snapped a little. Seeing them say over and over how perfect he was for you ...”

He trails off with a low chuckle, and you can’t resist craning your neck to glance up at him curiously. When your eyes meet his, his expression is rueful.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of any other name on your lips, love. Even your own.” His fingertips trace the line of your jaw with unbearable tenderness. “All I wanted was for you to say my name like that — like it’s the only word that matters in the entire world.”

Just like that, a fresh ember of want rekindles low in your belly at the slightly awed honesty in his voice. You exhale a shaky breath, searching his stormy gaze for … what? Evidence of how crazily affected you are by such a simple revelation?

Whatever he finds reflected in your stare seems to give him pause as well because his eyes almost immediately darken with renewed hunger.

“Say it again then,” he husks, rolling until he’s leaned over you, hands planted on either side of your head. There’s no demand in the words, just low, thrumming need thrilling between you both.

So you reach up to cup his face in your palms, rubbing your thumbs over the sandpapery stubble along his strong jawline as you gaze adoringly up at him.

“Oscar ...” you breathe out his name like a sacred invocation. “My Oscar.”

His eyes slip shut and he makes a low, ragged sound of pure satisfaction on an exhale that ghosts across your lips.

“Yeah,” he rasps, bending lower until his forehead rests against yours. “That’s it, love … that’s all I ever want to hear.”

You pull him back down to you then, unable and unwilling to resist sealing the promise of those words against his lips with your own.

And as everything inevitably dissolves into heat and need and formless ecstasy once more, you lose yourself to the endless chant of his name on your lips — your entire world whittled down to just that one exalted word, over and over and over.

Because really, what other name could ever matter when Oscar Piastri is the only name you’ll ever need?

[anantaru]

riled up alhaitham hiding his jealousy from us? hehe

cw. jealous alhaitham, he doesn't get jealous okay!!! lots of teasing, fem! reader

you are aware that alhaitham doesn't get jealous, for anybody to even assume that should be vehemently questioned— but this time, he hesitates to voice anything out loud in an usually apathetic manner, rather does he resort to kiss your bare shoulder lightly, working meticulously as his kisses remain soft and faint.

that night, alhaitham was more silent than usual, it's like he had been deep in thought while also being closely intimate with you, "how insolent," he sighs out, grinding himself against all the right spots to make you arch into him.

you bow your hips deliciously into his shaft as he continues, "to think that someone would actually pursue you in front of me," poising on the edge of a witty continuation, you make him float back to reality the moment you dug your nails into his bare back, cutting him from his thoughts slightly.

"are you jealous?" you taunt, a slight crease appearing above your brow as he playfully smacks the plush of your ass, needy and urgent splitting your legs to settle in between.  

he looks a little agitated as he answered, "who, me?" he leisurely rubs his cock-head through your wet folds before pressing into your clit a little, as to tickle and trace around the fragile nubs, "don't make a fool out of yourself with such claims,"

"i do not get jealous," he says, simply, enough demand in his voice that it made you tremble a bit— and perhaps it also hurt in a way, for alhaitham to say that he couldn't possibly become jealous because of another person hitting on you in front of his eyes.

although it was hard to believe he didn't get at least a little irked— especially now when he's fierce and hungry and full of need and want for you.

alhaitham moves his hand before running it up and down your hips, clearly he's too impatient to taunt you tonight, but he still does it because he needs to keep up the act.

and it's not like he doesn't understand the brittle emotions he was going through right now— it's that those certain frames of ones mind vexed him, not to mention that they made it all the more difficult to focus on the current moment, which was you.

"p-please," you can hardly string two syllables together, your mouth hanging open as his lips curl into a smirk when he notices goosebumps quiver along your skin, "please, what?" the man retorts back, his rigid erection sliding up and down your soaked folds while making sure to nudge against your hole ever so often.

"just, ugh, just get to it," you pout, "please!" your body was telling him everything he needed to know as you writhe against his rattling trace, now warm and slick with arousal sticking on your hole and ass.

alhaitham grinds his rock-hard member against your clit, his hand suddenly letting go off your hip to grab his dick as he began to thrust it into the tunnel of his palm.

he towers over your body to rest against the nook of your neck, low chuckles ghosting into your ear, "you're not getting anything tonight," he coos, "or are you?" nipping and tonguing a spot where your ear meets your neck while he adds pressure on his shaft, resulting in him groaning into your ear hungrily, the pure filth in his tone finding a new focus for your cravings.

"what're you gonna do about it, hm?" he whispers as you moan,  surging, seeking, your fingers threading into his hair to force him to look at you.

"you're mean," you claim, your legs writhing as he inserts his tip in your hole, your voice already distant, drowning in pleasure when he begins to fuck you with his red hued tip.

alhaitham laughs lovingly at your crystallized mind, your scent was pungent on his nostrils as he moans brokenly at your familiar taste. he truly savors the moment when you draw him into your hole just hard enough to mark his cock with your arousal.

listening to the mellow rings in his vocalization was like a gold string tugging on an angel-like puppet— it's immediate when it tugs you from your dazed mind right back into him.

"no one could make be get jealous," alhaitham turns his entire focus to your lower half, "because i trust you," slowly inserting inches after inches of his shaft, "you're mine, this is mine, there's no one that can change that," he adds in a raspy tonality before you arch your back to grind into him, grinning against his mouth, melting at his words.

"but i am *not* jealous," well, there it was again.

but it's his turn to moan into your mouth as his grunts mingle softly in the air, his lips smirking, more ideas forming, "so do not ever say that again,"

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[fettuccin-e]

Tag-Teaming

Kinktober Day 5: Threesome

Tags: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Reader x Santiago "Pope" Garcia, afab!fem!reader, tag-teaming, unprotected piv (wrap it up gang dont be dumb), fingering and oral (f!recieving), Santi and Frankie both have filthy mouths how dare they (w/c: 1.1K)

A/N: I have been wanting to write a Santi x Frankie x Reader fic for forever okay and kinktober really gave me an excuse, but writing threesomes is so HARD (in more ways than one hehehe) so props to anyone who can write threesomes regularly because it's so difficult. Anyway these two can sandwich me between them anytime (I have been following prompts from this list by @flightlessangelwings!)

It shouldn’t surprise you how good they are together, how well they work. They’re a team. They've always been a team. Why would this be any different?

But fuck, it’s so much different experiencing it, not just seeing it in the field. Frankie plastered against your back, your legs braced over his thighs as he spreads you apart, spreading you so wide for Santiago. Fucking Santi, his cock pressed so deep inside you it’s like you can’t breathe, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips as he breaks you open around him.

“Fuck her harder Pope,” Frankie grumbles, pinching your aching clit between two wonderfully calloused fingers. “Fuck her like you goddamn mean it.” His voice in your ear, his filthy fucking mouth, make your cunt clench around Santi’s cock, and the man groans at both the feeling and Frankie’s command, pounding his cock into you hard.

Frankie rubs furiously at your clit, sending your back arching against his chest, gasping for air. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Let yourself fuckin’ feel it. Santi’s cock feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“God, yes, oh my fucking God,” you whine. Santi chuckles, all smugness and delirious pleasure. He rocks into you at an angle that has him jamming into your sweet spot relentlessly. “He feels so fucking good, ‘s so fucking big.”

Santi leans forward again, capturing your lips with his. “You think I’m big, hermosa, I can’t wait to see how you take Frankie’s cock. He’s gonna split you apart, stretch this pussy so fuckin’ wide,” Santi mutters against your mouth.

The thought makes you moan, pressing back against the unmistakable length of Frankie's cock, hard and aching, pressed against your skin. You hear Frankie suck in a labored breath, his fingers pausing on your clit. “You wanna cum, sweetheart?" Santi says, his voice dark with promise. "Get all loose to take Frankie so deep in this little cunt?”

This time, Frankie groans from behind you, deep and rumbling. The sound is intoxicating, especially as his fingers start rubbing at your pussy all over again. An endless mantra of “please, please, please,” escapes from your lips, and Santi growls, fucking into you so hard it makes tears spring to your eyes. You claw at Santi’s back, into Frankie’s forearm, gripping onto them both for dear life.

“C’mon, baby, cum on Santi’s cock, bet you look so pretty when you do. Wanna feel this pretty pussy clench around his cock,” Frankie murmurs darkly in your ear. He snakes his other hand up for body, pinching one of your nipples between his fingers. “Don’t you want to see Santi cum, cariño? Won’t he look so pretty?” 

A look up at Santi, his curls drenched with sweat, flush high on his cheeks as his hips work between yours, has you nodding furiously at Frankie’s words, and fuck, you’re cumming at the sight of him, of Santi, so beautiful and debauched between your thighs. Your body locks up with it, your pussy clenching around his length still working into you, Frankie holding you tightly to his chest as Santi fucks you through it.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” Santi growls, pressing himself as deep into you as he can, his hips twitching as he fills you up. And God, Frankie was right, Santi is beautiful, twitching through his orgasm, jaw clenched and pupils blown wide. He leans forward to kiss you in a way that is fucking filthy, licking into your mouth desperately, swallowing your moans. You breathe together through it, and when you finally stop trembling, Santi pulls away from your mouth with a feral grin.

“Wanna give Fish a turn, baby?” he whispers, and you manage to mumble a yes, even though your brain has been turned to mush. Santi chuckles, the smug bastard, and slips out of you, the emptiness making you whimper.

“I know, bebita, I know,” Santi says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Frankie’s gonna fill you up again, I promise.”

You lift your hips, turning  your head to press a kiss to Frankie’s lips as Santi grabs Frankie's cock, pressing the tip to your entrance. Fuck, it’s thick, popping past your entrance as you sink your hips down, down, stretching yourself around him. It seems fucking endless, how deep he reaches into your cunt.

“That’s it, baby, it’s so big, isn’t it?" Santi whispers, "Frankie fills you up so good, yeah? Treats this pretty pussy like it fucking deserves?”

“Santiago.” Frankie growls, his fingers digging into your thighs as you clench around him like a vice at Santi’s words. Fuck, he’s so close already. Watching Pope fuck you already had his cock throbbing beneath you, and now, in the hot clutch of your cunt, he feels like a goddamn virgin. And with Santiago whispering some of the filthiest shit he’s ever heard in his life between the three of you, there’s no way he can last very long.

He’ll make you cum first though. Of course he will.

You nearly scream as Frankie pumps his hips up beneath you, spearing you deep on his cock. He holds tight to your thighs as he pounds furiously in and out of you, ripping you to pieces on top of him. He’s so fucking warm against your back, Santi radiating heat against your front, and you swear to God that you could pass out then and there. Fuck, it’s so good, Frankie’s cock drags against your g-spot with every fucking thrust, unrelenting and utterly debilitating.

And then, Santi lays down on his front, eyes trained on where you and Frankie are connected, and sucks your clit into his hot mouth.

This time, you really do scream, your hands flying down to tangle in Santi’s hair while he licks feverishly at your clit, and you cum, Santi licking between your legs, Frankie pounding up into your cunt. You thrash between them, utterly lost in the feeling of it, hot tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Fuck yes, baby, that’s our good girl,” Frankie groans from behind you.

“Please, please cum Frankie, need you to fucking cum,” you cry, and Frankie has no choice but to follow your orders. He sinks deep inside, biting into your shoulder as he drowns your pussy in his cum. The thought of it mixing with Pope’s inside of you has him shaking through his orgasm.

“God, look at that,” Santi murmurs from between your legs, watching you clench around Frankie so tight he can barely move, cum leaking out around where Frankie is buried deep inside you. His cock twitches at the sight. Later, he thinks, later, we’ll do this again, over and over.

For now, he helps Fish guide you off of his lap, laying you between them. The three of you plaster yourselves against each other, breathing together. A unit, a team. 

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— Sometimes two homes are better than one

pairings: katie mccabe x child reader

summary: readers' stubbornness makes an appearance.

"I don't want to go!" You shout loudly and make your opinion very well known about the situation. "I'm not goin' and you can't make me!"

"Rascal, you have to go," Katie insists, once again on the tail-end of the usual argument with you.

"NO!" You shout back, stubbornly. "I'm not goin' there, mam!" You repeat, even going as far to stomp your foot and show her that your really being serious this time.

Katies' close to pulling her hair out with your stubborness, although shes' not exactly sure who you inherited it from out of herself and Ruesha, "Y/N, come on. We've already been over this before," She catches up to you in the kitchen where you'd stormed off once you'd gotten back from school. "Will you stop walking away from when I'm tryin' to have a conversation with you!"

Its' Friday afternoon, you've finished school and that means that Ruesha would soon be coming to pick you up from Katie's house to spend the weekend with her.

You weren't too big of a fan going between 2 households though and even though Katie and Ruesha split up when you were very little, you're still not all that used to things being different.

"I bet your mamas' really looking forward to seeing you!" Katie tries her luck to change your mind, more than familiar against your protests of not wanting to go. "Why don't you really want to go, rascal?" She wonders, trying to figure out the real reason.

"It's not fair. Why do I have to go between two households? I don't see why I can't just stay here!" You huff in protest, making your way around the kitchen, going about slamming the cupboards that you opened.

"I know its' difficult to understand rascal, but we've spoke about this before, haven't we?" Katie tells you, she hates the fact that you had inherited this stubborn streak. "I thought you were excited about going to watch your mamas' game?" She questions, knowing you were looking forward to it when it was mentioned earlier.

You shake your head in defiance, "Nope."

"Why not?" Katie honestly feels like shes' at her wits end with you and your abrupt decision to not go. "Listen, I know you don't want to go, rascal, but its' important that you still spend time with your mama!" She still tries to remain enthusiastic, depsite how difficult that is most of the time.

"Why can't mama come here instead?" You frown, not really understanding what exactly what went down between Katie and Ruesha all of them years ago.

Katie exhales a sigh and purses her lips, "Because its' not as simple as that. Your mama and I seperated and we live different lives now," She explains to you. "You usually like spending time with your mama, what's changed now, huh?" She wonders.

"I... I guess its' not the same when you two are not both together, I miss it. Like when we're at Ireland camp and stuff," You admit, although its' been a while since that has happened, you've had happy memories of them times and you wish it could be the same still.

"Oh rascal," Katie furrows her eyebrows, "Listen, I know you miss them times, but sometimes two homes are better than one, and in this case your mama and I, we're not good when we're together." She explains, trying to get it across in a way that your 11-year-old self can understand.

"I still don't like it though," You murmer in protest.

"I know you don't, but I want you to remember that no matter what happens between your mama and I, we both love you the very same, okay?" Katie reassures you, gently as she wraps her free arm around your shoulder. "Nothing about that will ever change at all."

© scribblesofagoonerr

[izvmimi]

cw: spoilers. after timeskip. selfship-coded. reader has a defined quirk. hurt/comfort.

As strong as the bond between any high school class can be (even yours, arguably more a small superpowered militia than a group of hopeful freshmen in far over their heads and strong enough to make it through the other end anyway), paths diverge as people follow their dreams, even if they will all forever call UA their home. 

It’s fitting that Izuku Midoriya, indisputably the most affected by the trauma of the meta war has kept UA as home base, and settling into his new career as teacher has remained both expected and fulfilling, even if poorly introspective onlookers would think otherwise. He is the heart of what it means to be a hero and that is to inspire the present and the future, and carry on the lessons of the past.

He is also your heart, you muse, as you find him sitting at your kitchen table, poring over graded essays, the red ink from his excessively lengthy corrections and comments practically jumping off the paper it’s scribbled on. You set down your work bag and attempt to sneak up behind him, but even if he’s focused and still, he’s always sharp, setting his pen down to turn around and greet you with a kiss.

“Hey, you’re later than usual, so I just let myself in, is that okay?” he asks. You nod, moving over to wash your hands in the sink quickly, then coming back around to pull a chair next to him. 

You’ve wanted to ask him to just move in together for months now, especially since now you spend more time at each other’s places than you do your own separate ones, but something about the proposition has felt wrong, rushed maybe. It’s been just a little over a year since you moved back to Japan after your fellowship overseas, and while you’ve remained in a varying level of contact the whole time since graduation, the flux of things has changed significantly instead of settling normally. For one, confessing an unrelenting affection that was kept mostly secret since high school had changed the trajectory of your lives, finding ways to incorporate seeing each other without fanfare between your busy post-grad education and his UA courses, then finally a year of long distance had made it difficult to ever feel like things had been truly steady.

“I wouldn’t have given you a code or key if not, silly,” you remind him. He smiles, and you glance over at the last assignment he’s corrected, and grimace. 

“You know if Aizawa had given me this many comments on an essay, I wouldn’t have shown up the next day, Izuku,” you remind him. He laughs, as you take the paper and read his feedback, mind spinning.

“I mean, no kid’s ever cried yet. I try to be nice.”

He is nice, you think, realizing that not a single word in the practical novel he’s scribbled in the margins of the brief constructed response can be misconstrued as disappointed or demanding. 

In fact, you would have cried tears of joy reading this. 

“How was the clinic?” he asks over the turn of another page.

“The most darling kid who didn’t have a Quirk manifest yet at age 5 showed up with worried parents with too much money on their hands.” You twist your mouth to the side. 

Izuku doesn’t look up as he says, “Oh, that’s too bad.”

There’s a pang of discomfort in your chest for a split second, but he doesn’t say anything else, scribbling a series of checkmarks and x’s, the quick scritch of his pen a little louder and resounding.

Izuku was meant to be Quirkless and is happy being Quirkless yet again, his mission fulfilled and the world better for it - even if sometimes only marginally so - but you know he yearns for the ability to be back on the field, with the same restlessness All Might once recounted feeling once he’d retired to teach as well. It’s evident in the way Izuku stays up a little too late reading/watching the news at every level, and how much of his free time he coordinates to a similarly intense training program at the crack of dawn, and the fact that even now he bristles at the implication of Quirklessness as a disability.

Everyone can be a hero. He was the greatest of them all - is, in fact, and not just your personal one, but his own personal world has shrunk. Documentaries, videos, people’s memories will not change that the fact that he’s far bigger than the quiet life he lives.

Now he’s relegated to cheering his friends on, day in and day out, and preparing a path for the youth to surpass him, something he is willing to do, but you know perhaps the timing is a bit too early for someone who shines as brightly as him. 

You rest your head on his shoulder. I love you, you could say out loud, I love you, and the world loves you, for you even more than what you did and what you represent, but it doesn’t help and Izuku cannot help sometimes interpreting your love as pity.

“What do you want for dinner?” you ask instead, keeping your voice as gentle as possible.

He turns to kiss your forehead. “I’m good with anything.”

You hate that no matter what you ask, big or small, he’ll always say this, and decide you’ll order his favorite food instead.

—

Years ago, when Mei contacted you out of the blue while you were ass deep in your medical school finals, asking you if you remembered the last time you’d used your Quirk on Izuku Midoriya, you had immediately assumed she had officially gone insane. It had been greater than five years since you’d last had a normal conversation with her at all, if even that could be considered normal, and you hadn’t had a need to use your Quirk on Izuku since the meta war.

“I know it’s a long shot but I need to know if you still remember-”

“I do,” you answered quickly, then immediately your face warmed at the admission. You can’t help that your Quirk gives you near perfect memory of people by their neuronal diagram, but something about it feels stalkerish when you still think of him affectionately, and not just as someone you’ve once healed. It also doesn’t help what the circumstances were when you’d healed him… but that would be a concern and memory for later.

“How can I help?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes visibly at you when you showed up to Hatsume’s lab the very next day but the animosity between you two has been a running schtick for years and you responded in jest. Using Hatsume’s program to redraw each neuronal connection from memory and adjusting for differences related to age was your greatest contribution to Izuku’s suit, small sums of money to contribute to the class pot whenever you could spare them the other.

There was always a little pang of jealousy that Katsuki could always offer up more money than you could, which once you’d confided to him by late night phone call days before All Might came back to Japan, he’d remind you,

“I’m just trying to beat your boyfriend in a fair fight, don’t make this about you.”

Katsuki’s rash way of speaking has always intuitively comforted you in just this way. It brings a smile to your face, and you offer him a word of thanks, anyway.

“He doesn’t know, does he? I know you like to run your mouth.” 

Katsuki can’t see you roll your eyes. “He’s none the wiser, don’t worry.”

“Good.” 

—

Izuku sends you a daily good morning message, and you’ve rarely beaten him to the punch, but this morning, you offer him a phone call as you make your way to the center of the city to work. All Might is coming back today and will present his suit to him then, the fruit of all your joint labors, and you were practically unable to sleep due to the excitement. Part of you agonized over whether or not you should try to be with him in the moment, but this is a moment to be kept between them, mentor and mentee.

“How are you feeling this morning, Izuku?” you ask, hoping the pants of your speedwalk (late to work as usual), don’t concern him through the phone.

“Weirdly enough, excited. There’s a feeling I can’t quite place, a good one,” he starts, and your grin is ear to ear.

Hours later, you get an excited text and one of the happiest phone calls you’ve ever received, and your heart is full to bursting.

—

“It’s fine, you don’t have to fuss over me,” Izuku insists, and you pout. There’s one stubborn emerald curl that won’t right itself in your opinion, and he’ll be on set for an interview in just a few minutes - the first since returning to active hero work - but he holds your fingers in his hand and pulls them to his lips instead.

“It’s okay. Don’t be nervous on my behalf,” he reminds you as he kisses them. His eyes are kind and relaxing, and you let out a deep breath, biting your lower lip. “I’ve got this, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“I love you,” he reminds you. “Thank you for always being by my side.”

You nod, as his assistant whisks him away, and he steps back into the spotlight, where he’s always belonged.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

May I ask for a request of tangerine x reader who works with Tan and Lemon. Idiots in love type. And on a mission one takes a bullet for the other or does something stupid during a mission to keep the other safe? and then when they are in the clear they get into a big argument about how stupid the other was and like all the yelling and arguing leads to slipping out a love confession. You can choose who gets injured tan or reader.

Also, I could totally see Lemon in the back just watching them argue sipping on some water that isn’t poisoned.

hii sunshine! love love love it! thanks for requesting, hope you like it 💌 @thewinterv I combined this with your request, hope you don’t mind 🤍

HONESTY HOUR.

tangerine x implied fem!reader

word count. 792

warnings. couple blood mentions

Missions were always complicated with Tangerine. Not because he’s difficult to work with or unskilled, but instead it was your feelings towards him that made working with him so tricky. Confusing feelings pertaining to the unspoken, unacknowledged connection between you.

And because of that, you never knew where you stood with each other. You each knew there was something there, a spark as such, but neither of you would dare speak on it. These repressed emotions have been marinating for far too long, the approaching expiry date much like that of a ticking time bomb. 

Today's mission was particularly challenging: you and Tangerine were tasked to retrieve something —you still were unsure of what exactly— while Lemon retrieved the other. You’d all often split on missions, though today two diversions were needed, and without a moment to think on it, you found yourself following after Tangerine. 

In hindsight, it may have been stupid – the current bullet wound in your lower arm acting as a giant looming ‘I told you so.’ As soon as you and Tan were rushed into a trap —a setup— it all kind of went blank, and you fought on autopilot without a single comprehensive thought. 

You were hardly aware that you were hit until Tangerine noticed it – the trail of blood leaking from your arm and on the floor in an inconsistent pattern. 

“What the fuck have you done?” Tan yells, eyes widening as he rushes over to you – jumping over the small pile of dead bodies.

“I don’t know,” you shout back, looking down at your arm in panic. “I don’t know.”

“Oh fuckin’ hell,” he continues his yelling for some apparent reasoning. “God, this is a fuckin’ disaster,” he says, moving a hand to cover the wound in your arm, his palm firm over the small hole – trying to apply pressure. 

“It’s starting to hurt,” you wince, tugging your arm away. The adrenaline beginning to wear off.

He holds onto your elbow with his other hand, keeping you still and stopping you from pulling from his attempt of help.

“Keep bloody still, man,” he furrows, eyes narrowing at you for a brief moment. “Knew you should’ve gone with Lemon.”

“Well if I did, you’d be dead. So you’re welcome,” you retort, eyes squinting at him in that same frustrated way.

“Yeah, well too late for that now, ain’t it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snark, snatching your arm away – holding over the wound in the same way he did. “Don’t have to be such a dick to me all the time, okay? I’m trying.”

“You never fuckin’ think. You always throw yourself in danger and I have to come and bail you out,” he scoffs, staring you down. 

“I never ask you to.”

He chuckles, the sound amused. “Oh, come off it.”

“I don’t need you to treat me like I’m a little princess,” you retort once more. “I don’t need your help, okay? I’m fine on my own.”

“Well maybe that’s our fuckin’ problem then,” he says, voice far calmer now. 

“What does that mean?” you ask, tone softening like his. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, exhaling heavily. “Forget it. I don’t care anymore,” he scoffs. “We gotta get back to Lem and get you sorted.”

And as he goes to leave, walking past you, you grab a hold of his arm to halt him. “What do you mean by that?” you question, eyes darting over his face.

“Nevermind.”

“No,” you tug his arm, extending your neck to meet his eyeline. “Tell me.”

He sighs, purposely avoiding your eyes. “I care about you, alright?” he confesses, speaking almost reluctantly. 

You move to stand in front of him, making him face you – forcing him to look at you. You smile faintly at him, the softness in your eyes silently prompting him to say what else he was thinking.

“I like you, okay? I don’t wanna see you hurt,” he admits. “Happy now?”

You nod sincerely, smiling at him. “That’s why I always go with you… sounds stupid, but I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Yeah?” he says softly, a faint grin lining his lips. “So what’re you saying?” he chuckles, pushing you into a confession like you did him.

“I’m saying,” you pause. “I’m saying I like you.”

“You do?” he takes a step closer.

And before you have a moment to reply, you hear footsteps approach, the presence snapping you from this little honesty round with Tangerine. “Oi, there you fuckers are,” Lemon shouts, spotting you both. “Got shit to do, now chop chop.” And when he sees each of your faces, he can’t help but laugh. Both of you looked so guilty. “About to finally do it, weren’t you?”

I fear this may be total ass

[stararch4ngelqueen]

jason getting his wisdom teeth out (or generally loopy on painkillers, like maybe post-mission or smth) and rambling abt how much he loves you and his life. adksjkfh sorry he's such a loser i love him to death

This was such a funny/silly idea I swear. Silly goofy cute husband stuff, I need this man 🧍🏽‍♀️

I did this draft at work and I didn’t have chance to look up reference videos, what you see is what you get 🌝

—

Time written - 9:18 a.m

—

“How’re you feeling?” You ask towards the large lump of a man casually sprawled over a majority of your couch, dressed in dark lounge clothes with a bandage tied around his right forearm. “Feeling alright?”

“Mm… No,” he answers. He’s still pretty loopy, his attention split between you and the ceiling above him. Maybe it’s the medication making him feel so relaxed, but he looks… content.

“No, wait. I- I’m fine,” Jason slurs, a faint smirk gracing his lips. “I’m perfectlyy fine.”

It’s funny; in an ideal world he’d be more embarrassed than he is, his words mumbled through small mouthfuls of damp, pink tinted cotton. Yet he’s so out of it he can’t care if you judge him or not.

Whether he would recall being hauled into an apartment elevator by Dick while you watched, probably secretly taking photos and videos would be a complete mystery.

Of all the ways you’ve had him the most vulnerable, this has got to be the best.

“How was work?” He mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.

Work? You question in your head, huffing a little bit. You rarely call in, but today was such a necessity. Thankfully you had an understanding boss, and an understandably reasonable friendship with the eldest Wayne son, who helped you carry such a large hunk of brawn and brain from your passenger seat towards your living room couch. You weren’t sure to play along or to break character to a play you weren’t aware you were involved in.

“Work was fine,” you say as you settle in between the slim spot available on the couch. He looks pretty comfortable there, but he probably would be happier in bed. “You sure you’re not in pain?”

“Mhm,” he grunts, closing his eyes as he tries to rest his head against the back of the couch. He looks as if he could fall asleep at any second, eyes half closed.

Jason looks up at you through slightly glazed-over eyes, his expression making it obvious that he isn’t paying attention to a word you’re saying. In fact, he looks a little surprised that you’re even sitting here next to him.

Something about you being so close to him is stirring up the medicated fog in his head. He can barely feel the stitches that he got earlier in his mouth, or how difficult it was to smile from all the numbing they’d done.

“You’re… right next to me.”

His murmured words are slurred, and they don’t make a whole lot of sense, but they make you smile.

“Yeah,” you reassure him. “Just making sure you’re feeling okay.” Of course—he thinks you’re so beautiful, where did an angel like you come from?

“Just rest here for a bit, alright?” Your hand finds its way to his, squeezing his hand lightly. “Think Dick went to go get something for you to eat. Or maybe Alfred made something for you. I bet you’re really hungry, huh?”

Again, he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. His eyes peered down to his limp hand, seeing your slim, tiny fingers cradled along his open palm. Your skin was so smooth, so—

“Soft…” He mutters, making you scrunch your lips to refrain from laughing.

“Jason,” you attempt again. “You heard me?”

“Mm.. Yeah.” His gaze flicks back to yours, his head raising just a bit as if a teacher abruptly called his name in the middle of class.

“You look, uh, pretty.” He says, blinking once. “Today. Right now.”

Once more, it took everything in you not to laugh, recalling Jason’s insistence that he’d be perfectly capable on this kind of medication last night.

Oh, you were incredibly aware that he’s dealt with various stitches and removing bullets from his body, broken ribs and resetting bones back into sockets. And death. Sure, he’s explained he’s been on hardcore pain medication plenty of times, and how much it would’ve sucked if he was allergic to any of them. He’s Red Hood, he’s handled so much, he could basically handle anything.

However, as truthful as you understood, seeing him in such a state after removing one wisdom tooth was so … funny. Their were hundreds of other amusing descriptions to describe it, but in the end, it was all so very funny, seeing him all giddy like a little boy holding his schoolgirl crush’s hand.

Even though you’ve been dating for about five years. With a year break in between, give or take.

Maybe it’s because he’s so out of it. Maybe it’s all the meds they gave him messing with his brain. As funny as it was, it was also a relief to see him so relaxed, not as tense as he usually was. Especially during off days when he’d insist he was calm and collected, but the tension in his shoulders never dissipated.

“You look so pretty… Your hair, your eyes.”

His soft comment melts your heart, making you squeeze his hand. “Aww. You think I’m that pretty, Jason?”

Jason nods, smiling lazily at you. You lean your head against his shoulder for a short moment, mindful of his slightly swollen cheek.

“I’m sure you already know that, but… Yeah.” His hand raises yours upwards, a brief flush of heat spreading across his face as he plants a weak kiss along the back of your palm.

“Mm… you’re so gorgeous. I wanna tell you every day.” His voice trails off, eyelids getting heavier by the second, nearly hiding his heart eyes from you. There’s no hesitancy in his voice, no doubt to what he says. Just a simple answer, simple truth.

“So, are you feeling hungry?” You try again, reminding him of what you said earlier. If he was paying any attention. “Dick might be here any minute. He might’ve brought some froyo.”

He has a quiet hum, glancing back up at the ceiling again. “Dick. Dick’s always so thoughtful, y’know? Not as, uh, as much as you though. He’d never be.”

You cock a brow, fighting back any amused response. There it was, something unusually unexpected that Jason Todd would say about someone he insists he can’t tolerate about eighty percent of the day.

Dick being thoughtful? You’re positive the man is now in possession of lots of photos and videos of Jason during the car ride home after the dentist.

“I’m not hungry… but I’d love if you fed me.” His voice is soft, just slightly louder than a whisper.

Your eyes widen considerably, finally releasing a giggle after so long. You gave it your best shot, but your response was enough to make your boyfriend lightly laugh. His face winces, a low grunt leaving his mouth as his hand cradled his cheek.

“Awww,” you take his hand, feeling a little guilty for making him hurt. “I’m sorry, handsome. You can’t laugh for a while, did that hurt a lot?”

Jason gives you his best smile, which is admittedly a slightly goofy grin as he shakes his head, putting on a brave front despite the pain coursing through his head. “Nuh-uh. Not at all… Your hands are so soft, babe.”

You resort to a soft chuckle, trailing your fingers up to ruffle and smooth along his hair. “Thank you, Jason.”

He’s slow to reply, clearly lost in thought with genuine, furrowed brows. If not for the medication, he’d probably kiss you right now.

The doorbell rings, giving you a chance to get off the couch and invite Dick in, who carried with him bags of food and frozen yogurt. Jason had no problem staying where he was, his eyes fully closed as his body sank back into the cushions, seemingly content with couch life.

“Catch him saying anything stupid?” Dick mutters to you as you ladle some soup into a bowl, hellbent on capturing any sort of evidence to use against the man for future purposes.

“Other than him believing I’m still his favorite woman, he thinks you’re a thoughtful older brother.”

“Oh yeah??” Dick chuckles, peering his head over towards the slumped man. “I’d think if roles were reversed, he would’ve left my ass on the curb.”

“Don’t be mean,” you scoff, playfully nudging him with your elbow. “You know he’d at least take you back home.”

“Inside a trash bag in the trunk,” Dick muses, casually leaning beside you on the kitchen counter. “You catch it on video?”

“Left my phone in my purse,” you shook your head, reaching into a drawer to get a spoon. “Stay for a while. See what happens.”

“Babe??” You hear Jason call from the living room. You peer your head out this time, seeing him fully sitting up from the couch, his head turned towards you with focused vision and deep concern written all over his face.

“Wait… weren’t you working today?”

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part five

art by the incredibly talented @piaart!

author’s note: finally have this finished but man is it hard to be satisfied. i keep wanting to work on it and work on it but i also really wanted to get this out! also don't even know if this is good teehee. lots of awkward here. 4.9k words. part one/two/three/four. ao3 linky.

The date is going surprisingly well. You chose an Italian spot (ha!) and have had your fill of lobster ravioli and Cabernet Sauvignon all while you learned more about Dylan since he graduated high school. Went to a state school in the middle of bumblefuck, drank and drank some more, got overly into the college culture (emphasis on cult) and tipped a few cows in his time. It aligns perfectly with the slivers of information Catherine gave you through the years, though he’s mentioned nothing of the steady college girlfriend he supposedly had. Interesting. You laugh at his dumb jokes. You’re smiley. But it does feel like an act that’s partially fueled by alcohol and having someone’s attention on you.

He’s still talking but you’re admiring his small, button nose, how his brunette locks shape his face and his bright smile. You can’t help but think his face is a little too smooth, though. Has this boy been through anything meaningful? Has he suffered at all in his shiny little life? Your mind drifts back to Terzo’s rough hands and how they felt on you earlier that day. He forced you to your knees and it was clear that it wasn’t the first time he’s done so. You can still taste him on your tongue.

“You haven’t told me about your job! Aren’t you like an assistant?” Dylan snaps you out of it and you offer a shy smile.

“Yeah! I had to get out of that call center, man. It was like draining my life force. Not that this isn’t difficult but it’s nice to not be yelled at by some rando on the phone for hours a day.” You toy with your glass of wine.

“So, like what do you assist in? Is it just you?”

Huh. You’ve never really explained exactly what you do to anyone. Not even Catherine or Erica — you only really focused on Him. That won’t go over too well in this situation, will it?

“It’s just me and it’s mainly house maintenance right now. My boss’ place was a disaster when I started.” Perhaps the most watered down description of your job.

“So you’re like… you’ve cleaned it up?” There’s judgment in his voice that’s immediately sobering. He stares at you blankly.

“I guess I meant more like projects. The last big one was fixing up his yard. I had to manage the budget and scheduling of the landscapers and stuff.” Your voice is flat.

“Oh, okay gotcha.” Dylan nods and he is back to smiling. You’re seething on the inside. Was your answer acceptable to him? “What’s your boss like? Is he a guy?”

What the.

“Yeah, he’s a guy. He’s a little weird. Definitely eccentric. I’ve tried not to pry too much into his personal life, you know. Boundaries and all that, but when I first started he had me sort out some of his things and it looked like he used to be the lead singer in a band.” Another oddly phrased question. At least now you’ve been prompted to bring up the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Oh, shit! That sounds awesome! What band?”

Oh, do you hesitate. A long silence stretches between you two.

“I’m… I’m not sure I should say. I don’t want to blow up his spot or anything.” You’re sheepish suddenly and Dylan notices.

“Aw, come on. Who am I gonna tell?” A good question. You drum your fingers on the table, thinking about how you’ve never really told anyone who your boss actually is.

“Catherine will tell me if she finds out.” A warning, last one until the big reveal. Dylan nods enthusiastically, some of his hairs falling into his forehead. For a split second you think that maybe if you were younger with much less life experience perhaps he would be perfect for you. But you know too much and you know that he wouldn’t be able to give you what you want. “It was Ghost.”

“Oh.” He makes a face and leans back in his chair.

“Oh? Sorry, is that not impressive enough?”

“No, no. It’s still cool. They’re just… I don’t know.”

Do you continue this conversation? Do you care what he thinks? You don’t…but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What is it, Dylan? Are they lame? I’ve tried to… you know, not dig too deep into it because I feel like that would affect my professionalism.” That and you didn’t want to completely pry into the man’s life.

“Oh, I get that. Uhhh, I mean they’re not REALLY metal. They say they’re metal but they’re not so it’s just a little weird.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. You knit your brows together because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“Right. Okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, they are basically like pop. Not metal, not at all.” He sounds so impassioned and you nod along but it feels inappropriate. Why is he so pressed? It turns you off even more and you do everything in your power to get this date wrapped up. You are done drinking and you’re too full for dessert. Responses shorten and eventually you’re out front on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber. Dylan has insisted on waiting with you and hovers just a bit too closely by your side. He seems a little oblivious to how this date has gone, bless his heart.

“Well, this is me.” Awkward, so awkward. You move to get into the car but Dylan stops you by your arm and leans in for a kiss. It’s truly over before it starts, a quick peck before he pulls away with a smirk. You are dying on the inside.

“We’ll hang out again soon, yeah?”

“Sure. Yes.” You lie and hurry into the Uber, wanting nothing more than this wretched day to finally end.

Terzo blinks awake. The cool air of the night pricks his cheeks. Leaves crunch beneath his soggy socks. He coughs, blood spilling from his mouth and splattering on his thick chest hair. A robe hangs loosely from his shoulders. Terzo’s eyes drift down to his hand to see he’s wearing his black gloves with sharp, golden nails. He squints and there’s something black stuck to one of the points. Gaze drifts to where he is. His driveway. A breeze rolls by that sends shivers down his spine as his eyes focus on your car.

He’s slashed one of your tires.

Terzo cackles wildly upon this realization. This is new even for him and his weird, otherworldly tendencies. Could be straight up mental illness. He takes a few lumbering steps forward before crouching to eye the tire, surveying the damage. Completely shredded with the rim touching the ground. There’s a familiar buzzing in his skull, a buzz that he used to get while performing. How far he had fallen. Still, he’s delighted with himself. A fitting punishment for the way you crushed him earlier. What hubris you had for leaving your car on his property. Rage shoots through him for a quick moment, the thought of you spending the night with your date crossing his mind. Would this boy drop you off in the morning? He could plan for that.

In his fits of unsatisfying sleep, ideas for being cruel sprang to his mind. He’s settled on ignoring you for most of tomorrow, to have you toil away waiting for any kind of attention but to no avail. Terzo would be watching you the whole day, of course, hidden away in dark corners and peering down from atop the grand staircase. He has always been the best at sneaking around undetected out of all of his brothers, having avoided so many moments where his father could have reamed him out due to this expertise. Primo and Secondo weren’t so lucky.

Sharp pang in his chest from thinking about them.

No, no. He must focus on you. He pushes the thoughts back to the void. You’ll be trapped here at the end of your workday because of this, wouldn’t you? That’s when he’ll reveal himself. He’ll torture you. Tease the information of your date out of you.

How well could it have gone when you are so devoted to him?

The house is cold without him, a shiver running down your spine every time you found yourself in a dark corridor. You try to keep your thoughts to a minimum and are somewhat thankful that the contractor was able to come today. He’s a quiet man but seems to enjoy your cheerfulness which breathes life into an otherwise miserable day. Between directions and answering questions, you would wander the first floor and hover by the stairs, listening for any signs of life only to hear silence. The last time you saw him flits through your mind — the pressure of the hand on your neck that forced you to the ground seconds after he angrily spat in your face seconds after he kissed you. What the hell. You should be furious at him for treating you that way, for leaping over the carefully placed boundaries the two of you have been dancing around for weeks.

But instead you sigh dreamily. You burn for him. Cheeks grow hot just from thinking about his rough hands on you. You hope he’s okay. And you’re sure he is, he’s a big boy.

The fact that you’re more worried about his feelings than you are about potentially losing your job over this is not lost on you. You’ve lived in constant fear of getting fired over the smallest mistakes since the start of this job but you are oddly calm about this situation. This feels like a natural progression. There was going to be a time where you had to confront this strange connection and you would rather it happen sooner rather than later with the way things have been going. As painful as it would be (emotionally AND financially) to say goodbye to him maybe it would be best for it be sooner rather than later.

The day goes by at a painfully slow pace with no sign of him. Anxiety builds and builds as you watch your clock tick down on your phone. You’ve taken to painstakingly wiping down every single mirror on the first floor (there is an absurd amount of them) because it takes up time and gives you something to focus one. After a while interacting with the contractor becomes painful for you, too heightened to be able to function in a normal social setting. You send him home early with a smile, being Friday and all, and you continue carrying out your mirror mission. This takes you to around 4:30 at which point you say “fuck it” and decide it’s time for bed! What is the point of even being here anymore when you could be under your comforter with a pint of chocolate chip ice cream as you ponder your existence?

It was an easy decision.

You meander out the front door, making sure not to slam it shut but have it at least be somewhat loud to announce your exit. Yes, you are stooping that low. A quick wave of relief washes over you because you made it. The day is over and while the issue looms you are at least out of his domain. Car keys jingle in your pocket. You make quick work of the walk from the porch to your car until the state of your tire stops you in your tracks.

“Oh my god!” You’re in disbelief. It’s like an animal chewed through the rubber. Your rim is on the ground. Tears start to well up in your eyes. This is it. This is the thing that’s pushed you over the edge today. A frustrated screech bubbles up your chest.

“Come back inside.”

You freeze as soon as you hear his voice. Spinning on heel, you turn to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a column on the porch. His dress shirt is the darkest black you’ve ever seen, partially unbuttoned to show off thick chest hair and cut slacks show off his strong thighs. Did he get dressed up for you? His paint is crisp and hair is slicked back neatly. Fuck, he looks good*.*

“I can get an Uber?” A question as if you’re asking him permission, taking a few tentative steps towards him.

“Hmmm. No. I’ll call you a driver.” A rough response but you can’t help but feel warmth blossom in the pit of your stomach. “Get back inside.” Terzo growls, his gaze stern and pointed. He leaves you alone in his front yard. You feel silly by how hard your heart hammers in your chest but this is what you’ve been wanting all day. A moment passes by and you work up your courage to go inside and take your punishment. Thoughts of your shredded tire fade.

You walk inside the foyer and follow the sound of clinking glasses, finding him at the bar in the den. Terzo’s gaze falls to you then he directs you to the couch with his eyes. You silently follow the order and sit on one of the couch cushions furthest away from him. There’s a lump in your throat, fidgeting with your hands as you wait for him to join you. Eventually he turns around to face you with two drinks in his hand, one a red martini with a lime green umbrella and the other a pint full of something gross looking - not beer but still brown? His face is blank and you try to match his energy but it’s hard to keep your blush at bay. You reach out to take the martini from him but he pulls it back out of your grasp and instead presses the pint into your hand. The smell fills your nostrils: whiskey. Yuck. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, allowing for plenty of space between you two.

“You’ve called the driver already, right?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes but you’re still not sure you believe him.

Terzo’s arm stretches across the back of the couch, gloves just brushing your shoulder. Your grip on your whiskey tightens. This isn’t his usual charming aloofness, there’s something cold and cruel bubbling beneath the surface. Still, you want nothing more than to speak to him, even if he’s obviously pissed at you. He lifts his other hand up to his face, admiring the sharp golden nails adorned to his leather gloves. Eyes slowly drag from them to settle on you, gaze so piercing and yet uninterested in you.

“So, you had him pick you up here, si?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Drink.” He points at your glass and narrows his eyes. Not playing around. You do as he says and take a sip. “Keep drinking.” Lip twitches in a faint show of satisfaction as you bring the glass up back to your lips and take a deep gulp. There’s delight in his eyes and you’re more than happy to play the game just to see more of it. Your eyes twitch and you cough once you set the glass, the whiskey burns your throat.

“It was convenient for him.” Words are rough from the sting of alcohol.

“Ohh, was it now?” Terzo growls and digs his nails into the couch, tearing into the fabric. The sound gives you goosebumps. You open your mouth but he’s too quick. “Finish your drink.” He snaps, daggers for eyes that sends a chill down your spine. You swallow thickly and toy with your glass with the tips of your fingers before bringing it back up to your lips. Head tips back, the room swirls and you swallow down the rest of the liquid.

“Gross. Ugh.” Grimacing as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “It’s less of a drive for him and I’m a pushover, okay?” You sigh, only partially joking. His eyes noticeably soften. You sink deeper into the cushion. “I said yes to this date because it was with my best friend’s older brother who I’ve known forever and I’ve always had a crush on him.” Terzo’s fingers shift from the couch to your shoulder, his nails just short of tearing through your shirt, his anger coming back up to a simmer just below the surface, but you continue on unafraid.

“I had to see what would happen. You have to understand… you build the thing up in your head as something perfect and special but then when you actually actually experience it…” You deflate and you eyes wander away from him, wanting to look anywhere else. “It’s never as good as you imagined it. Plus, he was a garbage kisser.” You immediately regret the words as soon as you say them. They hang heavy in the air and the air catches in your lungs. You feel him shift on the couch but you can’t bring yourself to look until his his hand curls around by back of your neck and forces you to look at him. Eyes sharp like knives.

“You let him kiss you.” A statement, not a question. Terzo makes you watch as he slinks closer to you. There’s like a current coming off of him right now that has you paralyzed even though you so badly want to protest. You whimper, words getting caught in your throat as he reaches for you. He grabs you by your waist with the tips of his claws poking against your skin, that delicious danger teasing you as always. “How did it compare?” Terzo trills, a charming smile with vicious edge. Hoo boy. Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“It didn’t compare at all.” You whisper as you try to sink as far into the couch as possible. Not because you don’t want to be close to him but you’re confused. Everything about this feels like a trap, like one wrong answer could set him alight but you’re not exactly fighting it. Instincts are telling you to run but you stay exactly where you are. Terzo’s hand drift up your sides, suggestively squeezing you in all the right places until he’s holding you by your shoulders. He’s smiling wider than before and there’s glee in his eyes — he’s pleased with you. A torrent of heat shoots through your core. He doesn’t say anything, merely taking in your reactions to his touches. His finger tips glide across your top, nearly clipping right through it until his hands settle around your throat. He squeezes just enough to make you gasp for air, then leans in to you, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel his hot breath on your lips.

Tease.

“I could hurt you.” Terzo muses against your lips, lashes fluttering and eyes wide. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Silence passes comfortably between the both of you as you take in each other’s breaths and warmth.

“I know. I’m… afraid of that. But it’s why I’m here.” You feel drunk, the words just tumbling out of you but you don’t care anymore. He is so close to kissing you that you can nearly taste him but instead he pulls away with a wry smile.

“Your glass is empty.” Terzo snickers and then jumps up in a way that can only be described as cat-like, snatching the glass from your hands. You’re left hot and bothered as he turns his back to you to saunter over to the bar. Alone with your thoughts while you watch him pour you another generous whiskey. Oh no. Oh no. You can still taste it on your tongue and it is not for you. But when he turns around with the warmth and charm you’ve been wanting all doubts are gone. You’re going to be messy tonight and that’s just that. When he turns back to face you he’s at least given you half of what he did the first time, walking slowly over to where you’re sitting on the couch.

He looms over you as your eyes drift up to meet his gaze and he audibly growls. You suck in a sharp breath, your nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Terzo lifts a hand up and brushes his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. He brings the glass to your lips and tips it back. You part your lips, the whiskey burning as it spills down your throat. He continues to pour until you can’t keep up with it and it leaks out of your mouth and down your cheeks. You gasp and he flings the glass down onto the side table as he crushes his mouth against yours, unable to keep away from you any longer.

And you certainly don’t care that he all but purrs into your mouth, soft lips moving against yours. He cups your face with his gloved hands, leather thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he slips onto the couch beside you without breaking the kiss. Fingers curl around his wrist and you press in close to him, losing yourself in how he tastes. His velvety tongue probes your mouth as the kiss grows in intensity. Deep pants try to keep your feet on the ground but you’re off in space, exhaustion and comfort mixing in a way that has you floating. Terzo pulls away from the kiss and you can hardly open your eyes. He gently guides your head to his chest, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“You never called me a driver did you?”

“Oh no. Never considered it.” Terzo squeezes you in his arms.

Oh, he’s so warm. A rumbling groan falls from your lips as his wraps his arms around you, just holding you there. Your limbs relax and you sink deeper into his chest as he starts to rubs up and down your back. In that moment you know you’re a goner. A deep, sleepy sigh falls from your lips and in a matter of minutes you are out cold.

Terzo almost feels guilty for being such an ass. Almost. He feels for you, he can relate to realizing that something isn’t all it was cracked out to be. At least for you it was a childhood crush and not being raised for one person. But still, he was a tad mean wasn’t he? It was necessary and the tension… the tension had been so delicious. Watching you squirm under his intense stare. And you just did what he said, unquestioningly, even when had you drink and drink and drink. Adrenaline is pumping through him and he struggles to contain himself— he must not go any further, despite how tempted he is. He could get away with it. You’re so soft, so pliable and so wanting. Terzo can feel the heat radiating off of you, no doubt from the alcohol and your closeness. He could slip his hand between your thighs and give you exactly what you want.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you. Terzo wants you coherent and focused when he takes you. Plus you’re adorably snuggled against him right now, your soft breaths against his chest. He’s longed for this and you did not disappoint. Wait a minute. Are you sleeping? He is about to fall apart, his arms wrapping so much tighter around you. The urge to keep you safe, to keep you here and never let you leave overcomes him*.* He squeezes your hand that is clutched to his chest and then gingerly picks it up and places it back in your lap.

“Sleepy?”

You lift your heavy head to look at him and good god do you want to be asleep right now. A tender smiles breaks out across his face as he swipes some of your hair from your eyes. A stark contrast from how close he had just been to strangling you.

“Take the guest room tonight, puffetta. I will bring you some clothes.” Terzo pulls himself to his feet. “Meet you up there.” He’s so soft, so different than how torturous he was of you earlier. You’re sure he’s heard what he’s wanted to hear from you but he’s unpredictable. Something you liked about him. There’s an unknown darkness that lies beneath his charm and good looks and it calls out to you. You’ve never felt this way about anyone. How could you ever get away now?

You blink and realize that you’re alone. You’ve been alone. Oh shit. Scrambling off of the couch, you trip over your own feet with the effects of the whiskey hitting you hard.

Ah, the guest room. A cramped space with antique furniture that could use some time and attention. The overall theme of the room is… dust. You’ve brought up having the dresser refinished or even repainted and replacing the peeling wallpaper but it’s low on the list of priorities. You push the door shut and give a soft sigh of relief. Shoes come off. A lamp on the bedside table barely illuminates the room and a folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt are waiting for you on the bed. Eyes scan over the remainder of the comforter and pillows, wondering if anyone had ever slept here. You can’t help the feeling that you’re being watched but maybe the fact that you’re about to wear your boss’ clothes isn’t meshing well with the practically decaying room.

“Whatever.” You huff to yourself and undress with the grace of a toddler, kicking your pants off and throwing your removed clothes into a pile on the ground. Sitting down on the bed, you pull up the sweatpants and they are loose as they settle around your waist. The shirt slips over your head and swallows up your upper body. Did he purposely give you his largest clothing to make you feel small? It is so cozy, though. You wrap your arms around your body and flop back onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the blankets. Comfortable heat spreads across your skin from buzz of the alcohol. Limbs go limp and your eyelids grow heavy, a deep sigh falling from your lips. Fading fast.

The piercing ring of the rotary phone cracks through the air and you jolt upright and wide awake. What the? You don’t remember seeing it when you came in and it’s not like it blends in — it’s bright red with intricate black etchings along the base and the handle of the receiver. Not a speck of dust on it. The phone rings again, somehow louder and more harmful to your ears than before. You blink and suddenly you’re standing directly in front of the dresser with one hand curled around the receiver. Heart is pounding in your chest and ears. Something is calling out to you. Answer it. Answer it. Answerit. answeritansweritansweritanswerit.

You pick up the phone to silence. Then chittering. The receiver is hot on your cheek. Something pricks your ear but you can’t pull away. There’s a squelch. A screech. More screaming. It only gets louder and louder, needles in your ears, pain shooting through your brain. You can’t breathe. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers and shuffle your bare feet against the cold floor, the only thing you’re able to get your body to do other than press the phone so hard against your head. The closer you listen to the screams the more familiar they get, growing in intensity, pain and volume. Burning, the receiver is burning now and yet you can’t move, you can’t get any relief. The phone cord is nearly completely tangled around your wrist and you’re sweating, gasping for breath, and crying without even realizing it. The screams finally subside, replaced by a cold, dead silence.

You hang up the phone.

Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washes over you and you collapse onto the bed. The world spins as you sink into the soft mattress, the dial tone still echoing in your ears.

[beybaldes]

open the blinds, let me see your face

masterlist

Sejanus plinth x gn!reader

summary: befriending Sejanus plinth was a choice you made, falling in love with him wasn’t

warnings: one use of y/n, I make Arachne crane out to be a high school mean girl, little bit angsty but it’s most fluffy, miscommunication, overhearing something, Sejanus being a little self deprecating :(( protect my baby boy

an: thanks for all the love on my Sejanus fics so far!! Here’s another one <33 tag list ~ @celestialstar111 <33

Sejanus Plinth sits two seats to the left of you on the curved bench in the classroom and he always has his head hung low like a wounded dog; hunched over and trying to protect itself, ready to bite if provoked enough.

There was a day last spring when Festus Creed was mid conversation with you as you entered the classroom, and moved to sit with you so he could carry on talking to you until the lesson began. You got to your usual seat and carried on, moving one seat over and letting Festus sit in your usual seat, but when you’d arrived for your learning the following day you didn’t move back, sitting in the seat one to the left of where you usually did. Though you can’t quite remember when the one seat gap between you and Sejanus became the inch that stopped your arms from pressing against each other, you can remember when other people started to take notice.

The first had been an all-too eager Arachne Crane, who’d tried to make some scene about it over lunch, to which she’d very promptly failed. Although she’d made it perfectly clear just how weird she thought it was. “Are you two… friends?” She’d leaned across the table asking you in a loud whisper, totally oblivious to how her blazer went straight into her food in some kind of instant Karma. Her gaze flickered to where Sejanus sat, at a table for two yet still by himself, head hung low. Arachne’s face scrunched in disgust. “He isn’t the kind of person you should befriend, y/n.”

In her mind, she was just looking out for you, but in yours she was being unnecessarily mean. “And whose friend should I be, Arachne? Yours?” Silence took over the table as you scoffed, a genuine look of hurt crossing Arachne’s face for a split second and then passing, and Festus reaching for your shoulder, patting it gently as if to say ‘you took it too far this time.’ To hell with all of them, if anyone had taken things too far it was Arachne when she felt the need to make fun of sweet Sejanus Plinth for no reason. You stood from the table, half eaten lunch in hand. “That’s what I thought.”

It isn’t difficult to see where you’re going, the whole table watching as you headed straight for the seat opposite Sejanus. Arachne gets more and more appalled with each step you take, refusing to believe that you’re willing to sit with Sejanus over her, yet, you seem to ask him something, and then pull out the seat with a softer smile then you’ve ever given her and get straight to talking to the brunette. She can’t believe her eyes.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” Sejanus looks up at you with wide eyes, his whole body stilling at the question. Of course it was okay, but why would you want to sit with him? At first he thinks it’s some kind of cruel joke with the way a table full of senior academy students are looking at him with Arachne at its head, but then he thinks about everything he knows about you - you’ve never been anything but kind to him, you sat next to each other in class and made pleasant enough small talk, and though he doesn’t think you’d remember, on his very first day of attending school in the capital you came and sat with him under the big oak tree in the yard, asked him what living in district 2 had been like and shared his sweets.

He quickly rules that your question is sincere and pulls his tray closer to his side of the table, nodding. “Please do.”

“Thank you.” The two of you last about 5 more seconds without either of you saying anything before you speak up. Even facing him, Sejanus keeps his head hung low. “You’re very kind, Sejanus.”

He likes the way you say his name, the way it seems to roll perfectly and fluidly off your tongue, like it was meant to be said by you. What’s worse is he knows he likes the way you say his name so much that he’s blushing, so, he ducks his head and try’s to bore holes in the table top. “I don’t know about that.”

Once more, Sejanus Plinth was hiding away from the world, or in this case you, and you were having non of it. Tapping his hand with yours, you waited until he looked up at you before you spokes. “Really? Because I know for a fact you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.” If his face wasn’t already flushed the same red as his clothes, it would be now. “I mean, have you met half the people in this room? Kind isn’t exactly their forte.”

His smile widens so much he has dimples prominently on show that you’re not sure if you’ve ever seen before. Sejanus’s face was made for dimples and smiling, you’re sure of it. “Well, if you say so.”

From then on, not only do you sit directly next to each other in all your classes, you begin to each lunch together too, and eventually it escalates to Sejanus walking you home everyday after having lessons at the academy.

The first time he walks you home it’s pitch black out and the two of you have been sat in the academy’s library for hours upon hours studying for an exam. At the bottom of the steps you go to part ways, but Sejanus turns in the same direction as you and carry’s on walking. It’s takes three streets in the direction of your house for you to be brave enough to say anything about it.

“You do know you live in the opposite direction, right?” Sejanus’s gaze fell to the floor and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Obviously he knew that, but he wasn’t able to outright admit he’d simply wanted to walk you home either - for some reason he could easily became a blushing, stuttering mess around you, and when you consistently looked at him like that, it didn’t make things any easier. “I know.” He didn’t know what else to say, but in an attempt to not blow his cover, he practically admitted it. “I just like talking to you, wasn’t ready to stop yet. I’d quite like to carry on walking this way, if you don’t mind.”

For the first time, it was you who became the blushing mess, looking anywhere but at Sejanus as you nodded, trying desperately to not let your hand brush against his. “Yeah, no, yeah. That’s- that’s more then okay. I don’t mind at all.”

When you finally reach your doorstep later that evening, you’ve brushed hands with Sejanus at least ten times and thought about just going for it and holding his hand twice. Three times if you count the fact you want to reach out and squeeze it as a thank you right now. “I like talking to you too, by the way. Like, a lot.”

“Oh, that’s good, that’s- yeah, wow, cool, cool.” Sejanus was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands still tucked stiffly into his pockets and still avoiding you gaze. If he’d look at you more, then maybe he’d see just how much were growing to like him, like really like him.

In a moment of bravery, you stood on the tips of your toes, pressing a fleeting kiss against his cheek then running up the steps to your front door. “Goodnight Sejanus, thank you.”

Sejanus stood frozen on your doorstep for a long moment, his shaking hand coming up to ghost over where your lips had just been pressed against his cheek, a dazed look in his eyes. Only hearing your door close behind you started him enough to get him moving again, and on his way home before he spent all night stood in a stupor on your doorstep.

The next morning, Sejanus felt as though he was as light as a feather walking through the academy, a skip in his step that had heads turning to look at him. Even Coriolanus had stopped him to ask what was going on, the brunette only able to respond with a bright smile and an airy promise that it was ‘nothing.’ He was sure this attitude would’ve continued all day - and perhaps even forever, getting renewed each time you pressed a kiss to his cheek again - if he hadn’t walked into the main hall to hear you and Arachne in the middle of a heated argument.

“You know it’s not like that, Arachne.”

“Well, If you’re not with him for his daddy’s money, I can’t see anything worth while. After all, he’s barely Capitol, district scum, so the only thing that would make sense is if-“ A wicked grin curled onto Arachne’s perfectly painted lips and it knocked you sick. She hasn’t even said the words yet and you knew she was about turn your world upside down, tell everyone what you’d been trying so hard to keep. “You love him.”

“No, no, that’s not-“ Your voice shook as you spoke and it was obvious to anyone that you were lying, well, anyone except Sejanus, who took your nervousness as embarrassment and felt his heart shatter. Of course it had been too good to be true. More fool him, he thought, for thinking one little kiss to his cheek meant anything.

But it wasn’t just one little kiss, it was so much more. It was thinking about holding his hand every time you were near him, it was getting two different things at lunch and having half and half each, it was knowing he’d always rather have a glass of apple juice, and that his Ma made the best baked goods in all of Panem. It was bumping your arm against his whenever one of your classmates said something stupid, it was him offering his blazer without you asking like he just knew how cold you were, it was curly hair that you wanted to run your fingers through and arms you wanted to step into and never move out of.

“You love him.” Arachne repeated, her words dripping with disgust the more she dwelled on them. Of course you would fall for the district boy, she’d only wished she’d been a better friend and stopped you before things got this far. “Poor thing, falling for a boy from the districts.”

“I’m not-“ Sejanus had heard enough, turning on his heel and heading out of the hall, not caring for the way the door slammed shut behind him. Turning to the noise, you noticed the flash of brown curls and Coriolanus stood by the closed door. “Sejanus…”

“Oh no, did I hurt lover boys feelings?”

The sound of your palm struck flat and fast against Arachne’s face resounded around the room, everyone staring at the scene in shocked silence. “Do you ever stop being a vindictive bitch? Or do you have nothing better to do?”

Pulling your bag further up your shoulder, you turned and ran for the door, wanting to catch up with Sejanus before he got too far. “Sejanus!” Dread filled your stomach as you realised it might be too late, Sejanus no where in sight. You started making a mental list of all the different places he could be heading for when the main doors closed with a hard thud. It had to be Sejanus. So, you were quick to follow, sprinting down to the opposite end of the corridor, and out into the pouring rain, not willing to lose him over something said by someone as cruel as Arachne Crane. “Sejanus, please, wait up!” Running down the marble steps without the care of slipping, you finally caught up to him, reaching out and grabbing onto his arm, causing him to still. “Let me explain, please.”

Sejanus turned to face you but kept his head hung low, something you hadn’t seen him do in months, and your heart clenched. Poor, sweet Sejanus Plinth curled into himself like a kicked dog, and it was your fault. “What is there to explain?” His words came out in a whisper, Sejanus trying his best to keep his calm as even if you were embarrassed by him, he’d never treat you wrong in anyway. Not even now. “You made it pretty clear how you feel about me.”

“Sejanus, please, Arachne was being cruel. You’re my best friend.” As you moved your grip down his arm to try and take his hand in yours, he pulled away from you, taking a step further back on the steps as well. “Sejanus please just let me explain, you have no idea-“

“You’re embarrassed of me.” He said firmly, as if it was the objective truth and you both just had to deal with that fact. He didn’t know how far from the truth it was. Sejanus’s hands curled into fists as he spoke and his voice trembled, like he was about to cry. “You’re embarrassed to be friends with the district scum who somehow made it to the Capitol, and you’ve spent the last few months becoming his friend because you pitied him, or to make fun of him, or something.” Sejanus was stumbling over his words as he got more and more upset, the rain against his face stopping you from figuring out if he was crying or not. “I get it, it’s fine, I just wish it hadn’t felt so real.”

Stepping closer to him before he could stop you, you cradled his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze and wiping away at the rain that coated his cheeks and matted his hair to his forehead. “It was real, it was so real, all of it, every single second. I promise Sejanus, I promise.” He was completely dazed by the feeling of your hands cupping his face and he only wished they’d been placed there in a different scenario. However you had taken his silence as disbelief in what you were saying, promoting you to continue, clutching his face tighter. “I’m not embarrassed of you, at all, ever. How could I be? God, I’d shout it from the rooftops just how much you mean to me if I didn’t know how much you’d hate everyone looking at you when I called your name.”

Sejanus was silent for a long moment, but leaned into the warmth of your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment while he took in what you said. “You would?”

You tilted his head down so that his forehead pressed against yours in desperation. “I’d do anything for you, Sejanus, please.” His lips were centimetres from yours, so much so you could feel him breathe against them. It’d be so easy to kiss him right now. Instead, you slide your hands back around his head to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him into a hug. “Please… please believe me.”

Sejanus was hesitant, but wrapped his arms around you; one pressing into the small of your back and the other cupping the back of your neck. You’ve never been anything but kind to him, and he highly doubted that you’d decide to stop being now, so out of the blue. But as much as he wanted to move on from this, believe you and pretend nothing happened, Arachne’s words can’t stop echoing in his mind.

Daddy’s money, barely capital, district scum, you love him, you love him, you love him.

“Is it true?” He asked, grip on you tightening slightly incase it wasn’t and this was the last time he’d hug you. For all the months that Sejanus didn’t know if you returned his feelings or not, he lived in blissful ignorance, like you were so far out of his reach that the confession of his feelings was something he’d never have to worry about. But now that Arachne had brought it up, he needed to know for sure. As selfish as it was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle staying just your friend. “Do you really love me? Like, love me, love me?”

There was no point in trying to hide it now. You’d spent weeks trying to be brave enough to hold his hand, and last night in a daze you’d kissed him on the cheek, and even though you would’ve rather done it of your own accord, you were about to shy away from the opportunity to get it off your chest. “Yes.” You whispered, tucking your head deeper into the crook of his neck, muffling your words. If this was the last time you were going to be able to hold him, you wanted it to last. “And if you don’t want to be friends anymore then I’m okay with that. I’d rather lose you because I loved you too much then lose you because you think I didn’t love you at all.”

Sejanus stayed silent, processing and digesting each of your word’s individually. A small voice in his head was telling him that this was all a dream and he was going to be woken to reality any second, but the rain against his face and your hands at the nape of his neck told him otherwise. Pulling away from you enough to look at you, Sejanus made sure to meet and hold your gaze, cheeks flushing red at the idea alone of what he was about to say. “I love you.” Nose slotted against nose, the words were said against your lips, the breath he released after he made his admission fanning against your skin. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.” You answered, nodding your head slightly and leaning forward, meeting Sejanus in the middle in a gentle kiss. Though a little awkward and unsure, neither of you knowing where to put your hands or how to actually kiss, what you lacked in experience you made up for in enthusiasm, trying to drink up as much of each other as possible in one kiss. His lips against yours were firm, but still loving and gentle in a way unique to Sejanus, and he let you guide the two of you through it, kissing you harder when you pulled him closer and waiting for you to end the kiss.

Finally breaking away from each other, you could feel the rapid rise and fall of Sejanus’s chest against yours. The boy in front of you now was more like the Sejanus you knew so well, his head hanging low, and a hot flush coating his cheeks that he was trying to hide form the world, from you. However, his flustered facade didn’t last long, as you placed a hand against his jaw, titling his head up to look at you. “Can I kiss you again, Sej?”

[nanaminsmoon]

hiiii, so sorry if this is a lil long but bare w me pls, i love ur writing btw <3

ok: reader & plug!ony broke up about a year ago bc of something ony did (something bad but not like 100% unforgivable) but the feelings never left. he’s been tryna get her back over the year but she wasn’t budging cus she hadn’t seen any growth. recently tho she’s noticed he’s growing & she misses him. then at a function, she sees him pop out w a new girl & all their friends are staring at her like waiting for a reaction and in a littleee moment of jealousy, she goes up to ony like “you’re mine for life right?” and he jumps away from the other girl so fast like he BEEN waiting on this news 😭😭

omg thank you!! i was about to write something just like this but this is so much better!! i hope you like it and i'm sorry it took so long i just wanted it to be okay😭

cw: kinda angsty, oral (f receiving), car sex, ony calls reader 'ma', n word usage, mentions of breeding.

wc: 3913

atonement is hardly ever easy, and ony knew that first-hand. closing the gap between you and the person you once held closest to you can, surprisingly, be very difficult. even if a year of ‘separation’ is spent showing up at your ex-lovers’ door, or workplace, nail tech, or hair lady’s house. sometimes getting back to where you once where is needlessly difficult. especially if your definitions of said place are vastly different.

from the outside looking in, you and ony’s relationship had been picture perfect. he loved you as much as you loved him, and he wasn’t shy about it. everyone knew not to even look at you wrong, because they knew that they would have ony to deal with—and no one fucked with ony’s girl. except for him. because that picture had been held by a fraudulent frame; purposely hung over the large dent in your relationship. that being, his occupation.

from small kickbacks, to rich white kids who want to snort rebellion off their house keys, everyone had one thing in common—ony. no party started until ony got there and, as happy as you were for him, that didn’t come without its burdens. ony was almost always out dealing, giving you very little quality time to hang out. on the few occasions you got his undivided attention for more than a few hours, your peace would be interrupted by the ear-splitting noise erupting from his stupid nokia burner phone.

of course, small huffs of disappointment would slip past your lips when he told you that he had to leave. but you were used to it now, and that’s what helped ony sleep at night; knowing that you had become inured to his disconcerting disappearances, and abrupt reappearances. you knew that other people needed him, even if it meant that your needs were temporarily pushed aside. one time you had asked him, why it always had to be him that they called, and his response had been:

”my shit is the best, ma.”, said through a chortle, as he put his shoes on by your front door.

”i get that, but what about me?”, your arms crossed, as you tilted your head at your man—ony’s weakness. once you did that, with that look in your eyes, he couldn’t say no to you. but tonight, his priorities were different.

just let me do what i gotta do, and i’ll come right back to you. then i’m yours for the whole night.”, he had reassured, kissing your temple.

”just for the night?”, you scoffed.

”for life. now stay here, and i’ll be back.”, and that would appease you for the evening. but there’s only so much cracking one heart can do, before no adhesive can keep it whole, and it shatters into a million pieces. that night, you stripped yourself of ony’s shirt you had been wearing, and threw it into the corner of your bedroom; it smelt too much like him, and you hated it.

harmless hatred became deep disdain on the evening of your birthday. you had organised a dinner for a few of your closest friends and family, and had vehemently stressed to ony that he had to be there on time. because, if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t just be wasting your time, but he’d be wasting that of those closest to you as well. and he had promised you that if there’s something that had to be handled during the time of your dinner, he’d get connie or eren to do it so he could be with you. but 15 minutes of waiting for him became 30. and 30 soon became an hour, and your friends grew reasonably irate due to hunger. so you said they could order, and you’d just call ony one more time. but in a time where all you wanted to hear was your boyfriend’s voice, all you were met with was rings on the other line. that sound resounded all over the side of your face. and that feeling grew once the realisation hit that had you been a client, he wouldn’t have let the phone ring for more than five seconds. and that gave you a lot to think about.

you didn’t know how long the dinner lasted because your focus had remained on keeping your tears from falling into your food. you hated how pitiful you looked, lifting your head up every time someone walked into the restaurant, and the crestfallen expression that landed on your face each time you saw it wasn’t ony. it made no sense to you how the man who swore he would do anything for you, the man who placed a band on your ring finger, promising you that one day he’d marry you. the man who swore he had never loved anyone more than you, refused to put you before something so fleeting.

ony finally did show up though…two hours after the dinner had ended. heartbroken cries in your bedroom, had constantly been interrupted by calls coming from ony’s contact. but every single one went unanswered; he needed to feel what you felt when he had embarrassed you in front of your loved ones. though mere missed calls could never compare to the taste of your celebratory dinner food meshing awkwardly with the swallowed cries in your throat, you had to make him feel a morsel of the anguish he had put you through.

if ony could’ve gone full 2000s rnb music video; shirtless, singing outside your window with his chain blowing in the windy rain, he would’ve done. he would’ve even started throwing pebbles if he could, but your apartment was too high on your building. so he just settled on incessantly pressing the button next to your door number. and, after the nth try, you opened the door for him and he ran inside—pressing the elevator button a thousand times once he got in. and, just as he was about to knock on the door, it opened. and you stood on the other side, utterly unimpressed; bonnet on, your own pyjamas (instead of one of his shirts), and eyes reddened by tears. the impact caused by his heart unceremoniously dropping to the pit of his stomach caused a soft sigh to leave his mouth. then his lips began moving to explain himself.

“look, i'm sorry. i lost track of ti—”, his explanations were waved off—your own thoughts outweighing whatever he had to say to you.

“we're done, ony.”, was all you said to him before closing the door, and ony’s brain turned off, then back on again because what the fuck did you just say??

“y/n, open the door”, he banged on the door. and, not wanting any noise complaints, you opened it.

“what?”, you scowled.

“the fuck you mean done? talk to me”, ony’s hand reached out to yours, but quickly retreated when you pulled back from him. you had never done that; even when you were mad at him, you at least gave him a chance to get back into your good books again.

“you missed my birthday dinner, ony”, your voice was small, tears about to fall yet again.

“i know, and i'm sor—”,

“two years in a row.”,

“like i said, i'm sor—”,

“and my graduation, the party we had when i finally got my drivers license, the lunch you promised me on my first day at my new job. and you were meant to be my date at my sisters wedding.”, every example was punctuated by your fingertip harshly poking at his chest, and the tears just started falling on their own.

“i'm sorry, y/n”, ony’s voice started cracking, as his hand embraced the hand you had been poking him with.

“sorry isn't good enough anymore, ony. i deserve someone who prioritises me”,

“but everything i do is for us.”, he kissed your hand, “imma use this money to buy you ever—”,

“do you not understand that i don't want your money or gifts? i want you, ony.”, your breathed out, exasperation deeply set in your voice, and in your slumping posture, “anyone could give me bags and shoes, ony. but only you could give me your time. but you won’t, and that's the problem”

“so what, this is it?”,

“until you figure yourself out, yeah.”, you slid your hand from him, “it pains me because i love you so much, but i can’t keep living like this. if you're not ready for a girlfriend then you should've never got with me”

“but i am ready”, he pleaded.

“then act like it.”. were the words that echoed in ony’s head every time he showed up to the places he saw you posting on your story—heart holding hopes that your paths would cross. you didn’t know how he did it, but ony became your shadow for nearly the whole year you spent separated. even when you told him to give it up, he refused; sending bouquets of flowers to your workplace every few days, talking to you through your friends and family, and even showing up to your job to make up for that lunch he promised you. it hurt you to turn him away when you could see in his eyes that he would give up the world to have you in his orbit again. but, when you would ask him about where he got the money to even buy you these flowers in the first place, his silence was very telling.

but word on the street was that ony was a changed man now. your sources told you that he wasn’t dealing as much, and he had gotten a job. those sources being his instagram story that you watched through a burner account. seeing him everywhere made it impossible for you to wash yourself of him completely, so desparate times called for desparate measures. you missed that man so much, it was driving you crazy. it pissed you off seeing him being the man you had asked him to be, but not having the chance to bask in his progress. your love for ony wouldn’t vanish overnight, but it sure as hell hadn’t faded in the year you had been separated either. you kept his shirts and hoodies, and the promise ring he bought you was still on your finger.

so elated didn’t even begin to explain the feeling in your chest when, upon arriving at some house party, one of your girls told you that ony was there too. you tried to not seem so eager, but you had no control over your heart beating rapidly at the idea that you might see him again. all you needed was for him to apologise one more time, and you’d be all his. that was until you came to find that there was a hole blocking your reunion—that hole being in the shape of some girl giggling in his face, as his arm sat around her waist. every fibre of your being urged you to stomp over there, and scream his ear off. but he wasn’t your man anymore so there was nothing you could do but kiss your teeth and glower that them.

no man, not even ony, could get in the way of you and your friends enjoying yourselves. so that’s exactly what you did. for an hour, or two, ony didn’t exist and you just laughed and danced with your friends. however, the end of that would be marked when you stood, talking some guy you had just met, and one of your friends nudged you and nodded in ony’s direction.

“that doesn't bother you?”, she asked, obviously asking about the girl sat on ony’s lap.

“why would it?”, you shrugged back.

“you ain't say you missed the nigga?”, your other friend chimed in.

“okay? that doesn't mean i want him back”, you lied through your teeth.

“so you’re just missing him as hobby?”, sasha laughed.

“leave me alone.”, you chided, and your friends dropped the whole thing. but you wished those saltine whispers of jealousy would leave your eyes, and let you at least pretend to enjoy yourself in peace.

and if it wasn’t them ruining your fun, it was the girl’s friends staring at you.

“why are her friends looking at me?”, you whispered to connie. he had come over to speak to you, and that had caught ony’s attention. mainly because he wondered why you were willing to speak to his friend, but not him.

“they’re gloating.”, connie put a comforting arm around you, and pulled you closer to himself.

“well, tell them to stop.”, as if you could feel ony’s eyes on you, you moved connie’s arm from you, and connie laughed before putting it back where it was.

“they won’t. in their mind, she stole ony from you.”, he explained, and you scoffed.

“pfft, i could get that nigga back anytime i wanted”, you retorted, earning some knowing looks from your friends, before unprecedented words fell from sasha’s mouth.

“then do it.”, she nudged you, “you keep saying you want him so bad, go get him. he’s your man. go collect him”, that didn’t sound like a suggestion, it sounded like a dare. and you were never one to back down from a dare.

“fuck it”.

you didn’t know where your strides were leading you until you were barging past ony’s friends to link your arm around his own. at first, his body went into fight or flight because he thought he was about to be robbed, then calm came in the sound of your voice,

“ony, baby, where did you go? i've been looking for you everywhere”, you made sure to stick yourself onto him, and he didn’t move from you because he was too busy comprehending what the fuck was going on.

“y/n?”,

“i thought you guys were done?”, miss.whatever-her-name-was, linked ony’s other arm with her own, and pulled him towards herself.

“yeah, so did i”, ony spoke under his breath, looking down at you in bewilderment as he thought to himself; ”how much did i fucking smoke?”.

“who’s done?”, you looked up at him, “you’re mine for life, right?”, you pouted up at him, and all those memories of that night he had promised you he wouldn’t be long, came flooding back—ony folded immediately.

“always.”, he grinned at you, simultaneously yanking his arm away from whatever her name was.

“ony?”, she complained—now it was your turn to gloat.

“what?”, he sneered at her.

“you told me you guys were done”, she whined, and he rolled his eyes at her.

“well then don’t believe everything a nigga tells you”, was his final rebuttal before he pulled you outside.

at first, you just sat in silence, taking in the cool summer breeze. but ony had questions and, more importantly, he wanted to hear your voice.

“you forgive me then?”, his elbow gently met your arm.

“who said that?”, you stared down at your feet, kicking into the ground beneath you.

“you don't forgive me but you wanna do all that shit back there?”, he laughed.

“she didn't look good for you”, you finally looked up at him, and ony just laughed at you.

“you don't know her”,

“i just got that vibe”, you feigned a shudder, eyes still on him.

“what'd you really want, y/n?”, his index finger lifted your chin.

“you.”, your frank demeanour, and sincere eye contact, blew ony’s eyes wide open.

“well, you got me.”, as much as ony had changed in that year, his love for you remained incorrigible, and he’d be dumb to try and convince you otherwise. so he wouldn’t; he’d been wanting you back for far too long, and he’d finally gotten what he wanted.

“that easy?”, you teased.

“even if you’re not mine, i’ll always be yours, y/n. you know that”, ony’s words directed themselves at your lips; brown irises stuck onto your shining gloss.

“well then…can i be yours again?”, you muttered apprehensively, and the pause after that comment was unreadable.

“y’don’t even have to ask, c’mere”, ony reached his hand out to you.

gentle fingers, interlocked with yours, led you out of the party, and down a road that would end at ony’s car—parked overlooking the local area. he wasted no time; unlocking it before opening the back door, and gesturing for you to get in.

"already? you don’t at least want to talk first?”, you laughed at how keen he was, and a lazy smirk graced his face.

”we’ll talk after. get in.”, any anger, or disappointment, built up over the time you were together, had been mollified with just one comment. missing ony was something you never wanted to do again, and seeing the person he had apparently become, meant that you probably never would. all memories of past arguments, and splits, dispersed in ony’s mind once his lips met yours in a fervent kiss. it was one of longing, and regret. the heat emanating off his body causing particles of his internal regret to fill the inside of the car. you could feel it bouncing off your skin, as his tongue met with yours, and his hands kneaded at your flesh through your clothes. ultimately moving south to help you shimmy your way out of your jeans and underwear. he wouldn’t take them off completely, just leave them by your ankles as he laid you on your back, his mouth already placing soft kisses on your upper thigh. that lasted all of five seconds before ony’s tongue was wrapping around your clit, sucking on it gently. for him, this was a meal that was long overdue, and you could feel it in the way he ate you out like a starved man. taking no breaks; wet noises and thirsty moans, omitted by the ever-moving mouth entertaining your core, pervaded the vehicle.

ony had always luxuriated in eating you out, so it wasn’t long until you came; a rivulet dousing his lower face, before he finally came up for air.

”you still taste as good as i remember”, he uttered lowly, moving to give you a taste of yourself as he pressed his lips against yours. his kisses were haste as his hands fumbled to pull down his jeans and boxers, to angle himself at your entrance. the way you took in that first inch of him had him incapacitated; his forehead dropped to meet yours, while deep groans left his mouth.

”fuck…”, ony had to pause to compose himself before he gently pushed the rest of his length inside you. once he did, he just stayed there; eyes locked with yours, thanks to the streetlights, and you could’ve sworn that this man was close to tears with the way his eyes were glossing over.

the way he was fucking you was ineffable; a year was nothing compared to the others ony had spent studying your body, and the things it reacted to. like the way you’d grow tighter around him at his hands pressing your legs against your chest, as he fucked into you. even in the confined space, head crouched down so he didn’t hit the ceiling, ony still fucked you like you were in the comfort of his bedroom—with all the space, and time, in the world. his ireful tip would caress that spongy spot inside of you, over and over again, making your head spin. all those years of learning your body had not been in vain, because a few minutes in that position, and you came around him. keening his name, as your back lifted off the leather seats. ony was planning on taking you back to his place, and making up for lost time properly. but, for now, he would just turn you around and fuck into you from the back—your hands immediately finding the steamy windows,

”don’t do that, ma. people will know what we’re doin’ in here”, he chuckled at you and you moaned out a distorted version of,

”and the moving car doesn’t make it obvious?”. somehow, ony understood you; he was just used to your fucked out rebuttals, and he scoffed at you before giving the moving flesh surrounding your hips two quick slaps. your hands grabbed at anything they could to gain balance, ultimately deciding on the arm rest on the door. and ony’s hands would follow suit, but as he went to intertwine your fingers, his hands were met with cold metal. it was pretty dark in there, so he couldn’t really make out what it was, but a fleeting headlight revealed the ring he had bought you.

“still got that ring on?”, he smiled to himself.

“you p-promised me…”, you stammered out.

“that i’d marry you.”, his eyes softened at the fact that you had been wearing that ring, despite not being together. all because of that lovestruck vow he had made you,

“and imma keep to that promise. imma marry you, then imma fuck some babies into you”, he spoke to you, “that okay with you?”, you moaned out in loud agreement, and that drove ony to fuck you harder.

“good.”, the thought of you being his wife, sat in your marital bed, with his child in your arms sent him over the edge, and ony came in you. deep hums, containing declarations of his love, spilt all over the back of your neck. but his hips didn’t still because he could feel you coming again.

once you both came down from your orgasms, ony laid you down on your side, before pulling his boxers and jeans up and leaving the car momentarily to turn the car on. he opened the windows slightly, before returning to the back of the car. his back would soon be attached to the back door, yours against his chest as your fingers intertwined. even though you hadn’t covered yourself yet, and his nut was leaking out of you onto the leather seats, everything just seemed perfect. in its own weird way; you in ony’s arms again, and his lips pressing loving kisses on your temple.

”y’know it would’ve taken just one more knock at my front door for me to forgive you?”, you looked up at him. and, once the initial shock subsided, he chuckled at you.

”but i kinda think it’s better this way.”, he shrugged.

”how?”, you sat up to face him properly.

”it felt good to finally be able to give you my attention when you asked it of me.”, he smiled, reaching out to stroke your cheek, ”no interruptions. just us.”, after all the emotional turmoil, it was nice hearing that word again; ”us”.

”for life.”, you kissed his knuckle.

”for life.”

© Rights owned by nanaminsmooninc. Do not repost without permission.

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 11

royal flowers series masterlist

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pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni. but it's finally time for some fucking SMUT!! piv, a little bit of dress-tearing, a teensy bit of mutual masturbation, grinding, fingering, somewhat of a fuck-or-die situation if you squint, kind of a little soft

a/n: did y’all miss our boy? i missed our boy.

Anakin slips back into the party wordlessly. There’s too much to think about. He finds you almost instantly, his feet taking him to you on instinct as though there’s some sort of magnetic link between the two of you. His hands rest at your hips as you speak to one of the senators, while his lips press into your temple. You’re quick to dismiss the Senator, feigning the excuse of a headache as you slip your hand into Anakin’s and stride out of the banquet hall. 

“What is it?” You ask him in a soft murmur, not wanting to be heard by unfriendly ears. 

“Not here,” Anakin responds, squeezing your hand softly. He can’t find it in him to let go of your hand, and every time he thinks to, it’s like his muscles only fight his mind, gripping your hand tighter. The parts he tamped down for so long, that possessive ugly side of him that he thought he’d finally outgrown thanks to you, makes its way to the forefront of his mind. You don’t even want him, you see him as just a friend, but Maker, there’s something carnal inside Anakin that wants to claim you as his. He wants to sink his teeth into your neck and leave bruises that won’t fade. You’d be his, and not just for show— no, he wants you to know that you’re his too. 

The thoughts in his head make him feel sick; it goes against everything he’s stood for, all his life. He wants to raze the world to the ground, all for you. And if you reject him, he wants to burn the ashes. But Anakin knows it’s wrong. He knows he shouldn’t feel like this. The both of you have a friendship that is still fragile— it took so long to build it to what it is now. There’s trust, but it wasn’t always there. These thoughts aren’t him. Anakin’s distinctly aware that it’s an amplification of all those desires he repressed, but it’s amplified for a reason. His oath to the dark side is already eating at his soul, parasitic and corrosive. 

He needs to tell you what happened. 

“Anakin, are you okay? You feel feverishly warm,” you say, but Anakin only holds your hand tighter and walks faster, practically dragging you all the way to your shared room, slamming the door shut before he lets go of your hand. It’s so incredibly difficult to be around you right now, because every desire that he repressed for months around you is now clawing through his chest, unfiltered, unabashed. He wants you, and his soul is screaming at him to just give in. It’s the influence of the Dark Side, his inability to suppress his urges. 

“It’s Chancellor Palpatine,” Anakin says through gritted teeth. He’s starting to feel genuine pain now. Years and years of Jedi conditioning being split down his body, every memory of anger and hatred and desire and love all coursing through his body, his nerves, setting his skin alight and stealing the breath from his lungs. 

“What do you mean? Anakin, you look sick,” you say, reaching up to his forehead to touch his skin before he swats your hand away. 

“He’s Darth Sidious,” he responds, not bothering to respond to your concern. He’s locked in on you now, predatorial. His heart’s out of control, beating wildly as control and desire war within him. 

“Anakin, please, you need to explain more. You’re scaring me,” you say, watching him cautiously. He looks a mess. He hadn’t looked this disheveled, strands of his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat when you left for the ball. And that look in his eyes, that look of something wild that sets your own heart racing. 

Anakin closes his eyes. He needs to get himself under control. He knows how to, doesn’t he? All that Jedi training, but that’s not the problem. The problem is he wants you. So bad he can taste it. He wants to run his tongue up the length of your body, feel every inch of your skin with his tongue. 

Forget that. Clear your mind, he reminds himself. 

“When we were out there, I told Palpatine—Sidious— about the nightmares I’ve been having. Nightmares about you dying. He began to tell me about Sith legends, about a Lord that could control death itself. He, he offered me the power to save you—“ 

“Anakin, I’ve told you this before, that’s not what I want—“

“Let me speak,” he snarls at you. He’s sure if he looked at you, he’d see the hurt on your face. But he can’t coddle you right now. His body’s on fucking fire. “I swore his fealty to him, to the dark side, because I thought it was knowledge I, we, could use. But it came at a price.” 

“Oh, Anakin,” you whisper, your voice pained. “I never wanted this for you. Never intended for you to get caught up as a spy.” 

“Well it doesn’t fucking matter what you wanted for me now, does it?” Anakin snaps, opening his eyes to glare at you. A mistake. His anger is quickly overtaken by desire, starved and depraved. He knows his Force signature is spiking, and he’s too stretched thin to pull it together. Distantly, Anakin recognizes the threat that exists now; if he represses his desire for you, allows it to build and build and build before it shatters, Palpatine will know something’s wrong. 

“Anakin, please,” You plead with him quietly. “Please, just tell me how I can help.”  

“I need you,” Anakin says. The words slip out of his mouth before he can catch them, like sand falling from his fingers, something ugly and carnal. You blink in stunned silence, and he forces himself to think of some possible explanation. “It’s the Dark Side. Sidious thinks I wanted you enough to turn to the Dark Side, which means that the Force is now influencing me to mimic that amount of desire.”

A lie, Anakin knows. There’s no amount of Force that could plant a desire in him that wasn’t already truly there. But it’s a little white lie that won’t hurt you, right? What’s the difference if he actually wants you or if it’s just the Force if either way, if he doesn’t have you, his cover will be blown? 

“And it’s— it’s hurting you?” You ask him quietly, thoughts running through your head that he can’t quite place. Anakin just closes his eyes and nods in shame. “Then take me,” you say, quiet but assured. 

“I can’t let you do that,” he argues with you, but his resolve is slipping. He needs to get away from you. The part of Anakin that was raised a Jedi is urging him to run, to get away from you just to protect you. The part of him that he’s been fighting his whole life wants to tear your clothes off and fucking devour you. 

You hesitate before him, battling your thoughts before something takes over you and you’re grabbing the front of his suit, lips meeting aggressively as you press yourself close to him. His cock throbs as your lips move against his, teeth and tongue tangling messily as you attempt to undress him. He walks you backwards into the wall, hands finding your ass to hoist you up and allow you to wrap your legs around his torso. Anakin grinds against your center desperately, seeking some sort of movement as you kiss him sloppily. A groan sits in his throat when your hand tangles itself in his hair, pushing his mouth closer to yours. 

He parts his mouth from yours, moving to your neck to drag his teeth down lazily along your artery. Anakin’s hips keep rocking against yours, that familiar ache driving him entirely as he paws roughly at your body.

Maker, it feels good, your body so close to him like this. But it’s not enough. He can still feel the layers of clothing between you, and it’s like he’s not even aware of what he’s doing when his hands tear the seam at the front of your dress like it’s paper.  

“Sorry, princess,” Anakin laughs as your tits spill out, turning around to toss you on the bed before his mouth finds your nipples, the warmth of his mouth making you arch almost involuntarily into his mouth as he settles himself between your thighs again, dropping his hips in between your spread thighs as he desperately seeks that sweet pressure on his aching cock. “I’ll get you a new one,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue against the skin of your breasts. His hands accompany his mouth— squeezing, pinching, playing with them until you’re dripping and aching for him. 

“Maker, you’ve got such nice tits, huh, princess?” Anakin asks you, sitting up to throw his suit jacket off and tug his shirt off. He doesn’t bother with fully taking his trousers off, only managing to unbutton and tug them down to his mid thighs before his desperation forces him back between your thighs. His hands tug your skirt up to expose your soaked panties, grinding his still-clothed length against them as he mouths at your neck. His hands are roaming all over your body desperately before one hand settles at your ass, squeezing as he rocks against you.   

“Anakin, I need you,” You moan, your hands running down the expanse of his back to press him closer to you. Your nails are leaving little crescent-shaped indents in his back with every rock of his hips against yours, and it’s making him go fucking crazy. 

“Sucking on your tits got you this worked up, princess?” He asks you teasingly, biting your lip. His hand strays to your cunt, tugging the fabric to the side before his fingers collect the slick that’s gathered there. He thumbs at your clit, moving in slow, gentle circles until he finds the spot that makes your body twitch under his ministrations, grinning against your lips as he plays with the bundle of nerves. He waits until you’re panting and moaning before easing one finger, then a second, into your tight, slick hole. 

“Oh, baby,” he moans, pulling away from your neck to watch his fingers fuck your cunt. “Maker, you should see this, your filthy little hole taking my fingers so fuckin’ well, pretty thing.” 

“Anakin,” you moan, your own hand straying to his cock and wrapping your hand around his shaft. Your hand matches the rhythm of his fingers in your cunt, making him drop his head to the pillow as all thoughts flee him except the feeling of your pussy and your hand wrapped around his cock. “Want you inside me so bad,” you whimper, stroking him lazily before reaching to squeeze and tug at his balls. 

“Can’t say no to that pretty voice of yours, princess, not when you ask me so nicely,” He says, pulling your panties off from your thighs, down to your calves, where he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your ankles before tugging the cloth off entirely. You’re still donning the remnants of your shredded dress, but you’re too dizzy with lust to care. 

Anakin settles between your legs again, sliding his hands under your thighs to gently manipulate you upwards. His bare cock slides through your slick folds, the head catching on your clit and making you groan in unrestrained want. You reach out to grab his body, dizzy with desire, dragging your hand down his abdomen to angle his cock right towards your aching hole. 

He hums with barely-restrained want when his tip is fit into your slick entrance, shallowly thrusting the fat head in and out while you adjust. “Feels like I belong in here,” Anakin grunts, slowly easing the rest of his length into you. “Taking me so well, princess. Maybe I should’ve done this earlier.” 

You laugh almost deliriously in response, pulling him down to your level to kiss his mouth fiercely. It’s messy, lips and tongues melding together imperfectly as he drives his hips into you. His voice shapes itself into your name, moaning breathlessly as he finds sweet relief in you. 

“Why’d you have to feel so fucking good, huh? Makin’ me feel like switching to the Dark Side was worth it,” Anakin groans. His hips drive into yours sharply, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot with each move. He finds a rhythm with ease, sinking deep into you with each stroke of his body. 

“Anakin,” you babble, unable to string together a coherent sentence as your body takes it all in — the heat and pressure of his body on yours, his hands roaming up your body, the feeling of him inside you, so deep that your pelvis is flush against his. You can feel your slick dripping to your inner thighs, to his balls, making a mess of it all. Worth it.

“What was that, princess?” He laughs at your fucked-out face, pressing a kiss to your temple. You can feel him smiling against your skin, rocking his body into yours, hear the smack, smack, smack of his hips against yours. 

You clench around him as you feel yourself near your climax, and Anakin groans, but his rhythm remains unfaltering, relentless in his pursuit of pleasure— both yours and his. He thumbs at your clit, pushing you over the edge as an orgasm spreads across your body. Pulsing warmth spreads from your cunt, drowning you in waves of pleasure as your vision whites out at the edges. Anakin’s only barely able to pull himself out of your tight heat, painting your stomach with his cum. 

He finds himself laying down by your side, basking in the afterglow with you. It seems to him that there’s altogether too much to say, so he’ll say nothing at all. He finds himself running his thumb over your cheekbones gently as you blink sleepily at him, finds his heart leaping out of his chest when you cradle his jaw with your hand. He’d like to think that means something, wants it to mean something so desperately. And when he leans in to kiss your hair, his mouth says the things his voice will not, his lips moving almost imperceptibly against your skin. 

I love you.

He hopes you know it, somehow.

[erenjaegerwifee]

Hi Leah, can I make a request for Jake Sully x Metkayina reader smut? (Reader is Tonowari's eldest daughter and Jake's lover)

Following Neteyam's death, reader distances herself from Jake and she starts avoiding him, hoping that he'd forget about her. However one day he confronts her and they end up making up 🔥.

Ofc I can this is such a nice idea!

You’re Important To Me

Paring: Jake Sully x Fem!Metkayina!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: angst, kissing, mentions of death, age-gap.

Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! if you feel uncomfortable, don't read or interact with my post.

Jake and you started dating a while after he and his family arrived at Awa’atlu. His wife tragically died during the battles they face in the Omatikaya clan. It was after the kidnapping he decided it was not good for them to continue living there.

Upon his arrival you stood next to your father looking at the family, Jake was breathtaking, you started crushing immediately. You thought he was so brave for leaving what his children grew up with, his home that he grew to love all for theirs safety.

While your younger siblings helped his children adjust being around the same age, you took the change to make Jake more comfortable in his new home. The more time you spent with him the more fond you grew of him and you unintentionally started to fall in love.

One drunken night is what sealed your relationship when you confessed to having loved him for weeks now and you were surprised to find he loved you. The next morning you both exposed your relationship to his children not wanting to keep it from them.

It took them a while to adjust having lost their mother but they eventually came around. You and Jake never officially mated and you made that clear with them when you moved into their hut. Tuk was the first to come around comfortably with you, having a nightmare one night Jake took his boys out. She feel into your arms crying until she fell asleep and ever since she’s been your sweet little helper, even accidentally calling you mom from time to time.

Jake explained it was okay for them to treat you like you were their mother but made it clear you did not wish to replace her. Lo’ak was the next to become comfortable with you when he was being scolded for the fight that happened between him and your brother and you defended him, getting into an argument with Jake for it. Lo’ak was grateful to you for how you defended him saying he had been through enough and he shouldn’t be expected to take on so much pressure now. You know that Jake means well and he wants to keep them safe, it is difficult keeping your eye on 4 kids that never sit still. Sometimes he lashes out unreasonably, especially on the son that reminds him of himself.

Kiri was the next to fall into your arms when she had the seizure at the spirt tree. Your mother being busy tending to a pregnant na’vi could not get there in time leaving you to perform tsahik duties with the help of your sister. Kiri woke up and learned of your acts and has stayed close to you since.

Neteyam was the last, he was tied to his mother more than any of his siblings, he never wanted to move, her death hit him the hardest as he spent the most time with her. He was almost the splitting imagine of her, followed in her footsteps exactly. He was not your son but he made you extremely proud. So when you saw him sitting alone in the middle of the night on the docks outside your pod you sat beside him. At first he did not talk but eventually you let him open up.

Neteyam was a fine young man, mature, strong, he was well on his way to becoming an incredible warrior. He was as brave like his father and strong like his mother, he was a protector and you admired him for that even though he was younger.

You’ll never forget the day you were able to see just how special he really was. When the sky people found them. The way he followed his brother into the demon ship; the way he kept you by his side knowing how much his father and siblings care for you, the way he grabbed the gun out of lo’ak’s hand and shot at the demons so he could get to safety with the human boy.

You saw how strong he was when you objected to jumping off the railing before he did and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. How he followed directly after you when you gave in and leaped. He was a good boy, he did not deserve that. No one deserves this.

You caught him in your arms when he was bleeding into the water, held him above so he could breathe. On the rock you stroked his hair crying until his father arrived next to you. It was so painful in your heart to see the life drain from his eyes and you cried silently. Jake was out of head with grief blocking out your cries as he stared at his son.

You were the one who got up and retrieved Tuk and Kiri from the demon ship, you brought them back they way you couldn’t with neteyam. You watched them hug as a family and you rode back to the village with tuk in your arms.

Guilt overcame you in the coming weeks, you could barely look at the family. You stayed with Jake throughout the funeral process but after that you made ever excuse to be busy, leaving at early hours in the morning and coming back when they were all asleep. You forget what it felt like to be loved by such a happy family because they were longer full now having lost 2 beloved family members.

What place did you have getting in the way of their grief, you should not make this about how you feel, they who few with him, who gave him life, they are the ones that should feel as awfully as you do. So you avoided them. You could not find it in yourself to look them in the eye so you simply didn’t.

After a couple weeks of your behavior the children started to question. They tried chasing you only to have you run away from them, it was harsh you knew but it was your fault. They expressed their concerns to jake who cornered you one morning when you were leaving.

“Babygirl where are you going at this hour? What is going on? You’ve been avoiding us, me? The children are worried too” his voice was tired.

“Just getting an early start on my duties” you couldn’t look him in the eye, your eyes glued to your feet.

His hand came up to your chin pulling your eyes to his, “babygirl look at me.” Your hands came up to push his away from you but Jake was stronger holding both your wrists.

Tears started to sting your eyes for what felt like the millionth time since Neteyam’s death. The sun was rising you knew the children would be up soon, “Jake let go” you whispered

“Baby please, just look at me, talk to me, tell me what happened!” His voice sounded so desperate you hated making this happen they had been through enough.

“What happened? Jake, your son died. Your first child is gone because of me and I-”

“What? No no baby that’s not your fault-”

“Jake yes it is, he insisted I jump first, if I fought him down maybe he’d be alive today, I’d be the one who got shot instead. I could have kept him safe and I didn’t! I failed as a mother when I let him die! I have no right to be here in this house with you, with them children! I cannot express to you the guilt I feel that he is not here Ma Jake!”

He caught you as you sobbed for the floor, finally letting out off those emotions, “baby it’s ok, it’s not your fault I promise no one blames you”

“Mom he is right it’s not your fault. It is mine, it was my idea to get spider. If I let him get off the ship he wouldn’t have been put in that position in the first place.” Loak kneeled next to you as you sat in his father’s arms. He looked at you with tears in his eyes.

You immediately raise your head off Jake’s shoulder and brought him to your chest. “Baby no, this is not your fault. No part of this burden is on your shoulders your brother loved you very much and he did that to keep you safe which he did successfully.”

“Son she is right, we do not blame you, I’m sorry for what I said that day, I need you to stay safe it’s all I ever wanted for my family. Please don’t blame yourself. It was not your fault” Jake chimed in hugging you both in his arms as you all cried.

Kiri and Tuk woke up from the noise and joined in the hug with you all when you heared Kiri’s voice, “teyam is good mom, I saw him and mother in the spirt tree, he doesn’t blame anyone, he is resting now and he wants to see you both. He misses you both, he wants to know you are okay”

Everyone visited the spirt tree except you and Lo’ak, you could not bare the thought of seeing him after all that. “Mommy you know teyam loved you too just like we do” Tuk said

“Yea even if he didn’t say it to your face when we spoke of you to anyone he called you mom” Lo’ak said. It made you cry even harder you never got to hear it. Eventually when u all calmed down and decided on spending a night day at home without anyone else but your family you spent the day healing, laughing with your loved ones. You went through old pictures of them in the forest too, it was a good day.

When you were all on your way to the spirt tree Jake sat behind you on an ilu hugging you the entire time. The kids rode in front diving down to the tree when they arrived. You got off the ilu and Jake noticed you didn’t dive, “don’t be nervous everything will be okay”

You made a big exhale, “I know, I just- I don’t know.” Jake swam up to you holding you one hand by your waist and the other on your cheek, “I’ll be right next to you, I won’t leave your side.” He placed a sweet kiss on your lips then another and another melting away your nervousness.

You both dived down connected your queues for the leafs of the underwater tree, “mom” you opened your eyes and saw him, standing in the forest with his bow, “neteyam” you had reached out to him, he was a bit taller than you but you pulled him down into a bone crushing hug.

“I’m so sorry baby, I should have been more careful, I should have kept you safe” you tear up but he chuckled, “that doesn’t matter, you trusted me and I care more about that, I’ve been put under pressure my whole life but now, now I can rest. I am not saying being dead is fun and games” he make you giggle.

“But I am grateful for the time I had with my family and that includes you. You may not have given birth to me but there is nothing I ever done I couldn’t trust you to stand by me for and I’m eternally grateful. Take care of my siblings, I know you will even if I didn’t tell you but thank you for caring. I am very happy you are okay” he smiled at you.

“Oh baby, you should be alive, enjoying your young life”

“It’s ok mom, here I will be young forever and one day my family will be within Ewya with me”

His words make you smile, ever the wise your boy was even after this tragedy you were proud. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and disconnected you queue.

When you surfaced Jake followed and held you close, “your boy is wonderful ma Jake”

“Our boy is wonderful baby” he kissed your head and held you close to him.

Taglist:

@rivatar @delusionalwh6re @nilahsstuff @strongheartneteyam @xylianasblog @quicktosimp @m1tsu-ki @kylimarz @teymars

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (5)

summary: the time had come to destroy HYDRA and collect for all that had been taken from them...

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 6k

warnings: descriptions of: blood, wounds, fights and weapons. probably gonna wake a lot of sadness since the begining. mentiones of suicide thoughts. heartbreak. stubborn characters. mentions of character deaths (canon). remember i'm not that good at writing action scenes and that English is not my first language!

note: hi guys! i didn't rest today at work. instead, i wrote 6k words for my actual hyperfixation and i'm actually exhausted. sometimes i write first in spanish and then in english, when my head is not up for the double translate, and leave the conversion to future me. this is future me talking and i hate myself for that. but i'm kind of proud how this one came out, so i hope you guys like it the same! feedback and reactions are always appreciated! see u guys next time &lt;3

part 1

It was already getting dark when the small cellar you were in with your friends filled with applause and singing, a joy bouncing off the walls as you walked in Steve's direction with a grin from ear to ear. Your blond friend watched the small cake Peggy had gotten him that afternoon head towards him between your hands, setting it down on an upturned wooden barrel, a little damp, that they would use as a table.

Peggy and Bucky were off to the side, their faces matching your excitement as Steve reached down and shook his head.

“I don't even want to imagine how you got that cake in,” was the first thing Steve said when the happy birthday song ended, shooting you a grateful look. His eyes sparkled like you hadn't seen in many days and you felt Peggy's squeeze on your forearm as she came over to form a little circle just like Bucky.

“Trust me, you don't want to know,” Peggy shook her head, her smile matching the blond's.

You watched Steve split a piece of the cake with a spoon you had no idea where Peggy had gotten it from, your friend bursting out laughing when Steve raised his head and she smeared white cream all over his nose. At that moment you felt Bucky's body heat behind you, all your senses turning on at once.

“No candle, but you can make a wish before you take the first bite.”

Steve shared a look with his friend, still with that twinkle in his eye and the most relaxed expression he'd had in days. He was still wearing his uniform, having caught him by surprise to bring him into the warehouse after a long day of planning strategies for the next mission against HYDRA. You and Peggy had been thinking for several days about doing something, and being that it was rather difficult to throw a small party in the camp you were in, you decided to opt for something a little more ordinary and familiar. You couldn't say, however, that Steve didn't like it, not when you saw him smiling at everyone so openly, shoulders down and spreading laughter to everyone around him.

With the spoon halfway to his mouth, Steve closed his eyes and made a wish.

You smiled indulgently, watching two of your friends share a small moment as Steve took some more cake to give Peggy. With your hands behind your back, you suddenly felt Bucky's left hand make its way through your fingers, intertwining your hands very carefully.

“How's the taste?”

Steve shook his head nodding at your words, his brow furrowing in pleasure as he enjoyed the large bites he was taking of the cake. At that moment, all you could think about was how much you would sacrifice to stay in that bubble forever, even without knowing what was coming next.

-

“Are you okay?”

You heard his footsteps before you saw him, his body leaning against the second to last step where you had sat and turned away from the others. The routine you had had to get used to over the past few months, after believing you were going to change the world, had become a constant burden that was hard to shake off. Still, you took and cherished moments like those when you could go out and sit and just watch the vast sky stretching for miles. The stars shone so brightly there, in the middle of the forest, that they seemed like little beacons seeking to guide you to a better future; perhaps to a future that you did deserve. Steve also sometimes accompanied you in silence, having learned that he couldn't always argue with you about the meaning of life and the purpose for which you two had to carry out the unjust orders of superiors. You once saw one of his drawings, a woman sitting at the top of a flight of stairs and a starry night giving her a message of hope. Maybe he saw it the same way too after a while.

“Yeah,” you replied to Bucky with a tight-lipped little smile.

Bucky didn't know much about you now. As the weeks went by you realized it was true what he had once told you, when the America's couple shows and his platoon's stay coincided for the first time in months. You had changed a lot since the serum injection. And, well, who wouldn't, after all? That's why when you were together after so long he spent time very close to you, very aware of you, checking with his excellent senses that nothing was out of place. That you were okay.

You didn't know if he had believed you, by the way his face remained expressionless, barely a slight twitch of his eyebrows, but he didn't repeat the question.

“Do you think there's anything else for us, besides this?”

Bucky turned his gaze to look at the sky and you watched his profile, the curve of his eyelashes and his half-opened lips. Situations like that had become commonplace, too. Since you no longer spent so much time together and you had changed so much because somehow you had to adapt to the harsh reality against which you had crashed, Bucky constantly wondered many things about life that ended up being his own fears materialized in existential crises. For him his world was shaking. Since you told him that you had been invited to the Super Soldier project with Steve, everything had become uncertainty for him. Uncertainty about his life, about your life, about the life you wanted to have together, uncertainty about the future, uncertainty about life.

You had the conception that Bucky could never fully adapt to the abrupt change that meant his two best friends were involved in a private experiment that gave them heightened senses and more strength and speed than an average human. Now he seemed to looked at himself like the mere mortal who walked shoulder to shoulder with two gods. He seemed to feel that death would knock faster at his door and it drove him mad.

“Yeah, I don't think this is it,” you shook your head in assent, watching out of the corner of your eye as Bucky rested his forearms on his knees and leaned forward a bit. His hands interlocked and parted, his fingertips met and parted, his fists opened and closed.

“But you'll outlive me,” Bucky looked down, his blue eyes glittering focused on yours under the moonlight. You could barely hear movement in the back of the hold where Peggy and Steve were still talking. Your heart flipped at the vulnerability you saw through his eyes, lately more common than you'd like. You didn't like not being able to quell those thoughts that dominated his head; the insecurities and fears that made him doubt so many things in the middle of the night.

“We'd live the same amount of time,” you assured him shaking your head, your own mind refusing to accept that Bucky's fears could take more power over him. Whatever you could do to calm him, you would do, always.

“You have the serum. You and Steve will live for many more years. Hell, maybe you'll even be immortals,” Bucky tried to smile, but a grimace settled on his face and made his words bitter. He was subtly trying to untwist his shoulders, barely moving to your side trying not to show too much that he was kind of nervous.

“Why are you telling me that now?” you shifted on the wooden step, moving a little closer towards him. Bucky tensed visibly, not because of the closeness, but because he knew the moment was coming when you would stop following his lead and start asking him what was really plaguing his mind. For some reason, Bucky couldn't approach those topics of conversation naturally, letting his mind and words wander a bit before daring to take his fears by the horns.

“I don't know… I guess. It's a truth I have to accept,” he confessed, his voice so fragile and soft that had it not been for the extreme hearing the serum had granted you, you surely wouldn't have understood him. You felt your heart crumple and moved your hand from your lap to cradle his hands that he still could not let still.

“But it is a truth that is still a long way from being fulfilled.”

“And first we have to get through the war,” Bucky turned his hands to lace them with yours, his fingers intertwining with yours and giving them a squeeze.

“We will. I have no doubt about it. In fact, I have a plan to persuade Phillips,” you smiled at him trying to lighten the weight on his shoulders a bit.

Little surprised, Bucky let out a laugh, his free shoulders shaking in sync with his chest. A beautiful smile spread across his face, and you would've enjoyed it except you could still notice his tired eyes and the dark traces beneath them. It seemed that the moonlight intensified the reality of his emotions.

“You always have a plan for everything.”

“What can I say? I'm an optimist,” you lifted your shoulders, leaning against Bucky's side. His head dropped to rest on the crown of your head, his breathing synchronizing with yours for a moment.

“Between the two of us, you definitely are,” he murmured, taking a deep breath, enjoying the moment for several seconds. “Sorry for… coming to bring up those topics of conversation.”

“No, it's okay. I like to listen. And you tend to do that sometimes,” you shook your head over his shoulder trying to dispel the topic, Bucky's hands tightening around yours.

“What?”

“You suddenly talk about things you don't want to tell me too much about and then put a little light-hearted attitude on it so it doesn't sound so serious.”

Bucky lifted his head, causing you to move in time to meet his surprised expression as well. His lips were trying to twitch into a smile, but he didn't seem to know if he wanted to laugh or frown.

“Do I really do it that often?”

“A little, yes.”

“Ah, I'm pretty bad at dissembling I guess,” Bucky looked up, finally succumbing to the smile. The gesture satisfied you enough to delve into the emotion with him, taking a moment to further enjoy that scenario you could no longer be a part of lately; to enjoy those everyday moments where you could feel love materially spark around you, as if it was a novel written solely to satisfy human romantic desires and whims.

You shook your head, returning to the subject.

“But you don't have to worry about my supposed immortality. I know we'll live the same,” you assured him once more, your arms wrapping around his right arm and squeezing it securely, hugging him, trying to send him some of the confidence you felt inside.

“How are you so sure?”

The truth was, you weren't, but you couldn't let him know that, much less let him know that you didn't expect his life expectancy to be as extensive as yours was now either. But how were you going to tell him that? He must've been martyred enough by his own thoughts during every moment of the day when they drowned him, and it wasn't as if you expected too much of a life after him either. You could have immortality served on a silver platter, but what would be the point if you had to spend it on your own? Bucky was thinking about not wanting to leave you alone, and you were thinking about the impossibility of finding a reason to live after him.

“Because I know I don't want to live forever if I'm not with you.”

Bucky stopped his light, ghost-like caresses on your fingers. He turned his face to look at you, his nostalgic expression disappearing in a matter of seconds. His blue eyes looked contrite, as if there was a storm inside them. You had never hesitated in your answer, no matter when he had asked. And yet you seemed to have taken him by surprise; it seemed that such a thing would never have crossed his mind even by accident.

“Y/N…”

“I'd be living in vain. Stolen time,” you shook your head, averting your gaze from the depths of his, an unknown kind of longing or fear furrowing across his features that you couldn't bear to see a second longer. You were there at that moment and you would see each other again later, why did you have to think about it too much?

Bucky sighed. Only when you felt his body relax against your side did you know he understood that it would do no good for him to try to antagonize you.

“Still, you deserve a life like this. After all you've been through,” his voice was barely a whisper that tore through the silent chill that surrounded you, but the implication of his words furrowed against your chest like a dagger. You shook your head before the memories could reach you.

“We all deserve it, especially in this world consumed by the greed of power and hatred.”

You saw him nod out of the corner of your eye, his hands wrapping around one of your hands, the one closest to his side and bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His eyes were fixed on your profile, you could feel it, but you were afraid to turn to look at him and allow your emotions to come out. You were too sweet to succumb to strong feelings when you were with Bucky.

“Hey!” was Steve's voice, like a beacon in the middle of the ocean, making you both turn at the same time. “Peggy's just leaving.”

“Want a ride, Barnes?”

“Ah, it would be my pleasure, Agent Carter.”

Peggy moved, after saying goodbye to Steve and you, and walked in the direction of the huge forest that stretched into the distance where she had parked her car. Or Howard's car, you couldn't quite make out through the darkness.

“See you later, Miss I-don't-want-to-live-forever,” Bucky approached you with a half smile, having said goodbye to Steve, meeting him halfway to melt you in his arms. The tension in your shoulders eased considerably, a sigh making its way into your chest.

“Take care, Bucky,” you squeezed his waist, because you weren't tall enough to reach his shoulders in a hug, and he squeezed you back in response.

“Sure thing. I got to see my girl again, after all.”

You laughed between the hollow of his neck and shoulder, feeling your cheeks burn. Bucky broke away just barely to look at you with his own huge grin.

“Don't overdo it, Barnes.”

“Come on!” Peggy insisted, glancing at the watch on her wrist.

You broke away from Bucky, trying to push him to get into the car with his affianced friend, but he had other plans. In the midst of your struggle to push him away, he grabbed one of your wrists, using very little force to pull you close to his chest, his lips crashing against yours in a fleeting action, but not at all rough, barely a brush. Before you knew what happened he had already pulled away from you.

“When I get back, we have a lot to talk about.”

He never came back. He left in the next couple of days for the mission on the train and all you got back was a shattered Steve, his face dirty and sticky from all the tears he'd shed, his pleading eyes crystallizing on you the moment he had to tell you that Bucky had died. You could still remember how his voice cracked as he begged your forgiveness, repeating it over and over as if it would ease the burden he felt on his shoulders, the guilt for not being able to get him in time. You never blamed Steve for what happened, but it seemed like he did for a long time.

Reliving those memories was always a constant martyrdom. After Bucky's funeral you didn't think you could move on, but carrying all his pain in a sack of rocks, Steve assured you that they would avenge the reason Bucky had died. HYDRA. So you did and were able to carry on for a while until Steve was also declared KIA.

Peggy and Howard were a great help when you realized that you couldn't die on your own, because you healed faster than normal and could spend more time than humanly possible underwater. To say that you didn't try to leave the earthly world would be a lie, but your friends tried to help you in every way they could until you had to leave the United States. When you thought you would have to spend years hiding in Europe, Howard told you that wasn't necessary. Just staying under the radar and out of the feds' jurisdiction would be fine and he would take care of it. And one day, after spending a week in the apartment you were renting without getting out of bed for almost any reason, a knock on the door startled you.

“Correspondence,” rang through the silence of the apartment.

You only got up because you knew the mailman was wrong. You had given your address to absolutely no one and there was no way any person knew of your existence in that country. You thought you took pity on the man, when he handed you the letter and it did indeed have your name on it.

It was an acceptance letter from some university. Apparently you had enrolled to study mathematics.

You had a suspicion of what was going on, but something in your chest asked you to ignore it. The letter asked for an interview before classes started in exactly three days, and after that interview you received a letter from Peggy.

When Howard died you knew you couldn't go back to Europe. Largely because you had to find out who his killer was, but also because you wanted to watch over Peggy's life as you couldn't do for your other three friends. You were often terrified for your friend's life, especially having the job she had and dealing with all those powerful people who wouldn't hesitate for the blink of an eye to order her death.

Steve was right. You stayed with Peggy to investigate Howard's death. But you also stayed because she was the only thing you had left and you had to take care of her; you had to preserve her, to do everything you could to prevent another tragic and unnecessary death. You would've sacrificed anything in life just to allow Peggy to have the life she deserved. And so you did. You cared for her for many years, you were so attentive to her that her children called you aunt and then her grandchildren called you grandma; you were at all her family gatherings, giving gifts to her children at Christmas and celebrating each new year as you watched time pass through her eyes. Every January 1st you saw it as a win, a whole year in which so much sacrifice had been worth it.

Now… well, now everything was a bit more complicated.

Natasha had left the abandoned dam first after going over the plan one last time. You were supposed to go with Steve and Sam, even though Steve was reluctant to have you near the Winter Soldier again, as if you didn't have the same strength and agility as he did. Of course, his fear was rooted in something completely different than that, something he and Natasha had discovered with Zola.

“HYDRA spent years searching for you to recreate the super-soldier serum after the war. If not for the excellent work Peggy and Howard did, they probably would've found you more easily.”

Now, having such a palpable possibility of destroying HYDRA, you didn't think there was the slightest chance that they were still thinking about it, although Natasha stressed that it seemed to be that the soldier had two different missions when he found them in the middle of the city, one of them being that he was to keep you alive. Zhivoy, you recalled bitterly. Alive.

Steve didn't want to risk finding something else waiting for them when they reached the helicarriers, something that might lead you away from him. And yes, you understood his concern because it was the same one you'd felt for years and was more latent recently since Steve returned. But you weren't going to stand by like a fucking statue while they did all the work. You would take it upon yourself to destroy HYDRA completely and deprive them of any chance they might have to get close to Steve, you or Bucky again. Whatever you had to do, you'd do it.

“He's not the same,” you had told Steve, as you walked to the Triskelion in the company of Sam and Maria.

“But he'll remember us,” Steve assured, his hand tightly gripping the strap with which he held the shield. Steve had been repeating that to himself all day, even in front of Sam. You couldn't believe you were the one trying to maintain an objective demeanor in that situation.

“Yeah, maybe at some point. But right now it's not him, Steve,” you turned to look at him, his face fixed on the expanse of water surrounding the large building he used to work for. “He's not the Bucky we knew.”

Steve looked back at you, pausing for a moment. You knew he was mindful of it, you knew Steve was aware of how dangerous he was now; that there was a good chance he really didn't remember them and you wanted to make sure that wouldn't cloud his judgment; that he would still fight for his life.

But the resolve in his eyes didn't convince you. His lack of response fanned a hollow in your chest, your hands breaking out in a cold sweat as you stared at the empty space he left in front of you.

Steve was willing to bring him back and you were afraid of losing him.

For some reason, you felt it had to be different.

-

You heard Steve's voice over the speakers, running so you could find the helicarriers exit before they took off. Steve and Sam were supposed to meet you halfway, but you were already halfway there, fighting off a few agents, and you still didn't hear them nearby. Your breath caught in your throat as one of the STRIKE agents grabbed you by the throat while another plunged an electric baton into your side, the sensation of volts coursing through your entire nervous system sending you into a momentary state of shock.

You dropped your hands to stop struggling with the agent behind you and grabbed the wrist holding the baton with an overly strong grip, snapping the bone in place and jerking your head to strike the face of the man behind you as his grip wobbled for a second. Both agents fell to the ground, two bones broken in less than a minute. You grabbed the baton before departing, hitting them both in the head barely using half your strength, knocking them unconscious instantly.

As you exited the Triskelion facility to meet the gap you would have to jump over to intercept the first helicarrier, you heard Steve and Sam's voices closer. Oh, right, you forgot to use the communicator.

“Where were you?” Steve exclaimed, running alongside Sam closer to the chasm.

“You've got blood on your neck,” Sam pointed out, before spreading his metal wings and flying off into the sky.

“Put on your communicator,” Steve asked you just before you both jumped at the same time, a feeling of emptiness planting itself in the pit of your stomach.

You landed with your legs bent and leaned forward for a spin before getting up and continuing to run alongside Steve. You rummaged in one of your pants pockets, praying that the small devices hadn't been shattered during the fights you had inside the Triskelion.

Only one was spared.

Steve barely sent you a reproachful glance, shaking his head, as you approached a horde of HYDRA agents. You barely finished putting the small communicator to your ear when the hail of bullets came in their direction. Steve grabbed your arm to pull you behind his shield until he managed to hide behind two large containers. The fight was immediate.

The group of agents split up and you jumped right in front of two of them, sliding on the ground to use the baton from below to disarm them. You knocked one of them out with the high volts of the baton and the other tried to stab you from behind, but you stopped his hand midway and flipped his arm over, a shriek of pain escaping him as his shoulder dislocated. The man fell to his knees and, lifting one leg, you half-turned to strike his face with your full tibia.

“Cap, I found the bad guys you were talking about,” you heard Sam's voice, noting that, although that communicator was working, the voice you perceived sounded distant.

“Are you okay?” you heard Steve, as he came closer and you stepped on the handle of the staff, lifting it in a single stroke so that it landed in your hand.

“Not dead yet.”

Steve nodded, though he knew Sam couldn't see him and gave you a questioning look.

“Works?” he pointed to your ear, starting to pace.

“A little bruised, but does the job.”

Your friend shook his head, starting to run inside the helicarrier.

“Cap?” you smirked.

“Don't start,” the blond spoke through his teeth, moving toward his target. “Report location.”

You nodded in his direction, heading for the first agents who appeared to obstruct his path, clearing Steve's way in the direction of the helicarrier hub.

When you were done with the agents and Steve was finally able to enter the control center, you turned your attention to the voices ringing through the communicator.

“Ah, shit,” was Sam's voice, and the next thing you heard was gunfire around the helicarrier next to it.

“Fine, but you're going with me. I don't want to let you out of my sight,” Steve had said a few hours before they left the dam, leaving no room for argument in his haughty voice.

“That's unnecessary, Steve. We'd waste too much time,” you shook your head, trying to match his stoic, stern expression.

“She's right,” Maria nodded in your direction. “There are three helicarriers and three of you.”

“No,” Steve began to rise, your eyes following the movement of his body and his blue eyes fixed on yours. “Fury delegated orders to me, and that's an order.”

You indulged Steve until you lost sight of him, understanding he had said that out of pent-up fear. You grabbed one of the weapons that had been left on the ground and passed the strap over your head. The third helicarrier was a considerable distance away at a jump. You had to pick up too much speed to even make it to the tip, but you weren't going to stand there waiting for Steve when you could be doing something more; something necessary.

So that's what you did. Steve still hadn't reported state when you started running from tip to tip, your steps getting bigger with every second until you reached the gap and picked up momentum at the tip. That was insane. You felt the emptiness in your stomach again and out of the corner of your eye you could see a couple of explosions occurring in the harbor where the helicarriers had departed from. You stretched your arms out, counting on having propelled your body far enough, fearing a deadly fall as the other edge began to look higher and higher.

“Y/N, status,” you heard Hill, your heart in your mouth.

Your mind went blank for a second, when in the midst of the adrenaline you almost didn't even feel the moment when your left hand gripped the edge of the helicarrier tightly, the aircraft moving a little farther with each passing second. You had jumped at just the right moment.

Breathing hard, you propelled yourself upward until you could plant your feet back on the runway floor and replied to Maria, “Waiting.”

Steve must've thought you were still on the helicarrier with him.

As you ran, Sam reported that he had intercepted the second helicarrier after Steve, barely recognizing their voices amidst the tussle you were having with the agents who had appeared before you could reach the control room door.

“Y/N, where are you?” the voice of Steve came over the comm, a few minutes after you took down the last agent, moving in the direction of the metal door. You felt heavily for the programming card you had taken from Steve when he had pulled you close to get behind his shield, as you heard him ask Sam if he could see you.

You were about to reach the door when the scenery abruptly changed, a body appearing out of nowhere colliding into your left side sending you crashing to the ground hard.

“Shit.”

“Y/N?”

You ignored Steve's voice, moving to push off the heavy body on top of yours. Amidst the struggle you crawled away across the floor, a hand clutching at your ankle before you could move any further.

You recognized him by the coldness that ran through your body at the contact. You could almost be sure it had burned you.

This time he wasn't wearing the mask, those blue eyes boring deep into your head, the angry expression very different from how you had seen him last time. Although you would've liked to stay longer just watching, after spending so many years suffering his death, you pulled the leg he had held captive and tried to hit him in the face, his metal arm moving faster neutralizing the hit.

At that moment you stood up arching your back, planting your feet hard and running towards the soldier before he could catch you off guard.

You tried to strike his face, but he nimbly dodged every blow, just as you dodged his. He let out a grunt of frustration as you sent him to the ground with a kick to the chest, pulling a weapon from his side that he didn't hesitate a second to point in your direction. Feeling the air caught in your throat, you moved quickly on the ground, trying to escape his bullets while managing to find a place to hide.

You heard his footsteps approaching, as you hid behind a container, stopping just on the other side, and you moved to the right side of the container when you knew he was going to jump out and surprise you from above.

His body froze for a second, which you took advantage of to jump over the dumpster and grab him from behind, the baton you had on your belt wrapped around his neck, cutting off his breathing. You tried to hold him tight as he tried to push away your grip with his metal arm, almost as strong as your push to keep him in place.

The soldier began to slow his movements, but if you hadn't been so torn between he's the Winter Soldier and he's Bucky, you would've noticed one of his hands move over his vest, grabbing the handle of a knife and burying it in your right leg hard, all the way in, causing you to gasp.

Clearly your grip wobbled, the soldier taking possession of your staff and turning around as he pulled the blade out of your leg to direct his foot towards your chest, pushing you back to the ground where you fell with a loud thud.

The wound was deep. You could feel and hear the blood pouring out of it, but you didn't just stand there as you saw him leap down from the container, raising his arms to parry his attack as he directed the knife towards your face. His face contorted and scrunched up in concentration was all you could focus on, remembering that you couldn't let him win, but you also couldn't hurt him like he wanted to hurt you. You had to be objective, yes, but the thought of hurting him once more was heartbreaking.

You struggled with his hand until he let go of the knife, using your strength and trying to ignore the sharp pain in your leg from the effort to push him to the ground beside you with your hand on his neck and your leg around his waist, lying on top of him with one leg on each side.

At that moment, as you tried to keep your arm over his neck and he tried to weaken you by hitting your sides, you heard Steve and Sam's voices again. A small panic ran through your body which was enough for the soldier to push your arm away, grabbing you by the neck with his metal arm and bringing a gun close to your face as he rose up, taking you with him, until he slammed you into a wall with great force.

You raised your hand between your bodies to move the tip of the gun, the shot falling a short distance above your head, your exorbitant eyes watching his furious expression. His metal hand closed tighter and tighter around your neck, your breath hitching, but you didn't relinquish your grip on the hand still holding the gun.

In the midst of the struggle, you brought your knee up to strike his crotch. The soldier jerked away, a whimper dying in his mouth as you moved toward him again, pushing his arm away as he pointed the gun at you again and the shot landed somewhere behind you again.

You hit him in the face with your own head, one of your hands holding his right arm with the gun and the other trying to keep his metal arm that held the knife dripping with your blood at bay. You hit him full in the nose again, but even though the blood was starting to drip down, the soldier didn't budge one bit.

“Go!” you shouted to Steve and Sam, the soldier averting his attention for a tiny moment before struggling against your grip again.

You had to break free somehow to get the card to Steve. Your body began to give way with the soldier's thrust, your boots sliding on the floor like it was marble. The soldier began to close his arms and you tried to match his strength, but the blood leaking from the wound in your leg was slowly weakening you. And it was a vibranium knife again.

Suddenly you noticed Steve running towards you, the fleeting glance costing you restraint, as the soldier raised your arms and turned you roughly, his back crashing against your chest and his metal hand burying in your chest the knife hard, moving it from side to side as he did that cold night in Siberia.

In the midst of the pain and weakness from the blood loss, you laid your head on his shoulder, the adrenaline slowly draining from your body.

“Bucky,” you whispered like a prayer, your strangled voice barely making its way out of your mouth and the soldier tensing behind you. The struggling stopped for a second.

Then his body heat disappeared. Steve must've reached and tackled the soldier without missing a beat.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Sam approaching you, kneeling beside you and taking your hand that wanted to pull the knife out of your chest. Right through the center, near the heart. That pain was no match for the disappointment that was tearing you apart inside. Maybe that time you could actually die. “Don't touch that.”

“Give the card to Steve…” you barely muttered breathlessly, one of your hands moving to pull the card out of one of your lower pants pockets. “Run.”

Sam hesitated for a few seconds, looking between your knife and the fight that was still picking up steam in the background, until he clicked his tongue and stood up.

“Don't take that knife out!”

You saw him run in the direction of Steve and the soldier, his metal wings rising in the midst of the struggle. Steve and Sam began to get the upper hand, and at some point, Steve took off in the direction of the helicarrier control center.

You dropped to the ground, watching helplessly as the soldier overpowered Sam, dislodging his wings with the force of his metal arm. The pain was too much, but Sam was completely helpless. No matter how much training he might've had, fighting the Winter Soldier was disproportionate.

So in a matter of seconds you stood up, grasping between gasps the handle of the knife and pulling it out of your chest without a second thought.

The electric current of pain that coursed through your body was unbearable, feeling as if the hollowness you constantly felt in your chest from emotions had suddenly materialized, a constant pang that coursed through you from head to toe at every microsecond, with every movement. Sam didn't even have time to react when you grabbed the soldier by the throat, burying the knife in his leg and trying to wave him off.

You could consider yourself well served if at that moment that was your death.

The soldier grabbed the arm around your neck and leaned forward, lifting you up and flipping you over onto your back, falling hard and painfully to the ground. You looked at the knife in his leg before looking at his face again. He had a couple of cuts, his expression still angry, but he seemed to hesitate as he pulled the knife out like it was nothing and watched you lying on the ground, completely at his mercy.

His hesitation brought unease to your chest.

“Bucky,” you called again, tears welling in your eyes.

The soldier only frowned, his anger momentarily fading until he seemed to remember something.

He turned to look at the control center. Before running off, he sent you another disgruntled look, just like that time on the road.

Whatever had happened after that, death or not, was extremely painful.

-

tag: @samodivaa @rubyxx16

[hotmessmaxpress]

in your onlyfans!au do you think vale and marc do some only fans content together? trying to make sure that that nobody can recognize vale of course. i was thinking some of these pov videos (like vale holding the camera while marc's giving him head only showing marc's face and his own dick).

Here, have Rosquez OnlyFans AU, part 10 🤍

I don't think they'd ever post anything, because Vale already fucked up once in terms of keeping his identity secret (lol clown). I also think that Marc sort of slows down the onlyfans content (and eventually stops) soon after he and Vale meet irl.

However they do film a lot. They take a lot of videos. If they wanted to sell their sex tapes, they'd make a fortune and they'd have enough to basically start their own streaming service.

When Marc moves in with Vale, he brings some of his filming equipment.

"Is this all of it?" Vale asks, looking incredulously and the massive pile of cameras, lights, and microphones. There are a few black zippered cases that he assumes must hold various sex toys.

Marc shakes his head.

"About half," he says, ignoring the stunned look on Vale's face. "I left some back home so I don't have to take it with me when I go back and forth."

They're still ironing out their schedule-- Marc refuses to fully move out of the house he shares with Alex, so he's splitting himself between Vale's and Alex's. He plans to stay with Alex when Vale is racing and traveling, and stay with Vale when he's home.

Vale reaches for one of the cameras with a raised eyebrow. Marc grins and takes the camera from Vale. He grabs a long black leather case containing a tripod and hands it to Vale. He also picks up a ring light and one of the microphones that matches the camera Vale selected. 

He gestures for Vale to follow him, and he sets off toward the bedroom. 

Vale follows obediently, and Marc focuses on the feeling of his heart picking up and his cock taking interest. Filming for onlyfans has never been a chore to him; he genuinely enjoys every time, but in the weeks between Vale ghosting him and then meeting him, it was just a little bit less fun. There was an element of loss every time he posted a video knowing it wouldn’t be seen by Vale.

Now, though, he’s focused on filming for an entirely different reason. He won’t even consider posting it, but there’s nothing preventing him from making Vale his own little collection to use while he’s travelling. 

He sets the ring light up first, then sets the camera on the bed and takes the tripod from Vale. He’s pleased to see the front of Vale’s pants tight across his bulge, and he can’t help his satisfied grin as he turns to set up the tripod. 

It doesn’t take him long to set things up in a way that he’s happy with; he’s done this so many times in much more difficult settings than a bed. 

When he finishes, he turns to find Vale gripping his cock through his pants. The older man looks painfully horny, and Marc is proud of him for waiting so patiently. 

He rewards him with a deep kiss, pressing himself against Vale’s front. Vale groans into the kiss, letting go of himself in favor of wrapping his hands around Marc’s waist. 

Marc loses himself in the feeling of kissing Valentino for a moment. Vale is the perfect height to make Marc stretch up, and the taste of his mouth makes him want to drop to his knees. 

“What are you doing with your camera, hm?” Vale asks, when he finally drags his mouth away from Marc’s. 

“You’re going to fuck me,” Marc instructs happily, taking on the role of director. “On the bed. We’re going to record it and you can watch it before your next race.”

Vale groans against Marc’s neck. 

“Okay?” Marc asks, before he turns the camera on. Vale nods, and Marc turns the camera on and hits record. He double checks that it’s recording, then guides Vale onto the bed. Vale lets him take charge, and Marc kisses Vale slowly before stripping them both of their shirts. He plants himself in Vale’s lap, rocking his hips sensually against Vale’s. Vale grips his hips tightly, and Marc can’t help but grin at how riled up the older man is. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Marc purrs in his ear. “Knowing that we’re being watched.”

Vale’s eyes flicker to the camera, and Marc grabs his chin to turn his face back to his. 

“Don’t look at it, look at me.”

He rocks his hips in Vale’s lap again, pressing a kiss to his neck, before he scoots back and strips himself of the rest of his clothes. He pumps his cock a few times just to see the way Vale’s neck convulses as he swallows thickly. 

Then he tugs at Vale’s trousers, pulling them off to fully undress his partner. Vale lets his head fall back, and Marc takes the opportunity to lean down and suck and Vale’s balls. 

Vale lets out a strangled noise, and Marc fights a smile as he wraps a hand around the older man’s cock and lavishes attention on his balls. 

Marc isn’t prepped, and for a minute he admonishes himself for the amateur mistake of starting a recording with no prep and without the supplies close by. He reminds himself gently that this isn’t to publish, though, this is for Valentino. 

He presses a kiss to the head of Valentino’s cock, but otherwise doesn’t put his mouth on it. He sees the hungry look in Vale’s eyes, and he can’t stop smiling. His grin is clearly infectious, because he sees a hint of a smile on Vale’s face. 

Marc shuffles over to the nightstand, rifling around for the lube. He considers doing it himself, quick and dirty, but ultimately this is just for enjoyment. It doesn’t have to be perfect. 

Vale makes the decision for him, sitting up to kiss him and slip the bottle of lube from his fingers. He manhandles Marc into the center of the bed, and rolls him onto his back with a pillow beneath his hips. It’s a small but sweet gesture just to give Marc a little extra comfort as Vale sets to work stretching his hole. Marc tugs Vale a little off to the side, hoping that the camera will catch the slide of Vale’s fingers inside him. 

He moans as Vale’s long fingers finally press against his prostate, and Vale takes that for the encouragement it is. It doesn’t take long to stretch him, but Vale punishes his prostate a bit longer until Marc is squirming against the sheets. 

“Vale, please,” Marc pleads. “I need you.”

Vale sucks a possessive mark on the column of his throat, then presses the head of his cock inside Marc. 

Marc groans at the intrusion, fingers never quite comparing to the feeling of a thick cock moving inside. He rocks his hips up, and Vale presses in until he’s flush against Marc’s body. 

“Please,” Marc begs again, and Vale sits up to begin pounding into Marc. It’s a blur from there; Marc forgets about the camera as his thoughts become consumed by Vale and the feeling of his cock moving inside him. All he feels is Vale, above, around, inside him. 

He knows he’s making noise, and he can feel Vale huffing and grunting. Marc pulls Vale down for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. He keeps his mouth open, pleading with his eyes for Vale to sense what he wants. Vale, ever on the same wavelength, grins before spitting forcefully into Marc’s mouth. Marc whines, tasting Vale on his tongue, and feels his balls tighten. 

“Vale, I’m–” 

Vale bites Marc’s lip then slips a hand between them to pump Marc’s neglected cock. It only takes a few jerks before Marc is arching off the bed, crying out as he cums. He cums up to his chin, vision whiting out for a moment. He’s vaguely aware of Vale grunting and his hips stuttering as he fills Marc with his own cum. 

They linger like that for a few long moments, Vale still inside of him, before Vale collapses next to him. Marc is quickly disgusted by the feeling of cum coating his body, and he knows he’ll have to shower, but he focuses on breathing for a bit. 

“I love you,” he says sweetly. 

Vale leans up on an elbow to kiss him gently. “I love you too.”

Marc eventually gets up to turn the camera off before it fills his storage, and then they take some time to shower together, wasting entirely too much water. Marc idly hopes they’ll have to shower again later, because he knows round two will come when they rewatch what they just filmed.

[feyreswaterybowels]

Shadows Dance🐦‍⬛ (#5)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: More of (Y/N) and Jarek’s past is revealed, (Y/N) starts plotting to take Jarek out and makes a discovery.

Word Count: 1.5k

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 ↓

“Are you still working for the Night Court?” Jarek asks, taking a bite from the food on the stacked plate in front of him.

I quirked an eyebrow at him as I sat my wine glass down. “I thought you were keeping tabs on me all these years?”

Jarek laughs and shakes his head. “I checked in here and there—the last 50 years were quite difficult to keep up with you with all of the Amaranth drama. Plus, with your abilities you disappeared so much it was hard to keep up. What, did you just stay hidden in the shadows during your travels?”

I hummed, thinking for a moment about how honest I wanted to be. On one hand he would see my honesty as trusting him, on the other I didn’t want him to know anything about me. I sighed feigning sadness, laying my fork down, adjusting the napkin in my lap before meeting gray eyes that seemed to be filled with…concern?

“If I’m honest, Jarek,” I watched him shudder at the sound of his name on my lips, “These last decades, when I was out I was looking for Sarah, not working. I stayed hidden within the shadows so often because I was-I was grief stricken, it was hard to be around anyone.”

Jarek nodded his head, reaching for my hand and I let him, trying not to recoil from his touch.

“I am sorry for the pain I caused you, (Y/N). I don’t claim to have done the right thing. I, well, I know I was wrong. No matter how bad I wanted you it wasn’t right. I do apologize for that. Will you forgive me?” Jarek asks, leaning towards me.

The nerve. I wanted to leach out and slap him across the face. To take my fork and stab him right in the throat—in that spot that would drain all of his blood. To-to—I stopped myself, knowing if I kept going I would lose my composure.

I reached out with my other hand laying it on top of his larger two covering mine and I gave him a smile. A real genuine smile that pained me and nodded softly.

“Of course, I forgive you, Jarek,” I nodded, watching his eyes widened and I let myself giggle. “I’ll admit your method was a little unorthodox, and when I saw you again for the first time I was angry to know it was you who had taken my sister. I felt betrayed—but you did too, didn’t you.”

Jareks eyes dropped to the ground and he nodded. I licked my teeth trying not to snarl at him, shaking my head as I pulled one of my hands away, reaching out to touch his face softly, lifting so his eyes met mine.

“Drop the glamor, Jarek,” I breathed, those dull gray eyes meeting mine. He looked hesitant so I stroked his cheek, in the spot I knew he was hiding. “Please? I’ve seen it before, you don’t need to hide from me.”

“Okay,” He breathes out with a nod and the next second the glamor is gone. I give him a smile.

“There’s my Jarek,” I whisper, stroking over the scar again, the one crisscrossing over his cheek, splitting over his left eye and eyebrow. He melts into my touch, eyes falling closed and I’m brought back in time, back when I had loved the man in front of me—loved him deeply and how he attained that scar saving my life.

“Do you remember?” Jarek asks, those eyes opening to meet mine. And I nod.

“Like it was yesterday,” I breathed.

And I do. I remembered how I was taken from my bed in the middle of the night, how Jarek had been the one to find me, to save me. But the price had been the scars that now littered his skin. It was a year later that the mating bond snapped between Azriel and I—I had left Jarek for many other reasons, not even pursuing a relationship with my shadow singer for almost another year after that.

“You know, I thought the scars were part of the reason you left me,” Jarek confesses, pulling away from my touch but leaving his hands on mine, resting in my lap.

My brows furrowed, watching him reach for his wine glass.

“Do you really think me that shallow?” I ask, offended and hurt. “I loved you, Jarek. I left for many reasons, but the scars you suffered saving my life? They weren’t anywhere near the list.”

“I don’t mean to offend you,” he shakes his hair, a strand of dirty blond hair falling onto his forehead. “I am still…insecure about the scars. Losing you still hurts. You were my everything. I was ready to dedicate my entire life to you mating bond or not, though I had hoped it would snap for us one day. But no, no your fated mate was him. That—that Illyrian male.”

The words were spat. Filled with so much hatred I nearly snarled at Jarek. Loathing the way he speaks of my mate.

“You still spit that word as if it’s the worst thing someone could be even though I’m Illyrian as well,” I say softly, that had been one of the reasons on the list of why I left. His hatred for Illyrians and his refusal to acknowledge that part of my heritage even with my wings right in front of him.

Jarek looked at me. A look on his face I couldn’t quite place before nodding at me.

“You’re right,” He acknowledges. “I apologize. For the way I speak of your kind.”

I fight to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

“I appreciate your apology. Thank you,” I say sweetly.

We pull away from one another then and continue to eat. We have conversations, talking about the past and present. Neither of us speak of Sarah or the child and I avoid mentioning Rhys, Cassian or Azriel by name. Especially Azriel.

He tells me he’s surprised that I’m not fighting him more and I shrug telling him there’s no use fighting. I’m here to spare my sister's life, so that I’ll learn to live here with him. I think he’s still skeptical but he may be desperate enough to believe that I’ll happily stay here so he won’t go have my sister even though I know he’ll never be able to find her tucked away in Velaris.

Once I’ve retired to bed, changed out of the dress and bathed once again I crawl into the large bed and slide under the covers. I sigh as my wings are able to spread out, relaxing into the bed.

I wanted Azriel. I wanted to be with him in our bedroom knowing that our girl was safe in the room right down the hall. Even all of these years when we were physically together we still had the bond—and in some ways that bond was closer than physically being together.

My brows furrowed together in the darkness of the room. I had never heard of any wards that could prevent two mates from being able to contact one another. Maybe on the surface level but deep down? It was a soul connection.

I dug deep, then deeper, and deeper. Further into myself than I’ve ever needed to go. I searched and looked and I nearly gave up, though maybe the words did indeed go that deep. But I felt it. That string that binds us and I yank on it, hard and desperately and the response is immediate. I have to slam a hand over my mouth to stop a sob from escaping.

My love? It’s an echo in my head, deep and anguished.

Oh, my heart, I needed to hear your voice so much. It’s a sob in my head. I reach out yearning to touch him and I’m met with his hands reaching for me in return. It’s the comfort I needed so badly. He—he said there were wards. But I didn’t believe him. I’d never heard of such a wards.

Clearly they aren’t very good wards. Is his answering snarl. Has he harmed you?

No, no, Az he hasn’t. He wants me though. I’m trying to play along, make him think I want to be here…by myself some time. I don’t know what he’ll do if I refuse him…

Kill him. If it comes down to it, you’re stronger than him, you always have been. You kill him and then you get the hell away.

I take a breath. It’s taking a lot of concentration to hold on to the bond, but I can’t let go, not yet, not as he strokes me—caressing every part of my mind.

There’s a girl here, a servant, she says we’re in Autumn.

Sarah told us the same thing, says she got out once a few years ago and was sure she was in the mountains of Autumn.

The mountains of Autumn? What an odd choice.

How is she?

She’s shaken but she’s alright. She had no idea any of this was happening.

I’m getting so tired, Az. Was all I could muster in return.

Let go, my love. I love it’s hard, we’ve never been this deep in the bond before. Just know I’m coming for you, (Y/N). We all are.

I love you, Az.

I love you, sweetheart.

And then our connection was gone. Gone like it was never there and I cried.