#so there's no risk of you finding my ao3 because of this post

[ghosthoard]

i don't have money or time to play video games

i do want to play all the zelda games eventually for my own sake and my own writing but my friend gifted me totk two years ago (i think) and i still haven't played it because i know if i played it i wouldn't have time to create art or write because i'd be sucked in (which i can't risk because i need to focus on studying too). i've only played botw, again cause my friend bought it for me. games are expensive first and foremost and also they take a long time for me to finish and require me to set aside time. i really wish i had gotten into it when i was younger, when i had more time, but well, i got into it in grad school.

if i were to wait until i played all the games to create anything for the fandom, i wouldn't be able to create anything until at least 5 years later.

so i tend to be discouraged by people who say things like "they haven't even played the games".

it's odd, because this really reminds me of the fans in the batfam fandom who insist that the fans who haven't read the comics are dumb and really talk down on anything they make. i think i saw most of them on twitter when i used to use twitter. i'm glad i don't really see stuff like that on ao3. but again, the problem is, a lot of the fans don't have the time or money to read comics. (also for DC in general, it's a pick-your-canon situation because there are so many comic writers that have their own version of the characters too so i don't understand people who say that comics should be where you get all your information when the characters vary from writer to writer, just like in fanfiction, it's about finding a writer you like) AND ALSO DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GENERATIONS AND ITERATIONS AND COMIC RUNS EXIST IN BATFAM ALONE??? ITS NOT LIKE MANGA WHERE IT'S A CONTINUOUS STORY BY ONE WRITER, IMAGINE IF NARUTO WAS WRITTEN BY OTHER WRITERS MULTIPLE TIMES ACROSS ALMOST A CENTURY. YOUNG JUSTICE AND TEEN TITANS THE ANIMATED SHOWS ARE FANFICTIONS IN THEIR OWN RIGHT.

anyway

i don't think its reasonable to say i should play all the games before i create something. i want to create. i want to be happy. this is supposed to be fun.

i think i'd agree that those who insist that an interpretation of a character is wrong/right when they haven't seen the source material or try to do an analysis of the character in the context of the source material shouldn't do that, if you want to do analysis posts about canon, that's when you should know the source material, but a lot of the time it's the fanon version of the character they're talking about through headcanons. and also a lot of the time, these types of fans that only know the characters through fanon are children and/or are new to the concept of fandom. i would assume the version of a character that i've seen first or that everybody is talking about was the only way to think about it too if i was new and young.

in fact at my grown age, i was one of those people who tagged a non-LU art as LU, because a lot of the links across link-meets look pretty similar, because people are designing their links based on canon so they're going to share similarities. i saw another au creator state that they were scared of giving twilight a fur detail bc it would look too much like LU but did it anyway bc they wanted to (as they should) but also i feel like that proves how easy it is to mistake the designs. after the creator of the art i tagged incorrectly corrected me, i was more alert about it going forward (honestly i've just been sticking to LU creators to be safe at this point).

and people are right, LU is very popular. it's the ONLY links-meet i knew about when i emerged from botw and my friend told me about it. i honestly wasn't aware there were other versions until way later. especially because the names are pretty similar across links-meets and again the designs are too so i don't think it's all that surprising people get confused and just tag it LU. now imagine you're new to even the concept of fandom AND still in junior high. (side note, i have a couple of cis-straight male friends who are zelda fans and they don't use twilight or time or wild to call the characters, which i think is crazy because it'd be much easier than "twilight princess link" or "ocarina of time link". actually, speaking of cis-straight male fans, a lot of them say the same thing people hating on the LU fandom say, that we (transformative fandom) as a whole haven't played the games, especially when we say we headcanon the characters as queer or if they have autism or if they act differently than the "cool, masculine character" they think the links are.) this (different links-meet aus) is a very unique situation in fandom i think, from my go-around fandoms, naruto, one piece, batfam, haikyuu, the hobbit, etc haven't had different au beef to this extent or at all. it's honestly so fascinating. it's like everybody wants to be separated from each other in a way. (edit: i GOT IT! IT'S BC THE LINKS HAVE BECOME PERSONAL OCs MORE THAN SHARED CHARACTERS, THEY'RE NOT FIGHTING OVER SHARED CHARACTERS, NOT EVEN THE INTERPRETATION OF SAID CHARACTERS LIKE MOST OTHER FANDOMS, BUT SINCE THEY MADE THEIR OWN STORY, THEIR LINKS ARE MORE THEIR OCS THAN ANYTHING THEREFORE SOME PEOPLE FEEL MORE DEFENSIVE THAN FANS IN OTHER FANDOMS WOULD, IN THIS ESSAY I WILL—also most aus are shared between fans in other fandoms, like in batfam they have talon!dick or reverse robins, in the zelda fandom it's more a personal project, also in the microcosm that is LU the LU fandom have aus within the au which are exactly how other fandoms usually do aus, it's all so fascinating!) also i think the fact that LU is so much more popular than any other au adds to it. i've never seen such a phenomenon in other fandoms where one iteration is so much more well known.

LU is popular, i think the most popular links-meet au, at least on tumblr. (jhoca and ovega-karts works are getting more attention as a result of the comic dubs voice actors have done on YouTube) it's what one of my friends called "the gateway links meet au" which means a lot of the new zelda fans are getting funneled through LU first, which means a lot of them are young, new to fandom, new to zelda, or a combination of those. (also, especially for the first two, young and/or new to fandom, means they are susceptible to purity fandom culture, watch out for that). i'm not trying to excuse if people have done harmful things on purpose in the past or in the present but i feel like ignoring this context is doing more harm than good: the context being that because LU is popular it's where all the newest fans end up, and new fans are still learning.

and i really sympathize with creators who keep having their art tagged wrong, whether it was an accident by the tagger or not, because after a while i can understand for some people it can get annoying. but like this recent situation i feel like this pent up frustration is causing people to get too eager to jump on any perceived slight and honestly come off as a bit of an asshole.

i saw someone say they should just block every LU fan at this point, (meaning for it to be a punishment i'm assuming), but honestly yes, please do if it will give you peace. we don't want to be in places we're not wanted either. but it'll be hard, because again, LU is the gateway new zelda fans will come through and they will keep making the same mistake.

[xelinielx]

Even Broken, I Still Love You

The ending of book 7 has just WRECKED me and I wrote some hurt/comfort because I have feelings about my dragon boy. I put a link to the AO3 post as well. I usually never post writing on here but this piece doesn't fit in on my other blog so here it is.

SPOILERS FOR THE END OF BOOK 7

Header by MagicPaint. AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63793984

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

Malleus’ voice was uncharacteristically quiet, tone so low that you had to strain to hear him. The question hung heavy in the air.

He still hadn’t turned to face you, staring out of the small window of the bedroom that he slept in during his stay at S.T.Y.X. There wasn’t much of a view out of the windows besides dark, moving water, so it was clear that Malleus was using the window as an excuse not to look at you.

It was clear just by looking that the overblot had taken an immense toll on him. He looked completely different from his usual self. Not only had his usual dark robes been changed to the S.T.Y.X-themed clothing that test subjects wore, but there was something about the way he held himself that was fundamentally different from before.

The noble dragon fae usually held his head high in a regal posture that was hard for anyone else to replicate, authority and power exuding from his very stance. It was a far cry to the way he was posed currently, hunched over as if trying to make himself seem smaller, trembling fingers clutching onto the windowsill. 

There was also a different aura surrounding him that was different from how his emotions could manipulate the weather around him. It wasn’t the feeling of crackling electric anger, or even the heavy, suffocating pressure drop as rain clouds formed. It was a deep, exhausted sorrow that seemed to weigh the entire room down. 

As Malleus had a collar to monitor his magic usage, the aura was, for once, not physical, yet it somehow felt more tangible than any emotional outburst you had seen from him. More real despite not actually being there.

A few days had passed since the final battle that had marked the end of Malleus’ overblot. When he had been reassured that Lilia was alright, Malleus had been taken by the Ferrymen as well as both Idia and Ortho to S.T.Y.X for monitoring and data-collection. No one had wanted to take the risk of leaving him in a state where he risked a second overblot, so once he had stabilized enough, the Director allowed him to request visitors. 

It had not seemed like a wise decision to keep Malleus cut off from the rest of the world as was S.T.Y.X’s norm since almost losing Lilia was what had brought on the overblot in the first place. Leaving Malleus not knowing how the people he cared about were doing was too high of a risk.

The first visitor that Idia had (begrudgingly) been tasked with delivering to the Isle of Woe was Lilia - to the surprise of no one. Both the Director and Idia had been hesitant to risk putting the strain of travel on Lilia so soon after everything that had happened, but Lilia had been uncaring of the worries and insisted that he had to go. 

Silver and Sebek were still in recovery - where Lilia was also supposed to be - and while Malleus had wished to see both his retainers as well, the Director had put his foot down. It was too dangerous to bring all three over already, so after negotiating, Malleus had agreed to let Sebek and Silver heal for a while longer before he got to see them. 

Lilia had also threatened the director, saying that if he refused to pick him up to go see his ward, Lilia would jump into the water surrounding Sage’s Island and swim until he managed to find the Isle of Woe. 

Besides researchers checking cameras and vitals to make sure both fae were alright, the two of them had been given space to speak alone. Whatever they spoke about was kept between them and S.T.Y.X, but it had involved lots of hugging and tears.

Two days after Lilia’s visit, Ortho had contacted you through your phone, telling you that Malleus had requested your presence at the Isle of Woe, which is where you currently were, staring at his trembling form for the first time since he had been taken in for monitoring. 

Normally, you’d have cracked a smile seeing the fae-prince surrounded by this much technology that he had no idea how to use, but the items in the room were the furthest things away from your mind.

Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, you walked over to Malleus’ shaking form. With a gentleness that Malleus wasn’t used to feeling, you placed your hand softly atop his. It felt a bit strange at first, feeling his cold skin instead of the gloves he tended to wear, but the feeling of strangeness quickly disappeared. 

A pair of wide, emerald-green eyes stared down at where your hand rested on top of his, filled with an unspoken question.

Why?

For a moment, the two of you stood still in silence as you searched for the right words. Eventually, you took a calming breath and spoke up, voice soft and calming.

“Mal,” you began, using an affectionate nickname to hopefully help him relax.

His breath hitched for a moment, surprise evident. 

“I understand why you used your ultimate magic. Why the circumstances caused you to overblot. You wanted to protect the people that were precious to you and keep them from harm, protecting both them and yourself from getting hurt.”

A single tear ran down Malleus’ cheek as he finally turned to fully face you, leaving a wet track across his porcelain skin. He still refused to meet your eyes, scared of what he would see reflected in them.

“You had good intentions. There is nothing evil about wanting to keep your loved ones safe. If I had been in your position, I think that I would have overblotted too,” you admitted quietly, giving Malleus a small, weak smile. “So there is no way that I can possibly blame you for making the same choices I would have if I were you.”

In a silent plea, Malleus turned his hand around to face palm-up. You responded by lacing your fingers together with his, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Please look at me?” you asked in a small, yet hopeful voice.

Slowly, Malleus’ green eyes moved from your intertwined hands up your arm, then neck, where they paused briefly before finally meeting yours. 

The hate and anger he had expected to see was nowhere to be seen. He could see his reflection, and was unable to determine whether the sadness he saw came from you or himself.   

You lifted your free hand to his face, letting it gently rest against his cheek. Your thumb moved to brush another tear away. 

“Malleus Draconia,” you said, staring deep into his eyes.

“You are not a monster.”

Those words seemed to snap whatever makeshift dam he had constructed to keep his emotions at bay, shattering it completely. 

Malleus began to cry. Tears flowed down his cheeks and sobs tore their way out of his heaving chest as he finally let go of control and allowed his emotions to run free. 

Unable to stand up anymore, Malleus fell to his knees on the floor, burying his face against your stomach as he cried. His arms wrapped around you tightly as if you were the only thing keeping him upright. He held you like he would collapse if there was even as much as a millimetre of space between the two of you.

His devastating sobs and the desperate way he clung to you broke your heart. You wasted no time sinking down to kneel in front of the dragon fae so that you could properly return his full embrace. 

Tears soaked your shirt as Malleus clung to you so desperately that it felt like you would bruise or your clothes would tear from his strength at any moment. That didn’t matter, though. Bruises didn’t matter. Clothes didn’t matter. S.T.Y.X didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered in that moment but the sobbing fae in your arms.

Malleus sobbed out apologies in between cries, and you did your best to calm him, whispering reassurances as you alternated between rubbing his back and petting his head gingerly, being extra mindful of his horns.

At some point, you ran out of new things to say, defaulting to a reassuring ‘it’s okay’ as you held him. Hopefully, he would feel better after letting it all out. You weren’t going anywhere.

It could have been anything from mere minutes to several hours, but eventually, Malleus’ sobs began to die down to sniffles.

He lifted his head from where he had buried it against your shoulder, glancing up to meet your eyes with his red-rimmed, puffy ones.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “For everything. All the people I hurt. The things I-” 

Fresh tears spilled past his lash line, and you didn’t hesitate to cup his face in your hands, brushing them away as they fell. Malleus leaned into the warmth of your palms, seeking the reassurance your touch held. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Mal,” you whispered, smiling at him. “Not to me. Never to me.” 

Leaning forward, you pressed a featherlight kiss against the scale on his forehead which peeked out from between tousled locks of hair. 

“There was nothing unforgivable about what you did. The people who were hurt are recovering, the school is being rebuilt, and everyone is safe.” 

Malleus’ breath hitched. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes and across his long lashes like tiny diamonds. 

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked, voice still quiet and trembling. The ‘of me’ was left unsaid, but you knew it was there. 

Your immediate smile was all the reassurance Malleus needed, but you still decided to verbally reassure him as well.

“I could never be afraid of you, Mal.”

The relief Malleus felt was palpable as he finally relaxed, shoulders dropping from their tense position as he leaned his weight into you. 

His head shifted to press a pointed ear against your chest, listening to the steady and even thumps of your heartbeat.

To better support the body weight of the dragon fae, you shifted your sitting position so that you could lean your back against the wall. You refused to let Malleus get up so you could move, holding him close and carding your fingers through his hair with soft, comforting motions. 

“But I saw…” Malleus’ voice cracked. “When my horn broke, I saw the look in your eyes. You looked terrified.” The last part of the sentence was a mere whisper, but the close proximity between the two of you made you able to pick it up. 

“I was scared, yes,” you began, feeling something in your chest ache as you felt the powerful mage in your arms flinch. “But not of you.”

Malleus tilted his head to meet your eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. 

You let out an airy laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I was afraid for you. Afraid that you would have to be killed to stop your overblot. Afraid that I would never get to hold you like this again.”

You could feel tears brimming in your own eyes as you poured your heart out. “Mal, I love you. Nothing you have done or will do could ever change that.” 

Cold lips pressed against yours with a soft reverence. The kiss was slow, unhurried as the two of you conveyed a thousand words between each other in a silent, intimate moment. 

When you pulled apart, Malleus rested his forehead against yours, the cold of his forehead scale comforting. “You wish to stay by my side still?” he asked, knowing the answer deep down, yet still fearful he would be mistaken.

“Always.”

“Even if I look like this now?” he urged, leaning away far enough to do a sweeping motion towards his face and now uneven, damaged horns. “Even if-”

You cut him off with another kiss, this time more demanding than the prior. You tried pouring all your love into the kiss, trying to clear the insecure thoughts from Malleus’ mind. Taking the opportunity provided by Malleus as he had leaned away before, you climb into his lap, making yourself comfortable. 

Pulling away from the kiss, you cradled his face gently but firmly in both hands, making sure he couldn’t look away from you.

“Malleus, if you think something as insignificant as you looking different is enough to take me away from your side, you are far from correct.” You let your left hand travel up his face until it was gently tracing the base of his broken horn. 

“You could have four horns, eight and a half horns, or no horns at all, and it would still have no impact at all on my feelings for you.” 

Carefully, you gently ran the pads of your fingers over the broken part of the horn where it had snapped off. Malleus shuddered beneath you as your touch danced across his exposed, extra sensitive nerves.

“I love you because you are you. Not because you’re a Draconia, or a powerful fae. None of that matters.” Your hand returned to cradling his face once more. 

“Of course, having a strong, handsome partner is a bonus,” you added with a giggle, delighting in the small, pale blush that crept across Malleus’ cheeks.

“But I’m not with you because of those things. I’m with you because of all the things that make you you. The care that you show for me and those you care about, how fireflies follow you at night and circle our clasped hands. The cute way you pout when Sebek mixes up gargoyles and grotesques, itching to correct him. The childlike wonder you show to every new thing you learn…”

You take a breath, wishing in vain for your voice to stay strong, but failing miserably.

“- the way that all you’ve ever wanted is for people to see you for who you are, and be able to be yourself, unburdened by expectations and prejudices.”

Tears were flowing down your cheeks now, making you feel embarrassed. Right now, you needed to be the strong one supporting Malleus - not the other way around. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you placed your hand against his chest, right above his heart.

“I see you.” 

A relieved, genuine smile - the first one you’d seen since the overblot - stretched across Malleus’ lips. He leaned into the touch of your palm, eyes shining with both residual tears and adoration. 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head in outrage. “What do you mean deserve? You silly, silly dragon. You didn’t have to do anything at all but exist.” 

Letting out a sound that was something halfway between a laugh and a sob, you continued as Malleus’ arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. 

“If anything, I’m the one undeserving of you.” 

His mouth fell open in shock, about to cut you off, but you forced yourself to continue, undeterred.

“You’re the prince of Briar Valley. Not only do you have magic, but you’re one of the most powerful mages in the whole world! And the most ethereal, gorgeous person I have ever seen. I’m a nobody compared to you. A magicless human from another world with nothing really special about me. My life is so much shorter than yours, and I-”

This time, Malleus refused to let you continue and cut you off. A slender finger pressed against your lips as he let out a dry laugh. “My love, do you hear yourself? You are bringing up all the things you said didn’t keep you from loving me to put yourself down. Just as these things don’t matter to you, it is the same way for me. I did not fall in love with you because you’re a human or because it would benefit Briar Valley. I would renounce my claim on the throne in a heartbeat for you.”

Malleus cupped your cheek, mirroring your own earlier actions. 

“I fell in love with the first person outside of my country who truly saw me for myself, was undeterred by how awkwardly I engage in conversation, and extended invitations to me - being the first person to see me as a choice, someone they wanted to be around. You have never looked upon me with the fearful gaze of a subject kneeling before me, and have never made me feel excluded in any way due to being a prince.” 

He let out a laugh, gazing fondly up at you. “Any and every day with you is an adventure. No matter where you take me, what we do together, or what people around us whisper about, it’s the fact that I’m doing it with you that makes it special.”

“Even though I laughed at you when you were startled and jerked back when they were popping popcorn at a market stall and me and Silver had to fight to keep Sebek from drawing his sword at the poor owner of the stall?” 

Malleus let out a loud burst of laughter. “Moments like those are my favorite. Spending time with people I care about, and learning new things while not a single thought about my royal lineage crosses my mind.” 

Falling quiet for a moment, Malleus seemed to ponder something. With a resolute nod to himself, he resumes speaking. 

“Like you said, I am aware that the differing length of our respective lifespans is a source of conflict and worry. I do not wish to ever lose you. You saw what happened when I was afraid I would lose Lilia…” he trailed off for a moment, but quickly collected himself.

“Even though that is a fear I harbor, I do not wish to give up on loving you. If you are willing to stay with me despite all that I’ve done, we have many years to find a solution… and…” Malleus took a deep breath, meeting your gaze again, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. 

“...and should we not find a solution, then so be it. I would much rather have lived a life with you in it and then lose you than never having had you in my life at all.” 

Terrified of loss and sadness, and knowing the potential consequences of that, he still wanted nothing more than to spend as many years as possible at your side. A century is a short time for a fae, yet even if that is all the time with you that he gets, he is certain that it will be the most memorable and most valuable hundred years he ever lives.

“You ass,” you choked out with a laugh, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m the one supposed to be sappy and reassure you - not the other way around.” There was no mirth or anger in your eyes, and the remark was playful, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Malleus let out a chuckle, chest rumbling. “Who is to say that I am not supposed to be the so-called ‘sappy’ one?” he asked, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “You are truly precious to me, and I cannot in any amount of words in any language properly convey just how much you mean to me.” 

He fell silent once more, peeking up at you through his lashes. “Are you truly certain that you wish to be with me after all this?” 

There was no need to pause and think. You already knew your answer and had known it for a long time now.

“There is no place I would rather be.” 

Eventually, the pair of you fell asleep cuddled together on the floor, clutching each other tightly as if fearing that the other would disappear otherwise. Your head rested on Malleus’ chest, lulled to sleep by the soft, rumbling purrs he let out as he slept curled around you like a dragon guarding its hoard.

And for the first time since the overblot, neither of you worried about what you would find in your dreams, content to exist in the perfect reality that could only be found in the other’s arms.

[hintsofhoney]

Mine

Paring(s): Alpha!Dean Winchester x F!Omega!Reader

Summary: When Dean is forced to mark Y/N in order to not blow their cover on a case, it leads him to reveal a secret that he's been keeping since they met.

Square(s) Filled: biting for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Tags: 18+, true mates, smut, p in v, marking, a/b/o if that wasn't already obvious lmao, knotting

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Helloooo, it's been a minute. If I'm being honest, I have about 10-15 finished works just sitting in my "ready to post" folder, but posting is always such an ordeal, so they just stay there until I feel like dealing with Tumblr. But, this one I did write over the last two days after I finished reading Bride by Ali Hazelwood, which I loved so much that it made me want to dip my toes into the Omegaverse! That being said, I don't know how much in here is actually in line with A/B/O "rules", but I know I needed to twist some things to fit the story (e.g. in this specific A/B/O fic/universe, claiming marks will fade if they're not true mates). Huge thank you to my A/B/O girlies, @makeadealwithdean and @emoryhemsworth, for reading it over, I love you both to the moon and back! I hope you all enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST |  SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

“We get in, find the knife, get out, got it?” Dean asks, looking between Sam in the front seat and Y/N in the back, making sure everyone is on the same page. They both nod once in understanding, before the three of them make their way out of the car, their doors slamming shut simultaneously. 

Y/N stares up at the mansion before them, the music loud, the party raging. It’s some charity event thrown by the wealthiest Alpha in the state, and he just happens to have the weapon they need to finish out this hunt. Y/N stumbles a bit, tripping over the cobblestone driveway in her heels, and she catches the sleeve of Dean’s suit to steady herself. He shoots her a glare that tells her to pull it together. They need to blend in.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Here,” Dean replies, grabbing her wrist and pulling it through the crook formed by his bent elbow, forcing them to walk arm-in-arm.

“I don’t need –”

“You are an Omega, Y/N. And there are upwards of a hundred Alphas here who can all smell it. So what you need to do is start acting like one. Just because I’m not some asshole Alpha who demands your respect doesn’t mean they aren’t, and we can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

Y/N takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile as they move slowly up the driveway. “Anyone who demands my respect just because of some bullshit biological hierarchy doesn’t deserve it,” she grits out.

Dean stops, turning to face her, one of his hands on either side of her biceps. “Do you want to be on this case or not?” 

His voice is lower than usual, demanding and gruff. A voice he only uses when he wants to remind her that he is an Alpha, and bullshit biological hierarchy aside, her body is wired to listen to him. 

She gulps, and he tries not to focus on the bob in her throat, the pulse in her neck near her gland, the scent of her. The moment he met her he knew who she was, what they were. Are. He’s been taking scent blockers since before he met her, finding it far easier to interact with other Alphas when investigating cases if they couldn’t scent him out, but the moment he met her, he knew he had to start taking rut blockers too. Though, it feels like the longer he’s around her, the more immune he becomes to the pills. Like she’s going to send him into a rut any fucking second, and she has no idea. He’s thought about telling her so many times, but mates come with strings. Strings that aren’t conducive to the life of a hunter.

“Yes,” she answers his question meekly, almost submissively, and he nods to cover the hormones he forces himself to swallow down. Rejecting your biology is not easy, no matter how many pills you take.

“Then I’m going to need you to take my arm, put on a smile, and act like being an Omega is the greatest joy of your life. That means –”

“I know how to be a good little Omega, Dean,” she interrupts, dragging the words ‘good little Omega’ through a sarcastic tone.

He tenses slightly at her words, sarcastic or not. Good little Omega.

“I’m only bad for you,” she continues with a cheeky wink, and fuck, he might explode. Hell, he might take her into the bushes right now and mark her, claim her, before parading her around in front of this entire fucking party with his teeth marks on her neck. He’s rigid, trying to keep himself under control, and she gives him a playful pat on his shoulder. “Lighten up, Alpha,” she teases. “I’ll be a good girl.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He gives her biceps a squeeze that he hopes comes off as reassuring as he’s trying to make it seem, before linking his arm with hers once more and catching up to Sam at the front of the driveway.

The trio is greeted by the owner of the mansion himself, one Jim Myers, who welcomes them in with a smile on his face and a cigar in his hand. 

“How Gatsby-esque,” Y/N mutters under her breath, watching as Myers shakes Sam’s hand.

Dean nods in agreement. “You definitely wore the right outfit.”

Y/N blushes as she looks down at her dress; a black, semi body-hugging cocktail dress bedazzled with gold sequins in some sort of art deco pattern. All she’s missing is a cigarette holder and a feather in her hair. 

“Only because I read the invitation. Unlike some of us,” she mumbles in reply.

“Watch it, Omega,” Dean grits out, plastering on a smile as soon as Myers comes over to greet him.

“Jim Myers, pleasure,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand.

“Dean. And this is Y/N.”

She keeps the cordial smile on her face as Jim takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently before inhaling her scent. 

“Pleasure, Miss Y/N,” he says with a feral grin, his eyes darkening with unmistakable lust as he lets her hand fall back to her side. 

Dean takes a step forward, unable to stop himself. “Mine,” he practically growls, and Jim takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“My apologies. I didn’t see a mark, so I just assumed.”

Dean falters, clearing his throat, suddenly reminded of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “No, that’s alright. It’s my fault for not putting it in a visible place.” His eyes dart over to Y/N’s. “I think I’m gonna fix that.”

She ducks her head but can’t hide the red flush that creeps up into her cheeks, reminding herself that it’s just her biology, and that this is all for show anyway. They’re here to do a job, and sometimes those jobs involve… well, whatever the hell just happened. And clearly, Dean is a better actor than she gives him credit for.

Jim chuckles, clasping his hands together. “Well, you three have fun, the drinks are free, the food is good, and if you,” he points at Sam, “good sir, are in search of an Omega, there are plenty to choose from.”

Sam blushes. “Right.” He nods. “Thanks.”

And with that, Jim disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sam says. “You two go. Upstairs, down the hall, third door on the right. If I got the right blueprints.”

“If you got the right blueprints?” Dean asks.

“Just go.” He taps his ear to indicate that he’ll drop in on Dean’s earpiece if anything goes wrong. 

Dean sighs, taking Y/N by the hand and leading her up the stairs. He weaves in and out of the crowd, the scents of everyone mixing together, making it impossible to decipher who is what. Y/N’s never been more glad to be on heat suppressors; knowing full well the scents of this many Alphas invading her nostrils would send her body into a major one.

Dean quickly finds the door, and they slip into the room unnoticed, closing the barrier and switching on the light. It’s a bedroom — the master, from the looks of it — and the knife is right in front of them in the middle of the room, across from the foot of the bed. It’s in a glass case, on display, and likely armed with a million alarms, but right in front of them nonetheless. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about what the next move should be.

“We could find something that weighs the same? Lift the glass and replace it super fast?” Y/N offers.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s the glass that’s probably set to trip an alarm. But the fact that you’re applying Indiana Jones to real life scenarios is making me want to —” 

He stops himself, realizing what he was about to say. He needs to get himself under control but Y/N in that dress with her smart fucking mouth, with other Alphas eyeing her, he really shouldn’t be here, with her, alone, and —

“Making you want to what?” she asks.

Shit. “Making me want to… make you watch more of them,” he replies, opting to circle the display case, searching it for a way in to distract himself from her. 

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait.” She’s as monotone and sarcastic as ever, and every time something smart comes out of her mouth he has to resist the urge to bend her over and fuck her right then.

“Get out of there now,” Sam’s voice comes in on Dean’s earpiece. “Lost track of him for a few seconds, just found him again. He’s making his way upstairs.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “Shit, shit, shit.” He looks around the room frantically. If they go out the door, Myers will without a doubt see them leaving his room. “Myers is coming,” he explains to a confused-looking Y/N.

“Fucking — God dammit.” She looks around too, for a hiding spot, for a weapon, and then she spots herself in the mirror hanging on the wall and an idea comes to her. “Mark me,” she orders.

“What?” Dean snaps, his attention fully on her.

“Get over here and mark me. You told him you were going to make it visible.” She continues before Dean can protest. “Who knows if it’ll even stay, it’s not like we’re mates, right? And if it does, I don’t mind being bound to you for the rest of ever. It’s not like I’m having much luck in the relationship department anyway. But we need that knife, and we’re not going to get it if we don’t –”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath with a quick shake of his head, before he strides across the room and pushes her up against the wall just in time to hear the door click. He inhales her scent, his mouth trailing from the base of her jaw all the way down to her mating gland where it hovers as the door opens all the way. Then he bites down.

Y/N throws her head back, her fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders as his teeth sink into her, and none of it is for show. The pain is euphoric, and her senses heighten, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t been so stringent on taking her fucking pills, because whatever this feeling is, coursing through her veins, settling in her core, she needs to feel it more. She can’t stand how dulled it is, how it just stays there, simmering underneath the surface. She wants to erupt. 

“Mm, fuck, Alpha!” she cries out, no trace of sarcasm in her voice, and Dean’s hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise them. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jim exclaims. “Got an alert that someone was in here, there’s some very valuable things in here, you see, and I just wanted to make sure —”

Dean pulls away from her neck long enough to shoot him a glare that translates to “get out or I’m going to kill you”, and Jim gets the message, backing out the door and shutting it behind him. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, letting his forehead fall to Y/N’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be so close to her. He should back away, give himself some space to breathe. But her scent keeps him rooted in place. It’s her usual scent; something like freshly baked sugar cookies and vanilla, sweet and enticing, but there’s something else, something —

“Are you guys okay?” Sam’s voice in his damn ear again.

Dean lifts his head and presses the button on his earpiece to reply. “Fine, Sam. Give us a second.” Then he takes the earpiece out and tosses it over his shoulder, more agitated than he should be at his brother just trying to check in.

“Dean,” she breathes, and she sounds absolutely wrecked. She brings her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “Are you okay?” 

He nods. Her touch is like fire on his skin. He needs her. 

Y/N squeezes her thighs together. She’s never been able to scent Dean before, but he’s never been this close for this long. He’s never marked her, either. Right now his scent is breaking through the suppressants, little by little. It’s bits of cedar and leather and whiskey, and she’s never smelt anything like it, yet it is so familiar somehow. It invades her senses, and if this is what he smells like with suppressants, she’s terrified of what would happen without them.

“Dean… your scent.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, my pills must’ve worn off, I —”

She shakes her head. “It’s dulled but… but it’s there.” Her thighs clench together again, and she needs him back on her skin. “It’s there and it’s so fucking good.”

Dean’s eyes fall to the gland on her neck, and the severity of what he’s done comes crashing into him like a wrecking ball. It’s enough to force him to take a step away from her, panic rising in his chest. “I – fuck. I marked you. I fucking marked you.”

Y/N’s fingers come up to graze the indent on her neck, and she shudders at the touch. “I told you to.”

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N –”

“I know what happens when mates get marked, Dean,” she interrupts matter-of-factly. “I’m sure this’ll fade.”

“It won’t. I – I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck. Fuck!” He turns to the wall next to him, hitting it with the side of his closed fist. 

“Dean.” Her touch on his arm is gentle and comforting, but he doesn’t turn to face her. “You need to calm down. It’s really not a big deal, I –”

Dean takes a deep breath, both hands on the wall now as he collects himself. He can’t even bring himself to look at her when he says, “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

She takes a step back, and her fading scent is what makes him finally face her. She’s halfway across the room by the time he does. 

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, her hand coming to her neck again, the teeth marks seared into her skin. “N-no. H-how? When? How – how long have you known?”

Dean takes another long, deep breath. He could lose her tonight. She could run and never come back and he wouldn’t blame her. “Since we met.”

“THREE YEARS!?” she roars. “YOU’VE KNOWN FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS!?”

“Y/N, I –”

She stalks toward him, one finger outstretched, one fist clenched by her side. She points at him as she backs him into a wall, and he’s incredibly turned on and incredibly scared at the same time. 

“You’ve known that we’re fucking mates for three years, and you didn’t feel as though that was pertinent fucking information to tell me!?”

Dean swallows. “I – it’s – there are… strings with mates. You know that. I didn’t want to ball and chain you. I didn’t want to keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be. And if – fuck – we’re hunters, Y/N. If something had happened to me, and you knew… I didn’t want you to have to live with that. With the pain that comes with losing a true mate.”

Y/N stops half a foot away and drops her accusatory finger. “What did you say?” she whispers.

“True… mates,” Dean breathes.

“We’re…? But… We never – I don’t –”

“With me on my pills, and you on your pills, I think it was enough to… so we just never…”

“But you knew,” she says, closing the gap between them, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You knew for so long and you watched me go on dates, had to listen about the… things I did with other Alphas… if I had mated with one of them, you –”

“You deserved to have a choice. Regardless of what I wanted, you deserved to have a choice.” 

“My choice could’ve left you depressed and alone and celibate forever, you fucking dumbass.” 

He shrugs, and her hand falls to rest over his heart. She stares at it as she continues.

“When you… marked me… I felt… I don’t know what I felt. Nothing’s ever been so intense.”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, and he smiles softly.

“That’s the bond,” he explains, his large palm coming to rest over the hand on his chest. 

“And if we weren’t on… our blockers?”

“If we weren’t on our blockers, there’s no fucking telling how many pups we’d have running around by now.”

Y/N shivers as the thought of being bred settles in her core, and for once she’s not cursing her biology. Dean chuckles faintly at her reaction, dropping his forehead to hers. 

“We can practice in the meantime. Until you decide you want off of them.”

She inhales deeply, taking in as much of his scent as she can. “Oh, I –” another deep breath, “I’m getting off of them for sure.”

Dean lets out a borderline animalistic growl, thinking about how many times he’ll get to fuck her through that first heat. “I’m gonna stop taking my pills, too,” he says breathily.

“Yeah?”

“I had to get on rut blockers when you moved into the Bunker because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But now,” he says, spinning them both around and pinning Y/N against the wall, “now I don’t fuckin’ have to.”

“Dean,” she half gasps, half moans. He kisses the mark on her neck before licking all the way up to her jaw line and pulling back. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Omega.”

She meets his feral gaze with one of her own, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Prove it.” 

And it might be an incredibly stupid thing to say to a horny Alpha, but it’s also Dean. And he’d never hurt her.

“Mm, fuck.” His voice is raspy and wrecked and they haven’t even done anything yet. Before Y/N can process what’s happening, he’s picking her up and throwing her onto the bed. He climbs over her, hovering for a moment, taking in her flushed cheeks, the warmth radiating off of her, her scent. “You’re beautiful,” he states plainly, like it’s the one fact in the world that he knows without a doubt to be true. 

Y/N blushes. “Thank you, Alpha.” She says it because she knows what it does to him. 

“You’re beautiful, and I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” 

A gasp leaves her lips as he pushes her dress up her hips and moves down her body to the foot of the mattress, his fingertips dancing along the hem of her panties before his eyes meet with hers. She gives him a nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs before pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. 

He watches hungrily as she spreads her thighs, her core damn near dripping with her wetness, and if this is what it’s like when she’s on heat blockers, he can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll look like covered in her slick. His cock grows hard in his slacks at the thought, and he has to step off the bed to take off his pants and boxers before the containment grows painful. He shrugs off his suit jacket and white dress shirt too, and when he’s standing in front of the bed, fully naked, Y/N is propping herself up on her elbows to take him in.

“Holy – fuck,” is all she can get out. 

Dean chuckles deeply, one knee coming up onto the mattress as he fists his cock. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He looks her over again, pussy glistening, nipples peaked through her dress. “Fuck, I want you to – would you present for me?”

A smirk spreads across her lips, but she doesn’t say anything before flipping over and assuming the position. Ass up, legs shoulder width apart, chest resting on the mattress. 

Dean lets out a low and guttural, “Fuuuuck,” and it’s enough to make her pussy clench around nothing. She feels the mattress dip behind her, and when his cock starts to move through her folds, she almost cums right then and there. 

“I know you you wish you weren’t an Omega,” he starts, “but you’re a fuckin’ perfect one, baby.” 

She shakes her head, soft whimpers escaping her as he continues to tease her with his dick. “I’m glad I’m an Omega, because I’m yours.” 

With that, Dean loses what little self control he has left. He lines himself up with her entrance and sinks into her heat, and she feels so fucking perfect, the way she molds around his cock. The noises leaving her throat spur him on as he thrusts into her, setting a bruising pace. He wraps his hand around her shoulder for leverage, his other gripping her ass.

“Oh my fuck!” she practically screams, and he can feel how close she is, can smell it. 

“You’re gonna be a good little Omega and cum for me, aren’t you baby?” he pants, and he couldn’t be thrusting deeper if he tried.

She nods frantically. “Yesyesyes, please, Alpha, I wanna to cum. I wanna — mm, fuck — on your —”

She’s too fucked out to even finish her sentence, and Dean can feel himself about to fall over the edge. “What’s that, sweetheart? Speak up.”

“I wanna cum — oh, God! — on your knot. Fucking fill me up, Dean, please.”

He barely manages another thrust before he buries himself to the hilt, the base of his cock swelling inside her as he pumps her full of his seed.

The feeling of him filling her sends her over the edge, her pussy clenching around his cock, his knot, and she feels so full and fucked and sated.

“Oh my fucking fuuuuck,” he groans, feeling her pulse around him. “Fuck, everyone and this fuckin’ party is gonna be able to smell me inside of you.”

She moans at his words.

“Gonna have me dripping down your thighs ‘til we get back home.” His hand squeezes the globe of her ass before he leans over, getting as close to her ear as he can. “And then I’m gonna fuck you again. And again. And again. Because we got three years to make up for.” He nips at her ear playfully. “And now you’re finally mine.”

[steveseddie]

jacket ‘round my shoulders is yours

for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: jacket | rating: t | wc: 999 | tags: post-canon, steve wears eddie’s leather jacket, they kiss about it

read on ao3

Eddie can’t find his leather jacket.

Steve is picking him up soon and he can’t find it. He turned his bedroom upside down looking for it (pun absolutely intended) and even riffled through Wayne’s clothes in case the old man grabbed it by mistake (he didn’t).

He concludes he forgot it somewhere and racks his brain for the last time he remembers wearing it. He thinks it was last week when he yelled at Wheeler for almost spilling soda on him at Steve’s house. Did Eddie take it off and leave it there by accident? Or did he have it on when he drove home?

He’s still trying to figure that out when there’s a knock on his door.

“Shit, shit,” he mutters, jumping to his feet. “Coming!”

He doesn’t want to keep Steve waiting and risk missing their movie so with a sigh, Eddie grabs a denim jacket instead.

“That’ll do,” he says, checking himself in the mirror before opening the door to reveal–

Steve in his leather jacket.

“Hi, Eds,” he says, wiggling his fingers.

Eddie tries not to swallow his tongue but Steve is wearing his jacket and he looks hot. He’s pretty sure he’s had a few fantasies that start like this.

“Uh, hey,” he says once he finally gets his brain working again. “I was looking for that.”

Steve looks down at himself like he just remembered what he’s wearing. Like he forgot he put on Eddie’s leather jacket. He shrugs. “You left it at my house the other day.” And- well, mystery solved but that doesn’t explain why he showed up wearing it.

“So, it’s yours now?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes even if he doesn’t care. Steve can keep it if he wants, he looks better in it anyway. “First you steal my vest and now my jacket, Harrington?”

A smirk stretches over Steve’s lips. “Maybe I just like wearing your clothes, Munson,” he says in a teasing tone. A flirting tone- Eddie has heard him use it with girls at Family Video.

“Besides,” Steve continues because Eddie is too flustered to think of a comeback, “I didn’t steal your vest. You gave it to me. Threw it, actually.”

“And you never gave it back!” Eddie protests. “After I let you borrow it to protect your modesty!”

“Please, man,” Steve snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. His shoulders and arms are significantly bigger than Eddie’s so the movement pulls on the leather. Eddie would care more about Steve stretching his jacket if he wasn’t so busy ogling him. “You did it so you could stop staring at my chest.”

Eddie gasps, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. He knew he wasn’t subtle that night, but he thought Steve would be too busy surviving to pay attention to Eddie’s eyes drifting to his bare chest. And after that, when they became friends and Eddie started tragically crushing on Steve, he tried to be more careful.

And apparently failed.

“I– uh. It was like, right there, dude,” Eddie stammers out. “And you– you got a jungle there and I–”

“And you like it,” Steve finishes for him.

Eddie winces. It’s not what he was gonna say but it’s the truth. He could deny it, but he can already feel a blush creeping up his face, coloring his cheeks.

“Is– is that a problem?”

“Eds, my only problem is that you haven’t done anything about it,” Steve says with a low chuckle, reaching out to play with one of the pins on his denim jacket. “I actually considered showing up in just your jacket, but Robin convinced me it was too much.”

Eddie squeaks. That would’ve been too much for his heart to handle, that’s for sure.

“I don’t know if I should hate Buckley or thank her,” he says, shaking his head to wipe that visual from his brain. “I probably would’ve shut the door on your face.”

Steve laughs, shoulders scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the corners. Eddie is struck by how beautiful he is, and how much he wants to kiss him.

“You can, you know?” Steve says, snapping Eddie out of his thoughts and making him realize he said that out loud.

Then he realizes what Steve just said. “I– I can?”

Steve’s grin is amused but sweet. “Yeah, Eddie. I want you to.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie swallows thickly.

Then he grabs hold of the jacket and pulls Steve inside, the door swinging shut behind them. As soon as they’re out of view, Eddie pulls Steve in by the back of the neck, kissing him squarely on the lips.

With a content noise, Steve cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair, deepening the kiss, crowding him against the wall.

They kiss until they need air and even then it takes a lot to pull back from Steve’s mouth.

When he does, Steve smiles at him– his lips pink, his hair mused, his cheeks flushed.

“What?”

“You should keep it,” Eddie says, smoothing the jacket over. “It looks better on you.”

Steve purses his lips. “I happen to think you look really hot wearing it.”

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, tugging a lock of hair across his face, feeling his blush coming back at the compliment.

“But do you know where it would look better?”

“Where?”

Steve smirks at Eddie, his eyelashes fluttering coyly. “Your bedroom floor.”

Eddie’s breath hitches, something warm shooting through him. “What– what about the movie?” He asks. It’s a stupid question, but his brain might be melting out of his ears. Steve raises an eyebrow– Really? “Right, never fucking mind. Who cares? Come here, sweetheart,” he says, taking Steve’s hand and dragging him towards his room.

The leather jacket comes off first and it ends up on the floor. Eddie couldn’t care less about where. It could get sucked into the Upside Down along with all of his clothes and it wouldn’t matter to him.

Not as long as he gets to keep kissing Steve.

[mrsbarnesblog]

Push him

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x PR manager! Reader

Summary: When you became Avenger’s PR manager, you basically got your dream job, but one particular man, who had been staring at you every single time you were around, made you wonder whether it was because he hated or liked you.

Word count: 6.8K

Warnings: smut, bucky is obsessed with your short skirts, bucky is recovering, grumpy x sunshine, good friend natasha romanoff, office sex, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, pet names

Author's note: ‼️so if you haven't seen my previous post, this is my new account. you may have seen this work on my old one (@inmyicyworld) but it was terminated. please, follow and share this work. I'm going to reupload all of my old fanfics and hope to get your support ❤️

The work at the Avengers Tower wasn’t what you expected it to be. Tony Stark found you while you were working for another company a little bit more than a month ago. He was amazed by the way you were dealing with problems, by your charisma, and by your ability to find a common language with everyone. That’s how he knew that he had to have you as his partner and a part of the team.

The next day, you got a call directly from Tony, asking you to quit your job and accept his offer to work as Avenger’s PR manager. It would be an understatement to say that your jaw dropped to the floor when you heard your salary.

He said that you were totally worth it and that working with a group of such different people was not easy, but he was sure that you would be perfect at this. So on that exact day, you decided to take a risk and accept the challenge.

One thing that you hated about your previous job was the strict dress code. It was simply far from your style because you hated wearing the same basic and boring clothes every day. Tony said that it was the last thing that he cared about, and in that building, no one was obligated to wear certain clothes.

You knew that it was your lucky ticket.

He was actually really friendly and funny in person. You talked a lot during your first day while he was showing you all the necessary places in the tower: your office, his lab, common rooms and kitchens, avenger’s rooms, and even a beautiful garden on the roof. By the way, Tony allowed you to decorate your office however you wanted and gave you the number of the person who was responsible for this.

In short, it was perfect.

You were giddy with excitement on your first actual day of work. According to the plan, you had to meet with the Avengers and then arrange a few meetings for Tony.

It felt like you spent hours before your mirror deciding what to wear. Your whole room was a mess, and when you finally completed your look, which consisted of a short black skirt, beige long sleeve and a brown leather jacket on top, it was already time to go.

Everyone in the room heard you before they saw you because of the sound of your heels clicking on the wood floor.

“Don’t tell me that this is our PR manager, Stark.” Black Widow looked you up and down with a smirk on her face. “You look good, hun. Finally, someone with a taste in this boring group of losers, besides me and Wanda, of course.”

“Hi.” You nicely smiled, not ready to get a compliment as soon as you stepped into the room.

“Ohh, she’s also the sweet one.” Another red-headed woman, Wanda, said with a smile.

“You both, shut up.” Tony stood up from the armchair with a pack of chips in one hand and threw the other one over your shoulder. “Want some?” He asked you, showing the food, but you slightly shook your head. “Whatever… Now, you all listen here, this is Y/N; she’s our new PR manager. I stole her from someone because she’s incredibly smart and good at her job. Starting from this moment, she’s going to cover up your asses and organize all this stupid media stuff.” You blushed at his words but were still silent. “So, this is Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, and Th—wait, you already know them, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” You chuckled. “By the way, it’s nice to meet all of you. I hope we can work together, and I will have a chance to be helpful.” You took a look at all the Avengers in the room, and everyone looked at you with a smile except one person, whose eyes sent shivers down your spine.

When you looked at Bucky, you saw that his eyes were scanning your body with an unreadable expression, and you suddenly felt really weird in your short skirt. Your eyes met, and his famous death stare was really quite scary. He didn’t like you? You two were staring at each other for a few seconds, and you believe that the rest of the team noticed it because Steve loudly cleared his throat to get your attention.

He asked you a few questions about you, and Clint and Sam made a few jokes. Everything was fine as you all chatted for a little bit until Tony said that everyone should get ready for tomorrow’s mission, and you too have a lot to do.

You went back to your office only with the thought that, during this whole time, Bucky was staring at you like he wanted to burn a hole in your head.

Later that day, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of already-cold coffee while Steve was making himself dinner. It was quiet besides the sound of the cooking food, or at least Bucky didn’t listen to Steve’s words because he was too deep in his thoughts.

Well, he was mostly thinking about you and his mixed feelings about this interaction. As soon as you walked into the room, you had his whole attention. He couldn’t help but stare at your body, at your open legs, and at your smiley face. He knew that he sounded like a total creep and that it was inappropriate to look at other people this way, but he had never seen women dress this way. Was it normal right now? Was it new fashion trends or something? The only women that he had been interacting with for the past few years were women from Wakanda, and in the tower it was mostly Nat and Wanda, and he had never seen them dress like that. Or, at least, he just didn’t care enough to notice it.

When he saw you today, he felt something in him, and he didn’t like that feeling. It was something new, something that he had never experienced before, but his body became tense and his stomach tightened. It was weird.

“What, you're still trying to process her?” He was distracted from his thoughts by Sam, who came to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge. Bucky looked at him and furrowed his brows when he saw a shitty smirk.

“What the fuck are you talking about? And why are you smiling like an idiot?” Bucky growled.

“Because you’re thinking about Y/N.” His words caught Steve’s attention, and he came closer.

“That’s why you two were staring at each other like that?” Steve said this while drying his hands with a towel. “Do you like her? I think she seems cute.”

“No, I don’t. She just looks... different.”

“Oh, the old man got excited by the beautiful woman and her short skirt.” Sam’s smile got even wider as he started teasing Bucky. “You know, I wanted to ask her out, but I can take a step back if you like her.” He leaned on the table so he could get under Bucky’s skin even more.

“I do not like her.”

“So you’re okay if I ask her out? Maybe I should go to her office right now.” Sam pretended like he was really thinking about this.

“Sam...” Steve said.

“You both are just getting on my fucking nerves.” Bucky’s chair almost fell to the floor when he angrily stood up. “Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care about you or her.” With these words, he stormed out of the room, and Sam started to laugh out loud.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” Steve shook his head like a disappointed mother whose kids always fight.

“That was fun, and maybe it’ll push him to ask her out. She’s hot, but not my type; I’m just trying to help this idiot.”

You have been working with the Avengers for over a month now. This work was literally a dream from any angle. You were making a lot of money, doing the job that you really liked, and found a lot of close friends.

Almost everyone on the team was very close to you. Natasha and Wanda were particularly your best friends. Sam was the funniest person you’ve ever met, and he always found time to tease you or to make a compliment. Bruce and Clint were like your uncles—a little bit old and annoying, but always with a piece of advice for you. A few times, you and Steve met at the gym when you came to work too early, so he was happy to train with you. Who would’ve thought that Captain America himself would teach you how to throw a punch?

The only pain in your ass was Bucky Barnes. Well, to be fair, he didn’t do anything. You’re not even sure that you heard his voice. He was always just staring. Any time that you came to the room and he was there, you either saw him from the corner of your eyes or felt his burning gaze on your back.

To this day, you had no problems with your job. You organized a few interviews for Tony and Steve, talked to the newspapers and magazines, and held some meetings, but right now, sitting on your white chair, you felt weirdly nervous.

Bucky had to come here any minute to talk about a recent accident. Apparently, he almost knocked out someone on the street. All the press and news sources were taking advantage of the situation and using loud headlines to cast a shadow on Bucky and get more views. “The Winter Soldier is back?”. “The Winter Soldier almost killed an innocent man on the street.”

It has been the biggest topic on the internet for the past few hours. Most of the people were furious and wrote too many inappropriate and rude things. So you asked FRIDAY to call Bucky so you could know the whole situation and give comments to the press as soon as possible.

You started thinking about what you should do, or, to be more honest, how to behave around Bucky, because a few days ago two red-headed women that you now considered your best friends assured you that he is in love with you and just doesn't know what to do with it.

You told them everything about his weird actions—that he always looked at you, checked your clothes, and stayed silent. Natasha and Wanda just looked at each other with smirks on their faces.

“Why are you looking at each other like that?” You arched an eyebrow and crossed your hands across your chest.

“Please, don't tell me that you don't understand his behavior.” Natasha looked at you and sipped her coffee.

Well, I wouldn’t have asked you if I knew the reason.”

“Honey, he lust likes you and thinks that you’re hot. You remember that he’s actually an old man, right? Women from his time didn’t dress like that, and you look really sexy.” Wanda’s words made Nat nod her head as you looked weirdly at both of them.

“That’s bullshit, Wanda. This can’t be true. I'm sure that he just doesn’t like me and thinks that I look too revealing. Or he just hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time.”

“Some time ago, I came to the kitchen at like 2 a.m. just in my lingerie because I thought everyone was asleep. Barnes was sitting there with a book, and you know what? He just said “Hi” and didn’t even look at me again while I was making a sandwich. And when he sees you, he just can’t take his eyes away and stares like an idiot.”

You stayed silent, thinking about the girls' words, because everything seemed pretty reasonable.

“And what should I do?”

“I don’t know, seduce him or something.” Natasha just casually said it, and your eyebrows flew to your hairline.

“Wait, do you like him?” Wanda asked you, and Natasha huffed like it was obvious.

“I mean… he’s beautiful. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, but Steve and Sam love him, and I trust their opinion.” You stopped trying to put together your thoughts. “To be honest, sometimes I think about the fact that he’s probably one of the hottest people I’ve ever seen. When we studied history at school, all the girls fell in love with America's Boy, and I with his best friend.”

“Then don’t wait. Just give him some hints, because I swear, for the ladies’ man, he’s too slow.” Natasha’s words made you smile. “Try to get closer to him; I don’t know, flash him with your boobs and look at the reaction. Push him a little bit. He’ll break.”

The loud knock on the door almost made you jump out of your chair.

“Come in.” You said this as you stood up and fixed your white dress and cardigan.

Bucky came probably to the lightest and most cozy room in the whole tower. A lot of white and pastel colors, comfy sofa and armchairs, and paintings on the wall. And in the middle of this was you—always perfectly looking, in heels, in a too-short dress, and with a smile on your face. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the smooth skin of your legs. It’s probably so soft...

“Em– Hi.” You awkwardly stood while his eyes were scanning your body. He didn’t answer; he just nodded. “So I think that we can sit there, it’s more comfortable.” You wave your hand at the sofa with a fluffy cover on it. “Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, soda?” Bucky just shook his head while he was trying to comfortably sit with a frown on his face.

You deeply inhaled while trying to be a professional. You didn’t know what was wrong with this man, but his behavior started to get on your nerves.

“Bucky, we can’t work together if you keep ignoring me. You can say if you don’t like something, because I don’t want to be on bad terms with anyone.” You sat across from him and crossed your legs.

“I don’t know what I should say.” His deep voice filled the room. Bucky took a pillow that was lying near him and started playing with the fringe. “I feel weird when I’m around you, and I don’t like it. I have thoughts that I shouldn’t have.” His eyes scanned your body once again, and you wondered if he was talking about what you thought.

“Can I do something to change it?”

“No.” He deeply inhaled. “It’s my own problem, and it’s not your job to try to fix it. Anyway, why am I here?”

“I think you know why. I need to ask you about the recent incident because I have a meeting with the press in less than an hour, and I have to give them a good reason why you did that. People didn’t take all that information too well.” You saw that Bucky sadly smiled and looked you directly in the eyes, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “So, tell me what’s happened.”

“You know that whatever you say won’t change people’s opinions about me, right? No one forgave me, and they’re still looking for a chance to call me a murderer.” He tried to hide behind a smile, but you saw everything written in his eyes. Bucky hurt himself with his own words.

“I understand how you feel about this whole situation, but we should address all those rumors because things might get worse.” You leaned on your knees with your hands, and Bucky’s eyes immediately fell on your boobs.

Push him a little bit. He’ll break.

You tried to hold back a smirk.

“Fuck.” He mumbled. “ I– um– I was walking from the coffee shop to the tower. It was another busy street with hundreds of people, but I still didn’t expect someone to touch me. That man jumped on my back or something, and my instincts just worked. I threw him over myself on the ground and put a hand on his throat. Turned out he wanted to take a picture. But I panicked because there are many people who want to take revenge and who might want to do it literally any second. I’m always ready for this.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

You felt deeply sorry for the man before you. Even if he was cold and acted weird around you, you knew that it was his way to protect himself. After everything he came through, you couldn’t blame him.

“Do you still go to the therapist?” You gently asked.

“Yes, two times a week.” Bucky nervously ran his right hand through his hair while still holding your pillow in the metal one.

“Okay, that’s good; I can work with this information.” You nodded and reached for your journal on the coffee table. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Bucky. I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to convince people that it was not your fault, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Bucky stood up, carefully putting your pillow in its place, and left your office without another word, while you were sitting there with a smile.

Maybe the girls were right.

After that day, everything between you and Bucky became even weirder. Yes, he wasn’t totally silent now, and you’ve got a few “Hi”, but his stares felt different.

It was like you two were playing some kind of game. Since you knew that he didn’t actually hate you, you tried to do as Natasha and Wanda said—get his attention and push more. And God, you loved that game.

Almost every day you found an opportunity or excuse to see him in common rooms or in the corridors of the Tower, and you made sure that Bucky noticed you. You wore tighter clothes, walked right past him, and looked at him with a smile. You knew that it was working because a few times Bucky just suddenly left the room while he was mumbling something.

It was almost 8 p.m., but you were still working on schedule for the next week. There was some kind of charity event, and Tony required you to convince everyone to go there because more Avengers can attract more sponsors and money. As always, Bucky was the one who refused to go there. He simply sees no reason for him to be there, and he doesn’t want to be there alone because he knows that Captain America will be the biggest star, and such a social butterfly as Sam will leave him in a second.

You decided that it would be better to talk to Bucky in person, but you didn’t want to lose a chance to get his attention, so you went by yourself instead of asking FRIDAY.

You looked in the small mirror to check your makeup and hair and went straight to where you knew Bucky was spending his evening. As you walked in a dark room filled with only light from the TV, you saw Sam and Steve sitting on the couch and Bucky on the armchair near them. You quietly walk to him and just casually sit on the armrest. His eyebrows flew to his hairline, and you heard that the chewing from the boys stopped. Bucky had no choice but to put his metal arm on your lower back.

“I need you in my office. You have to talk about the next charity event. Could you please give me some of your time?” You quietly asked and lowered yourself closer to him. Bucky was just staring at you for a few seconds, but then slightly nodded.

Bucky followed you to your office, not without getting smirks from the boys,and then stood near your table with his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t you want to sit?” You said and stepped closer to him.

“No.”

“Um– okay.” You took the papers from your table and stood in front of Bucky. “So, you know that there is going to be a charity event, and I’m responsible for getting all the Avengers there, and you are one of them.”

“I’m not going, I already told Tony.” He just shrugged.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not needed there. I’m not an actual hero, people have no interest in me, especially when there will be Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor, you know? Plus, I have no interest in sitting alone the whole night.” You saw that Bucky tried to be casual about it, but he just put salt on his own wound.

“Don’t say that, Bucky. There are people who want to see you there, you have a lot of fans. You know, I’m going there too, so if you don't mind, we can–”

“What game are you playing with me?” He interrupted you. Bucky straightened his shoulders, which made him look even bigger, and started moving closer to you, putting you in a trap between him and your desk.

“W– what do you mean?” You couldn't control your body as you started to tremble a little bit from the power that this man had. As soon as you bumped into the table, his hands landed on both sides of you, and his face was right in front of yours.

“Don’t act clueless, Y/N. I see what you’re doing.” He stopped for a second, studying your face. “You know, I tried to convince myself that you do all of this by accident, but now I’m sure that you’re just playing your little game. Am I right, doll?” You two were staring at each other, and you felt almost nauseous from different emotions.

He was so fucking beautiful up close. Piercing blue eyes, pink lips, and light stubble You know why many women thought that James Barnes was charming. If he had more confidence, he would’ve been unstoppable.

Your eyes slowly shifted lower to his arms and chest as you remained silent. He was big, with well-trained muscles that were seen through the tight black t-shirt. Both arms were stretched near you, so you had a really good opportunity to look at the smooth tanned skin and beautiful dark vibranium. You felt how your lower stomach tightened just from the thought of getting those pretty hands on your body…

You were pulled out of your head by a sudden movement of Bucky’s hand, which gripped your face and pushed your lips together. He was obviously dominating in the kiss, as if he were desperate to taste you. The tip of his tongue brushed over your lips, asking for entrance, which you happily gave him. The moan came out of you when Bucky moved away and looked you in the eyes, still holding your face.

“This whole fucking time I thought that I was a creep for looking at you, but now I know that you did everything on purpose, doll.” His eyes moved between your eyes and mouth. “All these short skirts and dresses that almost showed me everything underneath it, all these innocent smiles and looks... You did it to tease me?”

“Not at first...” You mumbled. “But you were acting so weird, and girls said that you liked me and just didn’t know what to do. I wanted to find out whether it was true or not.”

“Fuck, if I knew earlier that this was your plan, I would’ve bent you over the nearest surface, baby.” Bucky moved a little closer, brushing his lips over yours. “Do you know how fucking hot and gorgeous you are? I haven’t felt that way in many, many years. Just wanna kiss you and make you mine.”

“And what’s stopping you from this, Sargent?” You asked with a smile and moved your hand to the back of his neck to gently play with the baby hairs.

“You’re gonna be my death, doll face.” He mumbled before leaning closer and kissing you again.

This time, you started to touch each other's bodies. Bucky’s warm and cold hands landed on your thighs, playing with the hem of the skirt and rubbing your soft skin after he lifted you up a little bit and helped you sit on the table, staying in between your legs. Your own hands were moving up and down his broad chest, discovering all of his muscles.

“Bucky…” You whined into the kiss when his finger brushed against the edge of your already wet panties.

“Tell me.” Bucky moved away from your swollen lips and left a path of kisses down your neck. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.” He sucked a sensitive spot under your ear, which made you moan.

“I don’t know. Just do anything, please.” You both breathed heavily. You felt like you were too hot; your lower stomach ached, and your underwear was soaking wet. Bucky was looking at you with such lust in his eyes that you wanted him to destroy you.

“Lay back.” He ordered you as one of his hands went higher under your skirt and slid your black lace panties down your legs. You didn’t miss how Bucky shoved him into the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk on his face.

You quickly followed his instructions and just threw all the papers from our table on the floor. You’ll regret it later, but now you don't care. The sudden move of Bucky's metal arm grabbed and pulled your shirt, and all the buttons scattered on the floor, making you gasp in disbelief.

“Bucky! It was expensive.”

“Sorry, I’ll buy you whatever you want, I promise. But now I need to see you all.” He growled and fell to his knees before you. “Fuck, doll, such a pretty pussy. I’m gonna make a mess with her.”

Bucky’s hands grabbed both of your legs and threw them over his shoulders. He dragged your skirt higher, not wanting to take it off of you. His head fell on your right legs as he left a few kisses on your sensitive skin.

“Bucky please! Don’t tease me!” You desperately whined.

“I need a moment to appreciate both of you. I haven’t done it since the 40's, you know that?”

You wanted to say something, but his mouth on your most delicate part of your body left you speechless and made you grab his hair. Bucky’s tongue was gentle at first, just to get a taste of you and tease you a little bit. His tongue started to play with your clit, circling it and applying different pressures to find out what made your body twitch. It looked like he was enjoying it too; you felt deep grunts escaping his mouth as he was trying to catch every drop that came out of you.

Your loud moans filled the room as Bucky found the perfect place and made motions that made you see stars. A hand in his hair tightened even more when you felt one of his fingers at your entrance.

“M-hm, so wet and tight for me.” He pulled away a little bit, looking at how his two fingers came in and out of you, all shiny with your juices. His darkened eyes were firmly glued to your pussy, which was trying to get more, and his mouth opened a little bit at the sight. “Taking my fingers like a good girl.” Bucky attacked you with his mouth again. This time he was licking your folds, mixing his saliva with your juices. When the feeling of his nose touching your bundle of nerves came through your whole body, you gripped Bucky’s dark locks even harder, particularly trying to ride his face, and he had to put his metal hand on your hips so you wouldn’t move.

Your body tensed when he curled his fingers right on your g-spot, sucking your clit like a hungry man.

“Bucky���fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop!” You whined with tears running down your face.

A few more movements of his magical mouth, and you fell over the edge. Your legs tightened around his head, tingles went all over your body, and the loudest moan mixed with Bucky’s name came out of you as you were riding on the wave of your orgasm.

Bucky didn’t stop, though.

He made sure to lick every drop that came out of you, to the point that you had to beg him to stop because you were too sensitive.

“That was—“ You were trying to catch a breath. “That was the best orgasm I've ever had, oh my god. If you did it for the first time in like seventy years, I can’t imagine what you can do with practice.”

Bucky dragged you up by your neck, so you would be at the same level with him. His hand moved your hips closer to the edge of the table, and you felt how hard he was through those jeans.

“I can practice whenever you’ll allow me, doll.” He put his warm hand on your face to kiss you. The taste of your own release on his tongue made you moan.

“Need you inside of me, please.” Your hands automatically started to pull up his shirt, but he stopped you.

“We don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.”

You were silent for a few seconds. “Why wouldn’t I want to take your shirt off?”

“You know, my arm and scars...”

“Do you really think that I care about it?” You left a few kisses on his cheek. “I think that your arm is hot, by the way, and I want to feel your skin on mine, Sarge.” It was enough for Bucky to pull off his shirt and stay before you half-naked.

Your hands moved to trace every muscle, every birthmark, and every scar on his chest, and you felt that this moment was so intimate, especially because of Bucky’s stare. He looked at you with such adoration and softness that you wanted to melt.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He mumbled and kissed you with even more passion.

Bucky ripped off the rest of your shirt and quickly took off your matching black bra, gripping your breasts with both hands and taking your left nipple in his hot mouth.

You dug nails into Bucky’s back as he was sucking and licking your nipples, leaving them wet in the cold air. It felt good. So fucking good—his mouth was truly amazing. But the emptiness inside of you was almost painful, and you were clenching around nothing.

“Bucky! Sarge, please, I need you.” You almost cried and dragged his head by the hair back to your mouth.

“Baby, baby, wait– “ His hot breath was touching your lips, but he stopped your hands, which were unbuckling his belt. “Baby, I don’t have a condom. Fuck, do you have one?”

“We don’t have to use it... I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” Your legs wrapped tighter around Bucky’s waist and put him closer to your naked core. He swore that he could feel your heat through his jeans and boxers.

“Fuck, I love twenty-first century... I’m clean too, can’t even catch a disease with this serum shit.”

His words were like a green light to you. You didn’t want to wait even a second more. So you just took off his pants with such speed and impatience that it made Bucky chuckle. With the last movement, all of his clothes were on the floor, and you sat on your table, frozen because of the sight before you.

Bucky’s thick and perfectly long dick was the best fucking thing that you’ve ever seen. Pink and a little bit curled to his abdomen. Your mouth watered just thinking about tasting it. Or how well he’ll stretch you out. You didn’t even notice how your mouth opened a little bit, and you unconsciously wrapped your hand around him.

“You’re gonna destroy me, Bucky.” You mumbled, to which you heard only a deep chuckle. Your eyes moved back to Bucky’s smiley face.

“I hope so.”

Two different hands landed on your thighs again, spreading and lifting them up. You both looked down at where his cock almost touched your bare folds, and the first contact made you moan loudly. Bucky took the base of his cock, giving himself a few pumps, and moved the tip up and down your pussy, moving easily because of the mixture of your juices.

You grabbed his forearm and whined at the action.

“Ready, doll?” He was trying to be tough and strong, but you saw how he nervously licked his lips, the tremble of his flesh hand, and the tension in his abdomen. But you still vigorously nodded.

It was different from everything you’ve ever experienced. He was big but tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to hurt you. He only pushed a few inches, but you already wanted to cry from all the feelings inside of you. Pain mixed with extreme pleasure.

Bucky was trying so hard to control his motions and go slow, but God, it wasn’t easy. From the first touch of his cock, it felt like he had gone to heaven. He knew that sex was good, he remembers it, but the feeling of you and your warm body that so gracefully greeted him inside made him feral. Bucky felt such a need to kiss you that it was almost painful, especially when your swollen lips were a few inches away from his.

He leaned in closer to your lips, but it made him slip deeper into you, which made you both loudly moan into each other's mouths.

“Fuck– doll, you’re so warm and tight, oh my god.” Bucky mumbled as the grip on your hips became harder. It’ll probably leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

The feeling of him inside of you was overwhelming. He was so deep and stretched you just the way that you wanted, and you almost cried from pleasure.

“Please, Bucky, please move!”

His hips slightly moved once, and it felt like his mood instantly changed. You were suddenly pushed back on your table, and your legs, still in heels, were thrown on Bucky’s shoulders. His metal hand stayed on your thigh, and the other one fell on your stomach to push your skirt higher on your waist.

“All dressed up for me, baby.” He started slowly moving, burying his cock deep inside, and then leaving only the tip to tease you. “You know how long I wanted to do that, huh? Bend you over and just fuck the shit out of you until you can’t say anything except for my name.”

“Bucky– Sarge, please go faster. Just fuck me, do whatever you want.” You were desperate, yes. But you couldn't help but beg, because you really needed him to keep his promise and fuck the shit out of you.

You reached for his hand on your stomach and interlaced your fingers together.

“If you keep calling me that, I won’t last too long, doll.” His thrusts became harder and faster as your body moved up and down on your table.

Bucky was looking at your drunk-looking face with a slightly open mouth because you couldn’t keep your moans quiet. Your hair was deshiveled, your skin glimmered with sweat, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“So beautiful, baby.” Bucky murmured, fucking you harder. The room was filled with loud noises from slapping skin and moans. “You love it when I talk to you like that, huh? Want me to tell you what a good girl you are?” His words definitely did something to you, and you unconsciously tightened around him. “Almost choking my cock, baby, fu-u-ck.”

“Mhm, Sargent, I’m so full of you.” You couldn’t see straight as the tip of his head pressed at the perfect spot with every thrust, it was too much and not enough at the same time.

The wet kisses on the inner side of your thigh sent shivers down your whole body when Bucky started to suck tender skin. His rough movement didn’t stop for a moment, and you knew that your orgasm was getting closer. The warm feeling in your belly slowly became bigger. It was hard for you to cum from sex, but Bucky did it so fast and without even touching your clit.

“C’mon, doll face. I feel ‘ya. Feel how your perfect little pussy is squeezing me. Cum with me, baby, cum on my cock.” His movements were still rough and confident, but you felt the slightest change in the way he was looking at you, how his body trembled a little bit, and the prettiest quiet noises escaped his mouth as Bucky was coming to his own end.

You were completely lost in your pleasure, with strong arms on your body and Bucky’s hard cock that was completely destroying you, so when fingers on your clit started to move in circles, your body slightly jolted up from your table.

“Bucky, Bucky, please—ohmygod, I’m coming!” You cried out loud and grabbed the hard wood under your arms.

“O-oh, fuck, doll, cum with me, please. Yes, squeeze my cock harder, make a mess. ‘M gonna cum.” With the last few pushes of his dick inside of you and movements of the fingers, you both fell from your heights, and the room filled with loud moans of pleasure. The feeling of his hot seed on your walls almost made you faint.

Bucky fell down on your body as your leg slipped from his shoulder. Two strong arms wrapped around you, and Bucky’s face nuzzled into your neck. You don’t know how long you two stayed silent, trying to catch a breath, while your hands gently rubbed Bucky’s back.

When he finally lifted himself up with a metal arm near your face on the table, the look in his eyes sent millions of butterflies to your stomach.

“I don’t even know what to say…” He chuckled and cupped your face with his right hand. “You look so fucking beautiful, Y/N.”

“Even when my makeup, my hair, and my clothes are completely destroyed?” You playfully arched an eyebrow and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on your hot skin.

“Well, I did it, and I’m satisfied with it. You still look so hot, especially with my dick still inside of you.”

“Bucky!”

“Sorry, sorry. But I’m serious, though. Will you let me take you on a date? Maybe yesterday for lunch or for dinner after work?” His eyes had this little bit of doubt, and you couldn’t stop your wide smile because he was really thinking that you would say “no” after that.

“I will be glad to go out with you, Buck.” You dragged his face closer and gave him the sweetest kiss you could.

Bucky moved away, gently slipping out of you, and you hissed at the empty feeling. He helped you stand up on your shaking legs and handed you your clothes.

“Fuck, you completely destroyed my clothes.” You said as you were standing in front of the mirror. “How will I go home?”

“You can stay in my room.” Bucky came closer to you and helped you make your blouse look more presentable, even without buttons.

“Really?”

“Of course, doll. Just hold your shirt in case we bump into someone in the corridor, but I think everyone is already in their rooms.” Bucky finished dressing up, and you saw your underwear sticking out of his pocket.

“Don’t you want to give me my panties?”

“Na-ah, you’ll have to walk with me dripping out of you.” He gave you a cocky smile and turned all the lights off before wrapping his arm around you and leading you into the hall.

It was completely empty, but the second that you stepped out of the elevator, you saw Bucky’s best friends looking at you. All of you were looking at each other for a few seconds before Sam started hysterically laughing.

“You owe me fifty bucks, idiot!” He said to Steve, who was as red as a tomato. “Good job, Buckaroo, but I really thought that we were gonna ask her on a date first.”

“Fuck off, Willson.” Bucky growled, protectively stepping forward to protect you from their looks.

“Okay, okay, relax, no one’s touching your girl.” He said with a cocky smile on his face. “Let’s go, Steve. You’re too innocent to look at things like this.” Sam took his friend and led him in another direction.

“Asshole.” Bucky growled.

“Everything is okay, Buck, let’s go.” You stepped closer to his room, but he was still standing in his place. “I have to take a shower. Will you come with me, or will you stand here the whole night?” You smirked.

It was everything he needed to finally get closer to you, scoop you into his arms, and carry you into his room to the sound of laughter, which soon turned into moans.

[phatm0th]

Reader catches Brahms touching himself. They bang!!

Hiii!! It has been a while since i wrote a full fanfic! I’ve been busy with college. I haven’t come across a freaky brahms fic in a while so i figured this would be the lucky post that made it outta the drafts. Anyways yeah, not my best work but im ovulating. What can you expect? This is just gratuitous smut. Sorry. I hope you like it anyway!

As always, reader is written as chubby but all can enjoy! ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64812139

MDNI! NSFW. 18+

You discovered Brahms all on your own. With your clothes and food from the fridge going missing and creepy bumps in the night and the undeniable, chilling feeling of being watched constantly you were able to put two and two together. You weren’t sure what to do at first but you surmised that his parents weren’t coming back and you were starting to like him and the financial stability so you stayed.

After months of living with him you like to think you made progress with him. He gained a bit of weight because you were cooking him meals fit for an adult man. He became softer, belly hairy with a layer of muscle underneath. He was better about his hygiene, too. He wore clean clothes and showered. His hair had grown a bit longer and it wasn’t greasy and tangled anymore. You convinced him to sleep in an actual bed in an actual bedroom rather than a raw mattress in the fucking walls. He willingly helped with household chores. You showed him some of your hobbies so that he had something to do while you were away or just busy.

Somehow, it worked. It was all so domestic.

One night, you were half asleep as you heard the bedroom door open. You felt a flash of panic, remembering the time before, when you weren’t aware of his existence. “Brahms?” you called, voice thick with sleep. “Can’t sleep,” he said in that small voice. You slowly sat up and patted the bed, inviting him in.

Within the next few minutes he lay beside you, soft snores muffled by his mask. He had never crossed that boundary before. There had been times when he fell asleep in the library while he watched you read, sure. But this was more intimate. You turned your back to Brahms, trying not to stare at his sleeping form.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find Brahms attractive. You did, especially after “fixing” him. There were just so many risks. What if he didn’t like women your size? What if he didn’t like women at all? What if he saw you as a maternal figure, despite you being close in age? If you decided to tell him how you felt, and it wasn’t reciprocated, what would happen? He would clam up. Likely kick you out, or go back into the walls.

You ignored your feelings for him as you did with every other crush and infatuation in your life, and tried to go back to sleep.

You woke up to a sliver of sunlight on your face. You were going to get up and adjust the curtains, planning to go back to sleep for another hour or two, but you found it hard to move. You looked down and saw his large hands wrapped around your soft tummy. You felt his slow, deep breaths against your neck and turned your head to see his peaceful face, sans mask, which you assumed he placed on the nightstand.

You didn’t mind this. You rolled over to face him so the sun wouldn’t be in your face, and went back to sleep.

You were stirred awake again, this time from the bed shaking, just barely. His voice was deep and shaky. You could tell he was trying his best to be quiet but he couldn’t help tiny moans and whines from escaping. His back was turned to you and you saw his hips slowly moving back and forth.

“Brahms?” His hips stilled. He became as quiet as a mouse. “Brahms I know what you were doing.” You felt a powerful throb in between your thick thighs, wondering if you caused him to feel that way.

“Please don’t be mad, I couldn’t help it!” he whined guiltily. “It’s fine Brahms, it’s natural.” You hoped it was because of you, but realistically it was probably just morning wood. You imagined his prudish parents made him ashamed of his body as he grew up. You wanted to reassure him, let him know he was safe with you.

After a few beats of silence he said, “You were just so pretty while you were sleeping.” Your pussy throbbed again. “Look at me Brahms.” He didn’t move. “You can put the mask back on if you need to, but I want you to look at me.” He put his porcelain mask back on and then sat up to face you, head hung in shame. You considered your next words carefully. “I uh, I thought you looked pretty while you slept too. I wanted to do what you were just doing.” He lifted his head and stared at you, his breath quickening. You wished you knew what he was thinking.

“Think you’re pretty all the time,” he said quietly.

Your eyes moved from his masked face to his crotch, where he was still rock hard. “You can touch me, Brahms.” His breath hitched. Tentatively, he placed his hand on your thigh, testing the waters. His fingers stroked across your flesh gently. You held your breath.

Before you knew what was happening you were on your back with him hovering above you, chest rising and falling heavily. His hand hovered above your large breast. “Hm?” he wordlessly asked for permission, too afraid to speak. “Yeah. Yes. Please,” you said.

His warm palm groped you over the fabric of your sleep shirt. He groaned as he watched the fat spill from around his hands. He could feel your nipple harden against him. “Want… I want…” he cut himself off with a shuddering breath. Brahms pulled his mask off and placed it back on the nightstand. “Kiss me, Brahms.” He obeyed, sighing and licking into your mouth.

You knew from the beginning that Brahms was a needy man. In those first few weeks, he would throw tantrums whenever you had to leave. He was clingy. This was something completely different, though. He touched and sniffed and licked every part of you he could reach as if you were going to disappear into thin air.

Brahms ground his sizable cock between your thighs as he buried his face in your neck. You were sure you both could cum like this, but you were needy too.

You said his name gently, trying to get his attention. He either didn’t hear you or didn’t care as he continued to rub himself over your clothed pussy. “Brahms!” you yanked his head back by his hair so you could look him in the eyes. He moaned, the desperation obvious on his face.

“I need more, okay?” He nodded and moved back, eyes fixated on the boxers you slept in. Tentatively, he rubbed you with his hand over the underwear, effectively holding the core of you. He watched a small wet spot form before he pulled the boxers off of you and dropped them to the floor.

“I’m most sensitive here, Brahms,” you grabbed his hand and led it to your swollen clit.

He swiped the bundle of nerves with his thumb, your hips jerking in response. He moved his hand a bit lower to collect some of your wetness. You expected him to rub it onto your clit but he instead brought the hand to his mouth, tasting you.

His breathing deepened as you watched a drop of precum bead at the head of his painfully hard cock through his pants. He grabbed both of your thighs and pushed them further apart, bringing his face closer to your cunt. “You taste so good,” he muttered.

Tentatively, he licked you from hole to clit, savoring the taste again.

He had no finesse, no technique, he didn’t even think to use his hands at all other than to hold your thighs open for him as he devoured you. What he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. He moaned and whimpered as he ate you out, and ground his cock down into the bed, desperate for some sort of friction. Without warning he moved his hands from your thighs to up under your fat ass, lifting your hips in the air so he could get even closer to your cunt.

He switched from licking into you to sucking on your clit, relishing in your shaky moans. He liked feeling like he was doing a good job.

All of a sudden it was too much, and you felt that familiar coil in your stomach. Your hands shot to his soft hair again and you said, breathless, “Brahms im gonna cum pleasedontstop.” He licked and sucked in every way he knew how, trying his best to get you there. Within seconds you were cumming on his face, pulling his hair just because you needed something to grab. He licked you into over-sensitivity, and didn’t stop until you pushed him away.

He did very well, one of these days you’d have his head between your legs for hours, showing him the best ways to please you.

He sat up on his knees, deciding for himself that he needed his pants off that very moment. His cock bounced as he roughly yanked them down and, Oh. You didn’t know what you were expecting. You caught a few glimpses of it under his pants just now but they didn’t do it justice. You weren’t even sure if it would all fit, especially since you were out practice. But by god, you would try.

You sat up too, but since he was still standing on his knees, your face met his chest. You coaxed hm to take his shirt off, admiring his stocky physique.

“May I touch you, Brahms?” He grabbed your hand and led it directly to the tip of his cock. You wanted to play with his tits, get him off slowly, run your nails up and down his torso, but you felt bad for how long he stayed denied. next time, you thought. Instead, you grabbed his hardness, feeling it throb in your hand. His hips made small, abortive thrusts as you slowly stroked him. You looked up at his face and saw his lips were pressed in a thin line. You could tell he was holding back from fully fucking your fist.

You decided that you both waited long enough, and laid on your back, opening your legs again for him. You pulled his cock towards you, edging him closer to your wet heat. “Please?” he begged, pushing his dick against you. You nodded, unwilling to wait any longer.

He held his cock and slowly guided it inside you. You felt the sting almost immediately. You placed a hand on his stomach, stilling him. He whined. my bratty boy, you thought. “Brahms, you’re very big. If you don’t go inside slowly, it will hurt.” He nodded obediently as he pushed inside, careful to not hurt you. The slow stretch was a bit more pleasurable than it was painful, and all you could think about was how you had never felt this full before.

After a few moments, Brahms bottomed out inside you. He swallowed, waiting on your okay to move. You stared up at his face, brows furrowed and lips pouting. You wondered how long you could keep him here inside you, not allowed to move. A very long time, you imagined.

“You can move now.” He sighed loudly with relief. You probably would’ve laughed if the air hadn’t been punched out of you as soon as he moved. It was gentle and slow, but impossibly deep. You clenched around him involuntarily, he yelped, startled at the sensation. “Oh, I’m sorry sweet boy, I didn’t mean to do that, I couldn’t help it.” You felt him pulse inside you as his breaths came it short, loud puffs. He thrusted his hips again, more powerful this time. It was your turn to yelp then, pleasantly surprised by his roughness.

At first, you thought that perhaps you needed some gentle treatment. It had been a while, after all, and he was the largest you’d ever taken. But something feral and eager in the back of your mind wormed its way to the forefront of your thoughts. You wanted it hard.

“Faster Brahms!” He made a choked off sound, excited at the prospect of getting to drill into you like he always wanted. Brahms followed your command immediately, shifting his position slightly so that he could move easier. The air was getting punched out of you with each thrust. The pudge of his stomach dragged deliciously across your sensitive skin.

“Good boy!” It just sort of slipped out. You hadn’t meant to say it. But the effects were almost immediate. “Hunh?” he moaned, confused and unbelievably turned on. His hips stilled as he stared at you, panting, eyes wild. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your stomach, folding you in half. He leaned over you, impossibly close, both of your shaky breaths mingling with each other. He rubbed himself against your core for a bit. The sound of your slick mixing with his precum was obscene and maddening. Part of you just wanted him to do as he pleased, use your body as his very own fleshlight. But you were waiting for him to beg. At least this time.

“Please can I? I’ll be good,” he asked, voice shaky. What did that even mean in this situation? you wondered. Perhaps what he meant to say was “I’ll make you feel good?” That wasn’t what he said though. He said he’d be good. For you. How could you refuse something like that? You nodded wordlessly, lifting your hips incrementally. He pushed his cock inside you slowly, slowly, wanting to savor every wet and velvety inch of your pussy.

When he finally bottomed out he somehow felt even bigger than he did before with this new angle. It was as if he was in your stomach. In your ribs. In your throat. You felt dizzy. His grip on your chubby thighs tightened as he began thrusting again, starting immediately with a punishing pace. He didn’t pull out very far in this position, unwilling to fully leave your warmth for even a second. It was like he was trying to fuck a baby in you, you thought deliriously. Shit. Where’d that thought come from? It got you dangerously close to cumming and the way he was constantly rubbing against your clit because of your proximity wasn’t fucking helping. You weren’t going to last very long, though you wouldn’t mind being put into a mating press like this for hours at a time.

You needed to cum again. You needed him to cum with you. In you.

You started deliberately clenching around his length, relishing in the way it made his hips stutter and his voice crack. “More, Brahms. Be good for me.” He made a startled sound but didn’t stop his hips for even a moment. He redoubled his efforts, pile driving into you like he hated you. The combined stimulus of his fucking and the sounds of his desperate moans and the vulgar plap plap plap of your hips slamming together and the god damned breeding thing had you teetering over the edge.

You realized then why Brahms hadn’t cum yet. You hadn’t given him permission. You tightly gripped the hair on the back of his head, pulling it so that his ear was right next to your mouth. You licked his ear and felt him shudder. “You fuck me so well, Brahms. Wanna cum now?” He nodded eagerly with his hair still gripped in your palm. The sting of it made him shudder. “Can I? Can I? Can I?” he chanted, making sure to fuck you in the way they you needed. “Cum. Cum in me like the good boy I know you are.” That did it for him. Two more sloppy thrusts and his hips stilled, cock deep inside you. His voice keened as he let out an impossibly large load inside you. You followed close behind, feeling your pussy ripple around him.

You both struggled to catch your breath. Your mind felt foggy and all you could focus on was his comfortable weight on top of you. And the fact that he hadn’t softened, still hard and pulsing inside you.

Yes, you had become addicted to him just that quickly, and he hadn’t softened always been addicted to you.

[ghostly-bat]

I live for Damian and Lois similarities that I wrote a whole thing about it

This is now posted on AO3 by the way!

────────────────

Clark watched. He simply watched as his son was getting yelled at by the tiny creature known as Damian Wayne.

The boys were what? Both in their 20s now? He thought, and it never ceased to amaze him just how long Jon and Damian had been in each other's lives. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't think they would have lasted this long at first. He remembered them absolutely hating each other when they first met. How Damian had basically kidnapped his own son and how Jon would go on complaining about Damian being arrogant and bossy, only for that to turn into Jon talking about how Damian was probably the strongest, most loyal, and caring person he knew, and Damian basically declaring how he'd protect Jon with his own life. It surprised him to say the least, but it was very much welcomed.

At some point, those admirations turned into affection. Clark remembered very vividly the day when a 14-year-old Jon bashfully admitted that he thought Damian was pretty; Clark nearly choked on his coffee, and Lois just smiled.

"Since... Since when was Damian pretty???" Clark was very confused, because sure, Jon would go on about how he admired Damian from time to time, but pretty!? Where was this going?

"Look, objectively speaking, Damian is a very pretty child. Look at his parents, his mom."

Lois said that last part with emphasis in her tone.

"I think it's pretty normal for Jon to start finding some of his friends attractive at this age. He's 14, and it's not Damian's fault that he takes mostly after his mom."

And it really wasn't, and perhaps Lois was right. Jon was 14, and so was Damian; it didn't have to mean anything other than an observation.

Clark relaxed a bit. Just because his son had said one little thing about his best friend's appearance didn't mean he was developing a crush on Damian Wayne...

Bruce Wayne's son...

Talia Al Ghul's son...

A bat...

"Oh my god..."

Clark was only relaxed for a good three minutes before he started spiraling again.

And Clark was right to spiral because, come two years later, at the ripe age of 16, Lois had the unfortunate luck of walking in on Jon defiling Bruce Wayne's youngest son on their family couch.

Jon froze, his eyes making contact with Lois's own, the sternness in her gaze basically reading 'Really? You should know better.' And he really should have. Jon should have heard her from miles away, should have heard his mom the second her car pulled into their apartment complex, but no, he was a bit distracted with his hands traveling up Damian's shirt and being straddled by the smaller teen as they made out.

And now here he was, staring at his mom with her arms crossed in the middle of their living room, with Damian still on top of him.

He should really move him.

"Mom... You're home early..."

"I texted you that I was coming home early."

"... Maybe call next time?" Jon said with an awkward smile, hoping that he could maybe charm his way out of this one.

"Oh, you are bold for thinking there is going to be a next time."

And with that, both boys were subjected to sitting at least five feet apart from each other, supervised until it was time for Damian to go home.

From that day on, Jon was not allowed to have Damian in his room with the door closed anymore.

And so here was Clark, staring at his 20-something-year-old son being yelled at by his significant other of at least eight years.

"I told you you didn't have to come for me! It was dangerous!! I'm not worth you getting hurt when I'm basically indestructible! How many times do we have to have this argument?!"

Jon was frustrated, if it wasn't obvious enough. Something about their mission going off track, and of course, Damian was willing to risk his life just to make sure that Jon was okay. Though Clark didn't understand why Jon was frustrated, because he was pretty sure, without a doubt, that Jon would do the exact same thing if it was Damian.

"We will have this argument as many times as it takes for you to understand that I don't care. I don't care that you're indestructible. I don't care that you can fly and have super strength and can shoot lasers from your eyes. I. Do. Not. Care. Because you, Jonathan Kent, are worth everything to me, and for you to say that you're not is the most idiotic thing you can say to me. And trust me, you've said a lot of idiotic things to me."

Clark thought that for someone so short, Damian sure had a lot to yell about. All valid, though; Damian was definitely keeping his word when it came to protecting Jon no matter what. In fact, Clark was pretty sure if this had been him and Lois, she'd yell at him all the same.

And then that's when it hit him.

Clark watched his son make his way towards him, still frustrated. Damian had already walked away after saying what he needed to say.

"Tell me, please, am I in the wrong here? Like I get where he's coming from, but does he understand that I don't think I can live with myself knowing that he'd get hurt because of me..." Jon looked at his dad with genuine concern and worry.

"You know... Damian reminds me a lot of your mom."

Jon's expression quickly went from worry to confusion.

"What?"

"Pretty sure your mom would have yelled at me the exact same way. I think she would have yelled at you the exact same way too."

"I'm so confused..."

"I'm saying that right there was your mom."

Jon watched as his dad said that last part with a bright smile on his face.

And then it hit Jon.

It had always been there, and Jon knew; he'd always known that Damian reminded him of someone. The way that they both were so independent and strong-willed, determined and persistent, intellectually curious, instinctual, and intuitive. Both so passionate about making the world a better place. And their unconditional love for him. Damian was so much like his mom, and Jon couldn't believe he didn't recognize it sooner.

"Looks like you and I have the same type."

Clark chuckled, putting an arm around his son.

"Dad, please, I really don't want to hear this right now."

"Like father, like son!"

"Daaad..."

Jon groaned into his hands.

[redvexillum]

Your one-stop shop of finding every single one of my Alastor x Reader stories with summaries! All my stories are posted on AO3 so click HERE if you want to read them there! 🥰

⋆˙⟡ — White Noise

Rating 18+ || MDNI In a world of static and sin, who’s really tuning in? You cuck Vox, your husband, with Alastor.

⋆˙⟡ — White Noise

Rating 18+ || MDNI In a world of static and sin, who’s really tuning in? You cuck Vox, your husband, with Alastor.

⋆˙⟡ — Enchanté

You, an incredibly optimistic individual, makes a deal with the Radio Demon. Impress him with one of your treats, and you get to keep your nicely renovated café. Simple, right? (only on AO3 for now)

⋆˙⟡ — Alastor Being a Lil Shit

A mixed form of dialogue/drabble styled story of how a sunshine-trope reader fell in love with a lil shit a.k.a Alastor and vice versa. Shenanigans, fluff, and maybe a bit of spice ensues. TL;dr two dumb idiots falling in love.

⋆˙⟡ — Catastor and Me

!!Ratings may change!! You and your feisty, chaotic cat Catastor are braving the fiery depths of Hell, just trying to find a place to call home. For Catastor, that place has always been by your side – but now, his territory is under threat! The scrawny, creepy Radio Demon has started pulling you into his world, and Catastor’s not having it. It's time for Catastor to rise up, claws out, and protect what’s his – because no demon is going to steal his favourite human without a fight!

⋆˙⟡ — The Adventures of Catastor & Co.

Dive into the wild antics of the chaotic Hell Cats—masters of feline destruction and unmatched cuteness! Chaos reigns, whiskers twitch, and claws fly in these purr-fectly disastrous adventures!

⋆˙⟡ — How to Train Your Deer Demon

Who would’ve thought the infamous, prideful Alastor could be brought to his knees? As a pleasure dom, you’ve faced your share of challenges, but taming the elusive Radio Demon? Now, that’s a game you never expected to win—until he started pushing all your buttons.

⋆˙⟡ — Tease You, Love You, Darling

It starts as harmless teasing—a playful back-and-forth between you and Alastor. But with a demon as notoriously petty as he is charming, you probably should’ve known better. One quip too far, and suddenly the stakes are higher, the tension thicker, and you’re left…literally breathless.

⋆˙⟡ — Convergence/Divergence

What price would you dare to pay… if you had the chance to do it all over again? Would you risk everything—your pride, your peace, your soul—for one more shot to make it right?

⋆˙⟡ — Little Red

Alastor, the love of your life with an insatiable need when it comes to your flesh.

⋆˙⟡ — Tell Me I'm Punny

Rating 18+ || MDNI You may have told Alastor that he wasn't punny and now...well...let's just say it was a mouth-opener.

⋆˙⟡ — Don't Call Me a Friend

Rating 18+ || MDNI You were peeved that somehow he still saw you as a friend.

⋆˙⟡ — Sensory Deprivation

Rating 18+ || MDNI Alastor's shadows ensnare and overwhelms you in a wicked game of dominance, leaving you breathless and craving for more.

⋆˙⟡ — SHOWER S♡X

Rating 18+ || MDNI Alastor has rescued you from the Vees, but you didn't smell like him. Well, this won't do. This won't do at all.

⋆˙⟡ — Branding

Rating 18+ || MDNI Alastor knew that you were a taken woman, and yet...yet, he wanted a mark of your love to him, so he hands you the knife

⋆˙⟡ — Infidelity

Rating 18+ || MDNI You know what you are doing is wrong - and yet, you continue to welcome Alastor into your arms while your husband remains blissfully unaware.

⋆˙⟡ — Costumes

Rating 18+ || MDNI Even though you knew Alastor hid behind countless masks, layering them one after another in your presence, it was in those rare, intimate moments—when he let the facade slip, when he entwined himself with you—that you realized, despite the pain, the betrayal, you would still choose to stay by his side

⋆˙⟡ — Jealousy

Rating 18+ || MDNI Alastor owns your soul—he owns you. So why, then, does he find himself aching when your laughter, your smiles, your warmth aren’t shared solely with him? Bound by the unspoken, you and Alastor tread an endless, delicate line. The feelings that burn between you remain unvoiced, holding you in an eternal dance—two souls walking side by side, desperately close yet never truly touching.

⋆˙⟡ — Obsession

Rating 18+ || MDNI Alastor loves you. This is love. It has to be

⋆˙⟡ — Naked/Clothed

Rating 18+ || MDNI Thirteen times. Thirteen times he'll push you past the edge until you can finally beat insomnia. Too bad for Alastor, that's not how you fix insomnia.

⋆˙⟡ — Missed Opportunities

Rating 18+ || MDNI You have reunited with Alastor in Hell, and after celebrating a holiday party at the hotel, he decided to take you back to his room. He has a gift for you, after all, and it’s meant to make up for all the missed opportunities you two had back when you were both alive.

⋆˙⟡ — Sincerely Yours

Rating 18+ || MDNI You betrayed Alastor once, back when you were alive—not out of desire, but because your family forced your hand. But now, in Hell, you've been given the chance to reunite with him. You loved him then, you love him now, and you still love him.

⋆˙⟡ — Silly Girl

In which you require liquid courage to try and confess.

⋆˙⟡ — Miss the Mark

In which you try to flirt with the Radio Demon, "try" being the operative word.

⋆˙⟡ — My Deerest Fan

You didn't anticipate sending a simple fan letter would grant you an audience with the infamous Radio Demon.

⋆˙⟡ — Cooking Together

In which you finally agreed to accept Alastor's invitation and cook his favourite dish together.

⋆˙⟡ — Confession

Alastor reveals his feelings the only way he knows how - radio broadcasting.

⋆˙⟡ — Massages

You had a terrible headache, but luckily Alastor knew what to do to help ease away your pain.

⋆˙⟡ — Ritual

You and Alastor had a ritual when you fall apart into pieces. He will always pick you up and put you back together no matter how many times it takes, no matter how long it takes.

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.11.

viktorxfemale!reader very explicit as usual, Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 9,5K (I'm so, so sorry)

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: timeline moves forward, Reader's POV, sensory deprivation oral sex (blindfold), light bondage, deepthroating with extra steps (full asphyxiation and yes, MORE BLOWJOBS), face-sitting, penetrative sex in good and bad version, Reader's anxiety and also: introducing angst that DOESN’T resolve within one chapter. Please don’t jail me ok? I’m doing a thing. Also, sadly, I'm explaining my own joke at the bottom.

author’s note: As usual, playlist here and artist is @petitesieste ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

In the hush of Viktor’s bedroom permissions are being asked in a tender brush of knuckles on your cheek and granted by a breath fanning the heel of his palm. You kneel on the bed with your hands bound in your front as he tightens the knot on the back of your head. The silk of his tie stretches across your eyes, nose, hugs your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

Then, hands come to cup your face and lips come to kiss yours. He lingers, mouth parted, thumbs sinking into skin. Your head follows when he parts you and he dares to chuckle when you whine at the loss. You reach out for him blindly, fingers curling behind his waistband and Viktor lets you, because at least you can’t see the look on his face. The goony, lovestruck, idiotic face he wears more often than not around you. The one he’s afraid will give him away sooner than any constipated confession.

He's too busy blinking it away to notice your mouth parting and coming to kiss him through his jeans. You rub your face on his groin, hands sliding beneath the shirt, cradling his waist and Viktor gets hard from this only. He groans and lets his head loll back on his shoulders. Just stands there cradling the base of your skull.

Greedy, your fingers find the front of his pants, knuckles brushing denim, the button too stubborn beneath your bound hands. You huff in frustration and Viktor laughs, low in his chest, like he can’t help it. “Did you miss me?” he teases, risking it.

“Insurmountably,” you murmur, and kiss the base of his cock through the fabric—right where the heat pulses strongest. The chuckle dies in his throat, softens into a moan as his hand tightens reflexively in your hair.

He breaks, right there. “I missed you so fucking much,” he mutters, voice catching on the edge of dignity. His thumb sweeps over your cheek as he loosens the trousers through shallow breaths. “Remember to—”

“To tap,” you interrupt gently, tipping your chin up even though you can’t see him; your smile like a secret passed between teeth. “Yes.” And then your tongue is on him, broad and sure, licking a long, torturous stripe from the base to the tip. Viktor’s breath stumbles and his hips push forward. Above you, he curses softly, hold tightening, his palms covering your ears.

And you wonder, briefly—so briefly—a thought unbidden and soft-edged: if this were your endgame, your ultimate kismet, would you have anything against it. The answer rises quick and sure. It comes shaped like Viktor’s cock nudging at your mouth, heat pulsing at your lips, weight pressing into the centre of you where your hunger lives. What was empty gets filled. Concepts fall into order. Gravity returns. You are back in your rightful place.

He enters slowly, groaning as you open for him. It begins with restraint—he feeds himself into your mouth in shallow, cautious thrusts, like he can’t hold back enough to not spill too soon. You feel him tremble and his knees lock. The sounds he makes are devotion incarnate.

Your blindfold heightens everything: the scent of him, the velvet drag across your tongue, the way your jaw stretches and your throat readies. You grip his thighs, hold tight, anchored by the flex of muscle under skin and the tremor in his stance.

Then, it deepens. His hands cradle your jaw, careful but persevering. One thumb strokes along your cheekbone, the other shifts to your neck. Fingers wrap around the column of it like he’s learning its weight, its warmth. You feel the tip of him push past your soft palate, deeper, deeper—and you relax into it, surrender, open and willing. There’s a noise from him, rough and broken, like prayer meeting ruin. “Fuck,” he breathes, thumb brushing your throat where he’s checking he hasn’t shattered you. “Look at you. Just—”

But you can’t. Not at yourself, nor at anything else. And maybe that’s what gives him permission say it. “I don’t deserve this,” Viktor whispers, hips rocking forward, the stretch of him becoming steady and starved. “I don’t deserve you.”

You hum around him, and he chokes on a praise. He begins to fuck your mouth in earnest now, the rhythm built on grief and gratitude and every word he hasn’t found a way to say. You take it all. You give him a place to come apart.

And still, somewhere beneath the slick and the heat and the obscene, there’s a tenderness so bone-deep it makes your ribs ache. Because he isn’t using you. He’s worshipping.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Viktor murmurs. His thumb strokes along your jaw, a soft touch. “Good girl.”

You inhale slowly, obedient, your chest rising against the binding of your arms. Then—he pushes in, deep, all the way, until the soft press of your nose meets the hard plane of his stomach. You feel his hand slide up, fingers brushing your cheek before he pinches your nose shut.

And then there is nothing.

No air. No sight. No sound—just your own pulse in your ears. The stretch of him fills you, roots into you, as your throat tightens gloriously around him. Wetness gathers in your eyes—first a shimmer, then tears slipping hot and helpless down your cheeks, dampening the silk. Your cunt aches from clenching around nothing. You are full and empty, and still you want more of both.

Because this—this must be the place. The one he made for you—where there is no world but Viktor. Blind and deaf to everything but the dictation of his body, his will. A space of surrender so complete it tastes like peace. You give in. You let go. You float.

He holds you there, trembling. You feel the twitch of his cock against your tongue, erratic and on the edge, like he’s fighting himself not to come. The pleasure rolls off him in waves and you drink it down, throat fluttering around him. You lose track of time. Seconds pass like heartbeats, loud and slow.

Just before the ache in your lungs becomes too much, he pulls back. Air rushes in. Spit wells from the corners of your mouth, trails down your chin as your head falls forward. You’re gasping, blinking behind the tie. Tears slide freely now, a mingling of release and craving and something naked you have no name for.

Viktor groans, his hands shaking as he catches you. “You didn’t tap.”

You smile. “Didn’t need to.” Your fingers find his waist again, reaching—needing—but he grabs your wrists before they find home.

“No.” His voice is wrecked, a soft tremor within it. “I’m almost there.”

Then he leans down, one hand cradling your damp face, guiding it up. It’s a calm, controlled mess-making, the kiss he gives you—all tongue and breathlessness, spit shared between parted mouths. It’s like you’ve come back from the dead and the first gulp of air hails from his lungs. Then, his forehead rests against yours. “And I really,” he murmurs, “really need to fuck you.”

I need to fuck you might be one of your favourite phrases to ever leave Viktor’s mouth. The honesty of it, always so uninhibited. And it’s not so much about the need or the fuck within it, it’s the you that usually gets you. Like it has to be you, or nothing.

His touch is gentle as it comes to the knot binding your wrists. “I want your hands on me,” he says, fingers working carefully, cotton slipping loose. The blood rushes back into your palms, tingling.

You flex your fingers once, joints making the softest sound of protest, then he’s guiding you back, lowering you onto the bed. The mattress shifts beneath you, the fabric cool against your skin. Viktor leans, head dipping down as he hooks his fingers into your waistband and tugs your trousers and underwear down together, slowly, scrupulously, revealing you by degrees.

When the last scrap of cloth falls away, he runs two fingers through the slick mess between your legs, catching the wetness and humming from the depths of his chest. “Would you look at that,” he mutters. “You really did miss me.”

You’re still panting, blinking under the blindfold, but you nod—it’s all you can do. Then his hands find yours again—this time to pull you upright. “Come,” he says, lips brushing your knuckles. “Stand.”

Confused, but trusting, you rise to your feet. Another kiss, deep, as he’s tasting the salt of tears and the warm echo of himself present in your mouth. His hand drifts down to your hip, then lower, and his voice drops to a whisper. “I want you to sit on my face.”

You inhale sharply. “Viktor?”

He smiles against your skin, teeth grazing your jaw. “You heard me.” A pause. “Unless you’d rather not.”

You shake your head, breath trapped. “No—I… I do. I want to, that is.”

Your knees feel strange as you climb back onto the bed. Viktor lies back without fanfare, tugging off his shirt as he goes, settling against the pillows. One hand reaches up for you, steadying as you straddle his chest and crawl forward, uncertain, muscles trembling.

You still can't see him. That's the part that breaks you open. All you have is the rasp of his breath, the groan he tries to swallow when your thighs frame his face, and the way his hands come to grip your hips. His voice is far gone, lost to want. Just a hum now. Just heat.

“God, yes,” he breathes, all muffled beneath you. “Come here. Come here.”

And then he’s on you, or rather, under. Tongue splitting you open, licking as if you keep the future between your thighs and he’s starved for premonition. He consumes you, and there’s no grace in it. It’s the absolution-chasing, home-seeking, affection-starved work—dedicated where you are tender, brutal where you are resistant. Unwavering, because it’s a ritual—obliteration, then resurrection—your body learning itself again under the weight of his hunger.

Your mouth parts on a moan that doesn’t even sound like you. His nose nudges your clit, tongue drags up through everything slick and wanting, and it’s beyond vulgar how wet you are for him. You don't even know when you’ve began to grind down—just that his grip tightens every time you roll your hips, that he’s groaning now, mouth open wide to catch more.

“Viktor—” you sob, but you’re not sure what the rest of the sentence was supposed to be. Everything is too much. It’s too fucking much.

And Viktor moans like he’s the one being fucked. Hands sliding up your back, then down again, pulling you closer, keeping you locked in—a man drowning and clinging to the weight that’s killing him. His tongue moves in delirious, godless circles, your clit pulsing against the firm press of his mouth. Every time you flinch, he does it again. It’s all he wants—your need, your ache, your tender undoing.

“Oh—fuck—Viktor—”

The space of forgetting is within reach—announced by the bite of nails on skin and relentless tongue. You think you feel him muttering against your cunt—something slavish and trembling—but the words are lost to your womb. There’s a shudder and coiling tension that makes the muscles burn. You could end him right now and he’d thank you for it, you are certain. Is he still breathing? Irrelevant.

Then, a new sound: a desperate, wrecked whimper—his—and your hips stutter. A punch of unfiltered lust lands in your gut, making your skin ooze sweat and your eyes weep. You have no memory of when your hands found his hair—only that they’re there now, fisted tight at the roots, uselessly anchoring yourself as your body moves with a will of its own. The tie is soaked at the edges where your tears have leaked and dried and leaked again. You can only feel him—the effort of it, the dedication focused on breaking and mending.

He’s moaning again—loudly now—into you, like the sound itself might get you there. Like he’s chasing your orgasm with everything he’s got. “Viktor,” you gasp, barely hanging on. “Don’t stop—I beg you, don’t stop—”

And then—no pretty sound, no buildup—just your entire body bowing forward like your ribs are collapsing inward from the force of it. Your legs go stiff, then loose. Your cry breaks in the middle, hips still twitching, mouth slack with shock. It rolls through you like heat lightning—shuddering, seizing, then gone—and still he doesn’t stop, licking you through it, humming like he’s coming too just from tasting you fall apart.

Only when your breath turns ragged, and your hands lose their grip does he slow. He kisses your cunt now. Just kisses. Little open-mouthed things, loving and sloppy. He eases you down, hands warm and sure, guiding you with more care than you expect from someone still panting like that.

You feel him shift—then suddenly your body’s moving, being guided down the line of his chest. The scratch of his hair, the thud of his heart under your palm.

Then—

Mouth.

A deep, weeping mess, tasting of sweat and want and you. You sigh into it, stunned at the blunt honesty of it—your very essence on his lips, the thick fever of his tongue. His breath is uneven, his hands cradle your face again like something dearest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, mouth catching on mouth. “I might want to make this a regular occurrence.”

Your fingers thread into his damp curls. You offer a weak smile and a kiss of what’s left in you. Let him have it, all of it. Let him drink you down and pull you close and fuck the air from your lungs if he wants. He’s earned it. Apologized enough. You’ve both earned it.

You end up curled on your sides, still tangled in sweat and spit and the smell of each other. His thigh slots between yours, cock thick and flushed where it presses against your hip, twitching now and then with leftover hunger.

He reaches up slowly, fingers finding the knot at the back of your head. “Let me see that pretty face,” he murmurs, voice spent and wanting all the same.

The silk loosens. Light returns in a blur—the soft and hushed gold of the nightlamp. His eyes drink you in, and then another kiss—your cheeks first, where your tears have dried into salt, then the corners of your eyes, your temple, the swell of your mouth. All of them, many thanks.

“Brave girl,” he whispers into your lips. “So good for me, letting go like that. Letting me take care of you.”

You don’t say anything, just exhale a sound that isn’t quite a laugh or a sob. Your fingers clutch at his forearm where it wraps around your waist. He noses at your cheek, finds your mouth and it’s deeper this time, needier, so when he pulls back, he’s panting.

“Do you have one more in you?” he asks. His voice is a petition held at bay, full of quiet plea. He nudges forward just enough for you to feel him—hard and insistent between you, leaving a smear of precum on your belly. “Can I have you?”

You hum against his mouth, lips brushing lazily as you tilt your hips forward, the length of him catching perfectly between your thighs. “One more?” you echo, voice syrup-thick. “Greedy.”

Viktor grins, eyes half-lidded, hair damp against his forehead. “Insatiable,” he corrects, the barest push of his hips proving the point.

You smile, then rock forward just enough to make him hiss. “Are you asking or begging?”

He exhales, then kisses you like he’s trying to bite the question from your mouth. “Begging, if that’s what gets me inside you.”

“Thought so.” You reach between you, fingers curling around him—hot, flushed with wanting, and suddenly you know why he was whimpering like a dog beneath you. He shudders when you guide him to your entrance, the wet slide so easy it should be outlawed.

Looking you square in the eye, he sinks in—a slow, torturous stretch of muscles still wound up tight from all his effort. Through a long, dragging glide of his cock, he claims the space he’s already ruined and worshipped, and you have to take a deep breath to welcome the stretch.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, as if it’s ever different. It’s always slow, always thorough, because Viktor wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t fuck you at a funeral pace, just to study your expressions frame by frame. He rolls through your core in short thrusts, falling deeper and deeper until he’s buried to the hilt, and you are joined by everything possible—foreheads, arms, chests, stomachs, pubic mounds, thighs, knees, and feet. One body again, only like this entertaining the concept of becoming perfect.

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his neck, holding him while his hips work in steady waves. He keeps his face close to yours, eyes shut, breath hitching every time your body clenches around him.

It’s not just the molten warmth, not just the friction—it’s the proximity, the distance between you shrunken into nothing and still he tries to crawl deeper, seeking the hidden bottom. More of your breath in his mouth. More of the soft gasps to swallow like wine. His name falling off your tongue in the dark.

And you do your best to meet him, to match the challenging rhythm that puts you to a test not through pace, but through natural rawness that makes all things nude ashamed. “My girl,” he croons, the word barely a sound, all wet vowels trying to convey much more than the bare claim. He kisses your mouth, your chin, the hinge of your jaw, and it’s all tender and keen like a fresh lover would be.

It’s then when he fractures—his voice splintering like brittle timber. “Will you fuck me?” he whispers, a beg so exposed, the words tremble in the tiny universe between your lips. “Please—just—fuck me, I need you—”

You still for a moment, stunned by the surrender his voice carries. Unable to deny him, you initiate another gentle collision of mouths and tongues to soothe him through the wildness.

It takes only one roll of your hips for him to shudder. Do it again, and he moans like he’s dying. You set the rhythm now, steady and grinding, every press of your body against his—a drip of permission to make himself gone. His hands slide to your hips to hold onto something, and his gaze fixes on your face, like he’s watching salvation unfold.

“F-fuck,” he breathes, head falling against the pillow. The thought remains unfinished.

You keep moving through shallow breaths, arms wrapping around Viktor’s neck. Bodies locked in, bathed in the heat of one another, his cock buried deep in you with every full grind. He’s so hard inside you, you almost pity him. Cock pressed up into the place where everything folds open, each time you drag yourself on him, the stretch burns just right.

Ever the giver, Viktor squeezes a hand into where you are grown together, just barely. Fingers slipping between your wet and his, he circles your clit with precision that borders on cruel. Wrapped all over you, holding you in the crook of him, he works only by memory, and it’s frightening how well he remembers you by now.

“You are so lovely,” he whispers, voice breaking on a moan. “Taking me so well, ah fuck—”

And you’re going in blind yourself, dizzy on how intense it’s getting. No blindfold needed, you feel him in the dark and the quiet—getting close, closer, always so close. All you can do is move, let him whisper filth and worship into your skin while you pulse tight around his cock, the friction sharper, wetter, as your hips begin to slap against his with a vulgar echo.

“God, yes, just like that—fuck me, fuck me till you break—”

What Viktor says, you do. It rises like a tide, sweet and devastating, building at the base of your spine until your breath is gone and your body seizes with your face pressed to his neck. A strangled cry announces the orgasm slowly tearing you in half, and he holds you through it, cock twitching, as if your body summoned his ruin.

He follows you with a deep groan, loud in your ear, filling you up with his cum. You feel it flood you in thick, hot pulses, spilling out where you’re joined. Too much to hold—it trickles down your thighs, dripping onto the sheets and you mourn each and every drop of Viktor that didn’t make it.

There, you both still, with hearts racing and chests heaving. You become an unmovable object that swells where Viktor softens to compensate the threatening loss of fullness. Needy, God knows for what, your limbs hold him tight, and he finds whatever strength is needed to wake his body back up. He kisses your temple, your jaw and cheek—every place a blessing.

Finally, you exhale through your mouth, lips forming an o as you settle, your breath brushing across his throat. Viktor watches you through hooded eyelids, the corners of his mouth lifting into something soft and real.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, fingers tracing lazy shapes on the slope of your hip where it traps him.

“Yes,” you say, nuzzling into his collarbone, nose brushing the line of his neck. “I feel more like myself. You?”

“Same,” he says. “Have I atoned?”

“Oh, God yes,” you breathe, eyes falling shut. But your brows pull together the next moment. “Still, I want no more of that. Why wouldn’t you even respond to my texts?”

“I… don’t know,” he says, jaw tightening. His fingers go still.

“Viktor,” you press, lifting your head just enough to look at him. “You said something about honesty a while back?”

He huffs through his nose, a faint smirk curling one corner of his mouth. “Are you going to use everything against me, officer?”

“If you force me to,” you reply, nose wrinkling as you mimic his accent just a little.

“I—” he hesitates, eyes flicking away. “Eh, perhaps you’ve figured this out already,” he adds dryly, “but I don’t like weaknesses.”

“You think this is a weakness?” you ask quietly, thumbing at the crutch rested by the bedside table.

“Is it not?” His voice is careful, devoid of drama, as though he’s said it to himself a hundred times before.

“Viktor.” You brush his hair back, fingertips pausing at his temple. “It’s only a weakness if you let it.”

He scoffs under his breath. “I think you are much too kind. I am more self-aware than you think.”

“No, this is nonsense,” you mutter. “Viktor, you are—” Frustration rises, since what you want to say, you cannot. You hesitate. “I—”

“You are doing very well,” he mocks lightly, dragging out in a tone of fond sarcasm.

“Shut up, I’m not best at this,” you grumble, swatting at his chest as heat creeps up your neck. You exhale sharply, squinting at the ceiling like it might help. Then, with great effort and zero ceremony, you settle on a very costly and thoughtful: “You are very good.”

Viktor outright laughs. It bursts out of him, honest and loud, and his face buries against your neck, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“What?” you demand, swatting again, though your tone betrays your grin. “Stop laughing at me, you bastard.”

“Nothing,” he wheezes. “Ah, I’m sorry.” He kisses your shoulder. “You are so sweet.” Another kiss. “Thank you. You are very good too.”

“I will take it,” you mutter, cheeks still warm.

A pause. His thumb strokes along the back of your hand. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“I have to meet Mel, she’s been on my ass the entire week,” you say with a sigh. “But that’s in the afternoon.”

“I will take it,” he echoes, with a quiet contentment that glows behind words.

It’s tangled sleeping after that, Viktor wrapped around you like a vice, his neck already moulded to the shape of your head. In the morning, he makes the coffee. It grows cold while he lovingly spanks you and fucks you again, gets reheated, and there’s a real threat it’ll cool once more when he pulls you into the kitchen chair and lets his fingers roam between your ass cheeks until you squeal and bite his neck in self-defence.

It’s all patched up loosely, the weird, fragile space between you—exposed now more than ever, vulnerable to collapse under silence. And there’s plenty you could do to reinforce it, but that would require words. So it brings you back to square one, where every emotion is expressed through the body alone. A slow walk through the purgatory of affection.

When you leave, Viktor kisses you like you’re sailing off for another decade—his hands lingering on your cheeks, his mouth hesitant, greedy. It feels good. Real. And still, the moment the lift doors slide shut, something presses down on your chest like a sandbag. You’d left once before under the same spell, warm with the promise of soon, and he vanished. So the seam holding you together now—it’s not watertight. It’s stuck with chewing gum and good intentions.

You meet Mel in Fitzrovia, at Kaffeine on Great Titchfield Street—an achingly sleek spot, all matte black walls, and the hum of restrained ambition. You're dressed in something easy: wide trousers, soft jacket, hair pulled back without much strategy. Mel, of course, is immaculate. Oversized sunglasses despite the cloudy sky, nails like lacquered glass, a coat tailored to make a statement even when hung on a chair. She watches you approach from behind the veil of lenses, lips pursed around the straw of a green juice.

“Well, well, well,” she greets you like a cartoon villain, row of whites flashing and disappearing when her lips form a pout. Coffee already waits for you.

“Three holes in the ground,” you reply, setting your bag down beside the table, beyond pleased with your joke.

Mel laughs and shakes her head, extending out a hand to grab yours. “Oh, you know where you can put that bullshit.”

You quirk a brow, innocent smile playing on your lips. “Up the Elephant and Castle?”

“Cor blimey,” she exhales, absolutely butchering Cockney accent, and you laugh. She slides her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. “You seem to be in a brilliant mood today. Has Viktor fucked you so well?”

Your throat catches around the sip of flat white you’ve just taken. “W–what?”

“You heard me,” she says, entirely unbothered. “I told you—I’d find out sooner or later. Now is later. Spill.”

“You don’t take prisoners, do you,” you mutter, looking anywhere but at her. Oh God.

“Honey,” she leans in, catching your gaze, “two minutes in the room with that man and you were drooling. I knew as soon as you walked into the parlour. And well,” she drags, hand waving around self-explanatory, “then Jayce saw you practicing some full frontal snogging by the loo.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You bury your face in your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I tried! You were working like an idiot last week.” She flips open the menu with one hand. “How long?”

“Uh… since your birthday?”

She makes a sound that’s somehow both your name and a reprimand.

“What?”

“That’s… three months? You’ve been dating Viktor—Jayce’s best friend—for three months and didn’t tell me?”

“Dating is a big word, okay?” you say, already feeling the defensive edge creeping into your voice. “We’re just… hanging out.”

Mel snorts, waving the server over. “Oh no, you are not. What are you, twenty?”

You order without looking up. Your pulse hammers despite the casual front. She’s too close to the truth and your brain is already spiralling to every vulnerable thing you’ve said, done, felt in the past twelve hours. “Mel,” you say, trying to level your tone. “It works, alright? He offered. We tried it, and it works. It’s all good, I promise.”

She points the waiter to positions on the menu, and then looks at you as if she’s seeing what’s inside. “What if it stops working?” She asks, honest, not a trace of judgement.

You shift in your seat, folding your hands beneath the table. “Are you worried about the group?”

“Vaguely.” She slips her thumb under one of her rings and twists, idle and graceful. “It took us some time to get you guys to meet, I’m sure it would be possible to reverse. I’m mostly worried about you. And well, about Viktor too, I suppose.”

That part you weren’t expecting. You blink at her, brow pulling in. “If anything happens, I’ll be fine.” You pause, test the weight of the question before letting it out. “Why are you worried about Viktor?”

Mel stills, thumb freezing against gold. It’s almost nothing, but you see it—how she recalibrates in an instant. When she lifts her head, it’s without artifice. The sunglasses come off entirely and are placed next to her water glass. “Oh, darling,” she says, quiet, like a sigh brushing the surface of a wound, “you really don’t see it, do you?” It’s a side of her she shows seldom. No polish. No posturing. Just her, plain and luminous. There’s something terrifying about being seen so clearly.

“What don’t I see?” you ask, the question coming out sharper than intended. You squint at her, as if narrowing your eyes will guard your chest.

She only exhales through her nose, lips twitching into a lopsided smile that isn’t smug—just sad. Then, with rare tenderness, she reaches across the table and covers your hand with hers. “Just be careful not to hurt him, alright?”

“Mel, don’t be like that with me,” you say, a note of pleading buried under exasperation.

“Hon,” she begins, almost gleefully, “let me tell you something. You wouldn’t spot a good guy if he sat on your face.”

You glare. “I know he’s good, Mel. It’s not about that. None of us has time to get fully engaged, I—”

She leans back, giving you room but not retreating. “As long as you’re both happy, I’m no one to judge.”

“And you will judge if I’m not happy?”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’ll be there to pick you up. I’d rather not, though. I think you make a cute couple.”

“Are you even listening to me?” You are whining now.

“I will if you spill me some tea,” she grins. “Is Viktor as freaky as I suspect him to be?”

You groan and reach for your coffee, hiding your face behind the cup. “Sod. Off.”

Mel leans back, pleased with herself, twirling her straw. “I knew it,” she sings, biting into her food with all the satisfaction of someone who’s just won a bet.

You laugh helplessly, the sound spilling out of you before you can contain it. It bends you at the waist, warm and shaking, and for a moment you’re not thinking about Viktor or your own nerves; you're just laughing.

Mel watches you with something between amusement and relief. She takes a sip of her coffee, merciful now, choosing not to dig further. “Alright,” she says, lifting her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose like lowering a curtain. “No more cross-examination. Tell me about Baal. Are your actors still determined to out-weird each other?”

You lean back in your chair, shoulders finally beginning to unknot. “They’ve started doing warm-ups in character. Full shouting matches. There was fake blood on a chair last week, but no one claimed it.”

“Delicious,” Mel purrs, as if it were gossip about Parliament and not a deranged theatre production. “Who’s sleeping with who?”

You pretend to hesitate, then lower your voice. “Oh, everyone with everyone I believe. Except the lighting tech and the lead. Apparently they made a pact not to hook up until after opening night.”

Mel’s eyebrow arches above her glasses. “Professionalism is so passé.”

You talk like that for another hour, until your coffee turns cold, and the streetlights start to blink on outside. When you part ways near Goodge Street, Mel hugs you lightly and says, “Take care of yourself, alright?” You nod, pretending that her voice doesn’t sound too much like a warning.

Sunday returns you to the theatre—notes, scenarios, and planning on everything you haven’t done last week. And the theatre, as usual, returns you to chaos.

Rehearsals for Scottsboro Boys are deep in the unhinged stage—final blocking meets creative panic. You spend the week stitching together bits of ego and confusion, fixing things that should’ve been sorted a month ago. No crisis, just a hundred small ones.

Until Wednesday. The first sign of trouble is the way Charlie leans against the office doorframe, one arm crossed over his chest, the other holding his tablet like it’s committed a personal offence. “You’ve seen the tap shoes?” he asks.

You look up from your screen, already wary. “They were supposed to be back yesterday. Rehearsal wardrobe inventory was cleared last night—are you sure?”

Charlie doesn’t say anything. Just slowly shakes his head.

You pull up the prop and costume ledger and scan the notes, frown deepening. Delivered to J Rogers & Sons, cobbler’s note said to expect them Thursday. Confirmed dispatch. You pick up your phone.

It takes two redirects before someone at the repair house picks up. You rattle off the show name and the order number, brisk and increasingly sharp. They make all the right noises at first—"Yes, that was sent off last week" and "Should have arrived already"—until a pause stretches. A longer rustle on the line. Then a muffled curse not meant for your ears.

“…Right,” the voice returns, sheepish now. “Found them. Looks like they never left the main storage. I'm so sorry about that.”

You close your eyes, steady your voice, knuckles cracking against the desk. “Okay. When can you drop them off?”

“Er—” There’s hesitation. “We’d need to organise a courier, might be Friday? At the earliest?”

“That’s too late,” you say flatly. “We’ve got rehearsal tonight. They’re needed.”

“Well,” the voice hedges, “we’re still open for another two hours if someone can collect?”

You press the heel of your hand into your eye socket—of course. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

You hang up and glance over at Charlie. “Can you sort a driver? Or a cab?”

“Already trying,” he says, tapping at his phone. His mouth pulls tight. “No one’s free. Every driver’s already on a run and the apps are choking—rush hour.” Of course they are.

“Do you want me to go there on city bike?” Charlie offers, only half-joking.

“Christ, don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff, but smile despite yourself. “Also—I need you here, light setup. Let me think.” You eye the clock. There’s no way a courier will make it in time, and you’re not about to send ten pairs of hand-stitched period shoes across half of London in the back of some random delivery scooter. But the idea of weaving through afternoon traffic on a city bike with a duffel full of irreplaceable footwear is... deranged. Your fingers hover over your phone. It’s either make a stupid call or ruin tonight’s rehearsal. You sigh and tap in Jayce’s number.

“Hello! You are on speaker,” Jayce beams, like he’s halfway through a pint and enjoying himself immensely.

“Uh, okay? Hi Jayce, I’m sorry to call you like this—”

“Ah, what do you need?” he cuts in, too cheerful to be innocent.

“Am I that obvious?” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I need a lift.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry but I don’t have my car today,” he says, sounding truly bummed. “Mel dropped me off.”

There’s a muffled shuffle, followed by Viktor’s voice calling out in the background, slightly distant but clear enough: “I could… drive you? Or you can just use my car if you promise to get it back in one piece?”

You hesitate. “Ah, you see… I can’t promise that. I—” You drop your voice to a mutter. “I can’t drive.”

A beat. “I’m sorry, you what?” Viktor’s voice now sharper, closer to the mic.

“I don’t have a driving licence,” you repeat, a little louder this time, eyes fixed on a crack in the laminate flooring like it might swallow you whole. Charlie mouths a what?

“Seriously? How did I not know this?” Jayce jumps in, theatrical with disbelief.

“Can’t drive is not something I put on my résumé, Jayce.”

There’s a quick puff of laughter from Viktor, then a pause before he says gently, “Well then. I’ll drive you. Where do you need me?”

Between my legs, preferably. “I think it’ll be faster if I just take the tube to the Institute. Less backtracking.”

“Alright,” Viktor replies without hesitation. “Meet in the parking lot in twenty?”

“Perfect. Thank you. And, uh, thanks, Jayce, I guess.”

“Anytime,” Jayce replies brightly, as if he actually helped. “Tell Viktor to drive safe. Fragile cargo and all that.”

You put your phone down and sigh to stop yourself from groaning. “Ah, would you look at that?” Charlie chirps. “Thank God for a chivalrous fuck buddy, am I right?”

“Charlie.”

“Here are your city shoes my captain,” he says with a grin, waving two ballet flats in each of his hands. You snatch them and shake your head but smile again.

On flat feet it’s easier to run toward the tube and step from one leg to the other, the too-thin soles of your shoes slapping against the pavement in uneven staccato. The wind is picking up, biting at your ankles, but the momentum keeps you warm. Still, your stomach twists as you approach the designated spot—what are you even supposed to do when you see him? Handshake? Hug? Wave like he’s your fucking landlord?

You spot him before he spots you. Of course he’s already here—of course he is. Leaning one hip against the car like a goddamn editorial spread, one hand curled loosely around the handle of his cane, the other tucked into the pocket of a wool coat that looks both well-worn and devastatingly expensive. The rest of him is just as maddening: dove-grey jumper stretched over the long frame of him, dark trousers that taper perfectly to a pair of boots sheened with the kind of shine that says I care, but not too much. He looks... effortless. Effortless and hot.

He catches your eye and lifts a hand to wave, cane tipping upward with it.

You walk up briskly and aim for safe ground—a kiss in the air beside his cheek—but he catches you with an arm around your waist, pulling you into him. His mouth finds yours like it’s been waiting all day, urgent and warm and demanding, and you melt before you can think better of it. Hands roam, steady and shameless, and you only manage to pull back enough to mumble your worry against his lips, “What if Jayce—”

“Jayce knows,” Viktor rasps, mouth trailing the corner of yours, lips dragging over skin. His breath is warm, uneven, and then he’s kissing you again—sloppy, open-mouthed and a little too eager, as if the mere idea of losing the chance is intolerable. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you,” he murmurs straight into your throat, words slurring. “He saw us in Soho.”

You blink, dazed, trying to remember how to connect vowels with consonants as his hands crawl all over your waist and pull you flush. “Well, shit,” you manage, breath hitching when his teeth scrape your bottom lip. You clutch at his coat, trying to stabilise yourself—or maybe him. “Mel knows too.”

His brows knit, but he doesn’t stop. A hand cradles your cheek, tilting your head so he can have more, deeper, messier. Elegance all lost—just need and heat and the hint of a groan when you surrender into it. Then, finally, he pulls back just enough to search your face.

“Is that bad?” he asks, voice low, thumb ghosting your temple.

“A little,” you admit, quiet.

That’s when it stops. He really looks at you—one of those unnerving, surgical stares he gives when he’s trying to solve something. His hand lingers against your cheek, thumb swiping your jaw like he might coax the rest of the answer from your skin.

But before he can speak, you shake your head. “I don’t have much time.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, stepping back and opening the car door with a tilt of his cane. “After you.”

You slide into the passenger seat, momentarily confused about the sides, trying not to let your face betray the way your heart’s still tripping over itself. The door shuts with a weighty thunk, and the cabin is warm, quiet. Intimate.`

The car hums to life beneath you—a sleek, vintage Saab 900 Turbo, navy blue with a matte finish. Unassuming at a glance, but once it moves, you feel it: precise, responsive. Like him.

“Seatbelt,” Viktor says, one corner of his mouth twitching.

“Yes sir,” you mutter, clicking the belt into place with exaggerated obedience. “Is this car an antique?”

He hums, both hands resting lightly but surely on the wheel. “It was my father’s,” he says after a beat. “So, I suppose, yes.”

You look around the interior—leather worn to softness, details immaculately kept. “It suits you.”

He glances at you again, one brow faintly raised. “Are you saying I’m old-fashioned?”

“In a way, yes.”

“And where am I taking you?”

“30 Liverpool Street.”

Viktor nods and merges into the street’s slow-moving rhythm, one hand steadying the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, long fingers flexing with each change. You look out the window at first, the city sliding by in shapes and colours—but then your gaze drifts. Inevitably.

His hands. His profile. The focused slant of his eyes. His posture, stupidly both good and hunched. And that ridiculous combination of wool jumper and coat, somehow professorial and not all at once.

He’s not just attractive. He came for you. He’s supposed to be working, and instead, here he is—his hand brushing your thigh, his presence quietly absorbing. You blink the thought away, catching yourself just as he speaks.

“What’s the emergency, then?” Viktor asks, glancing over without losing focus on the road.

You sit up straighter, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Tap dance shoes,” you mumble.

He chuckles immediately, warm and low. “Of course.”

The pick-up is uneventful—the cobbler’s assistant offers an apologetic smile, and the boxes are light enough that Viktor insists on helping you, cane hooked on his arm. The drop-off is just as smooth: Charlie is already waiting by the stage door of the Young Vic with two lighting techs and one of the younger cast members in tow.

He jogs down to meet the car as Viktor idles by the kerb. Leans in through the open window, smirking. “You look a bit pale,” he says. “Do you want an evening off?”

“Are you my boss now or something?” you shoot back, brow arched, arms crossed on your chest.

Charlie only grins, maddeningly pleased with himself. “Yes, and a merciful one. We got this. Go home, seriously.”

You hesitate—glance toward the building, the techs unloading—but it’s clear he means it.

“Fine,” you exhale, letting it go with a little nod. “Thank you.”

He waves you off with a mock salute. “Go rest that theatre-damaged soul.”

Back in the car, Viktor settles without a word, hands resuming their position on the wheel. “To Hackney then?” he asks, already checking the mirrors.

You nod, quietly, and he pulls away from the kerb. He doesn’t ask if you want to come to Islington instead. Doesn’t angle the moment for more. And that somehow feels worse—because it’s kind. Because it’s easy.

You stare at the road ahead, then sideways at him—at the clean line of his jaw, the sleeve of his coat brushing the gearstick, his quiet breath in the cabin. This is the first time you’ve spent time together outside of his flat without pretending you don’t know each other. No pretext. No cover. No sex.

Just a ride. Just Viktor, offering help, being present. There’s a new kind of intimacy in that. Unspoken, unbidden. It presses against your ribs. You should be glad, but you’re not sure what to do with it, or with him. With how he’s suddenly threaded into your life, effortlessly, sincerely—beyond the walls you’ve so carefully kept.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Viktor says as he turns the engine off. He doesn't move to unbuckle. Just waits.

“I’m… knackered,” you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. The pressure doesn’t help. Something rises anyway—panic, low and tight, rattling in your chest like a wind-up toy.

He reaches for you—just his little finger brushing your thigh, shyly, pleading. His head is bowed, gaze somewhere near your knees, and you wonder if he can see the edge of the eyelet running up from your heel.

“No attitude today, hm?” he murmurs, and there’s a kind of gentleness in it. Almost sad.

And you can’t bear it. So you do what you do best. Where words should be—Do you want to come in?—there’s nothing. You don’t have them. Instead, you shift. Take his hand and guide it between your legs.

Viktor smiles. Soft, sombre. Because he already knows he won’t be warming your bed tonight.

You lean over and undo his seatbelt with a click. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t smile. Just watches you like you’re something unfolding—inevitable yet fragile. His fate meets acceptance.

Your knee brushes the handbrake as you turn toward him. You move slowly, like sleepwalking into a decision you’ve already made, coat slipping open, skirt rucking up, spine popping at angles. He gets it. Slides his seat back in silence, the leather creaking under his weight. It’s all a wordless choreography. You rise from your seat and crawl into his lap without ceremony, thighs straddling him, hand braced against the fogged glass.

He tears your legs wider with a grip just shy of harsh. You can’t tell if the sound that leaves your throat is a gasp or a sob, doesn’t matter. There’s no room for language here, just breath and friction. Your hips start to roll—slow, testing the fit of his lap beneath you, the heat, the give. The steering wheel groans when his knee knocks it aside. His fingers bruise into the meat of your thighs.

Then mouths find each other. At last. And now no words feels justified.

It’s not a kiss so much as a crash. Your tongue slides into him, deep and unrelenting. He groans into it, low in his throat, and you swallow the sound. His hands are beneath your coat, beneath your skirt, one callused palm cupping your ass to rock you harder against him. You feel the strain of his cock beneath you, thick and growing, and your own body responds with a wet, desperate pulse.

Your whimper is muffled against his mouth. His hand tightens. For a second there you spot him from under hooded eyelids and he looks like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. Instead, he grips you like a man begging not to be left behind.

Your breaths fog the windows. The coat slips from your shoulders, the skirt hikes higher, and Viktor’s hand finds the seam of your tights. One sharp tug—violent and necessary—and the crotch gives way with a tear. The sound sits somewhere next to the scramble of breathing between you, as if it’s not coming from the inside of the car.

You don’t stop him, don’t speak either.

He works between your legs, fingers slicking through you just once before he groans, lifts his hips, and unfastens his belt with a roughness that makes the car shudder. You reach down without thinking, curl your fingers around the thick, hot weight of him. He’s already hard, leaking. It’s almost cruel, how ready you both are for something neither of you know how to carry.

There’s no room to adjust. No room to take a breath that pleases the lungs. You rise to your knees on the narrow strip of leather and angle yourself down, the head of his cock catching, slipping, before he grips your hips and pulls you down onto him in one sharp thrust.

The jolt punches the air out of you. It’s not graceful, nor tender.

You rock, hips shoving forward like a fight, grinding down hard to keep him inside. The angle’s awful—shallow, hot, brutal—but you don’t care. He’s in you. That’s all that matters. His mouth finds your neck, teeth dragging hard enough to bruise, the rule of leave no trace forgotten. One hand claws your back. The other fists the torn waistband of your tights. He wants more of you. He always wants more.

The windows steam over entirely. The seat squeaks. Your knees start to burn from the angle, but you don’t slow down. You chase the sharp edge of this thing, the way his eyes pinch closed, the sounds he makes when your cunt clamps around him.

It’s ugly and desperate. It’s a breath away from something real, and that’s what makes it bitter. Because the flat is a few steps away. A bed. Clean sheets. Warm light. His body in yours, soft and open. But you won’t cross that line.

So instead, you fuck like you’re punishing yourselves for wanting.

You ride him into the seat, frantic and shallow, the rhythm all friction and ache. It's almost like the first night—tights torn, shoes still on, no time for undressing. Just the throb between your legs and his cock buried deep, anchoring you. It’s just that then, it held a promise of something new to be built—now it threatens to break it.

You brace a hand on the window handle, the other fisting in his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. He hisses, sharp teeth grazing your jaw. But then, his fingers curl around your wrists—tight. With one swift pull, he wrenches both arms behind your back and holds them there in one hand. Your balance shifts. Your chest hits his, and he licks a line up your neck, slow and filthy.

Then his mouth finds yours. His tongue pushes deep, and his teeth catch your bottom lip. He bites—hard enough to sting—and you gasp into him. "Do you want me to touch you?" he rasps, voice low and rough, his mouth dragging along your cheek.

You nod, and breathe out a quick, "Please."

Something flickers across his face—an old woe or a darker sorrow. You can’t read it, no time. "Beg me," he says.

Your thighs twitch where they straddle him. You rub your face against his, wanting something you have no name for, breath catching on your own need. "Please, Viktor. Please, touch me—need it, I need you—"

He says nothing, but his free hand slips between your legs, thumb finding your clit like he’s done it a thousand times before, and it’s not short of the truth. He circles it, firm, and unforgiving, and your whole body shudders.

Where good girl should be, there’s only the sound of your breath falling apart.

The worst thing is—a week ago, you would’ve been ready. Back when his silence didn’t trigger a massive influx of anxiety. Back when your last memory of Viktor was him taking care of you in a sodden restaurant bathroom and then bringing you home like you were his. Back when he said I like you, and you believed him.

Now, all you have is a seedy fuck with no děvče moje in sight, and the naïve hope that none of your neighbours will recognise you stumbling through your front door, thighs clenched to hold in his cum until you reach the bathroom.

His fingers circle tighter, meaner, the rhythm relentless. You grind down on him like you’re trying to rub the ache out, like you’re trying to find something he’s not giving. It’s too much friction, too messy, too fast. The car shakes. He watches your face like he’s waiting for something, but gives you nothing in return. No kiss. No name. Just his cock buried deeper and his hand cruelly patient between your legs. It builds in spite of him. In spite of you. Shame hot in your throat, the climax drags itself up from your spine like a sob.

And when it comes, it’s like it’s taken from you—wrenched out brutally, no praise to encompass it, no soft words to carry you over. Just the tightening of your body around him and a cry that sounds almost angry in your throat, like your pleasure has betrayed you.

Viktor groans, teeth bared as he follows, hand tightening on your wrists, hips stuttering against yours with a final, aching push.

He comes with a sharp breath against your throat. Heat spills in and over, thick, pulsing, and he holds you there—keeps you locked against him like he can force it to mean something. His cock twitches as the last of it leaves him, breath hoarse, jaw clenched. One of his hands slips, cradles your nape instead, trembling faintly. He doesn't speak. The air reeks of sweat and sex.

“I suppose we can cross car sex off the list?” Viktor offers finally, forcing a smile that splits you in half.

You let out a hollow laugh, too quick, too thin, and nod as you push the damp hair from your forehead. His hands hover—unsure, unlike him. Normally, he'd hold you until your pulse settled. Gently kick you out to the bathroom and then drag you back, greedy with touch, curling you into the heat of him until breath and sweat and sleep blurred together.

Now he just looks. Still inside, softening. Like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. "How are you?" he asks, tone alien. "Do you need anything?"

You shake your head, slow. “You?” You glance down between your bodies. “Your leg—was that—?”

He waves a hand, brushing the thought aside. “It’s fine.” A pause. “I think I’ve got some tissues…” he mutters, half-turning toward the glove box.

But you shake your head again. “It’s fine, I live right here.” Silence drapes over the car like condensation on the windows—cloying, and suffocating. His hands move to your hips again, but this time not with hunger. With reluctance. Mercy.

“You should go rest,” he says, quieter now. “Catch up on sleep.”

You scramble off his lap, legs trembling as you adjust your skirt. The sudden loss of him hits harder than the sharp scent clinging to the car. A flicker of heat rises behind your eyes. You press it down. Swallow it.

“I guess… goodnight then?”

“Goodnight,” he says quietly. No kiss. No brushing of your wrist. Just that one word, clipped neat.

You open the car door. The night air stings like a slap, and you don’t have it in you to look back. The fogged windows blur any trace of him anyway. Up the steps, fingers numb around your keys, you let yourself into your flat. The door clicks shut behind you. Shoes off. Straight to the bathroom.

There, under the too-white light, you lift your shirt—nothing.

No mark, no claim, no outline of Viktor on your skin. Only the angry bite on the side of your neck and a faint reddened dent left by the waistband of your tights. You run your palms over your belly like you’re searching for some imprint, some proof, but it’s smooth beneath your fingers. Ordinary.

Your throat clicks shut. You slump onto the toilet lid, hands splayed over your stomach.

And sob. Not a pretty cry. Not cinematic. Just a full-bodied collapse that leaks from your mouth in silence, shoulders shaking like you’re trying to contain something much too big. You feel scraped out. Cold in places you didn’t know could get cold. Touched, but not held. Known, but not kept. And it’s by your hand only that you’ve made yourself cold, untouched, and unkept—because Viktor’s hands were there, ready to cradle, ready to hold, when, in your panic, you slipped through his fingers.

—

So, for the exchange between Reader and Mel: it’s a classic, Cockney banter. When someone starts the conversation with “Well, well, well,” a way to respond is “Three holes in the ground,” because it’s three wells. And wells are holes in the ground. Get it? Following in, Mel responds with “Cor blimey,” which is a Cockney-d version of “God, blind me,” – and exclamation one would make to express something like, “Oh my God.” And she does it poorly, because she is posh. And finally, “Up the Elephant and Castle,” – Elephant and Castle is a centre area of Southwark (a borough of south London) which in Cockney slang means “ass.” Reader is not Cockney by any means, but through years of living in Hackney, she’s adapted some of the slang. And if you remember, in the last chapter, Jayce had greeted Viktor with the same phrase, to which Viktor replied: “Well, well, well, what?” There, jokes also have lore apparently.

[leighsartworks216]

A Bargain Struck

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Next Chapter

I almost forgot to post this today!! When I say it's been a day y'all, it has been a day

Warnings: swearing, fear of infection, intimidation, child death (mentioned), implied murder

Word Count: 923

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You think this is some joke to him. He’s walking ahead of you, albeit incredibly slowly, while you shuffle along the wall, scraped hands guiding you through what you can only assume is a cave. The walls are rough and jagged, not to mention winding. You think you feel doorways, but every time you start to turn into one to try getting any vague impression for what’s inside, he chastises you with an amused, “Over here, pet.”

You huff when your toe hits stairs. “This is your home?” you bite. You shuffle one foot forward to feel for the next step. What a nightmare. “Were you raised by Wanderers or something?”

He chuckles deeply. It reverberates around the hall. “It’s much worse than that.”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“Hmph. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Asshole.”

“Careful, pet. Your god is watching.”

The cave is cool, seemingly untouched by the sun outside. The chill numbs your feet, bites at your fingertips. Even your ceremonial garb does little to keep you warm. You just bite your cheek. You’re already a prisoner here, best not allow yourself to be too weak around him. A difficult task, indeed.

You misjudge one of the steps. Your toes just catch the edge, but it’s not enough to support you and they slip. With no railing to hold, you cannot grasp for support. You tip backward with a shout.

Something hard wraps around your waist again. It holds you tightly, shoving you forward and onto a solid platform. Had that been the top step? You’re sick and tired of landing on your hands and knees like this.

You’re released as you sit up, back finding a solid wall to lean into as you cover your heart and will it to stop racing. “Ah,” you pant, “thank you.”

The “wall” suddenly steps away from you, and you catch yourself in another heart-stopping moment to save yourself from tipping backwards. “I won’t save you next time.”

“Let me go and there won’t be a next time.”

He chuckles, but it lacks any real mirth. “Get up. Or do I have to drag you the rest of the way?”

You sigh. Still, he doesn’t rush you when you sit a moment longer to calm your heart. Ever since you were a child, your health was of the utmost concern. You couldn’t do anything with the other kids, and not because of your lack of sight. Even braille books were considered too dangerous. The risk of a paper cut getting infected and killing you was a risk nobody was willing to make. As such, this much excitement was a shock to your system.

And suddenly, you find yourself worried about the tiniest cut getting infected and killing you out here.

You reach out, feeling for the real wall this time. Loose sand scrapes beneath you as you bring yourself to your feet. “Do you have any medical supplies here?”

He starts walking again and you follow.

“Would you be able to use them if I said yes?”

You wish you could see, just so you could smack him upside the head. “You keep underestimating me. I suggest you stop now before you embarrass yourself.”

“That’s a gamble I’m willing to take.” He sighs, sharp and tired, annoyed. “I might have some around.”

“Well, do you have water, at least? Clean cloth?”

“You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“And you’re an insufferable bastard. Neither of us are too happy with each other, but if you won’t let me go, I suggest you do the bare minimum and allow me to clean my injuries,” you hold out your palms, unsure if he’ll even see them, “so I don’t get sick and die.”

His steps come to a stop. You stop with them. Your skin prickles and crawls, unsettled and on edge. His steps approach. You lean your shoulder into the wall, holding your ground rather than being backed up to some other possibly dangerous or deadly area in the cave.

“Tell me a prophecy, and I’ll get you your medical supplies.”

You scoff. “It’s not that simple. It’s Astra who picks and chooses what futures I see. I know nothing of you. All the prophecies I know right now are for the people in the city.”

Is that his breath fanning across your face? You flinch back at its heat. You feel like an injured rabbit facing down the maw of a starved wolf.

His voice is low when next he speaks. “Then tell me one of them.”

You turn your face away. His breath hits your cheek, though tendrils of the air brush down your neck. You suppress a shiver. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “There’s a scholar there. He studies the heavens and tracks their movement. His parents are anxious for him to conceive an heir. His wife is pregnant now, but…”

“But…?”

“... The child… will be a stillborn. They won’t know the cause of death, and that shame will fall to the mother. She won’t live long after, either, once the scholar crumples under the disappointment.”

He hums. The heat of his breath disappears. “I’ll get you your medicine. Next time, I’d be interested in hearing a prophecy of my own future.”

“Then you’ll have to pray to Astra. Only he can grant you the knowledge you seek; I’m just the messenger.” “Well, messenger,” he steps around you and nudges you with an elbow, “this is where you’ll sleep. Try not to fall down the stairs looking for me.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[feverish-dove]

Secrets in the Stone World

moments when you share a hidden language with the worlds favorite scientist (well technically he’s the only one, so does it really count?). “this is normal japanese” “this is english” Senku Ishigami x Reader warnings: oneshot, fluff word count: 1,051 cross posted on ao3 this is intended to be a sequel to my other post, Sun Kissed Science, yet can be read as a standalone work!

It had become a daily ritual.

Each morning before the village awoke you sat near the river, carefully applying Senku’s homemade sunscreen. The mixture, though slightly grainy, had saved your skin from the brutal Stone World sun, and you weren’t about to risk another burn.

Today was no different. You were finishing up, rubbing the last bit onto your arms, when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re up early.”

You glanced up to see Senku standing a few feet away, arms crossed and that usual confident smirk tugging at his lips. His clothes were slightly disheveled, as always, and a few stray strands of hair fell down even more than usual.

You smiled. “I could say the same to you.”

He let out a chuckle. “Science doesn’t wait.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the warmth in your chest. Ever since Senku had made the sunscreen, you’d started spending more time around him—not just because of his intelligence, but because he made the Stone World feel a little less… overwhelming.

He stepped closer, eyeing your sunscreen application with an approving nod. “Looks like you’ve got it down.”

“Of course. I take my sun protection very seriously.”

He smirked. “Good. I don’t feel like making another batch every few days just because you forgot.”

You nudged him playfully, and he easily dodged, chuckling.

Then, before you could say anything else, a voice called out from the village.

“Hey! Senku! We need your help with—”

You winced, struggling to catch the rest of the sentence. The villagers spoke fast, and even though you had learned Japanese before the petrification, it still took you a few extra seconds to process what they were saying.

Senku, of course, noticed immediately.

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and calculating. Then, in a lower voice, he said something that made your heart stop.

“Do you want me to translate?”

Your breath hitched.

English.

Your native language.

It had been so long since you’d heard it spoken fluently that for a moment, it almost didn’t register.

You stared at him, stunned, before managing a hesitant, “You… speak English?”

Senku smirked, eyes glinting. “Of course I do. I learned it when I was a kid. Comes in handy, don’t you think?”

A slow smile spread across your face. “You have no idea.”

For the first time in years, you felt a sense of ease wash over you. No struggling to find the right words, no awkward pauses while you pieced together sentences—just effortless conversation.

And judging by the look in Senku’s eyes, he understood exactly how much this meant to you.

From that day on, English became your secret language.

Whenever you got stuck in a conversation with the villagers, Senku would subtly switch to English to help you out. Whenever you were overwhelmed, he’d make an offhanded joke in English just to see you smile.

It became second nature.

The others, of course, were completely baffled.

“Why do you guys always talk in that weird code?” Kohaku had asked one day, arms crossed. “Is it some kind of secret science language?”

Senku had just smirked. “Something like that.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

The only person who caught on was Gen.

One evening, as you sat near the fire, Gen plopped down beside you with a lazy grin.

“So, you’re fluent in English, huh?”

You nearly choked on your food. “Wait—you too?”

Gen chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Of course~! I used to travel a lot before the petrification, so I picked it up along the way.”

You gaped at him before turning to Senku, who looked entirely unsurprised. “You knew?”

He shrugged. “Gen’s annoyingly talented. It’s not that shocking.”

Gen feigned offense. “Annoyingly? Senku, I’m hurt.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, so it’s just the three of us, then.”

Gen wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooooh, does that mean we have a secret club?”

Senku rolled his eyes. “It just means we have another way to communicate. Which, by the way, could be useful if we ever need to discuss something privately.”

You nodded, understanding immediately. Having a language that no one else knew could be an advantage—especially in situations where secrecy was necessary.

But even beyond that, it was nice.

Nice to speak without stumbling over words. Nice to feel completely understood.

Nice to share something with Senku.

One night, you found yourself sitting beside Senku near the edge of the village, watching the stars.

It had been a long day. You were tired, but your mind was too restless to sleep.

Senku seemed to notice.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at you.

You sighed, hugging your knees. “It’s nothing. Just… thinking about the past.”

He hummed in understanding. “You miss it?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “You’ll see it again, you know. Civilization. Science. Everything we lost. I’ll bring it all back.”

You turned to him, studying his profile in the moonlight. His expression was unreadable, but there was a fire in his eyes—a determination so unwavering that you almost believed he could rebuild the world overnight.

Your heart clenched.

“I know you will.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Damn right I will.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer ‘brilliant.’”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, the sky endless above you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at peace.

Then, without really thinking, you murmured, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Senku blinked, caught off guard.

You felt your face heat up. “I mean—not that I’m glad you got petrified too, but—just, if I had to be stuck in this world, I’m glad you’re part of it.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, he chuckled.

“You’re such a sap.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as you turned away, you caught something unexpected—something rare.

A small, genuine smile.

Not his usual smug grin. Not his teasing smirk.

Just a quiet, sincere smile.

And suddenly, the Stone World didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hello can I have an ask about reader who came from our world who is a big fan of predators who can read, write and speak their language and fight like them too gets teleported to yautja prime and I guess she was looking around for shelter and she found a clan so she entered their clan grounds hoping she doesn't get killed and she found a pyramid (from what I remember seeing in one of the movies) which turns out to be where the clan has its important meetings. And the elder clan leader let's call him Kar'dokh (if you don't mind) was having meeting with other nearby clans so reader accidently enters the meeting room filled with other clan leaders and their most trusted soldiers standing by their side and the silence was LOUD

Reader: .... 

Kar'dokh and the other clan leaders: .... 

*Kar'dokh gets up about to kill her*

*Reader speaks in yautja*: wait I mean no harm I swear!! 

And like all of the yautjas were flabbergasted to find this out and they were suspicious of her cause how does a human know so much about their people? (cause in the world no human ever went to yautja prime) so word got out and everyone wanted to see the human including people from other clans, so fast forward reader and kar'dokh got close -e ends up liking her try's courting her but she pretends to be oblivious to it

Kar'dokh: ooman

Reader: yes? 

Kar'dokh: why do you refuse to be my mate? Am I not a worthy enough male for you? I have you know I have strong seed to sire strong pups so why do you refuse me? 

Reader: what...? What do you...huh? Kar'dokh you are an alien I wouldn't even be able to give you children! 

Kar'dokh: my people's technology can fix that issue so be my mate

Reader: I... I can't 

Kar'dokh: and why not? 

Reader: because I'm human!!! 

Kar'dokh: not valuable reason. Try again

Reader: why do you even like me!?!? Kar'dokh: because I am attracted to you

Reader: *tip toe’s and manages to grab him by the shoulders* raise your standard!!!!

Kar'dokh: *slams hand into metal and puts a deep dent into it then proceed to grab her by the risk*

AND BOOM he pounces on her, corners her against the wall gets her to confess her feelings and they do the super Spicy boombayah doggie style😉

And she somehow got pregnant a few days later 

SORRY FOR IT BEING LONG!!!!! 

To Another Realm

Pairings: Kar'dokh (male yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 5271

Summary: After being transported to another realm where yautjas are real, you learn to survive. With the help of Kar'dokh. A clan leader of a strong tribe. If it wasn't for him, you would've been long dead your first day. Close proximity and his help made the two of you grow close. To the point there was no space between you two.

Author Note: IM SO SORRY ITS TAKEN ME FOREVER TO GET TO THIS. I've been so busy. Work just changed my 6-2 to a 10-6 and I'm now moving an hour away. So I'll be taking a small break as well for that for writing probably. Maybe... I don't know.

Also! I do have a patreon now: link There are three tiers. Those get the post earlier. Everything will still come out. I'm tweaking things as I go.

Masterlist

Ao3

Wind rushes passed you. The ground comes and meets your face with a dull thud. Blackness is all you see.

A throat-tearing gasp wracks your body. You sit up rapidly and start to violently cough, trying to figure out how to steady your breathing. It takes a moment to steady yourself enough to wipe away the tears from your face and gaze around. What you saw wasn’t what you were expecting.

Jungle. Tall, lumbering trees towered high above you. Heat and humidity smacked you in the face. The air was hard to breath. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen, like you had been shoved onto of a mountain without any time to acclimate. You struggled to your feet and glanced around. The area felt weird. It was as if your internal compass was thrown off completely.

Where were you?

Only thing you could feel besides the confusion was dread. A heavy thing to sit in the pit of your belly, weighing you down. You placed over your heart and took in deep, calming breathes. A difficult thing to do when it feels like you’re slowly suffocating. You pushed through the dread and began to move in a random direction. There had to be some sort of clue to as where you are… and how you got here. The last thing you say doesn’t correspond to waking up in a forest!

Due to the lack of air, you could only walk at a moderate pace. That already had you panting slightly. The terrain was rough and unsteady. Thick foliage, fall giant trees, wide creeks, and boulders made the trip all the more difficult. You had to push forward though and find some sort of clue. Sweat and humidity sticks to your skin like a sheet. Your clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. No matter how much you pulled the drenched clothing away from your skin.

Hours, or what felt like hours of traveling, later, you spotted something through the foliage. It rivaled the trees height. A structure! You immediately started to quickened your pace and race through the foliage, not caring if the branches tore at your clothing and skin. You panted heavily by the time you pushed past the lush bush. You stood there and dragged your gaze up, up, up until you find the top. It was a pyramid. A pyramid in the middle of the jungle. Was this somewhere that had Aztec or Mayan buildings? That’s all you could come up with.

It was in pristine state, as if you had been transported back in time. Like this was the day it was built. You can’t recall anything from anywhere that had something like this. With your heavy breathing, you had to stand there for at least ten minutes, under a tree, catching your breath. The sun was harsh. It felt like you were in a desert, in middle of the day. It nearly burned your skin by standing out in it for a short period of time. You glanced at the building after catching your breath once more. You wanted to go inside. Who knows what’s beyond its walls? Could be an earth shattering record?

With a deep breath you pushed onward and stepped into the blazing sun. Even the intensity felt off, the rays as well. Yet, you didn’t have an idea on what is happening. Besides this being a terrible dream. Stuck in a hot, humid jungle with no phone, no map, no clue where you were. A hopeless situation to be put into with your lonesome.

Large stairs that reached your knees slowed your ascend. Halfway up, you had to stop and take a moment. “This. Is. Bullshit,” you muttered to yourself then continued up the stairs. The material was textured and a deep ruby red with blocks of black. It was beautiful despite you sweating all over it. Does a dream really make you sweat this much?

By the time you had reached the top steps, you feel faint, ready to fall back down the stairs you just climbed. You stumbled your way into the entrance, thankful for the cover. The sun had done a number on your skin. The heat that radiated off of you could make water boil off of you. Your back touches a wall before you slide down to sit. Your legs were more than thankful for the rest. There had to be at least on-hundred steps. Minimum. It was worse since they were made for bigger people.

All because you wanted to see the inside. This better be worth it.

Once you felt stable, thirty minutes later, you weakly stood up. Your legs wobbled when you took a step. You continue on and follow your way inside. Only to realize it had a stairwell. You growled and glared at the damn thing. Then, you take the slow and approach of climbing down each step. It wasn’t much to complain about. Only about two flights until you reached the first floor. Now, it was time to explore.

There was something in the air that had you on alert. Either from the creepiness or from the fact you felt like you were crossing into forbidden territory. You tread quietly, peered around corners before doing down that hallway. The place felt like a maze, meant to drag you deeper and deeper into the depths. Until you from yourself all the way at the bottom level.

That; s when you realize that the only reason you’re able to see is from fire lamps. Lamps that have to be lit by someone. You stopped in your tracks and looked at the walls. In your blind stupor, you didn’t think to look at the walls. Walls that are decorated with stone carvings. Carving that made you think of the movie ‘AVP’. This is really a dream.

You walked up to the carving and gently ran a hand over the smooth stone. Beautiful work. Someone had poured their heart into the crafting a story into the stone. Your gaze drifts over the art work and followed the story down the hallway. All the way to a grand door at the end of the hallway. It was too carved with a mixture of stone, word, and some sort of ore. You stopped in front the door with your jaw dropped.

Curiosity got the best of you. Both of your hands were place on one of the doors.; With all of your weight and strength, you pushed open the door. Your head was ducked down as you struggled the entire time. Just enough until you could slip between the new crack. You stepped into the room and instantly freeze on the spot. That dreadful feeling only intensified… tenfold. You picked up your head and had to cut off a gasp.

Tens of eyes stared at you bright, fierce gazes that looked ready to tear into you. Your muscles locked in place as you stared out at the group. You recognized them. Yautjas. These were Yautjas. Twenty or so. All of them staring at you. Your heart pounding in your chest, trying to escape from the situation you’ve put yourself into.

At the end of the long, formal table, one grand looking Yautja stood up abruptly. Others following suit. The first on marched around everyone and advanced swiftly towards you. You stumble backwards and smacked into the closed door behind you.

Two long blades slid out and glinted off the low light from the fire lamps. Your eyes about bulged out of your head as you looked at the approaching Yautja. Seeing them in movies was far different than seeing on in person. Not that you ever thought you would see one like this. Your hands lifted up in a complacent manner, as if you were trying to call down an angered animal.

“Wait!” you screamed, using a language you never though to use. The Yautja stopped in his tracks his muscles tense. Everyone else pausing as well. “Don’t… don’t kill me.” The unused language was choppy on your tongue. You never thought you would ever use it. Not that you had anyone to use it with.

Surprise over took his anger in the moment. His eyes roamed from head to toe. “You spoke.” It was a statement rather than a question. The words takes a long few seconds to register in your brain. A bit of excitement flares to life inside of you at the knowledge you understand him.

Timidly, you nodded your head. “Yes. Did. Not well.” You did your best to communicate with him, hoping to keep yourself alive. The other Yautjas with him, hoping to keep yourself alive. The other Yautjas behind him glanced at each other, confusion evident in their eyes. Some looked angry. One stepped out from the group and tried to bypass the main Yautja standing less than ten feet from you. He sticks his arm out and stops the other one.

“No, Taural,” he growled but didn’t let his bright vibrant eyes off of you. You felt like a deer in headlights, just waiting for them to do something. For them to decide your fate. There was no running, no fleeing. You couldn’t outrun them, there was no chance of escape. You had to think smart.

The one he stopped snapped his head towards the larger male. “It’s a ooman, Kar'dokh! On Yautja Prime. It needs to be killed,” Taural spat at the brown Yautja. Your heart leapt into your throat. Kill you?! But-but, you’re not a threat, you have no weapons. They have no reason to kill you!

“No.” Such a firm statement that left nothing to be argued. “Return to your seats. Now.” A command that left everyone only to followed. They followed his order with little resistance. Some glanced back at you with murderous intent. Part of you was thankful for the mercy while the other was afraid what he might have in store for you.

Kar'dokh approached you once more with a stern look in his eyes. Instantly, like a cornered animal, your first thought was to throw a punch. But, you didn’t want to give a reason to kill you. Don’t be a threat. He stopped directly in front of you. A towering form that made you feel like you were going to shit yourself. Your heart raced and felt like it was going to leap directly into his hands.

He leaned down and got directly into your face. You tried to turn your head away but he grips your chin and forces your head back. “No threat. Can’t… kill me,” you continued in choppy Yautja. The fear that gripped your heart squeezed hard. All you could do was stand there, under his scrutiny. Your eyes pleading for your life to be spared. Because if your memory served you right, from all the knowledge about these guys, they shouldn’t be allowed to harm or kill you in any way. You aren’t a threat and hold no weapons.

“How do you know?” he growled out lowly and tightened his grip on your chin. You since. “How did you get here?” You could see the questions swirling in his eyes the longer you he stared at you. He was trying to figure out where and how you got here.

Longer you stood there pinned to the wall, you grew more lightheaded. Either from the anxiety that ran through you or the lack of oxygen was starting to get to you. Maybe it was the fear of death right in front of you. Or maybe it was a combination of all of that. Your breathes started to come out fast the longer you were pinned. Darkness began to crowd your vision.

“I-I’m gonna pa-pas out,” you alerted to him before everything went dark. You collapsed on the ground. Kar'dokh letting you dropped. The last thing you remember is being picked up.

By the next time you woke up, you felt a bit refresh. Your eyes blinked open to stare up at a patterned, carved ceiling. Carving like the ones you’ve seen on the pyramid walls. Your brows furrowed at the sight. What? You sat up and rubbed at your eyes. The scene didn’t change. You had just woke up. What in the world were you still in this dream? Fear started to fill your stomach. No… surely, this was a dream. Was this a dream?

Then, a door opening caught your attention. Your head snapped over towards the sound. Kar'dokh was walking into the room, head held high. He stopped besides the cot you had been placed on during your forced nap. Stunned, you peered up at him, heart thundering again. “What happened?” you asked, speaking in your normal language now. Then, you felt the blanket that had been laid on you, slip down. That’s when you realize the room you were in was a medical room. And it didn’t feel like you were suffocating anymore.

His nearness was frightening. To see him crowd into your space without any remorse for scaring you terribly. A grumbled came from the towering, brown giant. “Our planet’s atmosphere isn’t designed for oomans.” His voice! He spoke in Yautja but a monotone voice sounded in your ear. A translator.

It’s thought that they breathe nitrogen more than oxygen. They can survive in our atmosphere than us in theirs. “A regulator has been added to our respiratory system.” Kar'dokh leaned into closer into your space. Your natural reaction was to move away but he snatched your throat and tugged you back. “Now, that I know you won’t die before I get my answers: start talking.”

Worst of all, you don’t know the true answer to his questions. He didn’t look like he would accept ‘I don’t know’ as an answer either. You forced down the lump in your throat. “Uh, what was the questions again?” you asked in a small voice. As much as you wanted to shy away and hide, the grip he had on your chin was firm. There was no escape.

He scowled at you and tightened his hold on you for a moment. “How did you get here? Who brought you onto our planet?” The deepness and anger in his voice was laid thick over you. It rattled you deep to the bones. Fear gripped your heart. The more you looked at Kar'dokh, the more you noticed how decorated he was. Kar'dokh was covered with plenty of bones and scars. From your knowledge, he must be a well decorated hunter or possibly an elder… or a clan leader. That had your heart dropping to the floor, at his feet. You whimpered quietly and closed your eyes, trying not to faint again.

“Answer me!”

Your whole body jerked from him but he brought you back to his space. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I promise. I woke up in the middle of the jungle. I-I walked around and found this place. I don’t know how I got here. Honestly!” you had to plead to him. Hopefully, he’d see the honesty in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You cracked open an eye to read his face.

The gears in his brain were spinning. Kar'dokh growled then let go of your chin. With a yelp, you fell back and nearly fell off the cot if it wasn’t for him grabbing the collar of your shirt. He hauled you back up into a sitting position. Far too close. You could see the speckles in his eyes. Beautiful but deadly. This creature could easily hurt and kill you with a fraction of his strength. The only reason you are alive currently was you weren’t a threat nor an honorable kill. Those… others wanted to kill you with little remorse or pause. Was that honor rule not true? If that was the case, you were a walking corpse. Soon to be a skull on the wall. Nothing more than a trophy.

Kar'dokh eases off of your shirt until he knew you won’t fall backwards again. “Thanks,” you murmured and drifted your face down towards the cot again. Your hands were folded in your lap, nervously playing with each other. “I’m being honest. I promise. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even know where I am. This isn’t earth, is it?” You gazed back up at him, eyes large and wide.

The two of you entered a short staring contest until he sighed and took a step back. “I believe you, ooman. I don’t smell another on you.” The brown Yautja leaned forward and sniffed you for a moment. “You do smell… strange.” Was that a good or bad thing? He stood back up and stared down at you from over his mandibles. “Do answer me this: how do you know that we can’t harm you?” Your breath got caught in your throat. Was it wise to release such information to him? Would he think you as insane?

But, the only way was to get through all of this is to be honest. From there, it would be up to Kar'dokh if you are to live. Putting your life in someone’s hands.

“Okay… you might not believe me though.” From there, you went into explaining what your world is like. Going deeply into about how Yautjas are a fake species, made up. All of them a fantasy that someone made up… until now. Kar'dokh took all of it. His stern face a wall of impassible features. Not even his eyes gave away a single emotion. By the end, you finally stopped and watched him closely.

During your whole talk, he had grabbed a chair. Kar'dokh stood up and uncrossed his arms. “All you’ve said is… unrealistic, though you arriving on Yautja Prime is also next to unrealistic. Oomans aren’t allowed on Yautja Prime but… you are  a special case now. If what you say is true then you must be kept alive.” That made a cold drop drip down your spine. What could that mean?

From that day, you were under lock and key by Kar'dokh or in a medical-like room. They would run tests on you yet they couldn’t come up with anything logical for your situation. In the meantime, you got to learn more than ever about them. Probably the first and only humans to step foot on Yautja Prime. Alive. It took time to get Kar'dokh to open up but your excitement about learning their culture and language inevitably softened him up enough. That’s when you learned more about him. Plenty for a well decorated warrior and clan leader to talk about.

Two years after you first dropped down onto their planet, the scientists were still scratching their heads. They haven’t figured out how you’ve made it here. They were able to find out you weren’t from their universe. Something about your cells were different. That’s as far as they’ve gotten about your situation.

On a different hand, you’ve gotten further with Kar'dokh to the point he allows you free roam of his home and the clan he leads. There was a strict no harming or killing on you. He had his name and symbol burned into your skin to ensure everyone knew you were off limits. Everyone kept a wide berth when it came to you. Rarely did anyone talk or looked at you. Something you used to your advantage. For the most part. Until you wanted to learn about their culture more.

Back in the comfort of Kar'dokh’s home, you were studying the language. A soft, thin, knitted blanket laid over your legs while you were curled on the couch in the living room. The language… was different. But Kar'dokh was more than helpful when it came to speaking and writing. Listening, that’s a whole different story. That’s all on you. Your brain is completely scrambled trying to understand the different clicks and trills they make.

With a groan, you flopped back against the back of the couch and tilted your head back, eyes closed. A familiar presences hovered over you, blocking out the light. You cracked open an eye then softly smiled at him with no teeth showing. “Hello, Kar'dokh. Come here to gloat about my struggles?” you teased him.

The brown Yautja placed his hands on the top of the couch and leaned over you. His long, dark tresses curtained around his head. “What are you struggling with?” he asked you, features soft and calm. You continued to gaze up at him. “I told you I’m here to help you.” He has changed since the first day you met him. You’ve cracked past his hard exterior to see how soft and kind he could be. You sat up and brought up the sheet of paper you were on. Kar'dokh grabbed it and looked at it closely.

Kar'dokh snorted then used a sharp nail to flick off the translator right behind your ear. Then, he began to speak in Yautja. “What it is saying is…” he spoke the word but it didn’t register in your brain. The confusion etched in your features stated you didn’t understand it. At all. Kar'dokh repeat it a few times. “Now, you try it.” The course of two years has greatly improved your Yautja speech and understanding. There are moment when you struggle… but Kar'dokh is there to catch you before you fall.

At first, the word choppily fell from your lips. Kar'dokh was patient in helping you get the word. The different facial structures definitely made it all the harder. Yet, Kar'dokh was patient with you the entire time. Even if it took all day for you to finally get it.

Once you finally got it, Kar'dokh purred and grinned at you. He combed his fingers carefully through your hair. “You did so well. I’m proud of you,” he praised to you.

In the pit of your stomach, butterflies erupted to life. Your eyes softly shut as you enjoyed the comfort his presence and touch offered. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you,” you muttered softly in Yautja. The words were starting to fall from your lips with ease. His nails raked across your scalp. You sunk further into the couch with a deep groan.

A chuckle comes from the brown Yautja. You feel his presence grow closer, his heat washing over you like a blanket of comfort. One of your eyes barely cracks open to see his bright yellow one staring directly at you. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pecked him on one of his mandibles.

The whole world froze. Your heart dropped to your stomach. Internally, you were cursing at yourself. You flinched and tried to slip off the couch to put some distance between the two of you. When a hand snatched the back of you neck, lifted you over the couch, and dropped you right in front of Kar'dokh. Your shoulders scrunched up, eyes not daring to look him in the eye.

Rough finger pads gripped your chin and forced you to look directly at him. A lump began to grow in your throat the longer you stared at him.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just-I don’t know. It just happened. I do have feelings. I don’t know if you did. And I probably just ruined what friendship we had. Now you’ll probably hate me. Please, don’t. I don’t know what I wo-“ a tongue was shoved into your mouth and promptly shut you up. Your eyes fluttered shut.

An arm snaked around your waist and tugged you close to a feverish body. Your own arms wrapped around a sturdy neck. Kar'dokh guided you towards the nearest wall and trapped you between him and it. You are forced to pull back and pant for breath. The back of your head resting against the wall.

“That’s one way to make me shut up,” you teased him and leaned up on your tippy toes to place a kiss to his lower mandible. “I’m not complaining though.” Kar'dokh growled lowly in the back of his throat and dove back into another kiss. You immediately responded in haste, hands roaming over his shoulders and felt up his powerful body.

As your hands dipped lower, Kar'dokh pressed himself harder against you. One of his legs pressed between your legs and forced them open. You gasped into the kiss but he doesn’t let you pull away this time. A rough textured hand palms at your hip for a moment before dipping under the hem of your shirt. The difference in temperature has your hair standing on edge. He continues to grope at your newly exposed skin.

For a moment, he moves back a fraction to give you a moment to take a breath. His large, brown forehead was pressed to your own. Piercing yellow eyes stare directly into yours. The hand under your shirts drifts up and skims under the swell of your unbound breasts. You gasped and arched your back, pressing yourself more into his touch. His eyes flared with fire, mandibles twitching wider.

There’s a long second passed before he rips your shirt off of your body and frees your torso. Kar'dokh’s gaze was immediately admiring the new skin he exposes. Both of his hands palm at the supple, soft skin of your breasts. Large thumbs toys over your nipples and draws them into peaks. You whined and curled your hands into fists. One snagging a dark tress of his. He purred deeply and pressed his mouth to yours again in a fierce fight for the top. Kar'dokh easily overtakes you.

You tugged on his tress. His dark nails dig into your ribcage then he pinched and twisted one of your nipples. A gasp tore at your throat and forced you to pull away from him. Your hips rutted down on the thigh between them.

“Kar, no more teasing. Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you begged him, breathless. His irises darkened.

With the open invitation, Kar'dokh simply rips off your pants and under in one move. A yelp escapes from your throat but he ignores it. The brown Yautja bumps his knee further up and grinds against your exposed slit. Heat flushed to your cheeks at the feeling of a dripping mess making its way to his thigh.

Drool drips down his jaw. Kar'dokh grips your hips and easily lifts you off of the ground, keeping you pinned to the wall. Instinctively, your legs attempted to wrap around his waist but he was larger than you. He uses his hips to hold you up as he undoes his loincloth and tosses it to the side. Your gaze is drawn downwards.

Hot and heavy. Kar'dokh’s alien cock is nestled between your thighs, resting on your stomach. The tip reaches your belly button easily. Oh shit. You felt yourself clench around nothing at the sight.

One last look in your eyes, he draws his hips back. The tapered, neon green tip was pressed to your entrance. Then, with a swift thrust, he lodges himself as deep as possible, only able to get about halfway in. Your back arches off of the wall as a wail falls from your lips. The sheer size of him makes it hard for your walls to even clench around him.

Kar'dokh uses a hand to ensnare your throat and forced you to look at him. “I know you can take more.” Another draw and thrust of his hips makes the rest of him fit snuggly inside of you. The feeling of him overwhelmed you. It felt like he was touching every nerve inside of you. Maybe he was.

A deep groan falls from his alien mouth. His eyes fluttering, on the verge of shutting at the exquisite feeling of you wrapped snuggly around him. “That’s it. I knew you could take it, little one. Mm, you’re so tight,” he muttered under his breath. Kar'dokh refocused on the task on hand.

The pace at first was sloppy, unsteady until he found the perfect beat. Loud slaps echoing throughout the living room. Your hand was still wrapped around his tress firmly, using it as a lifeline. Your jaw dropped as each thrust forced the air out of your lungs.

“Yes, yes. Perfect. Been wanting to do this-ugh, for so long. Make you my mate. Gonne breed you. Have my pups,” he rambled amidst the brutal fucking he provided. His claw dug into your hips and held you in place.

You couldn’t the snort that left you as you tried to stay sane. “T-that’s n-ah, no possible, Kar.” From what you know of, it shouldn’t be. No matter how potent their seed is. Or the fact the tip of his shaft was slamming against you cervix with each rut into you.

Black nails dug deeper into your flesh, threatening to break the barrier. “Doesn’t matter. Our technology will fix that,” he growled back and doubled his efforts. Your reply was cut off with a high pitched whine. The brutalness was wrecking to your smaller frame. There wasn’t a chance you would be able to walk tomorrow.

He leaned further into your space and buried his face into the crook of your neck. His long, pink tongue slithered over your salty flesh, tasting you. Blood pool around the nails that finally pierced the flesh of your hips.

“You’re mine. My mate!” Your pants grew whiny. You had no choice but to hold on as the first wave of your orgasm started to wash over you. Your eyes crossed as the pleasure became overwhelming.

Fangs bite down into the crook of your neck, scaring as his mate. With a deep, resonating snarl, Kar'dokh hips go flush with yours. You mewled at the feeling of his throbbing cock taking up every available space inside of you then some more. Spurts of cum began to fill your insides.

None of it was able to spill out and be of waste. Something was lodged just shy of your entrance, plugging you up. You squirmed in his hold and tried to figure it out what it was. Then, the light bulb went off.

A knot. Kar'dokh had knotted you. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. He really was doing everything he can to make you pregnant. He unlatched his teeth from your shoulder and licked at the dribbling blood.

At first, you smiled. That turned into a smirk and soon enough, you were laughing softly, soaking in the dopamine in your system. Kar'dokh’s licking stopped. The brown Yautja pulls away to look you in the eye, confused on your laughter.

“I don’t know how this will work. You won’t be able to get me pregnant,” you explained to him again, trying to get the point across. “Why do you even like me? I’m a human.”

One hand detaches the claws in your hip to grip at your chin. “It’s because I am attracted to you. Ooman or not, you are attractable both physically and mentally.” Oh… that’s really sweet of him. Your cheeks flushed with heat again. You couldn’t even duck your head off to the side.

“Then, you need to raise your standards, Kar. Or you just need to get out more often.” Kar'dokh responded with a snort and returned to nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t entertain your words. Instead, he holds you in his arms, waiting for his knot to deflate.

So he could do it all over again.

Sure enough, a human can get pregnant by a Yautja.

[slut4thebroken]

Blue

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Neil Lewis x reader

Summary | It’s way too easy to find a lab coat lying around, walk the halls of a doctor’s office unnoticed, and read the charts posted outside the rooms to pick a patient (victim).

Warnings | Smut, dubcon, technically non con, deepthroating, filthy oral (duh), throat pie, face fucking, blue balls, used the word ‘balls’ way too many times lol.

Words | 1.2 k

Notes | Based a lil bit on this that I saw the other day lol. Idk what this is tbh but enjoy it you horny bastards.

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“Mr. Lewis?” You asked, peeking in through the door, pleased to find a decently attractive man sitting in a hospital gown on the exam chair. 

“Yeah— yes.” He cleared his throat, blushing a little at his flustered response. “Neil.” You pushed the door open the rest of the way, then closed it behind you, smiling at him. 

“Nice to meet you, Neil. I’ll be checking you out today. What seems to be wrong?”

“I’ve been having some stomach issues. I don’t know, it might just be a bug or something.” 

“I see… Can you lay back for me please?” You walked over and opened some drawers until you found a spare stethoscope, then put it on, pressing it to his lower stomach and nodding a little before moving it somewhere else. “Hm…” You said with a frown. 

“What?” He asked, sounding slightly panicked. 

“I think I know what’s wrong, but I need to do a more thorough examination to be sure. May I lift the gown?” His eyes widened slightly, but he nodded so you lifted the bottom of the gown. “I need you to remove the rest of your clothes.”

“Why?” He choked out. 

“I suspect you may have epididymal hypertension. It’s quite serious, but very treatable.” His eyes widened even more and you could tell that he was getting nervous, but he still pushed his underwear down, then took them off his legs while you placed the stethoscope back in the drawer. “Thank you, Neil. This examination should be painless, though you might feel slight discomfort.” 

Without gloves, you lifted his flaccid cock so it was resting on his stomach, then you cupped his balls, making his breath hitch. Neil was looking anywhere but at you as you fondled and gently squeezed his balls, performing your “examination.”

“It’s as I feared.” You sighed, still cupping them. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the discomfort in your abdomen spreading to your testes. Thankfully, the treatment for this is quick and relatively simple.” With your free hand, you suddenly grasped his cock and started pumping it slowly. 

“W-What the hell are you doing?” He choked out, hips instinctively flinching up toward your hand. 

“Mr. Lewis, if you go any longer without ejaculating, the pain could spread to more parts of your body and become irreversible.” You said sternly, not faltering in your ministrations on his cock and balls. 

“Ejaculating?” He echoed in disbelief. “But I- I just… this morning.” He was struggling to speak as his cock fattened up in your hand. 

“For some men, they can last longer between sessions. But for others, like yourself, they need to release sperm multiple times a day or they risk it building up to an unsafe amount.” You explained, picking up the pace on his cock. 

“Because of the severity of your condition, a simple extraction with just my hands won’t suffice.” That was all you said before diving down and throating his cock all in one go. 

“Fuck!” His hips bucked wildly, so you used your hand that was previously on his cock to hold him down and limit his movement. “T-This… doesn’t seem- professional.” He managed to choke out, barely able to speak as he writhed on the exam table. You bobbed up and down on his length quickly, drooling and gagging on his cock as it kept getting fatter and harder in your mouth. He threw his head back with a groan, his hands tightly gripping the edges of the chair.  

You moaned around his cock, then suddenly pulled off, spitting on it obscenely before diving down to give his balls some attention. His cock twitched on his stomach as you licked, sucked, and kissed all over, making a slobbery mess of saliva. When he started whining and squirming, you grabbed his cock to resume stroking it while you lavished his aching balls. 

“Holy shit,” he said through a breath, his back arching off the chair. 

“They’re so swollen…” You mumbled against him, then your tone turned more stern as you chastised him, “You can’t let it get this bad, Neil.”

“I- I’m sorry.” He mewled, the words trailing off into another moan. 

“You should be. This kind of thing can be very dangerous.” He whined loudly when you pulled away from his balls, still stroking his cock. “If you don’t drain your balls at least twice a day from now on, your condition will continue to get worse, do you understand?” 

“Yes.” He choked out, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“Do you need to come now?”

“Oh god- please.” He sobbed, his hips bucking and squirming relentlessly under your touch. 

“Give me every last drop or we’ll have to do the treatment again.” Neil nodded dumbly in response. You leaned down to start sucking his cock again, your hand moving back to his balls that were starting to draw up into his body as he got closer to his orgasm. You practically sucked the life out of him with the way you were rapidly going up and down on his cock, taking it in your throat, choking and gagging on it, spit dribbling down to his balls. 

“F-Fuck… I’m so close.” He whined, starting to thrust his hips up in time with your movements, meeting you halfway. You let him do it, using one hand to brace yourself on his thigh while the other played with his balls. 

“Every drop.” You reminded him, barely pulling away enough to get the words out. He was panting heavily, grunting and moaning, his cock twitching in your mouth, and his balls tightening up, preparing to unload. 

“…Coming-” was all he could get out before his hips violently bucked up into your mouth. He let out a loud moan, his balls pulsing in your hand as they pumped out ropes of come through his cock and down your throat. You moaned around him, not stopping until you completely drained him dry. 

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily. Neil kept his eyes closed as he recovered while you did another physical examination of his balls, making him whine because of how sensitive he was. 

“They feel less swollen already.” You smiled. “How do they feel?”  

“Good.” He murmured, still come drunk. 

“That’s good. Remember, Neil, at least twice a day.” He nodded and you pulled the gown back into place, then cleared your throat and wiped away the remaining spit from your lips and chin. “I’ll send a nurse in to give you your visit summary.” 

“M’kay.” He mumbled sleepily, smiling a tiny bit. “Thanks.” 

“Of course. I’m glad I could help.” You opened the door quietly and peaked out, then quickly left the room and closed the door behind you, making your way to the bathroom. Once inside, you took off the lab coat you had found earlier and stuffed it in the trash can. 

Neil was definitely your favorite so far. Either he was too dumb to realize something was off about his “doctor” or he was just so starved for female attention that he didn’t care. Either way, you loved that he barely put up a fight or asked any questions, and you felt more than satisfied for today after “treating” him.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 20th-26th 2025

On time this week, woohoo! And less thsan 40 days until season 8B !!

Special mention to all of @tizniz's drabbles that I've been reblogging, which you can find on her tumblr or on ao3 at E & E: A Buddie Drabble Collection !

Let me know if I'm missing a tag for someone!

Complete

home is where you've called my name by atlasblue85/ @atlasblue85 (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 3K | General): Buck plays a game with himself. It goes something like this: for every house Eddie outright rejects, he adds an item to his list of why Eddie shouldn't move to El Paso. He doesn't know what the threshold is, that magic number that will make him finally speak up and express his thoughts to Eddie, but until he finds it, this is how he's coping. They're up to nine so far. Nine perfectly good houses, nine reasons Eddie shouldn't go.

you're a dog (i'm your man) by withmeornotatall / @chronicowboy (Dog Shelter AU | 3K | General): "Hey." He turns around, leans against the doorframe, tries to look casual. "Maybe, only if you're free of course, you could come round and let Chris pick out a band aid for you tonight. Don't want you bleeding out before you can get your Spider-Man band aid." Buck lights up like the fucking sun. Oh no. Eddie has one rule: never take a dog home. But he thinks Buck might be worth the risk. (OR: eddie is a dog trainer with patience, buck is a shelter worker with more bark than bite)

🔥 My Mouth Don't Move When I'm In Too Deep by taegyungie (PWP, Semi-Public Sex | 7K | Explicit): But here’s the thing: Eddie’s taken giant mouthfuls of life and chewed every last one of them up. He’s taken enough, he’s still taking enough - he doesn’t want to be the one to ask for it. All he can do is offer himself up, over and over, and hope that Buck will finally get the hint and dig his claws into what’s been his from the very start.

🔥 Five Years by aubrey_writes (Blip AU | 8K | Mature): Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence.

Liminal Space by ameliahart (NDE, Getting Together | 8K | Teen): Eddie Diaz dies on a sunny afternoon in January. It seems fitting, he thinks, that it should happen like this: trapped beneath three floors of a collapsed apartment building, a piece of rebar through his right lung, and his eyes on the love of his life. Because of course Buck is here with him, watching horrified as Eddie’s love and life bleed out around him.

Buck, Bedbugged and Bewildered by writedontfight (Post-S8A AU | 8K | Explicit): Buck gets bedbugs, so he's staying at Eddie's until they're gone.

🔥 everything you need (put all you need in me) by jaekyu (PWP, FWB | 9K | Explicit): Eddie imagines it. The faux-domesticity of grocery shopping with his best friend and full-time fuckbuddy, filled up with come like a jam donut or something. It would be kind of ironic. It would be definitely, wholeheartedly, totally erotic.

My boy only breaks his favorite toys by paleredheadinascifi (Amnesia, Post-S8A | 10K | Teen): Eddie wakes up five years in the future. It turns out five years is all it takes to ruin a friendship and run your life into the ground. Or, Eddie gets hurt and his apparently now ex-best friend Buck hops on a plane to El Paso. They figure out what the fuck happened together.

🔥 Firelight by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Post-S7, Monster Eddie, HOH Buck | 61K | Explicit): When, in the worst of missing Christopher, Eddie suddenly finds himself having literally turned into a monster, Buck - who is also dealing with a newfound hearing loss diagnosis - is willing to do anything to protect him. Even from himself. OR: Eddie is a creature from Swedish folklore, feat. HOH!Buck

WIP

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 35/? | 23K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

35. 44. A goodbye kiss, but neither of you can quite let go 

🔥 An Angry Blade by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-8x05: Masks, Cursed Buck | 1/6 | 8K | Mature): Buck finds out that the curse of Billy Boils is VERY real, and far more complicated and dangerous than he could have expected.

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 12/? | 76K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars/ @oh-stars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 8/? | 37K | Teen): Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time? How does he tell his sister? How does he tell his Edd-- best friend? It's fine. The universe isn't going to give him a choice in the matter when the worst thing imaginable becomes his reality.

Podfic

Sunlight is Fire (Burning is a Matter of Degrees) by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Incubbi Buck, FWB | 1-1.5h | Explicit): In the wake of Buck's leg injury, Eddie learns that his friend needs some unusual methods to help him recover. Eddie's willing to do whatever it takes to help Buck, and it's not like this could make his quiet pining any worse, right?

Bed Sharing Concerto in Monsterfucking No. 3 by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Human Buck, Only One Bed | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck has the worst fucking luck. His only consolation here is that Eddie’s with him, so at least he’s not alone in a cabin with no Wifi, no central heat, no cell service, and no proper winter gear. The water works, the pipes haven’t frozen (yet) so at least he can get briefly clean. He’s so focused on scrubbing the day away that it’s not until he gets out and heads into the bedroom that he realizes— There’s only one bed.

A Chorus of Howls by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolves, PWP | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck is running through the woods. He’s on two feet, four, two again, dodging around trees, kicking up dirt, leaping and landing hard. Behind him, sometimes, he thinks he can hear another set of feet—a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, black on black, shadow on shadow— There. There. He can smell his pursuer’s blood and he runs faster, fast as he can. He’s not going to lose. His blood is up and running and so is he.

Duet for Two Monsters by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Succubus Buck | 20-30min | Explicit): Buck’s been meaning to tell Eddie for a while, now. Especially now that they’re both single again. He needs to tell Eddie, because he’s pretty sure—he thinks he’s sure—that Eddie loves him back. And he won’t be intimate with Eddie without telling him. Of course, it’s a bit hard to start that conversation, on a logistical level. Hey so I have horns and a tail and feed off people’s orgasms, fun, right?

🔥 [Podfic] Buddie, It's Cold Outside by diazaster287 // fic by terranobis (Christmas, Hallmark AU | 1-1.5h | Not Rated): Big City businessman Evan Buckley travels to a small town Christmas Village in an attempt to save his personal and professional life, but when he meets the local father Eddie Diaz, he finds that he just might get the greatest present he could ever ask for.

[trucetale]

So this is the family photo for those who seen the movie. I have dreams okay and I need this. Details about the pic without giving too much detail. It’s an 8 years in the future family photo of the Wachowski family.

The kids (well mostly young adults here) all have bandannas, and bracelets on Amy’s part, of each other’s colors to show that they are always together even when they have to be apart. Since they are older they travel and go out on adventures more. They even tend to stay gone for months but even then they always find their way back to their found family. They do bring gifts back to their parents when they travel to different places on Earth or even different worlds. Amy’s hairstyle (quill style?) is a call back to her old design before they gave her the iconic bob.

Okay so some rambling and head cannon below.

I’m so sorry this got long as hell just straight rambling. My bad, read at your own risk bro 😭

I drew Shadow and Amy as a part of the Wachowski family because I know they would welcome them no questions asked even after the debacle with Shadow if they ever go that route moving forward. But I have been reading a little fanfic recently that I saw mentioned in another Sonic tumblr post I’m sorry I can’t remember who called “Welcome to Green Hills Shadow” on Ao3 and I have been eating goood! Shadow having his found family before he meets Rouge and Omega is a head cannon for me. Even after he meets them he keeps their colors to show he cares. Something Sonic will always point out when they meet up. Amy of course would probably live with them like the trio. I can see her sticking mostly to the trio before she opens up to Maddie and Tom. Them at first not knowing just how strong she is would try to have her stand back with them and let the boys handle the dirty work but she shuts that down by saving them and help in obliterating the enemy. Her and Maddie doing some girl bonding while Tom bonds with the guys. Just a wholesome family at the end of the day.

So we know Shadow ain’t dead, you can’t kill him off without getting into the niddy griddy of his story and we know that they are going to make a spinoff movie about him. I can see Shadow joining the family but not like…. living with them like The heroes gang just on and off he’ll stay, bond with the fam and be like, “I need to find out more about myself. I need to know where I come from.” Then pew, off he goes and a few weeks later he comes back brooding but with some good news. Him and Tom talk about what he finds and they bond and stuff. Maddie and him bond for a bit, she does some embarrassing mom things that make Shadow smile and chuckle. He gets into some shenanigans with the trio and he’s off again.

Since we know Amy is gonna be in the next movie which I for one CANNOT wait for. All I ask is that they keep her a badass and not clingy. I like Amy I do and want her to be the daughter Maddie always wanted so they can do shit together heck even do a tag team rescue! Like, Tails gives Maddie some gadgets to go on a mission with them because they need their mom’s help for something and the boys can’t go because they’re the distraction and while on this mission Maddie and Amy bond… bro I need Sonic 4 NOW!!!