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potatothots · 1 month

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Kuai Liang was never nice

This is going to be the third and final part of my character analysis for Kuai Liang [previous parts here 1,2] in which I'm going to talk about the personality of every version we've seen of him so far, from MK9-MK1, his overall character as well as whether he should be Sub-Zero or Scorpion. I know a lot of people won't like what I have to say and as always, you're allowed to disagree, I respect everyone's opinion and this is not meant to offend anyone. I write these theories for fun and because I hope it'll open up a different perspective to those who only know the fanon version of the character or who, like me, never understood the fandom's twisted perception of him.

Truth is, like it or not, Kuai Liang has always been standing on the shoulders of giants and leeching off of the success of better characters in the franchise, be it Bi-Han, the original Sub-Zero who actually had to earn the mantle of his grandfather and spent his entire life building up a legacy for himself, Hanzo, a complex and tragic character, who made Scorpion the most popular and iconic fighter in the MK universe, Smoke, who saved Kuai Liang from spending the rest of his days as a Cyber Lin Kuei under Sektor's command and now recruits fighters for Kuai Liang's new clan or even the new era's Harumi whose clan and resources Kuai Liang took for himself to build his own bastardized version of the Shirai Ryu.

Kuai Liang as his own character does not exist. Tundra has never been relevant in Mortal Kombat until he took the mantle of Sub-Zero. The best proof of that is the fact that Raiden never even considered him for his team of Earthrealm's champions. Kuai Liang himself, just Kuai Liang (not Sub-Zero or Scorpion) has always been a blank slate, a nobody who only became relevant once he became someone else. He has nothing to his name but the legacies of others that he ended up receiving through sheer luck or coincidence, not competence. Kuai Liang has always been profitting off of the downfall of other characters (who either were defeated or defeated themselves), but he himself has done nothing to earn either the Sub-Zero or the Scorpion mantle.

In the old timeline, he stole his dead brother's legacy, pretending it was his way of honoring him and in the new timeline Scorpion's mantle was given to him by Liu Kang who knew he could not alter the fate of any important character to make them Scorpion instead of Hanzo, so Kuai Liang was the obvious choice because he's always just been that, a placeholder for others.

That being said, I'd like to talk about Sub-Zero Kuai Liang's personality in MK9-MK11 and how, surprisingly, it didn't change in the new era, even with the new mantle given to him. On the previous parts of my analysis, a few people talked about how MK1 turned Kuai Liang into someone he wasn't by making him arrogant, judgemental, hot-headed and unforgiving where he has supposedly been kind, calm, humble and forgiving before. But the truth is, even in previous games, he was never any of that.

Judgemental/Disrespectful:

MKX:

Sub-Zero: Your enhancements are unnatural. Jacqui: And what's your "ability to freeze"? Sub-Zero: Deadly.

Sub-Zero: You reject my aid? Raiden: I am protector. Not you. Sub-Zero: Earthrealm needs better protection.

Sub-Zero: Your race is new to me. D'Vorah: Your first and last encounter. Sub-Zero: My thoughts exactly.

MK11:

Sub-Zero: Nomadic people don't achieve greatness. Baraka: We will never give up the old ways. Sub-Zero: Then Tarkata is doomed to failure.

Sub-Zero: You are frivolous, Johnny. Johnny Cage: And YOU are player-hatin'. Sub-Zero: How easily my point is proved.

Sub-Zero: You failed to protect Earthrealm. Raiden: Do you question my authority? Sub-Zero: I demand you renounce it.

Sub-Zero: Another Outworld perversion. Skarlet: You are the one staring, Sub-Zero. Sub-Zero: I am assessing your weaknesses.

Arrogant:

MK11:

Sub-Zero: Do you know Lin Kuei history? Geras: I have studied it for millennia. Sub-Zero: Then you know you can't win.

Sub-Zero: Lin Kuei style predates Shaolin. Kung Lao: But you still cannot beat us, grandmaster. Sub-Zero: That is a spurious claim, Kung Lao.

Jade: You seem confident. Sub-Zero: Lin Kuei fight flawlessly. Jade: Now you seem over-confident.

Unforgiving/cruel:

MK11:

Skarlet: Perhaps I should join your clan. Sub-Zero: You are not worthy, Skarlet. Skarlet: You wound me, Grandmaster.

Cetrion: You drove Frost away. Sub-Zero: She was unworthy. Cetrion: Your heart is truly frozen.

Cetrion: Forgive Bi-Han. Sub-Zero: My brother deserves no such thing. Cetrion: All beings deserve compassion.

Sub-Zero: I disown you in every way. Noob Saibot: Then disown my name, 'Sub-Zero'. Sub-Zero: The name was grandfather's first.

Fujin: You wish to kill Bi-Han. Sub-Zero: I wish to save my brother's soul. Fujin: Then it is a battle we join together.

Hot-headed/vengeful:

MKX:

Sub-Zero: We will settle this. Jax: Not now, Sub-Zero. Sub-Zero: Yes. Now.

Sub-Zero: Defend yourself. Scorpion: So soon you violate our accord? Sub-Zero: I will never ally with you.

MK11:

Sub-Zero: This is for Hanzo. D'Vorah: Scorpion was your enemy once. Sub-Zero: He was my equal.

Sub-Zero: Bi-Han? Sub-Zero: Of course, Kuai Liang. Sub-Zero: You will pay for your crimes.

Now to elaborate on some of these:

Sub-Zero: Another Outworld perversion. Skarlet: You are the one staring, Sub-Zero. Sub-Zero: I am assessing your weaknesses.

I've been told I'm taking some of these intros out of context or interpreting them in "bad faith" but there's really only one way to interpret the term "Outworld perversion". Kuai Liang is looking down on his opponents and allies alike, judging their background, training or choice of weapons like in the intro with Jacqui.

Sub-Zero: Your race is new to me. D'Vorah: Your first and last encounter. Sub-Zero: My thoughts exactly.

This dialogue actually reminds me of both MK1 Bi-Han's "[Tarkatans] should be exterminated." as well as MK1 Kuai Liang's "If you would only feed on lower species --" because it's yet again proof of how both Sub-Zero brothers have an elitist worldview and are hostile towards other species.

Sub-Zero: Nomadic people don't achieve greatness. Baraka: We will never give up the old ways. Sub-Zero: Then Tarkata is doomed to failure.

This intro right here honestly deserves an analysis of its own. Kuai Liang is literally using the exact same words as MK1 Bi-Han who people wrongly accuse of being "evil." Bi-Han's "Now we will achieve greatness." and Kuai Liang's "Nomadic people don't achieve greatness." prove that both brothers have always been ambitious, arrogant and, to some extent, power-hungry. This is not the only direct parallel to MK1 Bi-Han where Kuai Liang is seen using the very same words his brother uses, but more on that later.

Sub-Zero: Lin Kuei style predates Shaolin. Kung Lao: But you still cannot beat us, grandmaster. Sub-Zero: That is a spurious claim, Kung Lao.

Kuai Liang, for some reason, never held much respect for the Shaolin. This dialogue is a perfect parallel to the one I talked about here where he asks Smoke whether training with the Shaolin had been "worth it". You have to admit, the way he's constantly throwing shade at his allies and their skills is not a good look on him, especially regarding the Shaolin when the Chosen One, Liu Kang, is a Shaolin. To me, it reeks of jealousy.

Skarlet: Perhaps I should join your clan. Sub-Zero: You are not worthy, Skarlet. Skarlet: You wound me, Grandmaster.

People like to make jokes about Bi-Han hating orphans but let's not forget who the original orphan hater is.

Skarlet was a starving street urchin, taken in by Shao Khan and corrupted by the dark magic he taught her. Of course, her only loyalty was to Shao since he became her father figure and she felt gratitude towards him for saving her, not knowing that her blood magic was slowly making her lose her mind. Skarlet is not necessarily an evil character, she was just willing to do whatever it takes to not starve/to survive. Kuai Liang who never had to starve, of course, had no compassion for her.

Cetrion: You drove Frost away. Sub-Zero: She was unworthy. Cetrion: Your heart is truly frozen.

Frost's corruption is undeniably Kuai Liang's own fault. When Frost joined the Lin Kuei, the clan was still at war with the Shirai Ryu. She was taught that Scorpion was the enemy, probably by no other than Kuai Liang himself. Then she had to watch her grandmaster do a whole 360 turn and forgive the man who killed his own brother, someone we know Frost looked up to and admired. She must have felt so betrayed by this that to her, it only justified betraying Kuai Liang in return.

Cetrion: Forgive Bi-Han. Sub-Zero: My brother deserves no such thing. Cetrion: All beings deserve compassion.

The audacity of Kuai Liang in this intro is baffling. There is nothing to forgive because Bi-Han's actions as Noob were a result of Quan Chi's manipulation, they were not his own decisions.

Yes, we are also going to address the elephant in the room here. It's absolutely despicable that Kuai Liang had no trouble forgiving his brother's murderer, but condemned Bi-Han for the things he was forced to do against his own will after Quan Chi tortured him and removed his humanity to turn him into his servant. Bi-Han was a victim and so was Hanzo, but only one of them is apparently "worthy" of Kuai Liang's compassion and it's not his own flesh and blood, but the one least likely to get in his way.

Sub-Zero: I disown you in every way. Noob Saibot: Then disown my name, 'Sub-Zero'. Sub-Zero: The name was grandfather's first.

Kuai Liang has no right to "disown" Bi-Han, just like he had no right to take his mantle because Bi-Han earned it. Kuai Liang has done nothing to prove worthy of the name Sub-Zero and he probably knows that himself, which is why he gets so defensive and tries to justify what he did. He wants to keep the Sub-Zero mantle at any cost.

Fujin: You wish to kill Bi-Han. Sub-Zero: I wish to save my brother's soul. Fujin: Then it is a battle we join together.

And when I said at any cost, I meant even at the cost of his own brother's life. Kuai Liang's claim about wanting to save his brother's soul is a lie because Fujin basically implied in an intro with Noob that the light of the jinsei could save him, to which Noob claimed it would only weaken him. I do believe that restoring Noob would have been possible. Raiden also restored Kuai Liang successfully. Kuai Liang just didn't want his brother back alive, so he wouldn't have to give up the Sub-Zero mantle to him.

Sub-Zero: This is for Hanzo. D'Vorah: Scorpion was your enemy once. Sub-Zero: He was my equal.

This is kind of self explanatory, but it once again showcases Kuai Liang's vengeful side. He's quick to try and enact his own justice upon others and that has only gotten worse with him becoming Scorpion in MK1. However, it's a trait that's always been there from the start.

Sub-Zero: Bi-Han? Sub-Zero: Of course, Kuai Liang. Sub-Zero: You will pay for your crimes.

This intro here is a prime example of Kuai Liang's hypocrisy. What crimes is he talking about? They are both Lin Kuei, they both used to serve under the same grandmaster, so if he's talking about the Lin Kuei's past sins, he himself is just as guilty of them as his brother. If he's talking about the Noob Saibot situation, again, Noob is not Bi-Han, not fully anyway, since his humanity was taken away by Quan Chi. Holding him responsible for what he did while he was brainwashed when Kuai Liang himself has caused harm as a revenant/Cyber Lin Kuei is ridiculous.

As Sub-Zero, Kuai Liang was a hypocritical figure whose motives kept constantly changing and, at least to me, never made much sense to begin with. He started out wanting vengeance for Bi-Han's death at Scorpion's hands, ended up forgiving his brother's murderer on a whim, indirectly condemned all the revenants to an eternity as mindless puppets because Hanzo killed Quan Chi after Kuai Liang, undoubtedly aware of Hanzo's anger issues, told him the truth about his family's death without a second thought about the repercussions that revelation would have for others. Instead of facing consequences for his reckless behavior like Hanzo did, Kuai Liang was left in charge of his own idealized version of the Lin Kuei who, just like himself, never contributed much to the overall storyline.

Don't get me wrong, nothing Kuai Liang ever did was done out of malice. This is not an attempt to villianize him because despite all his flaws, Kuai Liang has never been a villain. The harm he caused was for the most part unintentional. He's just a selfish and self-righteous character whose own agenda outweighs friendship, family or loyalty towards his allies, sometimes even the greater good. Kuai Liang's bigger picture is a picture of himself. He's the kind of person that likes looking in the mirror and giving themselves a pet on the back because of how righteous and noble they are simply for being on the right side of history.

Kuai Liang was, in all fairness, doing his best to turn the Lin Kuei into an honorable clan aiding in the defense of Earthrealm and he did end the era of the "evil" Lin Kuei that were formerly known as thieves and assassins. He did restore their honor, but he did that so he could place himself on a pedestal, above others, to prove he was better and worthy of the mantle he unrightfully took from his brother.

Kuai Liang's arrogance is a result of his own insecurity, he feigns confidence to hide his self doubts stemming from his days as Tundra when he was only known as Sub-Zero's weaker brother. As seen in the intros above, he acts righteous and judges others because by belitteling others, their skills and achievements, he can feel better about his own. Kuai Liang is trying so hard to be perfect, a good grandmaster, a flawless fighter, to be on the right side of things because he's afraid of not being a worthy Sub-Zero.

I think Kuai Liang has always secretly been jealous of Bi-Han and that carried over into the new era as well. He wanted to prove that he was better than his brother by achieving what Bi-Han wasn't able to achieve. Becoming grandmaster, making Scorpion his ally, being on the good side of history and reforming the Lin Kuei. That is why he never actually bothered to save Bi-Han after he became Noob Saibot. He didn't want his brother to be restored because it would mean having to give back the Sub-Zero mantle and becoming a nobody once more.

Isn't it strange that Kuai Liang refused to forgive and help save Bi-Han until the very end when he actually tries to save his brother in his tower ending because he has nothing else left to lose? All that after he himself failed to build a better Lin Kuei and keep them alive? Kuai Liang always had to rely on others, (Bi-Han, Hanzo, Smoke...) and now that all of these people were gone, he realized that he needed Bi-Han back to succeed at what he had failed to do before, so he made them "shared grandmasters“ in his own timeline. If Kuai Liang never cared about the grandmaster title or about power, why still keep that title and not give it up fully to either Bi-Han or someone else entirely? Kuai Liang was never selfless.

The best proof for that is the fate of Smoke who ended up paying with his life for his loyalty to Kuai Liang who, surprisingly, didn't put in much of an effort to save Smoke after he became a revenant. Smoke on the other hand convinced Raiden that Kuai Liang was worth saving, he was nothing but a loyal friend to him. But Kuai Liang? Not so much. At that point in time Kuai Liang already had what he wanted. The Lin Kuei, fully rebuilt after his own liking, the grandmaster title, vengeance on both Scorpion and Sektor... he no longer needed Smoke. Kuai Liang got restored from being a revenant, he got a second chance at life, one that Smoke and Bi-Han never got. Kuai Liang's supposed friend became unimportant to him the moment he had served his purpose.

It's a pattern throughout the games. Kuai Liang's path is littered with the bodies of those he either didn't care to sacrifice to ensure he himself came out winning or those who willingly took the fall for him. Bi-Han, Smoke, Hanzo, his entire clan even. In MK11, Kuai Liang, somehow, is the only surviving Lin Kuei. Everyone else is either dead or has descended into madness. A weird coincidence, if you ask me. I doubt he survived because the writers wanted to keep Sub-Zero in the game so badly. Even Scorpion died in MK11 and Kuai Liang's Sub-Zero contributed absolutey nothing to the story. He was even more of a jobber than Kano or Erron Black. It was Scorpion who ensured Charon's fleets would take Raiden's forces to Kronika's keep. It was also Scorpion and Cyrax who helped shut down the Cyber Lin Kuei factory because Kuai Liang couldn't even do that on his own. Ironically, it was also Scorpion (and Cyrax) who died. Miraculously, Kuai Liang always survived. He promised Cyrax they would find a way to restore him and according to an intro, the Lin Kuei still held onto Cyrax' body, but he was never actually restored and weirdly enough there's also no mention of him or Smoke in Kuai Liang's tower ending.

Another thing that confuses me is when people claim Kuai Liang was "devastated" over Hanzo's death when in reality, he brushed over it pretty quickly. He merely looks surprised and a little confused when he meets the younger Scorpion. In his intro with D'Vorah, he calls Hanzo his equal, not his friend. Personally, I don't think Kuai Liang ever considered Hanzo a friend. The reason why he was so eager to make peace with Hanzo was his fear of him. Hanzo already killed the first Sub-Zero and Kuai Liang, the second and weaker Sub-Zero, didn't want to share his brother's fate. Naturally, both he and his Lin Kuei would benefit from an alliance with Hanzo and the Shirai Ryu. It's only the logical decision to turn an enemy he couldn't defeat into an ally instead. Let's not forget that the Lin Kuei are master assassins, being cunning and calculating is their whole thing and Kuai Liang is no exception. Hanzo did, in fact, do Kuai Liang a favor by getting Bi-Han out of the way for him. There was ultimately no reason for Kuai Liang to hold onto his grudge for Scorpion and it was not worth the risk of losing everything he had worked so hard for, his new Lin Kuei, being grandmaster, etc. over the death of a brother he never really cared for.

MK1 Bi-Han and MK11 Kuai Liang - parallels:

Achieving greatness:

MK11:

Sub-Zero: Nomadic people don't achieve greatness. Baraka: We will never give up the old ways. Sub-Zero: Then Tarkata is doomed to failure.

MK1:

Bi-Han to Kuai Liang: Now we will achieve greatness.

Loyalty hinders growth/wastes potential:

MK11:

Sub-Zero: Come and join the Lin Kuei. Jade: Outworld needs me, Sub-Zero. Sub-Zero: Do not let loyalty stunt your growth.

MK1:

Sub-Zero: Living in your sister's shadow wastes your potential. Kitana: It is my duty and privilege to serve her.

Refusal to acknowledge authority:

MK11:

Sub-Zero: You failed to protect Earthrealm. Raiden: Do you question my authority? Sub-Zero: I demand you renounce it.

MK1:

Sub-Zero: I don't recognize your creator's authority. Geras: Denying facts makes them no less real.

Equally to MK1's Bi-Han, Kuai Liang was always willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. The only difference is that Bi-Han doesn't care about how others precieve him for his actions while Kuai Liang wants to keep up the facade of the honorable and righteous man at any cost, even if that's not who he is in reality. How is Kuai Liang considered the "good brother" when they both use the same vocabulary and share the same views?

A lot of people claim MK1 Bi-Han is like Sektor or Frost, but he's actually just a braver, bolder and more extreme version of Kuai Liang. MK1 Bi-Han is what Kuai Liang could have been had he not been so desperate to uphold the image of the perfect, noble and honorable warrior he has crafted for himself.

Bi-Han is the better Sub-Zero:

Bi-Han's Sub-Zero is the only character in the MK franchise to have his own solo game in which he defeated not only Quan Chi, Scorpion, Fujin and some other gods, but also helped Raiden to save Earthrealm by returning Shinnok's amulet to him. Even before that, Bi-Han was known to be the Lin Kuei's best assassin. He is canonically the strongest Lin Kuei in the old timeline.

May I remind you that the deadly alliance feared both Bi-Han and Hanzo so much that they came up with a scheme to turn them against each other and have them kill each other? Shang Tsung even says it himself that Kuai Liang is lacking Bi-Han's efficiency. People who say Kuai Liang is the better Sub-Zero just because they like him better are ignoring canon facts because of their own bias and frankly, they're wrong. You can argue Kuai Liang is in some aspects a better person but he's not the better Sub-Zero. Were it not for his brother's death, Kuai Liang would have never been able to obtain the Sub-Zero mantle.

Even if we move away from the lore and look at gameplay, Kuai Liang is lacking Bi-Han's abilities. The most famous example for that is that he didn't even have an ice clone in MK11 and his move set was overall unoriginal and boring. He's not and has never been the better cryomancer.

Hanzo is the better Scorpion:

I mean, don't these gifs already speak for themselves?

Kuai Liang as Scorpion is afraid of fire, he flinches away from the very element he's supposed to control. While some people argue that it's because he's not a spectre in the new era, you have to keep in mind that neither are Bi-Han and Kenshi, yet we don't see them flinching from the flames like he does. Kuai Liang is a weak Scorpion and I don't understand why people say he's badass because he defeated Shao, Shang Tsung and the dragon army as if that wasn't the cheapest use of plot armor in the entire history of Mortal Kombat. Kuai Liang makes Scorpion look pathetic. Hanzo's rage and grief over the death of his family made him a relatable character people could empathize with, Kuai Liang's obsession with tradition, his twisted sense of honor, his self-righteousness, arrogance and manipulative personality make Scorpion seem like a crazy cult leader, not like the grandmaster of an honorable clan like Hanzo was.

Not to mention that Hanzo as Scorpion loved the Shirai Ryu and called them family. He rebuilt the entire clan after it was destroyed without the help from anyone while Kuai Liang has to rely on Harumi's resources to create the Shirai Ryu and only considers them a means to an end. Kuai Liang doesn't care about the Shirai Ryu, they're a tool to him, one that will help him achieve his vengeance and restore the Lin Kuei's honor. Kuai Liang's sole interest are the Lin Kuei, not the Shirai Ryu. Simply take a look at some of his intros and his tower ending.

Scorpion: I fear the Lin Kuei is beyond redemption. Scorpion: Together, we will restore its honor.

Scorpion: From the ashes, the Lin Kuei will be reborn. Sub-Zero: Do not presume you can burn it down.

Scorpion's tower ending:

"The Shirai Ryu won't rest until Bi-Han is defeated and the Lin Kuei's honor restored."

Kuai Liang is a disgrace to the Scorpion mantle because he lacks Hanzo's honor and love for his clan. He doesn't deserve Harumi, the Shirai Ryu or to be Scorpion.

MK1 Kuai Liang doesn't care about Earthrealm:

One redeeming quality that the previous versions of Kuai Liang all shared was their determination to protect Earthrealm and while at first glance MK1's Kuai Liang seemingly shares that quality too, that is actually far from true.

Kuai Liang in MK1 doesn't care about Earthrealm, he only cares about vengeance.

The proof for that is how, instead of recruiting Harumi's already existing clan and Harumi herself who is a grandmistress and capable warrior, to join Earthrealm's defenders, Kuai Liang makes himself grandmaster of her clan and recruits them to his own cause, which is not primarly the defense of Earthrealm, but vengeance against his brother.

SPOILERS: In his quest for vengeance, Kuai Liang does, in fact, even put Earthrealm at risk by wanting to leave Bi-Han behind to either die or remain a brainwashed servant to Titan Havik. Knowing that Bi-Han will be the one to defeat Titan Havik only proves how powerful he will be as Noob and that, had they not rescued him and brought him to Liu Kang to undo the brainwashing, Earthrealm could have been doomed if he had stayed with Titan Havik and continued to aid him against Earthrealm's defenders. Kuai Liang's behavior here is beyond selfish and absolutely reckless.

Final conclusion:

While Kuai Liang's personality traits (being hot-headed, vengeful and unforgiving) match Scorpion better, I don't think he should have either mantle. Kuai Liang lacks the depth, personality and unique abilites to be his own character and I think, with both Bi-Han and Hanzo as well as Frost being alive in the new era, NRS should have scrapped the character of Kuai Liang entirely. His arc is concluded, there is nowhere to go for this character and no more development to be made. Bi-Han will either have a redemption arc and return to being Sub-Zero or embrace his dark powers as Noob, potentially becoming either a powerful anti-hero/ally to Earthrealm's champions or a main antagonist in future games, Hanzo could either take on the Sub-Zero mantle for a change or reclaim the mantle of Scorpion and take over the Shirai Ryu, Frost could also become the first female Sub-Zero and for the first time, be grandmaster of the Lin Kuei with the possibility to either side with the forces of good or evil. All these characters have a future and a chance to develop into better versions of themselves, but Kuai Liang does not. He will always be the same generic character, just with a different mantle each time.

I feel like I have to say this at the end of every post I make because some Kuai Liang fans are easily offended, so again, this is not meant to be hate. I know some consider me a Kuai Liang hater regardless, but the source material confirms my theories and to say it in the words of Geras: "Denying facts makes them no less real."

#kuai liang #mk scorpion #bi han #mk bi han #bi han sub zero #mk sub zero #mk kuai liang #kuai liang sub zero #kuai liang scorpion #lin kuei brothers

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potatothots · 2 months

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So fried. Love this!

♡ 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ♡

a/n : Omg I'm back! requests and asks OPEN! [ I promise to answer the asks this time (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧]

𝐓𝐖: extreme smut, v!sex, FTM/transmasc reader, male pronouns, creampie, sadism, hard dom!bi han, titan bi han, light spoilers about MK1 "invasion" mode, BDSM, sub!reader, dark!smut, dead dove, dub con, manipulation.

𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍!𝐁𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐍 : He is a hard!dom, he is sadistic and will love to use you as a mere disposable toy ── he will hold you with collars, pulling you around by the neck, some have heart or padlock shaped pendants, and written details such as: "Bi Han's property", "Bi Han's good boy", "Bi Han's Cumslut." Among other nicknames that mix degradation and the slightest bit of praise.

If you are a person who gets attached quickly, I feel sorry for you honey, he is a manipulative and intelligent man and knows how to play with your feelings in the most painful way possible ── he will punish you and tell you that you deserve it, whether is this statement true or just a daydream in the Titan's sick head; pinning you to the bed and sticking your ass up, spanking you several times until you beg him to forgive you for anything you've done... Which will leave him very satisfied and give you the minimum amount of affection, running his fingers through your hair and speaking in a cold, tenderly calculating voice. "You know daddy's happy when you're obedient, right? I just do this to keep you safe... My sweet boy." The words were such a feather-soft lie that you subjected yourself to more and more of his rough treatment.

He'll treat you however he wants, cumming in your holes until you're an overstimulated, dumb mess, drooling all over his sheets while Bi Han would just smile sadistically and tug at the shibari ropes that painfully adorned your creamy, bruised flesh ── for countless hours when you would be completely open to him, with your pussy sore and defenseless, as the cyromancer liked.

"Shhh...Stop whining like a pathetic slut." He would hold your face in one of his hands, slapping your overstimulated pussy hard, making his cold cum shoot out and spread across your thighs. "Are you that useless? You can't even handle my dick in that pretty pussy? Tsk tsk tsk."

After he is completely satisfied, he will leave you alone, and disappear for days, simply saying that he is too busy for trivialities ── but he will only use this tactic to see you crawl back to him, more submissive, more insecure, he is a manipulative worm and knows how to use you in favor of his wishes, he may even love you, but it will be a love that only he understands based on pure and unadulterated domination and submission, and if you try to escape his clutches, he will make your life hell or, lock you in a bunker in an unknown place, molding you like his pet, breaking your spirit ── Bi Han will also use his powers to play with you... He always fucks you on his throne , he doesn't mind breeding your pussy in front of all his servants, he is a cold and tyrannical man and only his personal pleasure matters to him.

He'll use his ice powers to play with your nipples, or use his icy touch on your sore clit ── if you meet him on a good day, maybe you'll get a little affection during sex, maybe some caresses on your face , maybe some sloppy open-mouth kisses with vague praise in between his growls, while his cock pulsed and stuffed your pussy again. "Yes... You are my prince, only mine... My beautiful obedient boy."

You will find yourself in need of his love, his caresses, you want him to love you, regardless of whether you are his toy or not ── even if he doesn't admit it, inside his lifeless white eyes he loves to see how your eyes light up when he enters the room, when he gives you the slightest attention, he really is a sadist, but deep down he is sorry for treating you like this ── a kiss on your forehead from his cold lips and a sigh is an indication of that, but he is already too corrupted by his own thirst for power, and you are the only thing that still keeps him sane... Even if it is in a distorted way.

"Come on boy... Come here, take care of me." The phrase left his lips again, with a light touch of the clawed iron glove he wore, you were going to serve him again, like an endless endless cycle of pain and pleasure.

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 ©𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍. 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆.

♡⁠˖ 》 my ao3 profile

♡⁠˖ 》 my janitor a.i pfp

♡⁠˖ 》 my character a.i pfp

♡⁠˖ 》 my spirit fanfic pfp - in pt br only

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat fandom #mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat x reader #bi han x reader #this potato is fried

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potatothots · 2 months

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<3 ty potato-bean. Hope yours is magical!!

#potato answers

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potatothots · 2 months

Text

Open Up

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You help Bucky feel better when he's in a mood.

Word Count: Over 1.8k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral (m. receiving), possessive behavior, dirty talk, slight jealousy, threat of violence (not against reader), slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: A Sinday treat inspired by this gif! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You found Bucky in one of the interrogation rooms. He had his leather jacket on, but didn't appear to be in a hurry to leave. Taking in his rigid posture from where he sat in his chair, you guessed it wasn't a good day. You wondered what happened or what exactly was bothering him. Considering he didn't look toward you, and he had to know it was you who walked through the door, you sensed that he wasn't in the mood to talk.

It didn't mean you couldn't try and make him feel better.

“Hey, Sarge,” you said, shutting the door behind you before you walked across the room. “Bad day?” You asked, stopping a few inches in front of him.

A pair of steel blue eyes snapped toward you and you couldn't suppress the shiver that rolled down your spine. It wasn't fair that he appeared so commanding when he was the one sitting in a chair and you were on your feet. “You could say that.”

“Anything I can do to help?” You asked with an almost innocent look in your eyes as he spread his massive thighs.

“Yeah,” he replied, gesturing to his crotch with his metal hand. “You can get on your knees and suck my cock.”

Your throat went dry as you looked in his lap, watching with growing interest as his thick fingers swiftly unbuckled his belt and pants. What if someone walked in? It was no secret that you and Bucky were together, but it didn't mean anyone should have to witness any of your endeavors. Then again, wasn't the thrill of getting caught part of the fun?

“Are you sure that's what you want? You could fuck my pussy,” you offered, your panties embarrassingly damp considering he hadn't touched you. If he asked you to, you’d ride him in that chair until his eyes rolled back.

The low chuckle he let out made your throat go dry. His laughter didn't fool you. He wasn't in the mood to play or tease. “If you want my cock in your cunt so badly, you better earn it by taking me in your fucking throat first,” he growled.

Your knees just about gave out, which gave you the perfect excuse to sink to the cool floor. “Will that make you feel better?” You asked as you crawled to him and slid your hands up his legs. Your cheeks flamed under his dark gaze. It was a thing of wonder to have his full attention. “Your big cock fucking my throat? Making me swallow every drop?”

“It’s a start,” he whispered, cupping your jaw with a tender touch. His thumb reached over to trace your lips, but pulled away before you could suck the digit into your waiting mouth. “Need that pretty pussy filled, too.”

You clenched, wishing he’d shove you on the back, push your legs apart, and drive his cock in so deep you'd scream. But you wouldn't get what you wanted if you didn't take care of him first. And having his dick in your mouth was something you craved, so you would enjoy it.

“Tell me you need it,” he ordered, his tongue wetting his bottom lip before his teeth dragged along it.

“I need it. Need you to fuck my throat,” you begged, unzipping his jeans and peeling them down with his underwear as far as you could. His thick cock bobbed free and you couldn't help licking your lips at the sight. You gripped the base and preened when he hardened more under your touch. “It’s so big. You can choke me with it if you want to.”

He groaned, heat curling in your gut when he rocked his hips up. “Look at you. So eager for it. Bet you'd rub your pussy against my boot if I told you to just to get a taste,” he rasped, making you whine. You’d love to leave a shine on his leather. “Everyone thinks you're a good agent and a good girl, but you’re my little cockslut.”

You pouted as you looked up at him. His blue eyes had gone black, the light shining over his head giving him the appearance of a dark angel. Beautiful, tortured, and heavenly. “I’m all of those things,” you said, licking from just above where your fingers held him to the tip. “I’m a good agent and a good girl. Your good girl.”

Because if there was anyone you wanted to be good for, it was Bucky Barnes.

“Fuck,” he grunted when your enclosed your lips around the head. The taste of him bloomed on your tongue, but it was just the beginning. He’d spill down your throat by the time you were done so the very essence of him lingered. “You are, doll. You’re so good and all mine,” he said, growling the last word.

You pulled off with a sweet smile, his praise bringing out your need to please him more. “And I’m very much your cockslut. So fuck my throat, Sarge,” you said, wasting no time swallowing him down.

“Your fucking mouth,” he groaned, bringing a hand to the back of your neck.

You hollowed out your cheeks and sucked in a breath through your nose as you relaxed your throat. As tempted as you were to reach between your legs and give yourself some relief, you rested your free hand on his thigh. The muscle twitched beneath it and he would feel it if you gave him the signal to stop. You never once had to.

You took him every single time.

He touched your jaw again, making sure your mouth stayed wide open around him. He forced you to take him in deeper, his hips thrusting up as you gagged. “That’s it. Suck it just like that,” he urged, making you moan around the thick length of him. “My good girl. Everything I need right here.”

Tears blurred your vision, but they quickly spilled over. He looked back at you with half-lidded eyes, your heart pounding at the sight. You knew you looked pretty stretched around him. And you knew he wanted to keep you.

“So beautiful on your knees,” he praised, his hands moving to grip each side of your head to control the pace. You whimpered when your hand fell away and nose brushed the curls at the base of his cock. His metal thumb wiped away a tear as he made you bob your head. “Take it, doll. I know it’s a lot, but you can take it. I know you can.”

Those weren't just words to stroke his ego or your own. It was a lot to take. Drool seeped from the corners of your mouth, adding to the mess from your tear tracks and running makeup. You were certain you looked ruined, which only made you more stunning in his eyes. Because he was the cause and effect. He broke you so beautifully and put every piece back in place while leaving a bit of himself behind as a reminder of who you belonged to.

“You're my girl,” he said in a deep voice, quickening his pace as your throat contracted around him. “Mine.”

“Yours.” The muffled reply made him growl. You reached up to cup his balls, still allowing him to keep the pace. He said he wanted to fuck your throat and you wouldn't stop him, but you wanted to make him feel good.

“My dirty girl on her knees. Bet the camera’s recording us right now,” he went on, your mouth pliant as he continued to thrust. You almost forgot about the surveillance. “Should swipe the footage. Make you sit on my cock while you watch how well you take it.”

You moaned, sending more vibrations through his cock as he groaned and panted. His rhythm almost faltered when you gently squeezed, feeling him twitch in your mouth and under your hand before you let go. He was so close, chasing his release. It was getting harder to breathe, your eyes stinging with tears again, but he was almost there.

You had to get him off.

The slight drag of your teeth did the trick. “Take it. Don't waste a fucking drop,” he grunted, his face twisting and keeping your head down as his release flooded your mouth. Glancing up at him as you did your best to swallow it all, he looked like such a pretty mess, too. Parted lips, warm cheeks, pupils blown with lust. He was just as ruined as you.

No one else had that kind of power over him.

You gasped and greedily inhaled when he pulled you off of him and slumped in the chair, catching his breath, too. He groaned when your tongue went out to catch another drop that dropped from the head of his cock. Your soaked panties from having him in your mouth didn't matter. He’d get you off soon enough.

As long as he was okay from whatever bothered him earlier, that was all you cared about.

“Fuck,” he sighed, pushing the chair back and joining you on your knees. He slotted his lips against yours as he pulled you close, leaving you breathless once again as his tongue explored your mouth. You carded your fingers through his short hair as he took what he needed, his stubble leaving a slight burn on your skin.

Another subtle reminder that you were his girl.

“Better, Sarge?” You asked once he finished, your voice raw. If he wanted to talk, you’d listen.

“Much better,” he promised, his next kiss sweet and tender. The earlier tension he held in his body had disappeared, which gave you some relief. “Thank you.”

“Good,” you smiled against his lips.

He closed his eyes, his nose touching yours. “I'm not a killer anymore.”

You raised an eyebrow. Those weren't the words you were expecting to hear. “I know,” you said.

“But I had to stay here,” he said, kissing over to your ear. “Because if I bumped into the agent who touched you earlier, I would've shattered every bone in his hand.”

“Bucky,” you breathed, your heart pounding when he pulled back to stare at you. Lust lit up his eyes again, but there was an underlying rage building as his nostrils flared. Was that why he was in a mood? Because an agent had touched your arm before you said you had a boyfriend? It was so meaningless in your eyes that you had forgotten about it.

But, fuck, if this slightly possessive side wasn't hot.

“You told him you were mine because you’re my good girl. Still pissed me off that he checked you out when you walked away. Still wanted to break his hand,” he snarled, laying you on your back. “And I know your voice is a little hoarse, but I need to make you scream my name. I want everyone nearby to know you’re my girl,” he said, his eyes on you as he pointed to the camera in the far left corner. “And anyone watching.”

So, that happened. Lovelies, you may go about your business. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #navybrat writes #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #this potato is baked

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potatothots · 2 months

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Sounds fun so far. Can’t wait to read more!

Veil of the dreamless

Morpheus x Reader

A cursed Morpheus holds your father prisoner when he enters The Dreaming without permission. You, also able to enter the realm, take his place. Now a prionser to the Dream Lord, you do all you can to learn about the curse and hopefully break it.

{Masterlist}

{Next Chapter}

Chapter One - Village of the dreamless

☆☆☆

In a small village in the English countryside you lived with your father in his workshop. You had lived there all your life.

When your mother passed away your father threw himself into his inventions. The money he made from them was enough to keep a roof over your head, and it kept you fed.

You love your father. He is a wonderful man. There is nothing he wouldn't do for you.

You come downstairs and smile as you see him hunched over his desk. He's working on the clockwork of your cuckoo clock. The one he made you before you were born. Every so often, it needed fixing up.

"Is it going to work?" You ask, kissing his cheek softly and looking at all the parts.

"It will. Just needs some replacing."

You smile and grab your basket. "I'm going to head into town. Do you want anything while I'm out?"

"No, dear. I don't think so."

You chuckle softly and take your leave.

The village was alive today. People shopping, running errands, children playing games in the street. It was a lovely little village where everyone knew everyone.

Your dearest friend Robert, or Hob as you called him, was just opening his book store. He waves at you come over.

"Good morning."

You chuckle softly. "Morning, Hob."

"I have that book you asked for." He grins.

"Oh, thank you! I'll come get it on the way back."

"I'll hold it for you. How's your father?"

"He's well. Working hard," you tell him.

"Tell him I said thank you for mending my radio."

"Of course."

You wave at him as you walk on, a smile on your face. You pick up some groceries and some fresh bread from the bakery. You window shop at the tailor's and make a wish st the fountain in the square. On your way back, you pick up the book and leave Hob some goodies you picked up earlier.

As you make your way back home, you pass the tavern. It was early yet, but there was a woman waiting outside. She looked up at you and smiled as you walked past. You smiled back, trying to be friendly. The way she looked at you caused a shiver to run down your spine. You looked away to focus on the path, but risked a glance back. She was gone.

You shook it off and carried on walking.

Your father was still working away on his inventions when you returned. You put the groceries away and decided to start that book Hob gave you.

It's an old book about dreams. A rumoured realm called 'The Dreaming' or 'The Dreamscape'. Apparently, a long time ago, such a realm existed, and it allowed people to dream at night. Dreams were unheard of. Except for the kind which are considered wishes for the future, but as for Dreaming while asleep, they were not real. No one ever saw images or people or places while asleep.

You went to sleep, and you would wake up again later. That was it.

The concept of dreaming was fascinating to you. You recall a memory from your childhood. A memory of your mother. She once claimed she could dream, as could your father, but he always denied such a thing. People thought she was crazy. She would ask you every morning if you had dreamt, but your answer was always no.

She would smile and say "maybe next time."

Eventually, she got sick. They called it the Sleepy Sickness. She never woke up, and eventually, she died. Your father was distraught.

The idea of dreaming had played on your mind long after she passed away. When Hob opened his bookstore, you searched every shelf for anything on dreaming. He claimed to have nothing, but be knew of such a book.

It took him months to get it. Now it was in your hands.

A realm. A palace. A king.

It was hard to put the book down. This book was written long ago. The pages were handwritten. It was more of a journal than anything.

You're not sure how much time has passed. At some point, you fall asleep. When you wake, it's dark out. You find the book open on the sofa beside you. It had slid off your lap. You close it gently and grab it as you stand. You're about to make your way up to bed when you spot your father hunched over his desk. You chuckle.

"Father." You gently try to shake him awake. He doesn't budge. You chuckle and decide to just leave him. He has slept at his desk before.

You head on up to bed.

The next morning, you come downstairs, ready to make breakfast for you and your father. You reach the bottom stair and say cheerfully, "good morning, father!"

You are met with silence.

"Father? Good morning."

Still nothing.

You look around the house. He is not at his desk. He is not in the kitchen. He is not in the garden or near the vegetable patch beside the house. You see no sign of him along the patheading to your home. You frown.

There isn't even a note.

You grab your coat and decide to head into town. Perhaps you will find him at one of his favourite spots.

You pass the bakery, he is not there. You pass the tavern, too early to be open. You pass the tailors. He's only just unlocking the door. You reach the bookshop. Hob is open and awaiting customers. You pop in.

"Hello, Hob. Has my father come by?" You ask him.

"Haven't seen him. You're the first soul through my door today. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he's fine. He just wasn't at home when I woke up, and I didn't see a note. Perhaps he just went for a walk."

"He's probably already back at home." Hob offers you a smile. "How is the book?" He asks.

"Fascinating! Do you think it exists? The realm of dreams?"

He chuckles softly. "I do."

You catch the glint in his eye as he smiles. It's a cheeky smile, one that makes you wonder what kind of man Hob is. Despite knowing him for quite some time, there's still a lot you don't know about him.

"I'll try and finish it soon. I fell asleep reading it."

"Did you?" He asks curiously. "Did anything happen?"

"No. Well, except for my father leaving without a word. Though he's probably back at home, like you said."

Hob has a curious expression on his face. You're not quite sure what to make of it.

"Better head home and see."

You nod and smile softly. You can't help worrying, though. It's not like him to disappear without telling you. You head back home.

When you arrive at the house you find it juat ad empty as when you left. You sigh softly. Where had he gone? It wasn't like your father to leave without telling you. You peer out toward the shed. His wagon was still there, so he wasn't out on a job either.

Deciding to get something to eat and wait a while, you head to the kitchen. He would show up eventually, you were sure.

Hours passed.

Not a single sign of him. Hob came by to check in on you, but when he saw the look on your face, he grew concerned. He stayed with you until dark. He offered to sleep on the couch, but you told him to head on home. He left, telling you to contact him if you need him. You agreed.

The hour grew late. Your father did not appear. You become worried sick. Your worry eats away at you. You stay awake for hours. You try so hard to fight sleep, but you just can't leep your eyes open.

You fall asleep on the sofa.

You feel a gentle breeze on your face. You open your eyes and find yourself staring at a dark and cloudy sky. You take a few moments to ground yourself before sitting up. A small gasp escapes you as you find yourself staring at a palace. It's a tall, dark looking building, one in great disrepair by the looks of it. Windows were broken and a lot of the structure was damaged.

You're stand up and look across the long abandoned bridge that leads to the palace. You have no idea where you are, but suddenly, words from that journal come to mind. Descriptions of the palace that seem to match the one in front of you.

We're you... dreaming?

You look around. There is not another soul in sight. A caw can be heard from above you, and you look up in time to see a bird fly over you and into the palace.

You decide to follow it.

Passing over the bridge, you become filled with dread. There is no one else around. The place was dark and looked long since abandoned. This place was nothing the place you read about in that book.

You reach the doors to the palace and slip through the open crack between them. The main entrance is also empty and dark. Your footsteps echo through the room.

You only go in a few steps as you look around. "Hello? Is anyone home?" You called out. You get no response.

There is a fire lit nearby. You walk over and find an untouched glass of wine and an untouched plate of food. You look around cautiously. Something feels very wrong here.

You explore further into the palace. The sound of a bird flapping its wings echoes from down the hall. You decide to follow it. It almost feels like it's leading you somewhere.

You head down a dark hall and down a dark staircase. The whole place is poorly lit. However, venturing into the darkness proves to be worth it. You're lead to what looks like a cell. You rise over to the bars.

"Father?"

His head pops up, and he gasps. He joins you at the bars and grabs your hands.

"You can't be here!"

"What are you talking about? Where is this place? You've been gone all day!"

"A day...? Is that all?"

"What do you mean? Father, what's happening? Where are we?" You ask him desperately.

"You must leave!'

"Not without you. Tell me what's happening."

He looks at you with sad eyes. "I've been here for days... Time works differently here."

"What do you mean...?" You ask softly.

"We're in The Dreaming..."

You stare at him. "The Dreaming...?"

He nods his head. "Your mother did not lie to you when she said we could dream... her family has always been able to dream since the fall of the king. When I married her, her blessing was passed onto me, so it was inevitable you would gain this ability too."

"What are you talking about?" You plead with him to tell you.

"This is the Dreamscape. The realm of Dreams and Nightmares. The king of Dreams rules this realm. I didn't mean to come here, but I clearly wasn't strong enough to shut him out..."

"Father..."

"You're in danger just being here." He looks at you desperately. "You must go."

"I can't go without you! Come on, there has to be a way to get you out."

"No!" He yells in panic.

The sound of a door slamming open can be heard down the hall, and footsteps follow. You look into the dark.

"He's here..." Your father whispers.

"Who? Who is coming?"

"The Nightmare man..."

A figure lurks in the shadows, blanketed by the dark. You can just about make out someone standing there, but you can't see clearly what they look like.

"Another trespasser in my palace." His voice is deep and growly. He sounds angry. "Tresspassers will be punished."

You stand up tall and glare into the dark.

"Who are you? Show yourself!"

"Don't." You are father begs you.

"I am the King of Nightmares, and you shouldn't be here, little one."

"Let my father go!"

A moment of silence passes as you stare into the dark eyes watching you. His eyes are narrowed. He shifts. You catch sight of a feather.

"Show yourself. Come into the light."

Your father begs you to stop, but you don't listen. The figure in the dark steps out into the light and you feel all air leave your lungs.

The monster is real.

☆☆☆

@littleblackcatinwonderland - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @missdreamofendless -

#veil of the dreamless #morpheus x reader #the sandman #beauty and the beast au #this potato is ready

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potatothots · 2 months

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Claimed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob/Mafia AU)-Bookshop setting

Word Count: 3,513

Summary: Bucky has had his eyes on you for a long time and when he finally makes a move to claim you he's delighted at how easily you fall into his waiting arms.

Author's Note: Seb's new looks have just been so yummy, especially him in a bow tie. I LOVE! The look in the pic below is the end result of the story🫠It isn't really focused too much on his mob status but it's there and I couldn't resist a little bookshop AU in there too! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, tension, Bucky is pretty forward/dom and doesn't mince words- he goes for what he wants-light d-irty talk, fing-er-ing, o-ral (f rec), but he's sweet too :)

Your steps are slow and easy as you stroll through the aisle, perusing the titles and letting your fingers delicately slide across the bindings.

When you find one of interest you pull it from the shelf and before you read even one word you press the aged pages to your nose and inhale deeply.

The sound of a light chuckle pulls you from your aromatic reverie and you look up with a start, catching a man watching you with a lopsided smirk.

He nods a hello before disappearing down the next aisle. You stare at the space he just vacated and feel your skin heat.

Was he really that handsome or are you still recovering from the exquisite smell of the pages of the book? Only one way to find out.

With quiet movements you slip past the end of the fiction section and turn the corner, peeking around the next bookshelf. All you see is a young woman searching through the books.

Denying your disappointment you continue down the aisle but slow when you feel the weight of eyes at your back. Instead of turning around and looking too obvious you quickly glance over your shoulder and see the mystery man once again watching you.

He looks even more handsome than he did two minutes ago.

You almost walk into the woman who’s browsing and give her a startled apology before rushing off to hide in the rare book section.

Letting out a rush of breath you clutch a book to your chest and refocus on your surroundings.

“This is my favorite section.”

You spin on a gasp and blink.

“Excuse me?” you say quietly.

“This section,” he says again, “it’s my favorite. I love old books.”

“Oh,” you answer, backing away as he steps closer.

He stops advancing and looks at the shelf, studying the bindings until he finds one that interests him.

“Mine too,” you concede softly. “And they smell amazing.”

“As good as the books in the fiction section?” he asks, eyes dancing with amusement.

You let out a light huff of laughter, feeling warm embarrassment creep over your skin.

“Better,” you finally answer.

“I’d have to agree with you there,” he says before lifting the book he holds to his face and inhaling.

You can’t stop your small intake of air as you watch him savor the smell of the pages.

“So, do you come here often?” he asks, casting his gaze down to the words.

You let his question hang in the air as you take a moment to really look him over. His soft sweater does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and powerful build and his dark hair and beard frame a beautifully sculpted jaw.

Then he lifts his eyes, directing his steady gaze on you, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Um…I do. It’s my favorite book store. I can’t afford any of these books,” you say as you motion to the titles nearby, “but no one seems to mind that I come and spend the afternoon reading them.”

“I don’t see why anyone would,” he replies.

He places the book back on the shelf and slides his hands into his pants pockets, attempting another step closer.

This time you don’t move away and he smiles.

“I have quite the collection myself,” he informs you. “You should come see it.”

“Are you a collector?” you ask.

“Something like that doll.”

You school your features at the sound of the endearment falling from his perfect lips and smile.

He extends his hand.

“James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

“Hi Bucky.”

You give him your name and he takes your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and lightly brushing his lips across your knuckles before kissing them.

As you stare at him through your lashes his lips linger and he seems unwilling to let go of your hand.

“I mean it you know. You’re welcome to come see my collection…anytime.”

He slowly releases your hand with a wink then turns on his heel toward the doorway.

“But…,” you start, not even sure why you’re calling after him to ask your next question, “how will I find you?”

He turns to face you, his eyes set with determination, and says, “don’t worry doll face. We’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

With those parting words he vanishes into the maze of books, leaving you caught between feeling frazzled and turned on.

After several days of warm sunshine it finally ends in a wash of chilly rain and wind. But you’re warm and cozy in the back of the bookshop, curled up on one of the old leather chairs by the window, reading by the soft light of an antique tiffany lamp.

You’re so engrossed in your book that it takes you several minutes to recognize the familiar feeling of his stare and when you look up you find Bucky leaning against a nearby bookshelf, his arms crossed, watching you.

He looks just as good as he did the last time you saw him and you realize you’re staring back.

“Hey,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

“You must really be enjoying that book,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“I am. Have you read it?”

“Not this one,” he says as he steps closer and reads the title.

His nearness draws all of your attention from the book and for the first time you take notice of the small patches of gray hair that line his beard.

“It’s worth a read,” you tell him when your eyes meet his again.

“I’ll definitely check it out doll. I’m currently reading the first edition of ‘The Canterbury Tales’ by Geo…”

“Geoffery Chaucer,” you finish in a rushed breath. “Oh my god. You have a first edition!?”

Your eyes go wide with shock as you silently contemplate how much money that must have cost him.

“But…but…”

“I told you doll face, the old and rare books are my favorite.”

“I haven’t read that one yet but it’s on my list.”

“Well you’re welcome to my copy when I’m done,” he says, smiling widely when your mouth opens in shock. “But I have to warn you that when it comes to such treasures I’m a slow reader. There are some things I like to take my time with.”

As the last sentence leaves his mouth he unabashedly lets his eyes sweep over you. When your head dips to your book under his obvious perusal he presses his fingers under your chin to lift your gaze.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“A coffee?” you repeat, all rational thought leaving your brain at the feel of his touch.

“They just put a fresh pot on up front.”

“Oh, right. That would be great thank you, let me just get my wallet.”

“No doll. I’ll pay.”

“Well, I don’t mind at all…”

“And I do,” he says definitively. “I offered and I’ll pay.”

“Thanks,” you whisper.

When he returns with two steaming cups of coffee you sigh in contentment.

“Are you always this much of a gentleman to the women you meet in bookshops?”

You ask the question with a playful smile but when his expression doesn’t match yours you instantly regret opening your mouth, your smile wavering.

“Despite my offering, I’m having a very difficult time remembering to be a gentleman around you doll.”

“Well maybe I shouldn’t be accepting this coffee then.”

Even though your voice is little more than a whisper you make no move to give him back the drink and instead you lean in closer.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he murmurs.

Your breathing accelerates before you take a slow sip of the coffee.

“And maybe I like the coffee too much to give it back.”

“I just warned you that I’m having a difficult time being a gentleman. Are you provoking me doll?”

Your tongue darts out to trace the outline of your lips, the taste of coffee still lingering. “Is that what I’m doing?”

His eyes track the movement and he rubs the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, looking pleased when you inhale sharply but don’t pull away.

“Let me be clear here doll, since it seems like you enjoy playing this little game with me. I want you underneath me in my bed. I want to be buried so deep inside you that you’ll feel me for days. And I want to mark you so every other man who walks this Earth knows you’re mine.”

Your eyes widen with every word he utters and you feel goosebumps crawl over your skin when he tilts his head and moves closer until his warm breath fans your cheek.

“I just want to be up-front with you. Enjoy the coffee.”

He forces himself away, removing his hand and stepping back. And once again leaves with nothing more that the sound of his retreating footsteps.

Life keeps you busy for the next two days but Bucky’s words are ever present, practically burned into your skin. So when you step back into the bookshop on Saturday evening you take solace in the familiar smells and sounds.

You wave hello to the barista and cashier, noticing their slight mischievous smiles as you pass by. You’re about to ask them what’s going on but then you see him and you know. Even among the shelves of beautiful books and warm lighting he stands out, his eyes boring into you.

The way he stands exudes a quiet confidence and a slow roll of heat eases it’s way through you when his unwavering stare moves over every inch of you.

Lifting your chin you hold his gaze and take your time getting your own eyeful. His button-down shirt is fitted just right with the top buttons open to reveal a gold chain and his long legs are clad in dark jeans.

He looks dangerous and sexy. And pissed.

You move toward him undeterred until you’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Are you here to give me more warnings?” you ask.

He keeps his gaze locked on you and licks his lips.

“No. I think I was perfectly clear the first-time doll.”

“Is something bothering you, Bucky?”

“Where have you been?”

You would laugh at his nonresponse if your irritation weren’t growing hotter by the second.

“I’ve been busy. You know…work, errands…life.”

“I’ve missed you.”

You’re taken aback by his blunt and unexpected answer and can’t find the words to respond.

“I was afraid you didn’t want to see me again after what I said.”

You think back on his words for only the millionth time since he said them. An involuntary shiver runs down your spine at the memory.

“Did you get me a coffee today?”

His eyes light up in victory before he reaches behind him and hands you a cup, the drink prepared just how you like it.

For the next couple of hours the two of you browse the bookshop, spending the majority of your time in the rare section pouring over the titles in excitement and awe. You ask about his work and how he gathered his collection of rare books. He’s vague but polite with his answers, focusing most of his attention on you.

While you do most of the talking Bucky listens contentedly and intently, his constant regard slowly building and burning a hole through your enthused focus.

After a bit, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything else but him and you start to become more aware of how your body shifts closer to his, shoulders pressed together, heads close and your hand reaching out to graze his bicep.

Finally, the bookshop employees begin to let customers know they are going to close. You reluctantly put your current read back on the shelf and turn to Bucky.

“Guess it’s time to go,” you say quietly.

“I’ll drive you home doll.”

“No, no. That’s ok. I can take the train.”

“I insist,” he answers, stepping into your space and crowding you against the shelf.

“Ok,” you breathe out. “Thanks.”

His eyes drop to your lips and his hands hover at your waist, his fingertips just brushing the fabric of your shirt when the barista comes by and ushers you out.

With a release of breath you skirt past Bucky and grab your bag, heading for the exit.

Wordlessly, he holds the door of his car open for you, allowing you minimal space to edge by him into the passenger seat.

He breaks the silence with the same question floating around in your own head.

“Am I taking to you home or are you coming to my place to see my collection of books.”

“It’s late but…”

“But?”

“I would love to see them.”

“But you’re still thinking about what I said the other day, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

When you don’t say anything more or give him your address he drives in the opposite direction of your apartment. You contemplate your sanity the whole ride there but you’re too far gone to even want to tell him to turn around and bring you home.

His brownstone is gorgeous. Everything from the ornate edifice of the building to the classic tile in foyer exudes luxury and when you step inside the actual space you have to cover your mouth to stop any sound from escaping.

“I’m glad you like it doll,” he says from behind you, his chest brushing your back.

His lips meet the shell of your ear in a whisper. “I can give you a tour if you like or I can give you what you really want first.”

You turn to face him, his gravelly tone bringing several other things into focus. His cheeks are lightly flushed and his breathing has roughened. You sway closer and he runs his finger along your arm.

“The books…?” you question weakly.

“They’re not going anywhere,” he assures you as his fingertips trace your jaw.

“You don’t even have my phone number,” you continue. “We haven’t even been on a date yet!”

He starts to walk, pushing you slowly backward until you enter another room. Without taking his eyes off you he flicks a switch on the wall and the space is bathed in a soft glow, illuminating the ceiling high shelves of dark wood that line every wall. Every space is filled with books.

Your eyes wander for mere seconds before he grabs your chin and directs your gaze back to his.

“I think our bookshop encounters can be considered dates, don’t you?” he says softly.

Just before your back hits one of the shelves his large hand cradles your body, gently pressing you into the books. He leans closer, moving his hands to rest on either side of your head.

“Maybe…”

“Do you ever have an answer other than ‘maybe’?” he asks.

Your lips part to speak but he stops you with the brush of his mouth. “Don’t. Say. Maybe.”

Even though your last two meetings were charged with tension, this is the first time he’s really touching you and it sends shock waves through your entire body.

You breathe out a strangled ‘yes’ and arch into him, inviting more of his touch.

His mouth comes down on yours hard and hungry and the initial contact steals your breath. When you slide your hands over his chest and up to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin, he groans and pushes you against the shelf.

You break contact with his mouth, gasping at the hardness pressing against your stomach.

“I’ve been like this since the moment I saw you,” he growls. “Do you know what that’s been like?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as his mouth moves to your neck and sucks the sensitive spot underneath your ear, causing you to whimper his name.

Your head rolls to the side, begging for more and you let out a sound of frustration when he rocks his hips and keeps his mouth hovering along your skin.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs with another grind of his hips.

Your fingers slide into his hair, raking through the soft strands as your breath catches on a gasp.

“Answer me, doll,” he demands.

“Yes. Yes Bucky. I want it.”

His hands leave your body and grip the edge of the shelf behind you. He dips his head, trailing kisses upward along your neck until he meets your earlobe, growling low.

“You’re going to spread these pretty legs for me doll and I’m going to bury my face between them.”

His tone warns you not to protest and with a strangled breath you do as you’re told, your head thumping back against the books when he slides his hand down your stomach.

“Eyes on me doll.”

You look down as he slips his hand inside your leggings, slowly peeling them, along with your panties down to your ankles.

He finds your swollen clit and circles it with teasing strokes, giving you one last hard look before his tongue flattens and he tastes you from top to bottom.

You’re already so close and when he pushes a finger inside you your eyes start to glaze over, your hips rocking rhythmically onto his hand and face.

When he pushes a second finger inside you it sends you over the edge, his tongue working you until your legs are shaking and you’re chanting his name.

“Fuck doll. You coming apart for me is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You start to slump forward, your breathing still ragged and he runs a soft hand along your hip, holding you steady and biting gently into your skin with his fingers.

“I’m going to make you come over and over again,” he whispers as he stands and takes you in his arms, his lips caressing the shell of your ear. “With my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

“Yes. Please,” you whimper.

He presses closer, his lips teasing along your jaw until your eyes meet. “But first we’re going to have a proper date.”

Your lips part with your objection and you’re ready to beg him for more but he presses a finger to your lips, smiling when you instantly quiet.

“If I get inside you now I’ll never be able to leave and I don’t have enough time tonight to worship you. I have business to deal with.”

Your eyes drop to his mouth and your fingers climb up his chest.

“Ok,” you say, still breathless.

“You’re going to be my date for an auction event I have to attend tomorrow night…and then afterwards we’ll have the rest of the night. And the next morning…all day. You’ll be all mine.”

You nod, unable to find your voice again but squirm against him in desperation, your body still craving more.

“Sweet fucking hell, doll,” he hisses. “Don’t make me rush this.”

He grabs your waist so you stop moving, his eyes wandering over your face before he captures your lips in a kiss.

When he releases your mouth the set of his jaw is rigid and his fingers dig deeper into your skin.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs. “Be ready by five.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your dress for the tenth time. Before leaving Bucky’s apartment you had exchanged numbers and several more kisses then he walked you to your door, wasting no time reminding you of his promises for tonight.

Your pulse quickens as his words threaten to consume you and you wonder how you’ll ever make it through the next few hours without throwing yourself at him. His touch was like nothing else you’d experienced. Not one of his movements were wasted and his objective was clear. He was going to absolutely ruin you. And you were ready.

The light knock on your door startles you but you check the clock and see he’s right on time.

“You’re punctual,” you say as you open the door.

He looks amazing and have to bite your lip to stop your satisfied moan.

“And you’re fucking stunning,” he says as his eyes rake over every inch of you.

He continues staring and steps inside.

“Do you plan on looking at me like that all night?” you ask.

“Like what?” he replies as he reaches out for you.

“Like you need to devour me.”

“It’s all I want,” he growls, sliding his hand along the curve of your back to bring you closer.

“Do we really need to go to this auction?” you purr against his lips.

His fingers splay against your back and he brushes his nose to yours. “I do doll face, but if you need my hand between your legs first, all you have to do is ask me.”

Before you can form the words for a weak protest, his hand dips between your bodies and starts to lift the hem of your dress.

“Say it doll. I want to hear you say the words."

“Please Bucky,” you gasp. “Give me your fingers. I need your fingers.”

@randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @littleseasiren @goldylions @kmc1989

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imaginen #mob au #bookshop au #this potato is baked

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potatothots · 2 months

Text

I Hate You

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @kateversca1011: "y/n has these weird mind powers where she can feel others feelings or make others feel hers...she accidentally during a very heated fun time projects everything she is feeling to Bucky, basically doubling his pleasure"

Summary: After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, one bed trope, unprotected sex, hate sex, dirty talking, praise, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: I fucking LOVED this prompt yet I feel like my (4th) attempt at it is as horseshit as the other attempts. This may get another attempt one day. Thank you @kateversca1011 for the wonderful prompt inspo, I hope this entertains you at least a little bit.

You have the worst luck in the world. In fact, your luck is so bad that you might even be able to call it a curse. It was one of those unfortunate things that started early in your life and has carried on throughout the years, affecting seemingly everything that you do. You thought it came to a head when your hometown was obliterated twelve years ago, when your parents were killed as they lay asleep in their bed across the house that you grew up in. You thought that was the pinnacle of your misfortune. Then, you thought that maybe it was two days after that, when you were sure you were being rescued from the rubble you laid under, only to be taken away by soldiers with unmatchable strength and brutality and stripped of not only your rights, but your dignity. You were held captive for so long that you stopped attributing your dark times to bad luck and started to think this was how life was supposed to be. By the time they started experimenting on you, you didn’t even feel bad for yourself anymore. You simply accepted it as the next era of your life that you had no control over.

“Okay, we’re all done.” Shuri’s voice rings out through the speaker in the MRI machine. The flat surface that you’ve been lying on for the past forty-five minutes begins to slide out of the narrow tube it held you in, slowly exposing the rest of the room to your view. You take a deep breath in, stretching your arms out in front of you and wiggling your legs a little. Your lower half always falls asleep when you have these scans done.

Shuri watches you intently through the glass of the MRI observation window. She watches as the nurse helps you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the tabletop. She watches as you run a hand through your hair and offer the nurse a kind smile before moving to stand on the floor. She watches as your eyes narrow in the slightest and a look of surprise crosses your face. She knows what you just did. She knows that the moment the nurse was in your personal space, you had no control over the unusual chemistry of your brain. You invaded the nurse’s mind and picked up on the fact that she’s afraid of you.

“She’s not ready to go free yet, is she?” Fury asks tersely. He entered the observation room so silently that Shuri didn’t even notice him until he spoke. As the nurse leads you out of the MRI room and begins taking you back to the main area of the medical bay, Shuri turns in her chair to face Fury.

“She doesn’t have enough control over her abilities yet. I think she’s still psychologically stable, the program you put her through did its job, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll simply go out into the world and behave.” Shuri chooses her words carefully. She doesn’t think that you’re a threat in your current state, but should you ever desire to be, you could easily become one. Your powers rival those of Wanda Maximoff’s, except even less is known about the extent of yours thus far. You’re the equivalent of the Winter Soldier without anyone having used his activation words yet, a ticking time bomb.

That’s what leads to Shuri and Fury both addressing you in the medical bay moments later. You sit on an exam table picking at a loose thread in your frayed jeans as they approach you, trying your hardest not to read into their thoughts, their feelings. You’d like to experience what it’s like to be surprised by what comes out of someone’s mouth for once.

“That was your last fMRI for a while.” Shuri says happily, her smile looking truly genuine. You smile back, but continue picking at the thread, not wanting to make any prolonged eye contact. Eye contact always seems to make it easier to read people, and easier for your own thoughts and emotions to spill over into their consciousness if you’re not careful.

“I’m guessing there isn’t all good news though, right? Since you’re both here this time.” You ask knowingly, your gaze darting between the two who stand before you. Shuri gives Fury a sideways glance, as if she’s waiting for him to take the lead. His eye narrows at you, his forehead scrunching up above his eyepatch as he studies you.

“We can’t let you go out and live your life just yet. There are too many unknowns right now. I’m going to be putting you up in the Avengers tower.”

“But—” Fury holds up his hand to silence you, as if you’re a backtalking teenager.

“It’s not permanent. This is just until we can help you gain more control over your abilities. We can reassess after. When you’re finished here, I’ll have someone waiting outside to take you over to the other side of the compound and show you around.” Fury’s gone before his words have even fully sunk in.

“He’s a straight-to-the-point kind of guy, isn’t he? No bullshit with him.” You say quietly, shaking your head as you come to terms with everything he’s just said. You’ve been staying in what you can only call a high-end holding cell at the nearby SHIELD base since the day you appeared on their radar and they brought you in, very much against your will. Another bout of bad luck, you’d told yourself, as you were restrained with some sort of technologically advanced handcuffs and later forcibly put through multiple rigorous evaluations. After the evaluations came the decompression and psychological rehabilitation that they had originally designed to be used for victims of capture and torture, agents who were in too deep and didn’t have backup when the worst happened. After that, you started undergoing medical testing, constant scans and blood draws, on a weekly basis. Shuri was brought in because no one else could figure you out.

“It’s the eye patch, he has to be short and gruff with people to fit the look.” Shuri jokes. She stands closer to you than most people would, within arms’ reach. You offer a light laugh and she considers it a small victory. “I think you’ll find that living in the tower, around other people with unique abilities, might actually help you. You’ll get a really nice room too, probably nicer than just about anywhere else you’d find in the city.”

“A nice room that I never get to leave.” You point out. Shuri’s gaze softens and she looks you over. Most people wouldn’t look at you and see a bomb that hasn’t yet been detonated. Hell, you could probably weaponize that fact if you wanted to, the fact that you look normal, innocent even.

“You can leave your room, but I think it’s best if you don’t get too close with anyone, physically or emotionally. Give yourself some time to learn boundaries when it comes to your abilities first.” Shuri advises. She notices the way you take in her entire appearance as she speaks, but you avoid looking into her eyes. You’re trying to give her mind the privacy it deserves. You’re making an effort to stay out of her thoughts, and to keep from projecting your own onto her. She thinks that you’ll get the hang of the control thing soon enough, and Fury will either free you to go about your new life or he’ll make an attempt to recruit you as an asset. Only time will tell which direction you’ll go, but she finds herself hoping that this won’t be the last she sees of you.

---

Bucky’s heard about the girl who reads minds, the girl who can make others feel her pain, the girl who could take away someone’s mental anguish with just one shared look. He’s heard enough about that girl that he formed his own mental image of her. He pictures her as an evil cartoon witch, with long, dark fingernails that curl up at the ends and a characteristic black and purple outfit, maybe even flying around on a broom. When he heard that this cartoon witch would be moving into the empty room across the hall from his, he imagined cardboard boxes filled with crystal balls, spiders, and cobwebs being dropped off before the girl’s arrival.

Bucky didn’t think for a second that you’d show up so quietly and uneventfully, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. He didn’t think you’d show up with nothing more than a small, government-issued duffel bag and a profound avoidance of eye contact. And he sure as hell didn’t think that you’d end up being so goddamn pretty. As you stood in the lobby of the tower with Maria Hill and two other SHIELD agents, Bucky was just getting back from a therapy session with Dr. Raynor. He saw you as you stood there with your duffel bag and blank stare aimed at a wall. He saw you as you made sure to board the elevator last, letting everyone else enter before you and then staying a few steps behind on your way in. You saw him as the doors began to slide shut. You caught one little glimpse of the man, dressed in dark jeans and a dark Henley tee. Unreasonably attractive. That was your first impression of him, as the doors closed and he disappeared from your sight.

An hour later, you’re sitting alone in your new room, carefully folding and putting away the few pieces of clothing you brought with you. Your wardrobe consists of a couple of pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt or two, and the same pair of sneakers you always wear. Or at least that’s what it consisted of until today. When you arrived to the room and finally had the chance to shut Maria and the other agents out and settle yourself in, you quickly realized that Tony Stark, or more his wife Pepper, had taken it upon their shoulders to have your closet filled with a wide range of pants, shorts, dresses, workout attire, and far too many shoes for someone with only two feet. You thought it was a mistake at first, that maybe you’d been given the wrong key to the wrong room. Until you saw a white envelope sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. It contained the only note you’d ever received from anyone, detailing how all of the items in the closet now belong to you, and were picked out by Pepper upon Tony’s request. As you stand in the closet now, running your fingers along the various fabrics and colors hanging in front of you, it feels as though every birthday that you missed out on celebrating after your parents’ deaths and your own capture are being celebrated in this moment.

---

Bucky sits in one of the briefing rooms with Sam and Torres, only half-listening to whatever they’re droning on about as he traces the golden crevices of his vibranium arm with his flesh index finger. He doesn’t chime in at all as the topic shifts from one of last week’s missions, to a piece of intel Torres intercepted yesterday, to the mission that could potentially be coming up at the end of this week. It isn’t until Torres brings up the girl that just moved in upstairs that Bucky’s flesh hand falters and his eyes flit up to take in the image that’s holographically displayed over the table in the center of the room.

“I gathered as much information on her as I could.” Torres says, as he begins flipping through a few different files on the display. He stops on one titled First Event. When he opens the electronic file, Bucky’s heart drops instantly at the words his brain sorts through and picks out. Terrorist attack. Intentional target. Orphaned. HYDRA. He swallows hard when the picture of your childhood home, completely reduced to smoking ash and rubble, appears before him. Another picture shows a small girl, seemingly around age eleven or twelve, covered in soot and dirt, with her hands bound in front of her as she’s being lifted and placed in the back of a truck. “She was taken by HYDRA operatives when she was 12. It was an operation with the sole aim of taking twenty children, disguising the entire thing as a brutal terrorist attack. The missing children were all presumed dead in the attacks, which was what HYDRA wanted. There was never an investigation for any of them.” A few pictures show a grimy prison-like holding cell, an operating room with different pieces of technology and equipment that definitely aren’t standard in normal medical facilities, and a few brain scans. “All of the twenty children underwent testing and experimentation. Some died within a couple of weeks, some within a couple of months. She was the only one to survive to be rescued. She lived in this underground HYDRA facility for at least ten years that we know of.”

“Ten years?” Sam asks incredulously, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How did she end up on SHIELD’s radar?” Torres pauses his biography of the worst years of your life and opens up a different file on the display, one titled Second Event.

“Skipping the details of how she was rescued in the first place, she doesn’t have much control over her abilities. She tried to lay low, that much was obvious, but SHIELD has a program to seek people like her out, to keep an eye on them.” Torres explains. Bucky’s eyes are glued to an image of the girl he saw in the elevator only an hour ago. You’re at an outdoor farmer’s market, with a ballcap pulled low over your forehead and your gaze cast downward as you browse a fruit stand. The image is eerily similar to a moment of his own life that he remembers, buying plums at a Romanian market when he was trying to go unnoticed and live a quiet life on his own.

“So, she made a misstep somewhere along the way, becomes property of SHIELD, and then Fury sends her here.” Sam recaps, looking to Torres to make sure he’s got it all right.

“Pretty much, yeah. He doesn’t think it’s safe to let her be out in the real world on her own yet.”

“Not safe for her? Or not safe for everyone else?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. Bucky turns his attention to Torres this time as well, curious about the answer.

“Both.”

A few more details are shared around the table as Torres flips back and forth between all of the available information that he has on you. Bucky, however, is deep in thought. He watches as new and old images flit back and forth on the screen, his mind digesting everything and piecing you together. You’re pretty, that’s for damn certain. You’re pretty and he can tell from your past, from your known abilities, that you’re likely good as hell at manipulating people. He imagines with your looks alone that you could get just about anyone to do just about anything for you. With your looks and your abilities? You could do more damage than most. You’re dangerous. Dangerous and unpredictable. And now you live across the hall from him.

Those two words repeat in Bucky’s head as he takes the stairs up to the main living floor later that same day. Dangerous and unpredictable. There are a few more words floating around in his head but he’s actively ignoring those. So goddamn pretty.

You really are pretty. You wouldn’t necessarily think so yourself, as you stand in front of the full-length mirror in your room, crossing your arms over your chest. FRIDAY’s voice rang out through a speaker somewhere in your room just a few minutes earlier, letting you know that dinner would be at six. Of course, FRIDAY didn’t offer you a dress code or even a very solid answer when you asked her what one should wear to such a dinner. The last time you had dinner with anyone, you were twelve and you were wearing a sparkly pink Barbie shirt. Though you could double check your closet for a shirt like that now, you have a feeling you won’t find one in your size. So, you remain in your distressed jeans and oversized gray SHIELD sweatshirt.

“Do you think she’ll show up?” Torres asks, mainly directing his question to Sam more than anyone else. Sam shrugs as he continues stirring the spaghetti sauce he’s been cooking on the stovetop.

“If she’s hungry she will.” He responds. Truthfully, he has no idea if you’ll come out of your room or not. If you don’t, he’ll take a bowl of food to your room at the very least, but he’d prefer it if you came out and interacted with everyone so he could at least get a feel for you. It was obvious by the way Bucky sat so narrow-eyed and steely in the briefing room earlier that he doesn’t like you, that he doesn’t trust you being in the tower. Sam hasn’t yet jumped to such a conclusion.

“What do we do if she does? If she shows up?” Torres almost sounds nervous. Sam chuckles before propping his wooden spoon on the edge of the saucepan and moving to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

“We eat dinner.”

---

You don’t look like a scared, vulnerable twelve-year-old girl, and you most definitely don’t look like someone who has the power to manipulate thoughts or feelings. As you sit at the table, twirling spaghetti noodles around your fork, you’re trying your best to ignore the eyes on you. You feel a bit relieved that it’s not the entire group staring, no, it’s just that one unreasonably attractive man with the black and gold prosthetic arm. He stares. He stares as if it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Honestly, maybe it really is the only thing he knows how to do, because he sure as hell hasn’t participated in any of the table small talk this evening.

“So, you were just laying low before SHIELD found you?” Torres asks kindly, tearing apart a piece of garlic bread with his hands as he peers over at you. He’s seated immediately to your right and has been the most inquisitive thus far.

“Yeah, clearly I wasn’t very good at that though.” You respond lightheartedly, earning you a few small laughs around the table. You lift your fork to your mouth and take a small bite of pasta. It’s heavenly honestly. It’s so much better than the measly three meals that you’ve taught yourself how to cook.

“How do you feel about ending up here?” Torres is a curious one, you’re quickly learning.

“I’m not over the moon about it but the food is better than what I was cooking for myself so, it’s not all bad.”

As you answer questions and do your best to avoid making too much eye contact with anyone, to avoid reading into anyone’s thoughts or dropping your own thoughts into anyone else’s mind, Bucky stares. He watches you intently. You’re effortlessly charming, answering everyone’s questions with a shy smile and kind voice. He’s sure it’s a façade.

Bucky’s cold stare and the fact that you happily pretend like you don’t feel his gaze on you is the reason why Sam, at the end of dinner, stands up and assigns the two of you to clean-up duty. If Bucky’s gone ahead and jumped to a conclusion about you based on a few flimsy pieces of intel and some grainy pictures, then Sam will give him the opportunity to confirm his suspicions with half an hour of alone time with you. Either he’ll come out of clean-up duty realizing he was wrong about you or he’ll come out of it with an earful for Sam.

Fifteen minutes after everyone’s finished eating and gone their separate ways for the evening, you find yourself wiping down the dinner table with a wet cloth. Bucky is watching you from the open concept kitchen, where he stands in dim lighting, scrubbing dishes at the sink.

“I can feel you staring.” You say evenly. Though your back is to him, you know his eyes are following your every move. He sets a soapy bowl down in the empty side of the sink and gets to work on another, still watching as you lean over the table and scrub over the wooden surface. He says nothing. Daring a glance over your shoulder at him, you catch sight of his blue eyes, cold and calculating as they stare right back at you. That’s the moment you feel it, a wall around him, around his mind. As you look into his eyes, you can’t get even the slightest reading on his feelings, on his thoughts. His mind is impenetrable.

You quickly look away and continue wiping down the surface of the table. What the hell was that? You’ve never been around anyone you couldn’t read before. Bucky sets another soapy dish into the right side of the sink and lets his gaze fall away from you for a moment. Did you look into his thoughts? Did you see what most people see when they look at him? A monster, an uncontrollable killer? He’s patiently waiting for you to flee, to run and lock yourself in your room after analyzing whatever you just saw in his mind. However, different thought is crossing your mind. You want to try again, to get closer to him and get a better sense of the wall you felt around him. You push a couple of chairs into their rightful places beneath the table and then look over at Bucky again as he works on the dishes. His blue eyes meet yours once more and there it is again, that wall. Before you lose your boldness, you begin walking toward the kitchen, your feet carrying you closer and closer until you’re only a foot away from Bucky’s right side. He acts uninterested and his focus remains on a dirty dish and a sponge in his hands. Your eyes dart down to the sink and you notice the clean, soapy dishes in the side closest to you. Before you realize what you’re doing, your left arm is brushing against his right arm as you start rinsing the dishes beneath a steady stream of hot water. Bucky tenses next to you the moment the sleeve of your sweatshirt brushes over the skin of his bicep.

“Are you scared of me?” You ask softly, keeping your eyes down on the suds that are running off of the bowl in your hand. You watch as they swirl around in the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain. Bucky scoffs and a low chuckle slips past his lips.

“Scared isn’t the word I’d use.” He says coldly, passing you another dish to rinse.

“Then why do you stare at me like that?” You question, matching his cold tone.

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m going to try to get in your head.”

“Haven’t you done that already?” Another dish is passed over to you. The hot water is turning your hands pink, and the frustrating interaction with such an unreasonably attractive ass is turning your cheeks the same color.

“If I had, you would’ve known.” You point out, turning your head to look up at the side of his face. He doesn’t turn to meet your gaze at first, so you study his features. There’s a light stubble peppered along his lower face, over his jawline and chin. He looks young but something about him gives off more of an old soul vibe.

“You don’t have enough control over your abilities to be able to read someone without them knowing?” His tone has shifted from a cold one to a condescending one.

“I do, but I don’t care to put in any effort to hide it when I’m reading someone who already knows I can do it. I wouldn’t put in that kind of effort for you.” You retort. You’re unsure where exactly the animosity came from, but you feel it. It’s palpable in the air, the way the two of you already dislike each other. Bucky’s glad you’re returning the sentiment honestly. It’ll make it so much easier to ignore the fact that you’re fucking gorgeous. Gorgeous and pure poison.

---

The update Fury left his house at four in the morning for wasn’t at all the update he was expecting. When his assistant called and told him that there was a new development with the girl he put up in the tower, the girl that HYDRA had experimented on and practically raised with the goal of having her become weapon of mass psychological destruction, he expected to hear that you’d done something apprehensible. Maybe you’d turned the other occupants of the tower against each other and caused a modern-day civil war, maybe you’d figured out a way to level the tower entirely, he had no idea. It wasn’t until five minutes ago when he finally slid into his office chair and viewed the new intel that he felt a bit of relief, and yet a new kind of stress. HYDRA wants you back.

---

No one stays in the tower on the weekends. Sam heads off to see family, Wanda and Vision jet away for weekend stays seemingly anywhere but here, and even Torres has plans. You assume Bucky is gone too, considering you haven’t heard anyone else around since you last saw Sam leaving at sunset.

As you sit comfortably on the couch in the living area, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks, you feel almost at home for once. You’re flipping through the various movie options on Netflix when you hear the elevator ding and the doors begin sliding open. You freeze with your thumb hovering over the remote in your hand as your eyes slowly drift to the left. Bucky Barnes. Of course he doesn’t have any weekend plans. Why would he? The man is practically insufferable anytime he opens his mouth. He shoots you an uninterested look as he steps into the living area and starts pulling his leather jacket off.

Fuck. He’s the one freezing in place when his gaze floats down to your lap and he notices the skin of your thighs. He tosses his leather jacket onto the opposite side of the couch and narrows his eyes at you before moving toward the kitchen for a bottle of water.

“You don’t have pants?” He asks, his disdain for you evident in his tone.

“I was held in captivity for over a decade, what are pants?” He hates when you’re sarcastic.

“Fine, no pants. But you have a TV in your room, don’t you?” He wants you locked away in there where he won’t even have the chance to let his eyes betray the rest of him.

“Are you going to be here all weekend?” You turn your body so you can see him over the back of the couch. You lock eyes with him as he takes a gulp from his water bottle. He notices the way your gaze drifts downward, focusing on his lips for a brief moment before trailing even further down to the tight shirt he’s wearing.

“Yep.” He puts emphasis on the ‘p’ at the end of the small, simple word.

“Do you like movies?” An olive branch, you’re extending an olive branch. If you’re stuck with him as your only company for the next 48 hours, you sure as hell aren’t going to make it easy for him to hate you. Why make yourself any more miserable? In the event that it does that opposite and makes him hate you even more, you’ll still feel like you won.

Your question caught Bucky off guard. You turn to face the TV once again and he watches as you use the remote to rifle through a category titled Action Movies.

“I prefer books.” He says flatly.

“If you can get over yourself for two hours, you could watch something with me. It’s up to you.”

You didn’t expect him to go for it, in fact, you don’t even know if you actually wanted him to. At first, you thought he rejected the offer. He scooped his leather jacket up off of the couch, shot you an unreadable sideways glance, and disappeared into his room, locking the door behind him. You’ve just decided on a movie when Bucky reappears, wearing black sweats and stupidly, only his dog tags adorning his chest. When he comes into view, your eyes immediately wander, taking in the entirety of his build. Fuck. How does someone who acts like such an ass end up looking like such a god? Bucky notices the way your gaze settles just above his waistband and he can’t stop the smirk that takes over his features.

“You don’t have a shirt?” You ask, mimicking his tone from earlier.

“I was held in captivity for decades, what is a shirt?” He didn’t quite mean to let you in on his past, but there it is. You sit before him stunned, your widened eyes dropping down to look over his vibranium arm with a new understanding. “You really haven’t been in my mind, have you?” You shake your head, still unsure of what to say to him. Bucky solves the issue at hand by taking a few more steps forward and sinking into the couch one cushion away from you. “What are we watching?”

---

Shit goes sideways really fast in your life. You were only half an hour into the movie when the power suddenly went out and the dim emergency lights in the hallway kicked on. You and Bucky froze and looked at each other with a mix of confusion and anticipation, both of you feeling that something was off. It was less than a second later when Bucky heard the commotion in the elevator shaft and he knew exactly what was coming. He was on top of you in an instant, forcing your back down on the couch before rolling the both of you off and onto the floor. He managed a second roll once you landed on top of him on the hardwood, making sure that when the movement stopped, you were securely underneath him and his body was shielding yours. You watched his face as he seemed to move on autopilot, reaching up to the coffee table and breaking a glass vase with one hand before using the shards of glass to deter the two men rappelling in through the now blown-in elevator doors. It all happened so fast, seeming to begin and end in all under 10 seconds, before Bucky was shoving you down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell.

He led you down four flights before pulling you through another metal door, into yet another dimly lit hallway. When you were both safely tucked away in a briefing room, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his sweats and called Sam, setting it on speaker and placing the device on the table in the center of the room. Now you stand still, frozen, unsure of why you feel almost nothing. No fear, no concern, nothing. You simply feel like you have no control over anything and there’s nothing you can do to help or hurt the current situation. When Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the table, lifting you by your hips to sit you on top of it, you don’t resist.

“Are you okay?” He asks hurriedly, scanning your entire body with his eyes as his hands cup your cheeks and tilt your head from side to side. He’s looking for any sign of injury, but there’s nothing. “Say something.”

“Bucky? What’s going on?” Sam’s voice rings out from the phone on the table, snapping you out of whatever silent haze you were in.

“The tower’s been breached, we need to get out of here, now.” Bucky responds tersely. He still holds your face in his hands. You blink a few times, coming back to your senses, before looking up into his eyes. Relief. You see relief soaking into his features as he realizes you’re fine. “You’re okay?” He needs to hear you say it. You nod slowly, his palms brushing over your cheeks as you do.

“I’m good, I’m okay.” You whisper.

“Can you get down to the garage?” Sam questions. You can hear the sounds of him typing through the phone, probably sending out an alert to everyone he can.

“We’ll figure out a way to.” Bucky assures him.

“I’ll send you an address for a safehouse, you take her there and you stay put. Let me know when you get into a car. Fury says a strike team is already on the way.”

So much for living in the tower being the way to keep you safe.

---

You wouldn’t have expected such a broad, muscular guy to be so stealthy. Bucky got the two of you down to the garage and into a car in what you imagine was record-breaking time. It truly would’ve been a feat if he’d managed to get back upstairs and grab you some pants or himself a shirt as well, but you can see how that wasn’t really an option.

You sit in the passenger seat now, using his phone to text Sam and let him know that you made it out safe and are on the way to the address he sent. It’s quiet in the car for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the tires against the road and a light rain coming down on the windshield as Bucky speeds down a dark highway. You set his phone in a cupholder by the gearshift before placing your hands on your still bare thighs. In this moment, you wish you could read into Bucky’s thoughts. What’s going on in his head? Does he have any idea who those men might’ve been? What they might’ve been there for? You don’t want to come across as conceited or self-centered but you’re pretty damn sure they were there for you, most likely on behalf of HYDRA. Maybe if you could read into his thoughts, he’d have a different suspicion and it would ease your growing anxiety.

“Is that the first time the tower’s ever been breached?” Your voice comes out too soft, too meek for your own liking. Bucky lets out a deep breath before relaxing in the driver’s seat. He wanted to hear your voice more than he realized.

“As far as I know, yeah.” He says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. That isn’t quite what you wanted to hear. Maybe something along the lines of oh no, it happened a hundred times before you moved in would’ve made you feel better. Bucky doesn’t like the quiet that takes over the car after he gives you his answer. It feels tense, and not your typical can’t-stand-each-other kind of tense. “There are a million different reasons they could’ve been there.” He knows what you’re thinking, that they were more than likely there for you.

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” Your voice isn’t so soft anymore.

“You think they were there for you.”

“It makes the most sense, HYDRA has never really been known to let shit go.”

“I know.” He says it so emotionlessly but the way the realization settles on your shoulders is anything but. You feel what can only be described as a fist wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. He knows. He knows about HYDRA, he knows how they operate. He knows because he’s been through their shit, probably even more intensely than you.

“I don’t have any pants.” You mumble, pushing away the heavy topic of the most heinous organization that you know to exist. Bucky chuckles under his breath as he steers the car around a curve. He finds you annoyingly likable for someone he’s intent on hating.

When you pull up to the safehouse forty-five minutes later, you’re more than relieved to see that though it’s a very small cabin on the outskirts of a national park, there are two bedrooms. After checking in with Sam on the phone, you leave Bucky in the living room while you wander down the short hallway, trying to decide which bedroom you’ll be calling your own tonight.

“Did you take me off of speaker?” Sam asks Bucky in a hushed tone, praying you’re out of earshot. Bucky sinks into the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose with the index finger and thumb of his vibranium hand.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“She was the target tonight. HYDRA wants her back. They don’t want her dead, they want her back.”

“And you didn’t want to say this to her?” Bucky asks in a whisper.

“She probably has PTSD from what they did to her all of those years, there’s no sense in upsetting her if we don’t have to yet. For now, as long as she’s safe with you, we don’t have to tell her.” Sam explains quickly. Bucky can hear the din of an airport coming through the phone speaker. Sam’s trying his best to get back to New York on short notice, which tells Bucky it’s definitely serious.

“She already has her suspicions.” Bucky points out. He glances over his shoulder and down the hall, just as you’re stepping out of one bedroom and into the next.

“Just…don’t let her out of your sight. At all.”

Bucky stays seated on the couch for a few seconds after hanging up the call with Sam. His mind is speed running through the various outcomes of this whole situation. There’s a chance HYDRA already knows about the safehouse and they’re planning to hit it sometime tonight. There’s a chance HYDRA doesn’t know shit about where the two of you are right now and you’re safe at least while you’re here. There’s a chance you get pissed at Bucky and climb out a window in the middle of the night. Fuck. How did he end up being the one here with you?

You’re rummaging through a dresser in the largest bedroom at the back of the cabin when Bucky taps his knuckles on the already open door and steps in. You’re on your knees, digging through the bottom drawer, with your hair falling forward and obscuring your face from him. His eyes follow every move you make as you tuck the hair behind your ear and glance over at him.

“Is this where you’re sleeping?” He asks, tilting his head in the direction of the queen-sized bed. You follow his gaze, taking in the thin blue quilt and sad, flat looking pillows. You nod slowly.

“Yeah.” You respond, pushing the drawer shut and rising to your feet. You were looking for an extra pair of pants but the dresser only seemed to hold various extra blankets, sheets, and towels. Bucky nods, his eyes drifting back to the bed as if he’s deep in thought. When he tosses his phone onto the bed, you narrow your eyes at him. “I said I’m taking this one.”

“We both are.” He says defiantly, taking a step further into the room before closing the bedroom door behind him. He fishes the car keys out of his pocket and drops them on top of the dresser before heading for the bed.

“What the hell does that mean? There are two rooms, two beds. There isn’t a chance in hell we’re sleeping together.” You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head aggressively. You watch him as he starts pulling the covers back on the far side of the bed.

“You just told me that you think those men were there for you. If you’re right, those guys were able to breach the equivalent of a maximum-security prison on steroids. And you want to sleep alone? In a room with a window?” He questions you as if he doesn’t already know that those men were most definitely there for you. He sees hesitation in your eyes, and he knows he’s got you there. You crave safety, security. You won’t fight him very hard on this and he knows it.

“I’m not wearing any pants.” As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, you’re aware that you sound like a damn kid. A whiny kid.

“I’ll give you my pants if you shut up about it already.” Bucky promises. He stands next to the bed, with his hands firmly on his hips, waiting to see what your next move will be.

“Fine, give me your pants and I’ll suffer through the night.”

“In this bed?” He gestures toward it with his vibranium hand. You nod. “Say it.”

“In this bed.” You agree, with every bit of a bad attitude brimming your tone.

It’s not long after that that you find yourself wearing another man’s baggy sweats as you lay mere inches away from him. He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat warming the space beneath the covers, but not so close that there’s a threat of bodily contact.

Bucky’s wide awake beside you. He’s watching in the darkness as the quilt over your side rises up and then drops down again with every inhale and exhale. He usually has trouble sleeping, but knowing exactly who’s after you and what they’re capable of is giving him even more trouble.

“Are you still awake?” You whisper almost inaudibly. You’re facing away from Bucky so you didn’t notice the way he’s been staring at your back, watching you breathe.

“Yeah.” You’re silent for quite a few seconds after his response, but he knows your mind is working overtime. “What?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering.” Another minute of silence goes by before you roll onto your back and heave a deep sigh. Bucky waits patiently. He counts the seconds as they go by. One. Two. Three. Four. F— “If you weren’t there tonight—”

“Don’t think about that.” He warns. His eyes coast over the side of your face. He can see the worry, the stress playing on your features.

“But if you weren’t, I would’ve ended right back where I was.” You voice trembles in the slightest, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He notices. Bucky’s fists clench beneath the bedsheets.

“You don’t even know if it was them, or if they were after you.” You roll over to face him now and he can see the tears gathering in your eyes, glinting in the moonlight from the window.

“I know.” You say assuredly, without a trace of doubt behind your words. Bucky knows he can’t lie to you, he can’t convince you that you didn’t nearly end up back in HYDRA’s clutches tonight. He can’t lie to you, and he won’t.

“Do you feel safe right now? Here?” He asks, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it before. You search his face before answering with a small nod. “Focus on that. Don’t work yourself up over what could’ve happened. Just rest tonight and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“I’m already worked up, I can’t sleep.”

“I gave you my pants for you to lie here all night and not sleep?” He asks jokingly. You move your leg under the covers and kick his shin lightly. When you start to pull your leg back to your side of the bed, something stops you.

“Do you want them back?” You offer. Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, unsure of where you’re going with this. It’s as if the playfulness of the moment is erasing the fear and stress in your mind, so you go with it. “I’ll give them back.”

“So, all of that complaining about not having pants was what? An attempt to get me out of mine?” Bucky teases. He props his head up on one hand over his pillow, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

“You gave in pretty easily, didn’t you? I think you wanted to take them off.” You retort, nudging his leg with yours again. Bucky licks his bottom lip as he gauges the tension growing between the two of you. Is this what you do to help you fall asleep? To test the waters, he places a hand right above the knee of the leg you keep nudging him with. It’s as if his touch sets off an electric spark, you feel it dancing from your knee all the way up to your chest and then right back down. The feeling settles between your legs.

“I was doing you a favor.” He rasps, rubbing light circles on your leg with his thumb. “And I was trying to shut you up.” Silence is becoming familiar between the two of you. You look at him for a long moment, mesmerized by the way his thumb is circling against the fabric of the sweats that he gave you. You find yourself staring first into his eyes, and then at his lips. You’d ask yourself what the hell you’re thinking but, let’s be honest: you’re not thinking.

“Would you do me one more favor?”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks as his hand inches a bit further up your thigh.

“Shut me up.”

---

There are a thousand reasons Bucky can think of to not be doing exactly what he’s doing right now. A thousand reasons to not be sucking on your bottom lip and grinding his erection against your clothed cunt. Maybe even a thousand and one reasons not to be absolutely fucking loving every second of it. But every filthy little moan and whimper that graces his ears only spurs him on. He’s doing you a favor, right?

“This isn’t really shutting you up.” You can feel his smirk against the skin of your neck as he slows the movement of his hips and begins grinding against you at a tortuously useless pace. “Maybe we should try it with the sweats out of the way, see if that shuts you up.”

“Yeah, that’s an idea.” The words come out breathlessly. You place your hands against Bucky’s shoulders and push him off of you. He returns to his side of the bed, trying to calm himself down as you lay beside him and shimmy out of his sweats. As far as he knows, that’s all you’re taking off. But in a moment of boldness, you decided to speed things up a bit and take your panties off with them. When you glance over and see him lying on his back, with the moonlight highlighting the sweat that glistens over the ridges of his abs, all you can think about is him. Being on him, being under him, you need him. He looks back at you with a daring look and you’re sold, you’re straddling his hips, hovering right over his boxers in an instant.

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat when his flesh palm lands against your hip, just beneath the fabric of your t-shirt, and he only feels skin. Where’s the waistband of your panties? You see the surprise on his face as he grips your hips tighter, keeping you from sitting down and fulling straddling him.

“I thought I said try it with the sweats out of the way.” He tsks playfully. You have no idea how badly he wants to rip his boxers off and plunge his cock so deep inside you that you scream.

“Oops, I must’ve misheard you.” Your mischievous smile makes his cock harden that last little bit, and he can feel the way his balls begin aching to be emptied. He fucking hates you for making him feel this way.

“I should’ve known that being a good girl and listening wasn’t going to be your thing.” He says with a shake of his head. You’re about to say something else teasing and sarcastic when Bucky’s fingers dig into your hips sharply, surely leaving bruises, and he forces you to sit down across the hard shaft of his cock. Your wet cunt instantly soaks the fabric of his boxers and within two seconds, he can feel how wet you really are for him. For him. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you. He has to remind himself repeatedly as you begin circling your hips, because he fears he’s quickly forgetting that fact. You grind down with a little more pressure and he can feel a bead of precum slipping down the head of his cock. A soft groan slips out of him and he starts pushing your t-shirt up higher and higher until he’s pulling it over your head. The pale moonlight is just enough to let him see your bare chest and again, he’s chanting in his head. He hates you. He’s just doing this to make you feel better, to get your mind off of the HYDRA shit so you can sleep tonight. That’s all it is, right? A favor. As you lean down and start kissing and sucking on the skin of his neck, he feels your fingertips slowly dragging his boxers down by the waistband. He hates you.

At some point, Bucky helped you get his boxers all the way down his legs and he kicked them off and away until they were lost beneath the mess of sheets and blankets atop the bed. When your hand fisted around his cock the first time, he rutted into your hand without meaning to. It was like instinct. You wrapped your fist around him a little tighter and pressed your lips against his in a desperate kiss as he thrusted into your hand a second time, letting his precum wet your palm and then using it as lube. You would’ve been satisfied letting him fuck your hand, honestly. You probably could’ve orgasmed just from that experience alone, but you didn’t need him knowing you were that easy for him. That’s what got you to where you are now,

“I hate you.” You lie straight through your teeth as you drag your cunt back and forth along the length of his cock. Every time the head of it rubs against your clit, Bucky can feel your thighs tremble on either side of him and he’s fighting the urge to bend you over the bed and ruin you.

“I hate you too.” He lies right back. When you look into each other’s eyes, you both know there isn’t much truth coming from either of your mouths. “Sit on my cock.”

Never have you ever been one to listen when a man tells you what to do, until this moment, with Bucky Barnes. He watches as you position the head of his cock just right at your entrance. You’d think a man would want to watch as his entire length disappears inside of you, but no. Bucky looks up at your face as soon as the tip notches inside you. He watches with heavy breaths and groans falling from his lips as your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ shape and your eyes scrunch closed at the way your walls stretch to fit him in.

“That’s it, don’t stop until you take it all.” Filthy. He’s fucking filthy. And you listen to every word he says, sinking down until you feel his balls pressing firmly against your ass. “Shit.” When he finally tears his eyes away from your face and gets a look at where you’re so deeply connected, he can’t fucking stand it. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. “You have to move.” He groans, slipping his flesh hand further back from your hip to grab your ass.

“I can’t.” You whimper, leaning forward and bracing your hands on the mattress, on either side of his head.

“Move or get off of my cock.” You’d almost be offended if you didn’t know that he’s saying that because he’s close to blowing his load in you too early. You can feel the way his balls are tightening against your ass and you know he’s desperate. So, you try. You lift yourself up one single inch, and then slide back down. Then two inches, then back down. You repeat it over and over slowly, building up a rhythm as your own pleasure begins to grow. “Fuck, maybe you’re a good listener after all.”

“Stop talking.” You moan out, picking up the pace. You’re fully fucking his cock now, your bodies making obscene sounds as skin slaps against skin repeatedly. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, hate me a little more and see what that gets you.” He taunts, squeezing your ass with both hands and using his grasp there to help guide the up and down movement of your hips. You’re close and truthfully, you don’t even want to tell him.

The trouble really starts when he moves his flesh hand to your lower stomach and presses his thumb against your clit, offering a delicious friction there as you ride his dick. The increase in pleasure makes it even harder to think straight. You’re not thinking straight in the slightest when you move your hands to his chest, not paying attention to the fact that you have one hand over his heart.

“I’m close.” You whimper, earning you another squeeze of your ass with his vibranium hand and a bit more pressure against your clit. Your eyes are shut tightly as you focus on the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls and the tip of it nearing your cervix with every snap of your hips.

When you open your eyes and look down at him, his blue eyes flit up to meet yours and that’s when you realize the mistake you’ve made. He starts rubbing circles against your clit the moment your eyes meet, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes in like a tidal wave, sweeping and relentless. With your hands on Bucky’s bare chest and your eyes locked, you lose the last shred of control you have, the last morsel of control over your abilities slips from your grasp. He feels it. Bucky feels every bit of pleasure that’s coursing through your body, he feels every thought in your mind, he hears your inner voice screaming for him. In the heat of the moment, you pour every sensation that you’re feeling straight into Bucky’s nervous system.

He can’t even speak as his orgasm hits ten times harder than it ever has before. He knows it’s coming from the eye contact and your hand on his chest, he can feel the uncharacteristic coolness beneath your palm that rests over his heart. It’s why he clamps his own hand over yours on his chest and uses his vibranium arm to wrap around your back and pull you down against him. As Bucky’s cum paints your walls, filling you so full that it starts dripping down his shaft, he can’t stop thrusting up into you. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

“Bucky, I’m…” You suck in a deep breath as you collapse on his chest, though he keeps your hand anchored over his heart. “I’m full, I can’t…” He shushes you as his continues pushing his cock up into your pussy. He slows but doesn’t stop.

“Don’t move.” He’s begging. Though his tone doesn’t sound like it, he’s fully aware that that’s what he’s doing. You haven’t fully caught your breath yet, but a soft laugh leaves your lips.

“Move or get off of my cock.” You repeat his earlier words playfully.

“I hate you.”

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potatothots · 2 months

Text

18+

Bucky who loves watching it go in and out.

That’s it. That’s the warning.

Bucky who is obsessed with cupping your head to look down at where he’s splitting you right in half.

Bucky who moans and whimpers every time he bottoms out, watching the sticky, creamy mess between your legs smear all over the trimmed curls at the base of his cock.

Bucky who wants to jerk himself off with the wet strands of your combined arousal each time he pulls back, slamming it back in.

Bucky who has never sounded needier in his life when his cock swells, veins throbbing because your little button is begging to be touched.

Bucky who pulls out just to flick his cockhead around your clit, drawing his sensitive tip around in circles till he’s nearly cumming himself, fat drops of precum coating your soaked nub.

Bucky whose jaw is slack, humping and rutting himself between hour folds, letting the head bump against your clit before slamming into you again with a desperate cry.

Bucky who works his hips faster, till your belly bulges, fucking you till his heavy balls can’t take it any more, his cock harder than ever.

Bucky who cums and cums and cums with the most feral look his face while he watches his cock throb and fill you up.

Bucky who doesn’t pull out until his dick is empty and sensitive, letting out a whimper with his precious, soft length now resting between his thick thighs.

Bucky who is going to be instantly hard again when he sees all of his seed dripping out of your cunt, stuffing himself back in you without warning.

K bye.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #this potato is baked

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potatothots · 2 months

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Tbr! Interesting concept, reblogging to save and read!

𓅨 Eros Masterlist

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son's death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Overall Warnings: Filthy Explicit Material, Explicit Language, Time Travel, Morpheus getting jealous of his past self, Hoe!Dream, DILF!Dream, Seduction at its finest.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

(Current) Total Word Count: ~8.8k

Legend:

❗ = Explicit Sexual Material

𓅨 Chapter One

𓅨 Chapter Two

𓅨 Chapter Three❗

𓅨 Chapter Four❗

𓅨 Chapter Five❗

𓅨 Chapter Six❗

𓅨 Chapter Seven❗

𓅨 Chapter Eight❗

Date Published: 12/30/23

Date Completed: NOT YET COMPLETE

Last Edit: 2/15/24

Morpheus/Dream Masterlist

#dream the endless #morpheus x reader #dream the endless x reader #lord morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #the sandman netflix #morpheus #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #this potato is ready

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potatothots · 2 months

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Interesting……. What’s our Dream King up to?

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part I.

GIF: Originally posted by @sandmancentral

Summary: Self-insert. You’re having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit.

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs. Story inspired by my own experience with parasomnia and night terrors. Fun fact: I’ve had two parasomnia episodes since starting to write this and they were quite something! Second part coming soon. Have a great day, Saskia.

————–

Sleep hallucinating was not something that you had experienced as a child. The occasional bout of sleep talking and walking, yes, but seeing things in a state of semi-unconsciousness was something you had grown into.

Keep reading

#morpheus x reader #the sandman #the sandman netflix #morpheus/dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman 2022 #morpheus/dream

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potatothots · 2 months

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Excited for the next part! Loved this part. Morpheus is deliciously dark. <3

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Two-Shot Part 1)

GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates but for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

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Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," He says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

-------------------------------------

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #the sandman 2022 #sandman #the sandman fic #sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #morpheus #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #this potato is ready

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