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buckys-wintersoldier · 5 months

Text

When we are older

Pairing: BestFriend!Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x BestFriend!Girlfriend Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are best friends since childhood and you have the plan to marry when you’re older. But when you move away he turns into an idiot.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, Bucky being an idiot for a while, but much of fluff

Wordcount: 6.7k (I know it’s so long but please, it’s worth it [at least I hope but it is I guess])

A/N: After you all wanted to read this one I wrote it and you know it with the title “Only love can hurt like this” but I had planned to name this one “When we are older”. The song “Older” by Ben Platt inspired me a bit, so I hope you enjoy that. Divider made by @firefly-graphics.

A/N²: Thank you to @cosmicbucky for encouraging me with that idea and helping me with some ideas for this one, that really means a lot.

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Taglist: @nicoline1998enilocin @sergeantbarnessdoll @bucky-barnes-lover @kandis-mom @felicitylemon @ergle-barnes @sweater-bee @identity2212 @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @km-ffluv @harleycao (want to be tagged? Here)

10. March 1925

"Happy Birthday, Buck!", you scream and throw your hands around his neck. He immediately wraps his arms around you and presses your little body against his. "Now you're 8 years old,", you say with a proud smile on your lips, and you kiss his cheek gently.

"Come, I will show you my presents," he whispers, and he takes your hand into his little one. He runs, pulling you along with him, with a huge smile on his lips. He is so happy to have you with him. His little doll, his best friend and the one he loves the most.

When you both arrive at the table, you are fascinated by all the presents. "My new stuffed cat. I will call her Alpine. Mommy said, I will get a cat when I get older." He puts his stuffed animal into your arms. It's a little white cat with ocean blue eyes. They immediately remind you of Bucky's eyes. "It looks so sweet, and her eyes are as blue as yours," you say, patting the little head of the stuffed animal.

"And here," he says, climbing on the table to find something else to show you. He hands you a picture. It shows the both of you during the trip a few weeks ago. Bucky stands behind you, and his hands are wrapped around your waist, while you both stand in front of a waterfall. His head turns towards you, and you still know the words he whispered into your ear.

"We are going to marry one day, aren't we? I love you so much, my doll. You're the most wonderful girl in the world, and I will love you forever."

You both giggle when you look at the picture. His one hand wraps around your waist while you lay your head on his shoulder. "You still remember what your answer was?", he smiles, and you nod. How couldn't you?

"You're so sweet, Buck. I will love you forever, too. Can we marry at the beach? Or in the tree house?", you asked, and his answer was "Everything for my doll."

He put the picture back on the table and wanted to do the same with the stuffed animal when he saw you wrapping his arms around him and cuddling. "If you cuddle Alpine more than me, I'm mad,", he says, giggling, before you both walk back to the other guests. All of them are adults, but you both don't mind; you have each other, and that is everything that counts for you.

Bucky and you lay in the tree house, watching the stars and the moon, while most of the guests are home again. His hand is around you, and he presses you tightly against his body. "I wish we were already older; then we could marry,", he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You absolutely love his forehead kisses, and you're the only one doing it. Even when someone told him to kiss another girl, he hit the guy in the face. "You remember the theater when you almost wanted to hit the man's face?", you ask, and Bucky nods, breathing loudly against your skin and making you giggle.

The week before the holidays is always filled with much fun for the students. And this time it is a theater performance. You wait for Bucky before you walk into the room with the other kids and adults.

"Hey, doll,", he says, wrapping his arms around you. He kisses your forehead gently. You walk together into the room and take a seat next to each other. When the lesson starts, you both pay attention to the people explaining what you all have to do. But you and Bucky can't stop looking at each other every now and then. He smiles widely when you meet his gaze, and his eyes brighten whenever he looks at you.

After finding out more about the characters, the plot, and the role for everyone, you start to exercise the performance. You're on the stage right now. You play the fairy, which you really want to play, and walk in the background before you have to go to the prince to tell him what he has to do. Bucky stands in front of the stage, looking as often as he can towards you while he plays his role as the prince.

When you walk towards him, he smiles widely, while the princess sits in front of him, looking into a book. A dwarf has enchanted her, and the prince wants to help her before they are going to marry each other.

You reach them and walk a circle around them. "You don't need to fight against the dwarf; you only need to kiss her. The kiss of true love, my prince.", You say your lines and walk around them both before you go off the stage. He follows you before he turns his head to the princess.

Bucky leans down, but he is a few inches away from the princess. "James, you need to kiss her. Just her cheek or her forehead,", the man says. Bucky turns around and looks at him with half-closed eyes, and his eyes darken. He is angry, and you know that because when someone makes jokes about you, he looks like that too. "I don't want to kiss her,", he says, folding his arms in front of his chest. "We talked about that scene. It's just her cheek or forehead,", the man tries again, but Bucky shakes his head.

He walks off of the stage and towards the man. When he stands in front of him, he doesn't even reach the chest of the theater teacher. With his little fingers, he points up to him and speaks between clenched teeth. "I. Don't. Want. To. Kiss. Her.", he points out every word.

You smile at the scene in front of you. Little Bucky is a big man, but Buck acts like he is bigger and could throw the man down when he wants to do it. "But a prince has to kiss the princess,", the theater teacher says, pointing towards the princess before he looks back at Bucky.

Bucky shrugs and walks towards you. The man looks at the two of you in confusion when Bucky presses his lips on your forehead, making you blush. "I've kissed my princess. And she is the only one I will kiss. I'm not going to kiss a 'would like to be' princess. Only my princess, and she is playing the most wonderful fairy because she is the most wonderful and perfect girl on earth. Understood?", he says, looking with an angry gaze back at the teacher.

He smiles and shakes his head lightly. "Oke", he says, clapping into his hands. "Then you don't have to kiss her. Put your head on her head,", the teacher adds, and Bucky nods proudly of himself before he kisses your forehead again and walks back on the stage to practice the theater performance.

You both lay in the tree house, looking at each other and talking about everything and nothing. Both of you love to just be there; it's like your little home. And you're almost planning your wedding and your future life together.

"No matter what happens later, the one person I take care of, protect, and need in my life is you, my doll,", he says, and you blush, giggling about his words, but you want it too; you want him.

28. June 1933

Bucky stands in front of you. His arms are around your waist, and he presses you against his chest. He is still bigger than you, and over the years, he has gained a lot of muscle. The cute little boy turned into a young, wonderful man, and almost every girl loves him, even some boys.

"You know I still love only you,", he whispers, and his voice breaks a bit. "We are gonna marry one day. It's not that long until we can marry,", he jokes, but you can feel the tears running down his cheeks. You smile sadly when you pull away. Just a bit to look into his eyes.

His eyes are red, but he smiles slightly. He tries to give you some strength. "I love you too, Buck,", you whisper, and you know he will wait for you. Shit job from your parents, so you have to move to the other side of the country. But he is yours, and you're his; you both have said that. His lips meet yours, and you can taste your salty tears while you lay your arms around his neck, pressing him more towards you.

When you have to go into the car, he waves and runs next to it before your parents drive too fast for him. You lean your head back and close your eyes. The tears stream down your cheeks quietly. You know he will wait for you; you know you're the only girl in his life; and you know he wouldn't do the things you both did. But no matter how much you know that, you don't want to move away, even when you know you can come back in a few months, maybe some years.

You pull out the little letter he gave you before you take your seat in the car.

For my doll.

When you unfold the letter, you can see the whole paper covered with blue ink and his handprint, which you love. But you also see some points with smeared ink, and you know he cried when he wrote the letter for you.

Hey, doll.

I hope you will have a good start at the new school there. If not, write to me, and I will come to you as far as I can. Believe me, I wanted to tell you that I will never find the right words. I had a couple of weeks to think about the perfect words.

You smile at his words, knowing he is right. And so both of you could just cuddle and kiss each other. Lying in the tree house again and feeling the things you already felt eight years ago.

Can you imagine that I got Alpine eight years ago? And now we have the real Alpine for a year. I told you about a surprise; I will tell you what it is. When you open your suitcase, you will find something you really love. And I can't get the picture of you with it in your hand out of my head. So I decided you both are perfect for each other until I can hold you in my arms again when I visit you. When you open your suitcase, you will find Alpine there. The stuffed animal, of course, but you have loved her since my eight birthday, so she is yours, like I'm.

You feel the smile on your lips with every word you read, but also the tears. Your mom takes you out of your thoughts and off of the letter for a moment. "We planned a trip, and we could ask Bucky if he wanted to come with us. Actually, we already asked him and his parents, and they said yes,", he says, stroking your knees with his hand. You smile even wider and look at her. "That sounds perfect,", you say before you turn your attention back to the paper.

I love you so much, and I can't wait to hold you in my arms again. A second surprise for you is the chocolate you like the most. I put it in your favorite cup. This is the chocolate we had our first kiss with. Or it was the reason for our first kiss.

You chuckle lightly when you think about the kiss. The first real kiss you both shared was the first time your lips met his, and the feeling of butterflies in your stomach grew.

It was when the two of you were in the tree house, like always. You watched your favorite movie while eating your favorite snacks. When he was looking at you, Bucky pointed to your face. "Was it there?", you asked, giggling, and he sat up. You rolled yourself to the side and looked up at him. "There is someone chocolate,", he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. Then he placed his lips on yours. "I think I got you mixed up with the chocolate,", he whispered against your lips, making you laugh softly.

He told you a few minutes later that there was no chocolate, but he wanted to kiss you. He laid on his back again and was looking at you while he told you. You leaned your body over him and kissed him again, while his hands moved to your hips and he pulled you onto his lap.

I love you, my doll; I always have and I always will. I can't imagine a life without you because you are my life. I hope we can see each other in the next holidays; otherwise, I will go crazy.

And I know you will be the most wonderful girl at your new school, and they will love you. I hope it is for them; otherwise, they miss the best person there is on this planet. I believe in you, and I'm so proud of you, doll.

I love you 'til the end of the endless line.

Your absolutely best friend, boyfriend, and one-day husband, Buck.

You have never talked about boyfriend or girlfriend. It was something usual for you two. You love each other, and there is no one else in your lives. So no one of you needed to say that directly or ask for it; you both are perfect for each other, and you know it since you're little kids.

5. September 1933

It's your first day at your new school. During the time you meet a boy, he lives just a few houses away from you, and you both become good friends. He is as old as you, a blonde-haired, muscular boy named Steve Rogers.

The two of you had a lot of time during the holidays, so you spent this time together. He helped you to avoid the pain in your chest, and he helped you to live at least a bit without Bucky by your side whenever it's possible. And Steve made you laugh as often as it was possible.

"Steve, where are we?", You laugh and look around. You're in the middle of a big room, but no one except the two of you is there. "In the classroom. Oke, maybe not, but I thought it's here,", he says and looks around.

You laugh even harder when he starts to scream like a little girl. "What the fuck?", he shouts, and when you look at him, he stands behind a table. "A spider,", he says, scratching the back of his head and blushing. "But it looks like a very big dinosaur or something,", he mumbles, trying to climb over the table again.

You look at him. "A dinosaur, really, Steve? You remind me of Bu-", you interrupt yourself, and your eyes widen. "Sorry, I'- not wanted,", you stutter quietly, but he shakes his head. "It's oke; don't worry. I know you miss him,", he says, and you nod your head, feeling the tears in your eyes, and wipe them away with one hand.

You feel his arms around you, and he holds you until you calm down a bit. "Can we go to our class now? I think this isn't the right room,", he whispers, and you chuckle lightly. Then he takes your hand and pulls you along with him out of the room and into the next room.

"Mrs. Y/L/N and Mr. Rogers,", the teacher says, pointing to the seats in front of him. You already don't like the place, but when you complain, the teacher will hate you. So you just walk to the table and take a seat, looking up at your teacher. He nods and continues with his lesson.

While you work on the tasks, your teacher walks around, and he often stands next to you. Steve sits next to you, and whenever the teacher isn't next to you, he makes jokes, and you almost burst out laughing whenever he says something.

"Steve, this is way too funny,", you say and giggle lightly. "Is it?", The voice of your teacher appears behind you, and you feel the cold shiver along your spine. "Sorry,", you mumble, but it doesn't help much to get less homework.

The lesson feels like two hours when you finally hear the bell and you almost run out of the room. You have a short break right now, and you want to use it to write a letter for Bucky. You told him you would send some his way, like you two did during the holidays.

When you reach a bench, you sit down and search for paper and a pen. You don’t need to think too long about things you write; you always have something to tell him, even if it’s only ‘I miss you’ or ‘I love you’.

Hey Buck.

Like I said last week, school started today, and it’s not too bad. I and Steve were late because we were in the wrong room, but it was oke. He made a lot of jokes in the lesson, and the teacher saw it.

But no matter how funny he is, he isn't like you. I really miss you, and I hope we can meet during the holidays. And in a few years, we can finally marry. I wish we were already a bit older.

How are you, and how is the school? Still as boring as always?

I love you, Buck.

Y/N.

You write, and when you finish it, you smile and put it all back in your back. With a look at the clock, you see the next lesson starts in a few minutes, so you walk back to go to your math class.

"Y/N!" Steve shouts and smiles at you when you walk closer. “Let’s go to math class, oke? And what do you think about a movie night?” he asks, and you nod immediately. “Sounds perfect,” you say, and the two of you make your way to the next classroom.

10. July 1935

You haven’t seen Bucky for eight months now, and he doesn’t write you letters anymore. You miss him so much, and it gets worse every day. Not even Steve can help you, so he made the best plan for the holidays, and when he stands in front of your door and shows you tickets, you smile lightly.

“We are going to meet him,” he says, and you look confused. “In the cinema?” you ask, and Steve chuckles. Then he shakes his head and hands you the tickets. You look at them, and when you realize this, your mood immediately changes to happiness.

Those are two tickets for the train, and when you read the place you are going, you can’t stop smiling. “We are going to meet Buck?” you ask to make sure you haven’t read something wrong. Steve nods at you, and then he points to the date. 10. July; 10.25 a.m.

"Steve, that’s in one hour,” you say, and you turn around to look for everything you need. He looks at you with amusement but also with adoration in his eyes. He takes a seat on your bed while you put everything in your bag.

When you suddenly turn around, you face Steve. “You’re the best,” you whisper, and you wrap your arms around his neck. “I know,” he chuckles, and he kisses your cheek gently. “But now let’s go,” he says, standing up to walk out of your room. You follow him.

The drive to Bucky takes a while, but with Steve, it isn’t boring. The two of you play some games and talk about everything and nothing. Even when you have already told him a lot about you and Bucky, you can always find other things for him to tell Steve. And he listens even when you talk for hours about it, and sometimes he asks you things so he can listen to more of your stories.

“He doesn’t have holidays yet, so we can go to school and meet him there,” you say while you wait to finally arrive at your home. Even when you live in another place now, your old home is still your home because of Bucky.

The next station is the one the two of you need to get out of the train. So you put your things into your bag and put on your jacket before you walk to the door with Steve. A big smile forms on your lips when the train slowly stops, and you would jump up and down when you could, but there are a lot of people, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself or Steve.

“Do you smell that wonderful air?” You ask when the door opens, and you take a deep breath. Steve chuckles, but nods then. “It’s nice here. So where is the school?” He asks immediately and looks at you.

He loves to see that huge smile, your lips, and the way your eyes brighten when you think about Bucky. Steve knows that Bucky means a lot to you, so he feels your joy inside of him as well. And he knows you to see that you’re so excited about the trip like he is. Steve can finally meet Bucky, the boy you always talk about and who seems like a really nice guy and lovely boyfriend.

You make your way through the streets to the school. With every step, you feel the excitement inside of you growing, and when you see the big building, you want to run there.

“There we are, almost, this building there,” you say, and you smile wide when you point to the school. The two of you walk next to each other along the street. With every step, you see more of the building and the schoolyard.

“When you walk around the corner and then along the street, you reach my old house,” you say, pointing to a corner. Steve follows your finger and looks interested. “It looks beautiful here, even better than in your stories,” he laughs, and you do as well. “Thank you for coming here with me,” you mumble before the two of you walk over the schoolyard.

“No problem. I prefer to see that beautiful smile of yours,” he chuckles, and you look up at him before you take his hand and pull him with you until you reach the entrance of the school.

There are already a few students, and when you look around, you see your favorite brown-haired boy. “Steve, Steve, there he is,” you mumble excitedly and walk closer to Bucky, who stands next to a tree and a little bench. When you walk closer, you see a girl standing in front of him, and she laughs about something.

“Buck,” you say, and he immediately turns around. He nods towards you and looks up and down at you before he looks at Steve. Bucky looks like a young man now; he has muscles, a slight beard, and his short brown hair is messy, but his steel blue eyes are still the same, as are his looks as well.

He turns his head back to the girl, excuses himself, and then comes closer to you and Steve. “What are you doing here?” He asks and nods to Steve. “I wanted to see you. I wrote a few letters, and now Steve said, we come here." You mumble and look up at Bucky.

The brown-haired boy nods and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, another girl comes closer. “James, it was wonderful yesterday. Do you think we can do it again?” She asks, and you feel a cold shiver along your spine.

“But not today,” he says, and the girl smirks at him before she walks back to her friends. “Sorry,” he mumbles and looks back at you. You feel like you don’t know Bucky anymore. He looks so different, and his gaze and voice are so cold that you shiver whenever you look at him.

“How are you?” You ask, not knowing what else you could ask. "Good, and you? It looks like you found someone,” he says, looking at Steve, who stands next to you. “He is my best friend, but we are not together,” you say, and there is just a nod from Bucky.

“James, babe,” the girl he excused himself calls him. He looks annoyed and turns around. “Even when I fuck you, I told you not to call me ‘babe’ and I’m busy right now,” he groans, and you gasp quietly. The girl mumbles something, but Bucky just shakes his head and looks at you again.

“Sorry,” he says, and you feel the tears in your eyes. "Do you sleep with her?” You ask, and he chuckles darkly before he shakes his head. “I don’t sleep with her; I fuck them. Those girls beg for me; they are on their knees to spend a night with me. And I can do whatever I want with them; they are like fucktoys,” he explains, and you feel a tear rolling down your cheek. “What happened?” You whisper, and he looks confused before he shrugs.

“Buc-“ he interrupts you. “James,” he corrects, and you feel like you're in front of another person right now. The sweet boy who wanted to make you smile, loved you when you laughed, and wanted to marry you isn’t in front of you right now, and you don’t know why he is the way he is right now.

“I have my next class now, and after that, I go to a party with some girls to fuck them, so I need to go to my class now. It was nice to see you. If you want to get fucked too, you can just ask, but I’m sure he is also really good," he says, looking at you before he looks at Steve. “Have you fucked her, or are you the one making love?” He laughs sarcastically and waits for Steve's answer. “I don’t fuck her, and I haven’t slept with her. She loves you so much that she says no to everyone who just wants to dance with her, except me,” Steve says, placing an arm around your shoulder while you feel even more tears streaming down your cheeks.

When Steve says that you love Bucky, there is a moment where he looks like a lost puppy, a broken boy, but it immediately changes into a cold gaze, so you're not really sure if you saw it right. With a nod, he walks to the entrance of the school.

“Now we are older, and I wish we were younger,” you mumble and hide your face in Steve’s hoodie. He holds you tight against him and rubs your back with his hand, trying to calm you down while he mumbles sweet words into your ear.

“It’s oke. I have you, and he is hurt; he can’t see that he is doing this to you too,” he whispers, and you look up at Steve. Your eyes are red, and your cheeks are wet while you look up at him. “What do you mean? He fucks with all of those girls here,” you mumble, and you feel the tears burning in your eyes again. Steve uses his thumb to wipe them away and looks at you with a small smile.

Before he answers, he lifts you up, you let him carry you to the bench, and he sits down with you on his lap. “Have you seen that gaze when I told him you love him?” Steve asks, and you nod. “He misses you, and he is hurt. Maybe you should talk to him,” Steve explains, and you shake your head. “Noo,” you whisper and lean your body against Steve’s, your head resting on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t an offer; you will talk to him or I will,” he demands. “I don’t want to”, you mumble against his neck, and you close your eyes to get some sleep. Steve rubs your back slowly and helps you to sleep while he looks to the door, waiting until Bucky can go home.

It’s not too long until the door opens and the first people run out of the building. When Steve finds the brown-haired boy, he looks at him until he recognizes him and walks towards the two of you. You're half asleep when Bucky stands in front of you and looks at Steve. “What are you still doing here?” He asks and then looks at you with a loving gaze for a moment.

“I know you have a party you want to go to and fuck all those girls, but I want you to know that there is one girl who really loves you and she waits for you. When she saw you with those girls today, something broke inside of her, and I know you’re hurt. I don’t know why, but I don’t want you to hurt her. There was no one other than you she was talking about, and whenever someone asked her to go out, she said no,” Steve says, looking at Bucky with a serious look. “When you’re hurt, then tell her. But don’t act like you don’t love her. I can see that you have that look when you look at her; it’s only then. So warm and loving,” the blond-haired boy says, and Bucky swallows hard.

"Maybe, but I have something to do today,” Bucky says, wanting to turn around, but Steve stops him. “When you go to the party without talking to her, I will tell her that there is nothing about you that she always told me about. And that it’s not worth it to wait for someone like you; there are a lot of boys who would treat her better than you do right now,” your best friend says and strokes your back. You mumble something in your sleep while Bucky looks at you. Then he nods. "Let's go to my house,” he says, and Steve stands up with you. Bucky swallows hard when he realizes Steve’s words, and when he sees you, his gaze softens.

“Want to carry her? Otherwise, I would do it,” Bucky offers. “It’s oke, but her bag,” Steve answers and points with his head to your bag. Bucky smiles lightly when he sees the bag. You have had that one since the two of you were little kids. Then he throws it over his shoulder and walks next to Steve.

They don’t talk, but Bucky looks almost every second at you, making sure Steve holds you and because he just wants to see you. “Stevie?” You mumble, and Bucky's heart races when he hears your sleepy voice. He adores the one, at least as much as your voice in general. He missed hearing you talk, but he wouldn’t admit it; otherwise, he would feel the same as he did when you moved away.

“I have you, princess,” he mumbles, but Bucky hears it. And he wants to hit Steve right in the face when he calls you ‘princess’ but he knows he has no right to do it. “Are we at home?” You ask, but Steve shakes his head. “No, James is here, and we go to his house now,” he tells you, and you nod while you feel the tears again.

You let your best friend carry you to your second home, or it was your second home when you and Bucky were kids, but now you’re not sure about it anymore. “My mom is home,” Bucky says, and you feel a warmth running through his body when you hear his suddenly soft voice.

When he opens the door, the three of you walk inside, and Steve lets you down. “You can go into the living room; I just need to call someone that I have no time for parties right now,” he explains, and you nod while you walk into the living room. Steve follows you. You still know everything in that house, and it feels like nothing has changed except for a scratching tree in the corner of the room and a white fur ball lying on the couch.

“Alpine,” you say softly, and the little white cat lifts her head to look at you. She has steel blue eyes, the same as Bucky's, and she looks exactly like the cat Bucky got on his birthday when he turned eight.

With a few steps, you reach the couch and hold your hand in front of the cat. Alpine sniffs at your hand before she leans against it and lets you scratch her ear. "You are such a sweet little fur ball,” you coo. You turn your head to Steve and point with your head next to you on the couch.

“You can sit here. What did you say that he is so nice now?” You ask, and Steve chuckles lightly. "I told him the truth about your feelings, but I also told him that there are a lot of boys who would treat you like the princess you are,” he explains, and you smile at him.

When you hear footsteps behind you, you turn around and see the face of Bucky’s mother looking at you. “Y/n, I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re such a big and beautiful young lady now,” she says with a huge smile on her lips, and you nod before you stand up and almost run into her arms for a much-needed hug. “I missed you so much,” you whisper, and she agrees before she lets go and looks at you again. “I was sure you would be a gorgeous young lady, and you are,” she whispers and then looks at Steve.

“Hello, I’m Steve,” he greets the woman, and she nods before she walks closer to him and hugs him as well. “James is in his room?” She asks. “He wanted to call someone because of a party." You shrug and sit down next to Steve. Bucky’s mother takes a seat on the armchair across from you.

“I’m so glad you’re here, that the two of you are here. When you moved away, Bucky wasn’t the same anymore. In the first time, he tried to be as much as he was, but with every day, he turned more into an idiot. I haven’t seen him crying like that when you moved away, and I guess he changed into the one he is to avoid his feelings,” his mom says and sighs quietly. “I try to talk to him; I miss my little Buck, the one who wanted to marry me when we were young, and we didn't want to wait any longer there,” you chuckle. Steve listens to you and smiles lightly when he sees your chuckle.

Just a few moments later, the brown-haired boy walks downstairs again and comes into the living room. He doesn’t say anything when he takes a seat next to you, so you sit between your two favorite boys. He clears his throat, but then he is quiet again.

“Steve, I’m sure you heard a lot of stories about them; do you want to see the pictures of them? There are some really funny ones; I’m sure you will like them,” Bucky’s mother says and stands up. Steve nods with a wide and mischievous smile. “Love ya, princess,” he whispers into your ear. “Love ya too,” you say before he follows the woman out of the room.

Then you’re alone with Bucky, his jaw clenching, and he rubs his sweating hands in his pants. You look at him and see how nervous he is; he isn’t looking at you. “Buck, listen, oke,” you start, but before you can continue, you see tears streaming down his cheeks, and you interrupt yourself.

Suddenly, he stands up before kneeling in front of you, his hands on your thighs as well as his head. You place one of your hands on top of his head and run your fingers through his soft, brown hair. “I’m sorry, I love you,” he whispers against the fabric of your pants. You scratch his head softly and wait until he looks up at you.

After a moment, he lifts his head, and your eyes meet. His tears are wet, and his eyes are red when you wipe his tears away. He breathes deeply and then opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, you can see the tears streaming down his cheeks again. “It’s ok,” you mumble, and you glide your fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t want to hurt you, never. I love you so much, but when you moved away-“ he starts, sobbing before he continues to speak. “Everything was so empty, and no matter where I was, we were there together. I missed you so much that I wasn't able to leave my room for weeks. And even so, there is everything that reminds me of you. I’m sorry for being an idiot; I wanted to think about aging nothing for a few minutes, but I haven’t thought about you then,” he whispers between even more sobs. He let his head fall down on your thighs again. “You really were an idiot,” you chuckle, and you capture Bucky’s face with your hands so he needs to look at you.

“But you’re my idiot,” you mumble before you lean forward and kiss him softly. You're not sure if it’s what he wants, but as soon as your lips meet, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you closer. You feel the love and happiness, as well as the butterflies in your stomach, when his lips meet yours and his adorable blue eyes look lovely into yours. “Do you still want to marry me? We can do it; now we are older and can marry,” he whispers against your lips, and you nod. “I definitely want to, Buck,” you mumble. He smiles at you when you continue talking. “But no other girls anymore, and don’t be jealous about Stevie; he is nice,” you say, laughing, and Bucky nods with a smile before he kisses your forehead.

“No other girls and not jealous of Steve,” he chuckles, and it’s like his mother and your best friend heard you because they walk back into the room and see the two of you smiling at each other.

“Do you want some cake as well?” The woman asks, and you immediately look up at her with a wide smile. “What kind of cake?” You ask, and Bucky laughs when he sees your eyes brighten. “Your favorite,” Bucky whispers into your ear, and you push him back to jump to the kitchen.

"Cake, I’m coming,” you say, and the three others look at you while they burst out laughing before they follow you. When you reach the kitchen, you see the big cake on the table, but before you are there to steal it, you feel two strong arms around your waist and pressing against a body. “Do you like Alpine? She looks like my stuffed animal; do you still know it?” He asks, and you nod while you try to reach the table with the cake.

“Do you want me to bring you the cake?” Steve asks with a laugh, and you look at him with your best puppy eyes. "Yes, please,” you say, and he takes the cake but walks away from you, and you hear the two boys laughing. “You’re mean,” you mumble. Bucky kisses your neck, and you feel goosebumps all over your body.

“You’re the most wonderful girl, and I love you, my doll,” Bucky whispers into your ear, and you smile widely. “I love you too, Buck, but now give me some cake,” you say, smiling, and he shakes his head, looking at you with adoration and love in his eyes while Steve comes back with cake and places it back on the table.

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angry-geese · 4 months

Text

The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek.

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing.

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came.

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father.

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards.

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you.

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match.

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him.

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking.

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says.

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it?

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood.

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them.

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!”

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago.

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters.

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear.

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear.

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams.

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders.

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says.

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die.

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says.

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind.

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this.

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity.

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you.

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious?

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore.

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.”

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things.

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down?

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after.

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods.

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long.

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk.

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire.

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says.

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse.

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say.

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear.

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough.

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living.

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river.

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff.

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say.

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you.

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly.

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours.

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it.

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse.

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #not osha compliant #jjk #my writing

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lilac-5ky · 11 months

Text

Father's Day (Toji xFem!Reader)

Summary: It's father's day and you forgot to get Toji his gift.

Tags: dilf Toji, babysitter reader, secret relationship, age gap (reader early 20s, Toji early 30s), daddy kink, breeding kink, lactation kink, spanking, mating press, mention of doggy style, cumplay, blowjob, gagging, deep throating, creampie, heavy usage of pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel, slut, etc), soft!dom Toji being a condescending piece of shit, Megumi being an absolute angel, hope i'm not forgetting anything, pls don't murder me.

Word Count: 4.3k divided between fluff and smut.

“That’s it, Megs! You did so well today!” You smiled, giving the boy’s spikes a little affectionate ruffle. “I’m sure your dad will be so happy to see how hard you worked on his gift.”

“Liar.” Megumi put the glue stick face-down against the table. “It’s not as good as the ones you make, Y/N.”

“That’s because I’ve put years into it, you know? When you get older, I’m sure you’ll be the one teaching me.” You promised, holding his drawing toward the light.

The pasta on the paper depicted the face of a silly-looking man; chopped lasagna for his dark hair, spinach-flavored shells for his green eyes, penne for the jagged scar on his fusilli lips, and broken spaghetti to help frame the sharp edges of his chiseled jaw. The inscription “World’s Best Dad” was written at the bottom corner by yours truly, Megumi being too young to know the proper spelling.

Admittedly, it looked nothing like Toji, but even if you got the man himself to pose for your DIY project, you doubted you’d get any closer to capturing his charms. At least it resembled a human being, and that was the core difference between based on and loosely inspired by.

Megumi jumped from his stool and waved his hands before you, his fingers stuck together as if he were a duckling. You chuckled, meaning to settle the drawing on the table so you could escort him to the bathroom when you heard keys twisting in the door lock.

“Quick, go wash your hands and I’ll take care of your daddy, okay?”

Megumi nodded, dashing upstairs in seconds while you browsed the kitchen for a hiding spot, panicking as a couple of macaroni were chipped off. You grabbed the glue and hastily pieced them back in place, but it was too late. A pair of strong arms snaked around your waist, pressing you flush against an unmovable wall of muscle.

“T-Toji!”

Your yelp was silenced by his lips, hungry from having to spend an entire day filling forms and sorting mail at a work he despised with every inch of his being— some of those very inches poking against your ass as his hips bucked into yours almost possessively. Coming home to the cute little babysitter he’d made his girlfriend was everything he needed to recharge his batteries.

“Meg-gu…mi will see us,” you panted in between heated kisses, trying and mostly failing to defend your body from his greedy palms diving into your shorts.

He felt your skin flare up, so sensitive for him even after countless days of the same ritual. His index pried beneath your panties —the lacy ones he’d gotten you for your birthday— to meet with your pussy’s puffy lips, gliding across the gathering slick as if he meant to say “Hello”. His thumb rubbed a rough circle over your clit, giving the nub a few teasing flicks that were enough for you to arch your back against his chest, a hushed moan bitten into his neck. He chuckled to himself as he retracted his fingers and gingerly licked them one by one.

“Missed ya so much, angel,” Toji coed in a low voice. “Y’always taste sweeter when I’m not around, know that?”

You giggled against his mouth, his tongue eager to share your essence. “How would you know that if you’re away?”

“I just do,” he smiled, putting an end to the unforeseen display of affection with a gentle kiss on your cheek. “Where’s Megumi?” he searched through the space.

You moved in accordance with his eyes, swaying left and right to cover as much of the table as possible. “He’s in the bathroom. Washing his hands for dinner.”

Toji hummed, thumbing his tie loose around his neck. He could hate his job all he wanted, but nothing compared to the sight of seeing Fushiguro Toji in office attire. His sleeves were rolled around his elbows, toned biceps popping under the tight fabric of his white button-up. He paired straight black pants with a plain black belt— nothing impressive on its own until he bent over the lower cabinets to grab himself a glass, and you stole a quick peek at his rare and the impossible way the fabric hugged his—

In any case, you were convinced Toji had somehow missed Megumi’s drawing, his primary interest to fill and then refill his glass with fresh tap water. You seized the chance to transfer his gift to a safer location, though before you could take another step, he grabbed your wrist and forced your hand into play.

He studied his own face harder than your art professors evaluated your semester’s projects, his nose scrunching up at the finer details of his farfalle ears. “That why I pay your tuition for?” He snorted at you snatching the art piece from his hands.

“Better act excited when Megs comes here,” you straightened the creased edges and stored it in an empty drawer. “He’s already doubting his talent.”

“His what?”

He assured you he was just joking when you shot him a mean glare, your voice strict as you ushered him to follow his son’s example while you hurriedly collected the art supplies and replaced them with cutlery.

In no time, the three of you were seated around the table— Megumi on your lap while you cut his pork into bite-sized pieces, and Toji on the other side, wishing that their positions would switch. You swore this man got ten times handsier after you got together, seeking excuses to touch you even in front of his own kid. Megumi had just turned four but at this rate, it wouldn’t take long for such a bright kid to put two and two together.

The decision to keep it a secret was mutual (read: one vote for, and another against). There was no reason to disturb Megumi’s routine or throw him off balance. You’d grown fond of the little guy, and with his dad being away 2/3 of the day, you were each other’s only company. No matter how well things with Toji were going, if you suddenly fell apart, the one to hurt the most would be Megumi and you didn’t want that weight on your conscience. Being his number 1 nanny was good enough.

A certain type of silence familiar to the Fushiguro household shrouded dinnertime, with Toji trying to engage Megumi in small talk, and Megumi constantly glancing over his shoulder at you as if you were his designated spokesperson. “Yes, Megumi had a lot of fun today.” “Yes, Megumi ate all of his veggies at lunch, even the icky red peppers.” “No, Megumi knows nothing about the neighbor’s broken window.” The boy was relieved with every blatant lie you told his father, his knees gleefully flapping against your own.

By the time their plates were emptied, your food had gone completely cold, the oil in the curry sauce encasing the cutlet in a greasy coat. You gobbled it up as it was and stacked the plates into a pile that you placed in the sink, signaling for Megumi to come over. You handed him his drawing, encouraged him with two thumbs up, and sent him off to his “unsuspecting” father.

Your lips stretched into a smile as Megumi presented his drawing, mumbling a strained “Happy Father’s Day” under his breath as if he had a gun pointed at his head. So stubborn, though you could definitely see where he took it from, Toji’s reply being an equally stern “Thanks, kiddo”. You rolled your eyes and rushed to the scene, praising a blushing Megumi over his artwork and exaggerating his achievements to Toji who just wouldn’t take a hint. How these two managed to survive by themselves, was a wonder on its own.

Eventually, Toji gave his son a more fatherly rub on the back and hoisted the boy over his shoulders to lead him to his bedroom. Megumi squeaked, planting his tiny fingers into Toji’s hair, and clasped his legs tight around his neck. You remembered a meek confession from a few nights ago, muffled out by the covers and the plush toy over his mouth, as he let you in on how fun mounting his father was, feeling like a real mecha pilot atop his broad shoulders. He could be such a sweet kid when he wanted to. If only he was more vocal with Toji, too.

You watched the two disappear up the stairs and picked the drawing from the table, pinning it in the middle of the fridge for the world to see. You rinsed the pots with hot water and shoved them into the dishwater rack, figuring it’d be best to get as much work done as you could in Toji’s absence.

“This is the last one,” you said once the sound of feet thudding against the stairs became apparent.

You made quick work of the glass, rotating the sponge inside out, while the man leaned against the door frame without saying a thing, content with being a bystander to your impromptu clean-up session. Many a woman passed Toji’s threshold, some older, others younger, and yet you were the first to worry about the state of his bundle-bought glasses. He couldn’t pinpoint what made such a mundane sight endearing to behold, but maybe it was because of the very commonness and familiarity behind it that he hesitated to interrupt.

“Meg’s asleep?” You caught his reflection nodding through the glass, your following questions answered the same way.

“You got him in his pj’s? The blue, not the green ones, right? Got him to brush his teeth? Turned on the night light for him? Gave him his—”

A sigh echoed as he stepped into the space with his hands lost in his pockets. “How d’ya do that?”

“Do what?”

“The kid, the house,” he paused to measure his words, “me. How do you handle all that?”

Your lips pursed into an affectionate simper as you wiped your hands against the towel, looping it around the cabinet’s handle. You turned to face him and lifted your forefinger playfully. “One, the kid happens to have a very attractive father. Two, the house owner himself is sexy as hell, and you? I guess you are pretty easy on the eye.”

“Am I now?” His raspy tone was set on confirming every last impression you had of him, his tongue licking his slanted scar into a smile that was all but coy. “Which one you prefer then? The father, the house owner, or me?”

“Hmm, if I had to pick just one then,” your cheeks burned prior to your admission. “The version of you I get to call daddy.”

Satisfied with your answer, Toji pinched your chin between two fingers, admiring how eagerly your mouth popped open as the pad of his thumb swiped against your bottom lip, pushing slightly in. “Smart girl,” he cooed, feeling out the flat surface of your tongue, hot, warm, and oh-so-perfect when pressed against his cock.

“So what did you get me?” he smeared saliva over your lips, making them all nice and glossy. You stood still, faded eyes caught in the motion of his other palm shamelessly cupping your ass, his question barely registering.

“W-what?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” His fingers dug into the fat of your cheek, a warning in his voice. “Where’s my gift?”

“S-sorry, Toji. Didn’t think I had to—” A light smack cut your sentence in half, the recoil forcing you to drop onto his chest.

“Mm? What is it that y’are sorry for, princess?” He mocked, squeezing your bum against the growing bulge in his pants. Your cunt fluttered in response, clit whining at the little friction he provided. You wanted more. Wanted to feel all of him. The weight of his cock dragging between your folds and soaking in your juices before being plunged inside, every ridge and every line you’d memorized finding their rightful place in a hole that was meant for him.

You bit your lip in brewing anticipation, mustering the courage to look into his hooded green eyes that shared the same lust yours did. “Sorry I didn’t get you a gift, Toji. Should’ve known better.”

His smile softened, head cocking to the side. “Don’t sweat it. My pretty baby knows how to make it up to me, doesn’t she?”

You nodded, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “How about I gave you a second reason to celebrate today?”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you were being lifted into the air, both of Toji’s hands finding purchase in your plushy thighs, while his lips begged to hush whatever mention of Megumi before it was even conceived. He kicked his bedroom door open and shut it with his heel, tossing you against the covers of his made-up bed. (“Why bother if they gonna crinkle anyway?”)

He lost his shirt almost as quickly as he lost his tie, flinging both fabrics over his shoulder. No matter how many times you got to lay eyes on his naked body, you always managed to spot a new scar on his chest from his former lifestyle, the danger it packed serving as an additive to the wanton fantasy of having your guts rearranged by your boss.

Your legs spread quite the sight for him as he tugged off your shorts, your panties sporting a sizable wet spot right at the center. He forced the drenched fabric into your slit, drawing it taut around your hip bone. You moaned softly, mindful of the kid across the hall, while your hips rocked forward, chasing after the finger he pulled away.

“Taking care of my kid ain’t enough for you? Wanna be a real mommy now?” Toji sneered, yanking the belt off his pants.

“I want us to be a real family,” you confessed, bowing to help him with the rest of his clothes. You slid his pants down his briefs and let them drop to his knees, your cheek nuzzling to his clothed cock. You licked a strip over the fabric, thrilled to hear a breath hitch in Toji’s throat. “Let’s give Megs a sibling. One that is half me, and” you paused, wrapping your lips around the imprint of his balls, “half you.”

His cock sprung free the moment you lowered his underwear, the way his fat tip glistened with precum enough to make your mouth water. You wrapped a fist around his length, fingers barely closing around his hefty base, and gave him a languid, thorough pump. He watched intently, keeping all sounds to himself until your lips parted to fit his cock head, stretching around his thick girth.

“Fuck, baby—” Toji hissed, helping your hair out of the way while your throat molded back into his shape. You were taught how to take as much of him in as possible, yet no matter how diligent you were in your practice, you could never fit him whole. You bobbed your head up and down, hand stroking the parts you couldn’t swallow and tongue pitching in the action with sparse kitten licks along his shaft.

His fingers firmly gripped onto your hair, forcing your head to pick up speed as they traveled from your scalp to the back of your head. Your gag reflex protested with each thrust, hot tears gradually pooling in your eyes while you struggled to keep them open.

“Look so fucking good chocking on my dick.” His voice oozed sweetness that matched his stare, a look of utter adoration fluttering behind his pretty eyelashes.

If he thought you were the one to look good, then he should’ve seen himself; messy obsidian strands casting shadows over his darkened eyes, his pink lips agape more often than closed with all the unregulated profanities and praise that spilled out of them, turning up in volume the closer he got to his climax.

You felt him twitch in your mouth, the salty tang drooling down your jaw along with your saliva, though just when you thought he was about to cum, he pulled out, the string of fluids following after him. “Don’t want any of that going to waste, do we?” Toji smirked, pumping his length once or twice before letting go altogether.

He hunched over your body, his knees making the bed dip lower as his lips sought yours, jaw too slack to properly reciprocate. Rough palms slid below your top and ran over your sides, his fingers unhooking your bra with unmatched expertise. He broke the kiss to let you remove your shirt, his hands quick to wrap around your tits and fondle their way toward your nipples. He pinched at them, rolling the peaks between his thumbs until they stiffened.

“Can’t wait for them to get all round and full,” Toji mumbled as he lowered his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, suckling so hard that he just might draw milk. He wet it with his tongue, and then turned to the other, repeating the same motion. “Gonna get me addicted if the taste’s half as sweet as your pussy.”

Your fingers clenched into fists around the sheets, the sheer imagery of Toji feasting on your breasts enough to make your legs go weak. He was keen on sharing his fantasies with you, down to every last insignificant detail, but not as keen as he was on fulfilling every single one of them, and this one, was just a matter of time.

“T-Toji,” you said in a breathy voice.

A sexy smirk plastered on his scarred lips as he detached from your nipple with a soft pop. He left your call unanswered, instead spreading your legs further apart and settling in between. You saw him stroke his cock, and soon you felt the leaking head tap on your clothed clit. Only then did he bother to look up, taking stock of the little whines and pretty moans you selfishly withheld.

He couldn’t wait for his next leave to take you someplace nice and quiet, where the sounds of you crying his name at full volume would come in abundance.

“P-please,” you begged, fidgeting a lot more than before.

“Please what?” he played dumb, rubbing his hard cock along your entrance. “Use your words, sweetheart.

“Please f-fuck,” your voice cracked, too frail to handle his games. “Please, fuck me.”

“Aren’t ya forgetting something?” his thin eyebrow questioned.

“Please fuck me, daddy.”

Toji smiled slyly to himself, obliging enough to peel the panties away from your twitching cunt. “Don’t want a warm-up first? My girl big enough to take me without any prep?” he asked in a condescending tone, matching every beat of his voice with another slap against your clit. “Or is she that eager to be a mommy? That’s it, right?” he chuckled, your moan not going unregistered.

“You’ve gotten so greedy, Y/N,” he said after a series of little tsks. “Bet you also gonna ask to be my wife soon, huh?”

The air was knocked out of your lungs for a brief, albeit painful second as Toji aligned with your entrance and rammed his cock halfway in, his overwhelming size felt first as a sting in your walls and later as a tremor across your entire body. Even with how wet you were, it still hurt a lot more than your horny self thought it would— though it wouldn’t take long for the pain to melt into pleasure.

You didn’t realize you’d screamed until he hushed you, bending forward to press a sweet peck against your lips. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he gave your thigh a reassuring squeeze and gathered your wobbly knees onto his brawny shoulders, refraining to move until you stopped wincing and contorting. “Stay relaxed for me, okay?”

You shook your head and pulled him into a tight embrace, loving the contrast of his hard pecs against your squishy breasts. “Want you close, Toji. Please.”

And how could he possibly refuse when his baby begged him so well?

Your nails began raking at his back as he sunk himself deeper and deeper, the position he’d bent you into making it seem as if there were no limits to how deep his cock could reach before it was buried to the hilt. He stretched you so good, stuffing your pussy full of ecstasy and your mind full of dick as he started to thrust at a steady pace, never deviating from sealing the whimpers in your mouth with sloppy kisses.

“Doing such a good job, angel. Must really want that baby, hah— can feel ya really open up for me.” A calloused hand slid between your bodies and pressed against the tiny bulge in your stomach, appearing and disappearing with each slam of his hips. “Feel that? That’s how deep you’ve taken daddy.”

He dragged his cock out and pounded it back in, his heavy balls slapping hard against your jiggly ass. His hand lowered over your clit, flicking the nub in sync with his frantic thrusts until the coiling tension in your guts snapped, a shuddering orgasm washing over him as much as it washed over you.

“Love you s-so much, Toji,” your fingers slipped onto his neck, gradually hiking up to cup his cheek.

Specks of light glimmered in his eyes as they held your loving stare, the scarred corner of his lip curling into a cocky smirk as if to defy him. “Yeah? Is it me that you love or my cock? Came into my house so I can fuck you g-good, ah?” he stuttered along with his hips. “All that money I gave ya to watch my kid goin’ to that tight-ass pussy?”

“Answer my question, slut,” he insisted.

Your brain was going blank on answers, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cock found all the right places, hitting every single spot that led into your fertile womb until you were back to writhing below him. “B-both, Toji, fuck love your cock so much ‘s fucking me so well.”

A hand moved over your dampened forehead, swiping your disheveled hair so he could plant a kiss. “Love you too, sweets.”

You felt yourself drowning in love as the squelching grew louder, the four-bedroom walls too thin to contain the sounds of hips snapping against hips and of his husky groans as he closed in on his high a second time. “Gonna fill ya up real good. Gonna—fuck, give my pretty baby all my babies,” Toji grunted, and you repeatedly nodded, cute little sobs severing the chants of his name.

Sharp teeth dug into your neck as Toji buried himself in the crook of your shoulder, his sultry moans reverberating against your skin until they hit their crescendo when his cock began to throb, painting your walls with thick ropes of his creamy load. He slowed down, luscious thrusts shoving his cum further in while you held him close, snaring your legs around his torso.

When he finally lifted his head, you’d both regained a sliver of composure, your pants falling back into rhythm.

“You’ll be such a good mama,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth over the shrewd ringing in your ears.

“Think so?” Your lips stretched into a faint smile that he was quick to kiss.

“You already are the better parent. Kid likes you most. Bust my balls when you have your tests and needa study.”

You chuckled, tracing the outline of his scar with your thumb. “Why do I get the feeling it’s the other way around, hmm?”

A tsk twisted his lips into a scoff as he bit onto your finger. “Ouch! What was that f—”

Your voice faltered as he spun you around; face shoved into the pillows and back forced into an arch while Toji positioned himself behind your ass and dragged his cock between your swollen red folds.

“Don’t tell me you thought we were done here.”

The next morning found all three of you at the starting point of last night’s exploits, Toji sipping on a cup of black coffee and scrolling on his phone, while Megumi quietly sat beside him on the kitchen table, awaiting his breakfast to be served. Your body felt sore all over while you grilled his salmon, sand in the corners of your eyes. Normally, you’d be trying to keep everyone entertained with idle chit-chat, but with how often you yawned, getting a word out demanded serious effort— effort you weren’t prepared to put in.

“Say, Megumi.” Toji took the reins, setting his phone down. “How would you feel about having a new mommy?”

The spatula almost fell into the pan, your objection stifled by Megumi’s voice. “I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?” Toji cocked his head curiously, propping his chin onto his palm. “Then ya wouldn’t mind if it was someone you knew?”

“Mister Fushiguro, could you please help me with the fish a bit—” you pleaded through gritted teeth, only to be dismissed with a swift gesture as if you were a housefly.

“I don’t mind having a new mommy, but I don’t want to be a brother,” he declared, stomping his fork against the wood for emphasis. “Never!”

You glanced over your shoulder, first at Toji and then at Megumi, before serving the fish on a plate and kneeling in front of the child. “Why is that, Megs? Don’t you wanna be a big brother to a little sister or a little brother?”

His eyes stubbornly refused to meet with yours, all the while they shot daggers at his father. “Don’t want one if it hurts to make.”

You chuckled, tapping at his knee gently. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you cry last night,” Megumi admitted. “Dad hurt you, didn’t he?”

“That’s not what—”

Toji smirked as he spread his legs apart, preparing himself for the show. “Kinda late for that, buddy. And don’t worry about Y/N. Adults can cry from pleasure, too—”

“Toji!”

And thus, your little house of cards fell apart.

2K notes · View notes

malum-forev · 11 months

Text

A Place I Once Called Home

Summary: The four times Bucky showed up at your place unexpected.

The first time Bucky came stumbling into your apartment was a few weeks after he moved into the building. You’d been living in New York for quite some time so you weren’t oblivious to The Avengers and the fact that they resided in the same apartment complex. It was actually one of the reasons you paid the premium for living there. So what if your landlord hiked up the rent twice a year and there were some broken windows thanks to aliens trying to get to the superheroes when they’re least expecting it, right? It was all in the name of safety. Or so you thought.

Your friends had left hours ago, and although you loved your weekly wine and cheese night you sometimes hoped they would stay after to help you clean the dishes. You hummed along to the song that was quietly playing, the small speaker filling your whole apartment. At first you thought the rattling you heard was part of the melody. But a chill went through your spine as you heard a loud thump at your door, making you almost drop the wine glass into the soapy water.

As you dried your hands and walked towards the door there was another loud bang against your door. You clutched the baseball bat hidden behind your TV, a lovely present from a misogynistic ex-boyfriend. He’d thought it be ‘cute’ to show you how to hold a bat. There’s only one fucking way to hold a bat you mansplaining son of a- bang!

‘You don’t have time to think about this right now!’ You scolded yourself.

You peered through the peephole to find two male figures trying to pick your lock, the handle rattled.

One, two, three deep breaths and you opened the door, bat clutched and ready to hit anything and everything. A woman ready for battle, adrenaline rushed through your veins, blood rushing to your head. But before you could even unleash your first swing, one of the men dropped near your knees with a thump and a groan. Half of his body inside your apartment while his long legs sprawled across the hallway.

“Buck! You said your apartment was 213!” The man you soon recognized as Captain America said, shooting you a ‘You have no idea how sorry I am’ face with reddened cheeks.

You stood inside your apartment with mouth agape as you watched one of Earths Mightiest Heroes struggle to pull another super up from your floor.

“Miss I am truly sorry to have interrupted you.” Captain America apologized. “I’m Steve and the man who is currently petting your slippers is my friend Bucky.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked down at the man known as the Winter Soldier running his hand through the fur of your plush husky shaped slippers.

“I’m more of a cat guy but these two doggies look friendly. What-“ he hiccupped. “are their names?”

His steel blue eyes followed yours as Steve picked him off the floor and leaned him against your doorframe.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” It was until Steve asked you the question that you realized you hadn’t answered.

You shook your head to try and reset your brain. “I’m sorry, yes I’m good it’s just that- well I know some superheroes live here I just didn’t think two Avengers would come knocking on my door.

“I’m not an Avenger.” Bucky grumbled, closing his eyes for what he thought was a second. What actually happened was that he lost his balance and ended up falling forward into you. It took all of your strength to not topple over.

“For fucks sake.” Steve muttered under his breath, he usually didn’t swear but his best friend was making his patience wear down, as he peeled Bucky off of you.

“You smell really nice.” Bucky slurred with a loopy smile.

“Just to wrap things up, we’re extremely sorry for trying to break into your apartment, for probably scaring you half to death and for anything and everything Bucky’s said.” Steve smiled before turning right and lugging his friend down the hallway.

“His apartment is down this way!” You said pointing to the left side. “216, on the other side of the hall.”

“Thank you ma’am. Have a good night.” Steve huffed hiking up Bucky’s arm on his shoulder, as they passed your apartment again.

“Thank you pretty lady.” Bucky said with a singsong tone and a wink.

The second time you found Bucky in your apartment was a few weeks later. He had walked past your door a total of six times in the last few hours. The mission was to give you an iced coffee for your troubles the other night. And as of today, he was two weeks and four days late on completing the mission. The original plan was to stop by the day after he’d drunkenly showed up at your door, but the anxiety and panic that had settled into his bones made him jump back into his place anytime he heard your door open.

“What if she doesn’t drink coffee? She’ll think it’s disrespectful of me to bring her that.” He convinced himself. So the only logical thing to do was to follow you around for a couple of days. Maybe this way he would find out your exact order and get it right. Not telling his therapist what he was up to would be smart.

After a few days he got your order right and even found out what kind of flowers you liked.

Days passed and the petals from the bouquet he bought started falling off, the ice on your coffee was long gone. Another worried crease appeared on his forehead as he contemplated walking to your apartment with nothing in his hands but no, the pretty lady with the beautiful eyes he thought he’d only dreamt about deserved more.

So here he was, a new coffee in his right hand and a bouquet of flowers on his left one. But before he knew it, another problem raised. How the hell was he supposed to knock on your door. Was he supposed to use the right one and spill your coffee or would he have to hope that by using the left one the petals wouldn’t drop. He was about to abort the mission completely but then he heard your lock turn.

With each second that passed, and God did he feel like millions passed, he grew more nervous. Was his hand actually sweating? That hadn’t happened since before he enlisted.

But once you opened your door with that cheeky smile of yours, everything seemed to disappear.

“Should I be concerned about this habit of yours? Do you always lurk around women’s doors?”

One sentence, that’s all it took for him to turn into putty. A useless puddle around your feet, begging for more of you, anything you’d give him.

“I only lurk around the ones who I owe an apology to.” Bucky licked his lips, bringing forward the contents in his hands.

“Hmm, my orders exactly. Did you get lucky or did someone help you out?” You smiled at him as you took both gifts and walked back into your apartment. Bucky took you leaving the door open as an invitation. Did you always do this or were you letting him in because there was something unique? He urgently needed answers because in just a couple of minutes you’d already managed to make him feel special.

“I’m a good at apologies and buying gifts.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You’re a pretty good liar but terrible at hiding. You’d think being a super-secret spy assassin would make you stealthy.”

His eyes widened first at your words then at your laughter. The sound rang in his head like a beautiful melody.

“I saw you following me a couple of days ago.” You smiled, placing the flowers in a vase full of water. “In the coffee shop down the street, in the flower shop. I even saw you in the library, I’m almost positive you were reading a book upside down!”

The blush crept from the back of his neck up to the apples of his cheeks.

“I wanted to make sure I got you the right coffee.” Bucky mumbled, his one chance with you and he’d blow it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You trapped your bottom lip with your teeth as his body perked up hearing your words.

“We can start again.” You held your hand out and told him your name.

The third time was a month after the apology. In the last four weeks, the two of you had been spending every possible single second together. It started when you ‘accidentally’ came out of your apartments at the same time. Bucky would never admit that he was looking through his peephole and waiting for you to turn the knob on your door.

“Good morning.” Bucky said with a fake yawn, acting like he hasn’t been up since 5:05am. He stretched his arms a little more than he had to, making sure you could catch a glimpse of his toned body under his dark t-shirt. Bucky knew he’d missed out on many things but flirting with you came naturally. “Do you know any good coffee places around here?”

You smiled at his obvious antics blushing like a schoolgirl. “There’s this place around the corner.”

Your morning coffee turned into a morning run and then coffee ritual, then breakfast was added. Afterwards, lunch at 12:30 and dinner at your house every Thursday. Which turned into dinner at alternating apartments every day of the week.

But today you truly weren’t expecting him.

“I’ll see you on Monday okay? Coffees on me?” He’d mumbled against your hair two days ago, your body wrapped in his arms. “I just gotta go on this mission but I promise I’ll be back before our run.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, it felt like a bunch of thorns prickling your neck. In just a few short weeks he’d become an integral part of your life. You realized it was stupid to feel like this about someone who’d never even said he liked you but you couldn’t help but fall headfirst. “Please be safe.”

He tilted your head up towards him and ran his knuckles down your cheek. Your soft skin soothed his rough hands. He couldn’t believe someone as angelic as you would even look at someone like him. His troubled mind and his past didn’t seem to affect you. You just saw him. For the first time in forever he felt scared to go to a mission, knowing he had something to lose.

“I’ll be back sooner than you think, doll.” He smiled as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

Now, you found yourself being woken up by two soft knocks on your door. 11:45 pm on Sunday night. You must’ve fallen asleep on your couch, your TV asking you ‘Are you Still Watching?”

A bruised and bloody Bucky greeted you as you opened your door. A gasp escaped your lips.

“That bad huh?” Bucky chuckled, leaning against your doorframe.

You dragged the Winter Soldier into your small bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub, grabbing your first aid kit from underneath your sink. You sat in front of him, scooting your knees to rest on the inside of his legs, wiping the blood off of his cut lip.

“Do you always come home like this?” You asked, throwing away another antiseptic wipe into the bin.

“I usually go to the med bay after missions.” Bucky shrugged, his eyes never leaving yours.

A worried look took over your features. “Why didn’t you go this time?”

“I made you a promise. If I’d gone all the way over there I wouldn’t have been able to make our run tomorrow.”

Your whole body fluttered and you couldn’t help yourself. You took Bucky’s face in your hands and you smashed your lips to his. Bucky held the back of your neck as he followed your lead. He kissed like a man starved, your kisses felt like the sun shining in the middle of a snowy winter. It lit him up inside. Before you knew it, you were dragging him from the bathroom into your bedroom, bumping into various furniture but not caring.

You only separated to take his shirt off.

“Wait!” Bucky said, his jagged breath didn’t stop him from unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other was already working on the button of his jeans.

You tugged your shirt back down. “You want to stop?”

A loud laugh ripped through his chest. “No! God no. I was just going to ask you if we could keep our kisses to the left side of my mouth.” He pointed at his bruised lip.

You bit your bottom lip. “I think I could do that.”

He could come undone just by looking at you. Your sweet face only spoke words of temptation and he was more than happy to convert.

The fourth time came eight months after he’d asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything had been great up until a month ago when the days started getting longer and the disappointment grew deeper.

You’d arranged a special dinner with Bucky since he’d been working late recently and now he was three hours late, again. The food had already been in the fridge for a while and the candles blown out.

He found you sitting on the fire escape when he came into the apartment, the faint smell of cigarettes lingered.

“I thought you said you’d quit smoking a long time ago.” Bucky tried to joke but his words sounded harsher than he’d intended.

“This isn’t working.” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Bucky chuckled, shoving a forkful of cold pasta into his mouth. “Of course it’s not working, you keep an old pack of cigarettes in the closet.”

He choked on a loose noodle as he saw your tear-stained face. You wiped your cheeks, your whole face felt hot. “You and I, Buck. We’re not working.”

This was it, the moment he’d been preparing for. He knew you would break sooner or later, who in their right mind would want to have an actual relationship with him. Someone who has to constantly sacrifice dinners and anniversaries, someone who risks his life on a daily basis, someone who risks the lives of loved ones on purpose.

A few weeks back, he’d been interrogating someone linked to the Flag Smashers when he’d heard the words he’d been dreading. Your name slipped out of them like venom. They’d found out about his secret, Bucky had been guarding your love with his life but it wasn’t enough. You’d always be in danger with him.

But he couldn’t bear to leave you so he took the cowards way out. Spent more time at the compound, trained longer and drove mindlessly for hours, all so you would think he was busy with work or that he didn’t care. Maybe one day you would get tired and leave him because he sure as hell couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes and tell you it’s over.

And although he was expecting these words to come out of your mouth sooner or later, it still broke him. His heart fractured like porcelain, a deep hurt brewed in his body like a deep pit somehow appeared in his stomach.

“I understand.” He whispered, gluing his arms to his side because if he so much as touched the aura around you, he would drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. “I come with a lot of baggage and my job doesn’t really help so, I understand.”

A dry laugh escaped you, the sadness in your eyes turning into fury. “I knew what I was getting into when we started dating Buck. I knew you had hundred-year-old baggage weighing on you like a ton of bricks. I was also aware of your job description and even though I fucking hate seeing you hurt- and you have no idea how much it physically pains me to see you come through that door with a black eye and broken everything, I know it’s something I have to get over. Because I was willing to be with you, all of you.”

“We could have been like this forever, happy and in love. And every single day I would open that door and listen to the shit you have to put up with from all the people who don’t know you and clean your wounds and take care of you. I could have done that till the end of my life. But I can’t anymore, not when you lie. You’ve been lying about being at work when I know damned well you left hours ago. I cannot be with you if you won’t tell me what goes through your head. What troubles you. You won’t even say you love me, when I know for a fact you do.”

“You wait every single night until you think that I’ve fallen asleep and you say you love me over and over because you think I can’t hear you. But I do. And I love you, I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much that- that I’m willing to let you go. Because you sure as hell don’t want to stay, for some unknown reason you won’t tell me.”

“You won’t tell me even though I’ve proven to you that I can take care of your naked soul. No Winter Soldier, no vibranium, no Hydra. Just Bucky.” Your voice cracked. “So if you won’t admit that, then you should leave.”

Your words cut through Bucky like thousands of knives, each tear that fell from your face was a reminder of why he had to leave even though his whole body begged him to stay. He would hurt you more if he stayed- so that’s what he did, he left. Without a word he walked out of the apartment that had become a true home to him for the first time in decades and never looked back. Not when you slammed the door and not when he heard you sob.

Part 2: Hurry Back Home

Wanna read more like this? Here’s my latest post. 💖

Authors Note:

Heeeyyy everyoneee, sooo this is the first time I've posted in a loooongggg time so I hope you guys liked it. If you did please like comment reblog the whole thing! Thanksss <3

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dazedazaii · 5 months

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hi sweet haein !! may i request something with beastzai and pillow princess!reader? ૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა go bold go wild and downright nasty if you can, i have literally no boundaries hehe tysm (>᎑<๑)/♡ feel free to be creative!

let me do it for you .. — o. dazai

i lovee beastzai so much hes soo (*♡∀♡) i tired my best to write pillow princess stuff … i hope i did decent …

cw: gn reader (with fem terms / you yours), slight possessive dazai, overstim, belly bulge, stomach pressing, nipple rubbing, lmk if i missed anything

holding a pillow to your face, you moaned into the soft fabric cover as osamus dick mercilessly thrusted in and out of you, his hands on your chest and rolling small circles on your hard nipples, grunting and moaning along with you as his hot breath carefully made its way to your neck, pressing his tongue on it gently and peppering kisses on it, whispering by your ear ever so seductively.

“ya’know, i have a meeting in half an hour back at hq — mm, fuck — you think i can make you cum at least three times ?” watching you nod into the pillow, the bandaged man’s grim grew as he kissed the outer part of your ear, whispering a ‘atta girl’ before drilling into your tight went cunt even more. his left hand moves away from your chest and to the lower part of your stomach, pressing down on it gently as you squirmed in pleasure as dazai’s thumb rubbed soft circles on your side.

“now, look at that, wont you.” dazai was mesmerized at the ways a bulge growing up and down every time he thrusted deep inside of you, making you buck your hips ever so slightly for more stimulation.

“‘samu, ‘m — gh ah !! — so c- close ..!!” you whined out, voice muffled down by the pillow. dazais right hand continued to pinch and rub your swollen nipples and his left hand on your hip, brushing it gently with his thumb as a way to comfort you.

“g- god … wanna cum ? you wanna cum for me, pretty ? c’mon, i know you can do it — ahhhn ~” as you got rid of the pillow on your face, you let out a few more desperate moans before you squirted all over dazai’s lower abdomen, your fluids getting mixed with his as he pulls out and cums all over your tummy.

“soo pretty … let me get two, more ..!!” dazai shoved his cock back inside of your dripping hole without hesitation, stars starting to appear in your vision as you moan out louder than before, sweaty skin on skin echoing in the large bedroom and your moans being the only sound dazai was willing to hear, sick of all the noises his subordinates make.

“feels .. so good — ahhnn ~!!” you laid defenseless under dazai, his touch intoxicating and like a sort of drug you needed to survive. with his cock deep inside you, you felt his hands gently brush over the now visible bulges that was made as the thrusts became faster and more desperate. the dark haired male took your hand and pressed it down on the bulge when it appeared and disappeared, his pace increasing and his face dripping with sweat.

“making you feel so good, even your stomach agrees, yeah, baby ?” he continues to dig his cock deep inside your wet, gummy walls, making sure that your hand was on your lower abdomen as his travels down to your clit, rubbing circles as you help and scream out in pleasure, eyes foggy and unable to think straight. moans became meaningless babbles of pleasure and desperation for more of his touch.

with his crazed hip movement becoming more sloppy, dazai’s forehead beaded with sweat as he gasped out in pleasure from your cunt wrapping around his dick tightly, rolling his fingers over your clit faster.

gasping out and wanting to speak to you, dazai was cut off by his own moan of pleasure, stuffing his cum deep inside of you as you came along with him, and harder than before. the sticky fluid stained the bedsheets that you two loved ever so much, but it didn’t matter anymore.

removing his hand away from your chest, dazai pants and brushes your pink cheeks in adoration, fixated in the way your eyes rolled back and your lips wide open, moans escaping your lips.

tired, and yet ever so desperate for more, dazai was about to slowly thrust his hips again before a phone call echoed the room. it was dazai’s. the room went silent for a second before he apologized to you and pulled out of your pussy, having to take the call. sighing lazily and nodding, dazai frowned and faced away from you, commenting a few ‘sure,’ ‘fine,’ and ‘whatever’’s. you couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. perhaps it was chuuya he was on a call with.

turning off his phone, dazai sighed and looked back at you, his hand on your face with a slight apologetic look.

“the meeting was rescheduled to right now. and i thought i could rest for a bit ..”

tucking you in gently with the soft blankets, dazai gets off the bed and slips his clothes back on smoothly, bandages, hickies left by you and such was all covered by his black attire and red scarf. he then leaned onto the bed and kissed you on your forehead as you watched everything happen.

“i’ll be done in a flash, dont think i’ll forget our third round, ‘kay ~?”

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #osamu dazai #dazai smut #bsd smut #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #dazai x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #혜인 🖋️

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lover-of-mine · 8 months

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I'm here to argue my case about how Eddie fell first and has in fact been semi-aware of his feelings since season 3 and it's currently dealing with the way he thinks he'll have to be the best man on Buck's wedding. So sit down, buckle up, grab your delusional drink of choice (today I'm drinking my delusional tea lol), and let's go.

Okay, given season 6 information, we know Buck and Eddie are roughly the same age and we know Eddie was pursued by Bobby and Bobby wanted a partner for Buck (unrelated but Bobby so hoped the military guy would balance out Buck and for a while there he ended up with two very impulsive firefighters and he definitely had a few what the hell have I done moments lol) so it's kinda safe to assume that Buck was one of the selling points of the 118 because Buck is a very competent firefighter and they would be on the same shift. So Eddie went in with the expectation of someone his age he could befriend. I'm making some assumptions but the internet tells me the academy takes a year, we know Eddie still doesn't have a permanent childcare plan, so this man is interacting outside of the academy exclusively with his 7 yo, his abuela, and tia for a year, so I think that the idea of having a friend his own age was appealing to him. Especially after the army and Shannon leaving him. So much so that with his sharp edges, you can actually read things like "I'd go lower" or "you're in the wrong light, man" as attempts to create a bond, very awkward I haven't tried to make friends in forever attempts but attempts nonetheless because he's trying to be helpful. Buck is being Buck, but even Eddie says I hear you're a good guy, so dude is trying to understand what's happening, what's setting Buck off, and while he matches Buck's energy after the gym conversation, he actually continues to try and bond with Buck with the thing that actually works and the "you're badass under pressure" that is still another attempt to get through to Buck. I have various theories about the way Eddie keeps trying to start something, the one I like the most and the most painful one is about how Eddie has had the weight of the world on his shoulders forever. And he had to grow up really fast, and then there is Buck annoying him about nicknames and discussing his body fat percentage, and with all that really carefree energy season 1 and beginning of season 2 Buck had that he probably wanted to know what it felt like. But Buck is Buck and Buck also wanted a friend so dude imprinted on Eddie like a baby duck. But Eddie doesn't mind, like before Bobby comes in to say who got the spot on the calendar, Eddie looks amused by Buck not annoyed. But up until now, that's casual. They're coworkers.

Then we have the earthquake. We know Christopher is Eddie's whole world and he's very careful about the people he lets into their life, considering the earthquake happened on Maddie's first day on the floor and she must've had some sort of training before that, it's safe to assume that Eddie didn't mention Chris at the firehouse for at least a few weeks and he is very hesitant to tell Buck about him, but again Buck is Buck and he switches into reassurance mode and that's when Eddie actually lets him in. I actually would love it if we had an explanation as to why Buck drove Eddie to Chris' school after the shift, but it's something that he went from being hesitant to even mention he existed to introducing Buck to him. But then we have the moment Buck becomes his ride-or-die, you imprinted on me but now I'm hanging on to you, with the whole going to the hospital with him because of abuela and also the way that Buck clears Chris staying at the firehouse before Eddie thinks to do it.

This moment right here it's what gets Eddie. He's ready to apologize and justify and he doesn't have to because Buck stepped up to do something simply because he realized Eddie needed help and he could do something about it. Eddie is doing everything alone and he needs help but he doesn't know how or who to ask for it and Buck just steps in and does it before he needs to ask. And then there's Carla. Buck tricks him into showing up and literally hands him the solution to his problems because Buck knows Eddie wouldn't accept it if Buck had said what that was about beforehand, but at no point does Buck make it seem like Eddie is a bad parent for needing help. And I think with the whole thing with his parents trying to take Chris from him, that really does something.

I really like to use the second gif here as a major example of Eddie's heart eyes for Buck, but the first one, when he realizes who Carla is and what she can give him completely changes his demeanor. He was ready to be polite, was probably trying to figure out a way out without saying he was still married, but instead, Buck does something that not only makes Eddie's life easier but makes Christopher's exponentially better. And right then, Eddie is done for. I'm not saying he fell in love with Buck here, I'm just saying right here is when Eddie goes you're stuck with me now dude, and let his guard down with Buck, as much as this Eddie can at least. That's when something starts for him. You can't change my mind on this one. But for now, there's the Shannon of it all, because Eddie does love Shannon but their relationship is beyond complicated.

But Buck is still constant through Shannon and I think that's important, actually, because Eddie is having trouble trusting Shannon and I feel like having Buck around helps him not go straight to the worst-case scenario all the time. I don't have a point in mentioning this, it's just a clear show of how much Eddie already trusts Buck, but to have Buck go with him to take Chris to see Santa is so wild. Who takes their best friend to see Santa with their kid? Like, what?? But Isn't it interesting that Eddie decides to propose again after Buck asks when is the wedding? I find that fascinating really. Then Shannon dies, Buck almost dies, dude goes into move past it mode but the seed is there. Forever thinking about the wistful shot of Eddie saying almost after Hen says things are back to the way they should be. Something else about the finale it's that it's the first in the list of irrationality moments from Eddie regarding Buck. Eddie is a firefighter, he's objectively stronger than Chimney, so the logical thing to be done is to have Eddie helping lift the truck and Chim treating Buck. But no, at that moment he's a medic who's there to hold Buck's hand. He's just holding Buck's hand. He could've left Buck with Hen and go help lift the truck. But no, he's staying by Buck's side.

But season 3 is when things HAPPEN. We start out strong with the sheer excitement on Eddie's face that Buck is going back to work. Then the way Eddie just hands Christopher over to Buck without a single worry. "Oh, you're falling apart? Here's a kid, he will help" and just goes. We focus a lot on Buck's reaction to them finding Chris because it is what the show wants us to focus, this is the moment Buck looks at Chris and goes "shit I really love that kid" but Eddie looking back at Buck as he holds Chris is interesting. Eddie just went through 30 seconds (actually it's 1 minute 4 seconds from the moment Eddie notices Buck to Eddie having Chris in his arms not that it matters) of the worst possible moments in a parent's life and I guess, since Buck didn't have Chris, and Buck was too shaken to explain what had happened, he assumed Buck lost Chris during the first wave and he's looking back because he's shocked he saved not only himself but Chris from the wave, but from his focus to shift to Buck like that it's interesting. Even more, considering the way he barges into the loft to hand Chris over again. "There's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you" I'm sorry, there's no platonic explanation for the wording of this, okay? This is a man who looked at his honest to god wife, the mother of his child, and said "I can forgive you, I'm just not sure I can trust you" and trust is always the thing Eddie struggles with. To trust someone with Christopher is Eddie's ultimate show of love because it's what makes sense with his character, he is loyal until it kills him but nothing goes above Christopher. Also, Mr. Kids are signs hands over his own child to someone and I'm not supposed to look at that and go "huh wonder what he's feeling"? And there's the lawsuit of it all. Eddie gets that mad because he misses Buck and has no idea what to do with it. Because he got used to being a priority to Buck and he cannot handle the idea that maybe he's not. He's struggling, Chris is struggling and he needs Buck to do the thing he does where he fixes the problem without Eddie having to ask. But Buck has no real responsibility to Eddie or Chris, you can't really expect your best friend to base his life decisions on what's best for you. But it is the expectation Eddie has. He needs Buck to consider him. He needs Buck to be there for him no matter what. And at this point, when he's screaming at Buck as if they are a divorced couple, he's aware of something. He's definitely aware of something he doesn't want to look too closely at.

Because being left by Buck leaves him completely off balance. And since Eddie is famous for not dealing with the shit he's feeling, things keep escalating because anger it's easier. Anger he can deal with. But in the end, he just wants Buck back so he forgives him the second he lets Buck speak. Because he wants the Buck that looks right through him, he wants what they have back. And he doesn't hesitate once he does. There are definitely some lingering feelings about how he kept pushing Shannon away and then she died and he "lost" time he could've had if he had let her in after he sought her out, so when Buck apologizes he just goes let's go team and moves on because tomorrow isn't promised to anyone.

But I think there's something important to take into consideration, that it's Eddie's therapy session. He talks about not feeling anything, good or bad, and the his feelings are boxed thing and how he doesn't know what to do with them and yes, that comes back into play later, but it is important that Eddie doesn't name his feelings and he consistently tries to box them and move past them instead of feeling them, and it gets to a point where he's doing this even to positive things. So he is not looking too closely as to why missing Buck throws him off balance. He's all let's go back to the way things were and they do. Forever seeking for a heterosexual explanation to the kitchen scene in 3x09 but I also do think there are different types of tension between them there. Because while Buck is teasingly trying to get Eddie to admit on what had happened and how Buck's absence was a trigger for Eddie's fight club era in his flirty way of his, Eddie is trying to make him stop talking in a real "man don't make me look at what happened too closely" because he doesn't know what he'll find. Or if he's ready to find it. Considering the whole widower who never processed a big emotion in a healthy way he has going on there. But Buck is a really steady presence in Eddie's life, and Buck does his best to not put them in the lawsuit situation again, he's around, he's helping Eddie with parenting issues and then we have the well.

The well is a pivotal moment. Not just because of the sheer amount of Buck in Eddie's I need to keep fighting montage and the way Buck is acting above the ground, but because of the way Eddie changes his will after that and chooses to hide the fact that he did. Eddie has parents who are more than willing to raise Christopher, he has sisters, he has a lot of blood relatives that he could assign as Chris' guardians if something happens, but he chooses Buck. He chooses a firefighter, who is not only a firefighter, it's also his partner so if Eddie ends up in a life-threatening situation, Buck will probably be there too, so it's not the biggest safeguard. Buck is also single and without kids of his own. He also has known Buck for what? 2 years at that point? Eddie's lawyer probably stared at Eddie in disbelief when Eddie explained the situation. But the real thing about the will is that Eddie doesn't talk about it. Dude had some revelations while under all that mud because the only reason he wouldn't tell Buck is if he couldn't tell Buck without talking about himself. That's the only explanation for why he would hide it. Because Buck would ask why him, why now, like he did when Eddie did finally tell him, but right then Eddie can't shift the focus back to Buck. But there's a very subtle change in the way Eddie acts around Buck after the well. And again, sure, you can play off Eddie's reaction to when Buck wants to do something dangerous as he needs Buck to stay alive, but you can't really apply that logic to the way Eddie acts about Abby. Like, Eddie is petty to girls who want Buck, that's a fact. And Eddie is petty about Abby, but he also gets unsure about his place in Buck's life when he sees Buck's reaction to seeing Abby. And they focus on Eddie there. We get Eddie's reaction to that interaction. That means something.

We get Eddie legit feeling insecure about his place in Buck's life over the fact that Abby is there. And Eddie knows Abby as this entity, the one that got away, the person responsible for Buck being the way he is, because that's the way Abby is talked about, and sure, if I was in Eddie's shoes, only seeing the damage someone did to my best friend and then have them risking their life because of whatever lingering feelings are still there, I would also reserve myself the right to hate them, but it's more than that. Like, the way he backs away from the both of them once Buck goes into protector mode.

"Abby, His fiancée's Abby." *stomps away*. Absolutely insane interactions happen there that paint Buck as still hung up on Abby, even more after the whole thing with Red, but if you look at it with the right lenses, it paints Eddie as jealous of the way Buck is willing to put himself in danger to keep someone who broke him happy.

Every reaction from Eddie in the train wreck feels so calculated to give this idea that he's unsure of his place in Buck's life. His face when he realizes who he's talking to, his hand hovering over Buck's shoulder like he wants to comfort him but doesn't know if he can, the way he looks at Buck after Abby and Sam are in the ambulance. He's completely off balance at the sight of the ghost of Buck's great lost love and I'm supposed to believe that man is just experiencing platonic friendship feelings about his best friend? Come on.

Season 4 is complicated. Because of the Ana and Taylor of it all. They do have the easy banter, Eddie being someone Buck can rely on during the whole mess with his parents, a few scenes of Buck completely comfortable in Eddie's space and Eddie just moving around him like he's meant to be there, but we know the Ana of it all happens because of external pressure. Eddie thinks he needs to date, so he grabs onto the first woman he can. The way his whole body relaxes when he realizes Christopher is with Buck is actually insane. But even though he's dating, he's holding on to Buck in a way. Absolutely obsessed with how much he hates Taylor. Dude legit looks like he's fantasizing about running her over with the fire engine while watching Buck and Taylor interact making Buck ignore him.

But then Eddie gets shot. Say whatever the fuck you want Eddie reached for Buck. He thought he was dying. And he reached for Buck.

Eddie's been aware of something he doesn't want to look at too closely since the lawsuit that became harder to ignore after the well that he became fully aware of when he got shot. I know that what we have now says Eddie doesn't remember the shooting but wouldn't it be beautiful if he lied because he can't say what he remembers because everything he remembers is about Buck? The dramatic effect of I'm lying to you because I realized I loved you then but I can't tell you that now? Ugh. Anyway, Eddie got shot, things fell into place when he hit the ground, terrible place to have an oh! moment though. Dude just got shot, he's bleeding out, and the thing he gathers the rest of his energy is to ask if Buck is hurt. Sure, you can look at that as I think I'm dying so one of us has to make it home to Chris, but the possibility of it being an I love you I need to know you're okay before this kills me it's there. But he doesn't die. And when he wakes up Buck tells him it would've been better if he had been shot. You can see it on Eddie's face that he kept rehearsing what he was going to say about the will. Something else is the way that Ali takes Buck home after the truck so it would honestly make sense if Ana took Eddie home but he probably asked Buck to do it. That scene feels like an aborted love confession. "You act like you're expendable but you're wrong" the way he's saying you're not spare parts, you're not less important, you matter so much to me. Eddie knows Buck, he knows Buck associates love with pain. He wouldn't actually say something after he almost died, but it feels like he's working up to something. Sure he needs to break up with Ana, but there's time before he heals and can just, do something about it. But then Taylor fucking Kelly is in his welcome home party. He knew Buck and Taylor were working up to something. He knows Taylor being there means it happened. A violent reminder that Buck is straight (debatable) and doesn't feel the same (also debatable). So back to safety, he goes.

I need to know who decided that having this particular look when they are literally talking about how Eddie is about to meet Ana's whole family was the way to go.

Also, can you believe Eddie needed Buck's approval to break up with the girlfriend he didn't even want to date anyway?

Season 5 is complicated because of Eddie's PTSD, 5A has a lot of Eddie pulling away because of the way he knew when the dam broke it wouldn't be pretty and he didn't want to take down anyone with him. But even when we see Eddie out of the job, we see him making an effort to include Buck and Taylor so Buck would know that he really did mean the whole "you're stuck with us" thing. I can talk about 5x11 to 5x14 and the implications of it to buddie for days, really, (you can read this for some of those thoughts), but the thing here I guess, it's a lot about how when the box exploded, the feelings are all over the place, Eddie sits back and lets Buck in. He talks about the way he's feeling in a way we don't really see Eddie do all that often and he leans on Buck through his recovery and the process of finding out how to not feel like there's no hope for himself and how to feel comfortable in his own skin again. And it's a lot about Buck and the way Buck is constant. Eddie feels like Buck is this steady presence in his life that can and does help Eddie move forward.

But the thing is, the shooting happened, Eddie realized things, Taylor Kelly (derogatory) happened, Taylor Kelly (derogatory) took herself out of the running, Eddie now has the tools to deal with his own emotions, he's single, Buck's single, they're having dinner with Chris at Buck's loft and Eddie is asking Buck about things Chris kept from him, but Eddie is in a fantasy bubble where he can pretend he has the things he wants without actually asking for anything to change. I mean, post therapy Eddie is better with his feelings, but he's still Eddie. He was in his little I have time bubble. That was violently popped. Because Buck died. And he had to save him. "Do more" is such a desperate thing for a first responder and former combat medic to scream at a team of doctors. He knows they always do the best they can. He did the best he could, but there's only so far he can go. The way he follows the gurney hurts me in so many ways. Some real don't go where I can't follow bullshit.

This is a man who watched Buck almost die multiple times. But this is also a man who never contemplated the possibility of Buck actually dying. The thing that drives me crazy about Eddie and everything surrounding Buck's death is that he can't look at it. He can't take his eyes off him, but once he's out of his sight he can't look at him again. He spends the whole time not looking at Buck. He looks away every time someone mentions it. Even when he's in the room with Chris he's not looking. 3 minutes 17 seconds. Look, this number bothers me. Bobby said they were 3 minutes out from the hospital and that it took 3 minutes to start compressions. So Buck was dead for 6 minutes. The rescue took 3 minutes. And Eddie counted. That's the only explanation for this particular number. He counted how long it took to get Buck to Chim and Hen and in the ambulance ready to go.

But Eddie was living comfortably in his bubble, I don't think he was at peace with it, but I do think he accepted it. But Buck wakes up, Buck seeks him out to help deal with the trauma. They look like a family, they act like a family, maybe it's not hopeless after all. Maybe Buck can feel the same and they can talk about it once Buck is not feeling so raw over his own death. Buck is just there all the time, something like that can't be one-sided, can it? But then Buck pulls the rug from under him. I made a very long post about the cemetery, you can read that one if you want, but the thing about that conversation is that it is a reminder that they are not on the same page. Because Buck throws him off balance again, considering the way Eddie was trying his hardest to be there for Buck just for Buck to say he's getting what he wants from a random woman he met a few days before. And it makes Eddie back away so he won't end up hurting his own feelings more. I think at this point Eddie has accepted the fact that he's going to have to be Buck's best man and is trying to find a way to be okay with it. So he's retreating to familiarity again. It explains why he's trying to recreate what he had with Shannon because he loved Shannon, so maybe if he found that again he wouldn't have to cut Buck off to move on. Because he needs Buck on some level but there is a limit on how much he can take while Buck goes around looking for something he already has.

And yes I talked and talked and talked but why does this mean Eddie fell first? Well, Buck will never figure it out on his own. The thing about Buck is that Buck doesn’t know what healthy love is. He thinks love is work, but in a it’s bleeding himself dry for someone way. He thinks love is pain. Eddie is safety. Eddie is home. He never knew home as a place where he can find love.

This is all for today. If you read this I love you. Also the doc I typed it out says it has over 4.3k words so this is long as fuck congratulations for sticking through it 🩷

#shit this is LONG #dont ask how long it took i dont feel comfortable sharing this information aioskoaksoaksoaksoaksoaksasokokasokas #i have no hinges left oasokasokaosk #yes i know i sound crazy its fine tho #911 #buddie #otp: you don't need to pretend with me #911 meta #buddie thoughts #buddie meta #i miss them soaksokasoaksoaks

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vvenus-child · 4 months

Text

❀ an: my first Dean x Reader fic! this was a wild dream I had last night where I could just feel his angst of being ignore by his girlfriend-not-girlfriend. I hope you like it! I post on Ao3 too, mostly Dramione and original works. Here is the link. Feel free to DM me ideas to write down too! ❀ tags: Dean Winchester x Reader; NSFW (just a bit); Angst; Hurt/Comfort

Sam was waving at you from the driver's seat of a rental car. Something inside of chest pinched a bit for not seeing Dean's Impala waiting for you. Your feelings for him were so obvious, pathetic even.

"Hey! How was the hunt?", Sam asked when you closed the door. As usual you two made conversation for most of the ride before falling in comfortable silence. It was mostly like this with him. Sam was a easy person, someone people felt comfortable to share your or to stay in silence.

"Have you talked to him? Is he okay?", you asked sheepishly. The question was hanging in your head since the minute you left the bunker to hunt. Your heart felt tight, your throat sore and dry every time you thought about Dean. Most of it was embarrassment for not being able to contain your feelings, always seeking to be close, to take care of him somehow. But what was love if not the desire to see them happy? What was love if not seeking their happiness by being anything they needed you to be?

Sam laugh's cut your self pity session. He glanced at you in the corner of his eyes, side smile playing in his face like he was a joke you weren't part of.

"You gonna tell me you two didn't talk for the last weeks? He didn't call every night to bitch about how you were taking too long or how I'm never able to make coffee right? Really?", he said shaking his head.

His question caught you off guard for a moment. Frowning at him you took a minute to try and understand.

"No?", the weird assumption really didn't make sense, at least not when it came to Dean. You were the one that initiated the conversations. You were the one that always made sure small things like his coffee or his whiskey never ran out at the bunker. You were the one gravitating towards his presence in the room. So to think he would make the effort to call you, or even miss you, was a wild idea by far.

"Come on!", Sam snorted this time. "You two seem glue by the hip, it's impossible."

"Dean would even notice if I didn't said a word to him", you let out without thinking.

"Yeah, like you two don't spend time alone behind everyone's back"

The memories of the nights spent together, the moments you almost thought he was about to do something flashed in your mind. You couldn't almost smell his scent, hear his laugh, listen to his voice grave sharing bits of his life in the dark of his room when no one else was there to hear but you.

This was becoming ridiculous and painful. You tried to pretend, but it was not useful with Sam. He had a reason for being the one that they used to pry information out of people at hunts. Sam's damn eyes always made people break.

"You know this thing is one sided, so please stop with the jokes. It makes me feel more stupid than usual".

"It's not a joke", he said while parking the car. Sam turned to you with a raised hand. "I'll bet you 100 bucks that if you ignore him for the next few days, he will lose it."

You looked at the extended hand with caution. Right. 100 bucks. To prove your point, which was something you love to do and to stop being pathetic. Easy money. You took the bet without thinking twice. Maybe try to purge this feelings out of your system with a bit more of self respect was just the thing you needed.

You left the pie you bought for him at the trash can before going down to the bunker. Maybe this was going to be fun.

Dean heard the door open with a creak when Sam had finally came back. Behind him, you followed with a smile while saying something.

"Did you bring the pie I asked, Sam?", Dean shouted from the table. He was trying to find this lore about a sea creature that lured man but, supposedly, wasn't a mermaid because the bodies would be found on the shore with their blood drained. A great combination of little mermaid and Edward-fucking-Cullen.

Dean's eyes glanced to you carrying a huge bag over your shoulders. It had been weeks since you left. It was normal to not call during small hunts, but he still felt a bit uncomfortable to not have a single call. It was such a chore to make a phone call or even leave a voicemail every now and then? Just to make sure you were alive?

He opened his mouth to complaint just as you passed right through directly to your bedroom. No hello, hi, how are you, but still laughing at some joke he was not privy to. No tales about how it went, no nothing. That really bothered him for a reason he couldn't pin down. You didn't owned him a explanation, not at all, but it was basic courtesy - in his mind at least.

"Is she okay?", Dean asked Sam who, to anyone's surprise, didn't bring the goddamn pie but seemed to not have forgotten his own rabbit food.

Sam made a fake surprised face that showed him knew something was up.

"I don't know? She was just telling me how the hunt went. Maybe she is tired?"

Dean decided to let it go. He was already pissed about the pie and you acting weird was just the icing on top.

A few days later, Dean couldn't shake the feeling you were avoiding him. At breakfast you only talked and smiled to Sam or answered Dean's questions when directed at you - always with a brief phrase or a dismissive nod. You weren't being rude or down right ignoring him, not at all. Still felt like Dean was nothing but a small fly in your radar or someone you only noticed when he opened his mouth. The easy smiles you two had, the late night conversations, the shared beers, everything, seemed to be gone. It bothered him. It bothered him a lot.

Growing up Dean hadn't felt jealous of Sam most of the times. The kid was his to raised and take care of, especially when Sam's and John's fight got too heated. He had given his life for his brother and would so again in a heartbeat.

But right now he wanted to punch his face so hard his nose would touch the wall behind his back. The fucker knew what was going on and didn't let a pip out of his mouth to help. "She seems normal to me, Dean" this or "Stop being a freak, she didn't not ignore you" that.

The three of you were hunting the vampire-mermaid thing at Fremont Beach a little bit more that 12 hours from the bunker. The change in scenario did nothing to help Dean's situation and, if anything, it worsened. Usually in ride you would offer to drive, in which Dean would deny and say he was fine. This time you only offered to change when Sam was driving. You didn't even complaint about the music, for God's sake.

Dean's breaking point was the way you flirted a bit too much with the waiter at the dinner, an younger stupid college student who was all smiles for you. He didn't even had a beard. Not even a shadow of it. It was ridiculous.

"So what's the matter? You can talk to Mr. Just Came In My Pants but not to me?", Dean asked outright with his jaw clenching so hard his teeth were about to break. Sam chocked loudly with his coffee, while you just looked at him with wide eyes and mouth half open.

"I think I need to smoke a cigarette", Sam said getting up from the table.

Dean didn't let his gaze out of your face, anger boiling inside.

"You don't fucking smoke! Your brother lost his mind and you leave me?", you spoke in a loud whisper.

"I do now", Sam said already at the doors.

Dean waited for a answer. Your eyes, finally looking at his after weeks, blinked so much that he thought the question would've broke.

"I'm speaking to you, we are having this insane conversation right now. I don't know what you are talking about", you said coldly.

The warm feeling spreading in his chest hinted at something Dean didn't to explore. The jealousy, the anxiety about what was going on, all those were feelings he absolutely didn't want to explore. He just missed your company so much. Dean always felt something was wrong with him, something lacking, but when he was with you this feeling lessened. He felt worthy, he felt seen. John never sat down to talk to him, to spend time with him. Sam ran away the first chance he got. Mary... Mary was a whole other can of worms that he didn't want to open. He had Lisa and other people in his life, but they weren't like you. You two were made in the same cloth. The same strong material that would cover loved ones, would protect them. Same shitty childhood, same fuck-up parents. You were the one he shared his life with at all times, good or bad. More than friends or lovers or anything people would use to describe. Dean could point the term to save his life but you were his and the silent was slowly killing him more than any monster would.

"It was something I did?", he asked in a whisper. He jaw clenched in tension, voice raspy and sore from untold words.

Your eyes ran to the window for a second and he was ready to beg for them to come back. When you looked at him again they were filled with caution, your lips pursed in a way he knew you were choosing words carefully. If Dean didn't know you, he could've missed the pain there. Could've missed the blush in your check's or the way your bottom teeth bit your lower lip in worry.

"Because it's pathetic, isn't? The way I was all in your life, hanging around the edges waiting for crumbs of your attention. Waiting until the day you would notice me or how I feel. Even Sam, who is the most subtle person I know, mentioned it. So no, it's not something you did, it's something I did all the time and it needed to stop for both of our sake."

The weight of your explanation took a second to sink in. All that Dean tried to push down was now in the clear, finally acknowledged one of you two. He wanted to go over the table and kiss your lips, kiss you until the wasn't any air between you two. He wanted to act on the burning sensation he always felt when you got too close. He thought back to all those nights in the bunker, when it was late and both of you were just a bit pass tipsy and going on drunk and his eyes would linger longer on your lips or the curve of your neck. Dean thought back to the first time he saw you covered in blood, not yours but someone else's, and his cock got so hard he had to stroke himself twice just to get rid of the image.

"That's what you think?", was all he let out for a moment. "That you hang around the edges of my life?" Dean ran his hand over his lower face in frustration.

Your sarcastic laugh sounded so bitter to his ears.

"It's not what I think, it's what it is", you looked at him in defeat. "I love you and I don't care if you don't like me the same way. I know you care for me in some extend, of course, and I content to see you happy and being your friend or what you need at the moment. But maybe I needed a little time to settle my feelings", you shrugged.

He wanted to break something out of frustration. He could feel the anger burn his veins. All those days, running scenarios, trying to find the reason why this bothered him so much. The old self hate that steamed inside him late at night, his old company, making him formulate all the reasons he could've fuck up your... friendship? The word never felt right between you two. It was something else.

After a moment of silence Dean threw a couple bills at the table and took your hand, leading you both out the restaurant.

"What are you doing? Are you going insane?", you screamed trying to get out of his hold. He didn't let you go, however.

Dean searched with his gaze to see if Sam was around the car before throwing you inside and going right after. He pulled your hair in the back with a gentleness that didn't match the wild expression in his eyes.

"Look at me and listen carefully", he said between his teeth. The fire running thought his veins was even more intense now. Dean could feel your body under his branding him like iron. Your legs around his hips made his cock twitch with the slightness movement of your body. "You are not in the fucking edges. You are all around me. You are all I fucking see. If anything, everyone else is at the goddamn edge and you are in the damn center", he said each word getting closer and closer to your lips. He could smell your breath, something so yours that he couldn't find the correct word to compare. Dean swallowed hard before taking the last step.

His mouth closed down in yours making time stop. Dean groaned against your lips, biting down almost hard enough to break skin. He wanted to taste you, swallow you, in a manner that your being would never not be apart from his anymore. Your hands went up to his neck pulling him closer, trying to breach the barrier of clothes between your bodies.

"Please...", you begged against him, grounding your cunt against his cock. It was deliciously painful to have your body so pliant under him. Having you beg for his touch, a needy expression on your face.

"Shh...", he cooed, "I know... I know".

Dean's hand went down your neck stroking your skin until he got to your breasts, pinching your nipple with just the right pressure. His tongue stroked your lips in a slow, deliberated movement, tasting like starved man.

"I finally get what I want, so you have to be a good girl and take it, alright?"

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester smut #text post

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myimaginarywonderland · 16 days

Text

I am sorry but I am just imaging that if we keep Tommy and have Bucktommy for a while (as we should), there will inevitably be an episode where Tommy's helicopter goes down right?

Like, we all know that if Tommy stays because the fan support will presumably only grow for him, they are going to traumatize him in the typical 118 fashion?

Now, imagine Buck and Tommy have been dating for something around half a year obviously going strong and maybe Buck is at a stage where he considers the "I love you" even.

And then, there is a call.

The 118 is called to a helicopter crash somewhere and Buck feels anxiety but it's fine because he knows Tommy has his day off so it can't be him, right?

Except suddenly dispatch informs them that it is from Tommy's hanger because of a bigger call. They are already nearly at the scene so there is not turning back.

And Buck's anxiety sky rockets.

Everyone tenses up. Bobby, tentatively asks Maddie (because it has to be Maddie to make it more dramatic) if they know who is in the helicopter, how many.

There is a short silence.

And Buck knows. It hits him like a fucking train. He knows his sister even if it is only a split second, so minimal most wouldn't notice.

Maddie just says that there were a 2 pilots, a paramedic and a civilian.

And Buck has to know, he has to be sure, he needs to confirm, needs to hear it.

He tells Bobby to ask Maddie. Bobby hesitates, clearly not wanting to upset Buck but he is getting frantic, because he knows deep down that something is so wrong.

After a few arguments and silence Buck comes onto the comms and ask "What pilots? Is it Tommy?"

And there is silence.

A silence that speaks louder.

And Buck demands, he has to know if Tommy is okay, still clinging to that tiny bit of hope but then he hears Josh (who has to take over because he tells Maddie she is too close eventhough he feels himself breaking too) "Firefighter Kinard was one of the helicopter pilots."

Another short silence.

"We haven't heard anything since there mayday call."

By now they are at the scene.

And Buck acts before he can even think, before anyone can even attempt to stop him.

He is jumping, running, sprinting towards where he can see the helicopter crashed into a small valley. He is ready to run down, already preparing himself to jump to get down when he feels arms holding him back. It's Bobby.

And Buck is kicking, screaming, not even noticing because he needs to get to Tommy.

Because Tommy has to be okay.

Because Tommy is always there.

Tommy can't be gone.

He just can't.

And then Buck's scream for Tommy shatters the quietness that didn't even realise.

There is nothing, no response, no sound, no movement.

Buck just slumps. He is like a puppet whose strings were cute, all the energy drained from him.

Bobby tightens his hold, directs everyone else on what to do while he himself has to stay up here, holding Buck.

Buck isn't aware of anything.

He just slides to the ground, Bobby gently going with him, not losing his grip.

Bobby feels horrible because he knows. He knows what Buck is feeling and he prays that if nothing else, that at least Tommy somehow survives this because he doesn't know how Buck would survive without Tommy.

Tommy (which none of them saw coming Bobby admits to himself) has calmed Buck in a way he never thought possible.

Tommy has grounded this wonderful man who he is proud to see as a son.

And Bobby can't see Buck losing him because he knows that Buck would lose himself too so he holds onto Buck, praying (for the first time in a long time) that please, do not take this from him. Buck has already lost so much, has already been through so much, experienced death more than any person should and he isn't sure that Tommy's death wouldn't be worse than Buck actually dying himself for the younger man.

So Bobby holds on, tightens his grip on Buck and knows that as soon as he let's go it will only be to let his son reunite with his boyfriend.

Buck is numb.

He can't hear, feel or see anything.

The world, his world has gone still.

His world might never start again if he can't see Tommy's little nose scrunch, hear his loud laugh, feel his strong arms, smell his stupid shampoo (he will forever deny he likes the weird mixture of sweet and bitter that Tommy's hair have after a fresh showe) or feel his giggle against his mouth.

His world is Tommy and he never told him.

How could he have never told him?

Buck only starts breathing, living again, when he bears the crackle of the radio.

"We have a survivor, coming right up, needs an immediate transport to the hospital."

Bobby hopes, hopes to a power he barely believes in that someone up there heard him and granted a wish. It doesn't even need to be for him, just spare Buck this. He breathes and ask "Do we have an ID?"

"Firefighter Kinard. Tommy is alive.

#don't mind me and my angsty scenarios #a genuine relationship for Buck means the opportunity for yet more trauma which we all know the show won't resist #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley

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enchantedflameandflower · 1 year

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Idea… so maybe Y/N is laying in bed with billy, and she’s lazily jerking him off while whispering dirty things in his ear. He’s kinda laying on your chest, head nuzzled into your neck and he grunts and groans, his hips bucking up as sweat beads down his hairy chest. You both are so caught up in the moment you don’t hear the door open.. Hughie. Hughie is standing in shock and Billy covers himself up, ashamed at the idea that he was seen somewhat vulnerable. Maybe some goofy stuff afterwards with Frenchie finding out and Y/N teasing Billy about it too. 🤭🤭 Ignore this if it’s too much!! ❤️

I can’t believe this took me so long!!! 😭 Life is rough, man. But thank the gods we at least have Billy. Please let me know what you think ❤️

———————

“Fuck. I’m too bloody tired for this.” Butcher half-stumbled to the bathroom, flicking the harsh light on and glowering at his reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, you’re not…I mean…you did….great.” Hughie stuttered. “Uh, thanks by the way. Thanks for that,” he gestured aimlessly. “Thanks for helping.”

Butcher turned to glare at Hughie instead through the open doorway.

“Aye, well I didn’t think it through.” Butcher splashed some water on his face then unbuttoned his bloody shirt, revealing a gash carved into his side.

“Fuck,” he growled.

“Fuck,” Hughie echoed, his voice pale with the dismay of seeing the wound.

Billy tossed his ruined shirt to the floor, reaching for the gauze in the cabinet, his eyes somehow dark and burning fire at the same time. “Next time you ask for help, we’re doin’ it my way, ya got that?”

“Got it,” Hughie muttered.

When Billy finished patching his side up, he flicked the light off, ignoring his shirt on the bathroom floor and stalking past Hughie without a second look. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You - you might have a concussion. Or something”

Billy scowled. “I’m fine. You can check on me in the mornin’ to make sure I’m still alive.”

“Fine, fine,” Hughie sighed, but he didn't dare get in Butcher’s way.

…

It was late, or actually early - very early, when you got back to the safe house. Butcher was sleeping in the bed in his room - the one you’d been sharing on and off for a couple months now - but his brow was furrowed and you could tell he wasn’t sleeping peacefully. For a moment you couldn’t help yourself, and you stood quietly, watching him. You’d missed him more than you thought you would while you’d been away. All you wanted now was to be wrapped up in his arms and let the entire world fade away.

Carefully, you perched on the very edge of the bed, reaching out to touch his arm, hoping it was soft enough not to startle him. He shifted when your fingertips brushed his skin but he must have sensed you weren’t an enemy and he let himself wake up slowly.

Hey,” you murmured in the darkness.

As he moved again, turning toward you, the blankets slid down his chest and you noticed the gauze just under his rib cage on his side.

“You’re home,” he rumbled suddenly, gingerly trying to sit up then wincing. Your eyes flicked back to the bandage on his side.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t call. Been two weeks.”

You huffed and laughed softly, edging closer on the bed next to him. “You told me not to. You said it wasn’t safe.”

“Since when do ya listen to me.”

You rolled your eyes but you really did miss him, grumpiness and all. “I always listen…” you teased him and he grunted in reply.

For a moment he gazed at you and you could tell he must still be in pain but then he reached up to tug on your hair. “C’mere,” he rumbled, tangling his hand in the strands and pulling gently.

You hummed softly and obeyed, gingerly climbing over the top of him to your side of the bed and sliding down next to him.

“Miss me?” You whispered with a little half smile after a few minutes.

His reply was just another simple grunt but it was enough for you.

You leaned forward to kiss him, letting your lips brush teasingly over his before he slid his fingers deeper into your hair and captured your mouth completely. After all you’d been through together, you two had finally been seeing each other for a while now but with the time you’d been away, combined with the fact it was still fairly new, his touch made your stomach flutter and flip flop with sparkling anticipation.

When you slid your hand over his waist though he flinched and you remembered his injury. “Oh I’m sorry,” you breathed, pulling back from his kiss. “What really happened, are you okay?”

Butcher groaned, shifting to lay back against the pillows in a more comfortable position. “Hughie took me to track down some supe. Swore up and down it’d be a piece of cake, made me pinky swear to go easy, and then it all just went pear-shaped. Had to save him again.” Billy added grumpily.

You couldn’t help the quirk of your lips. “That sounds absolutely horrible,” you said in agreement, trying to hide a grin.

“It were,” he huffed.

“Maybe I can make it up to you, make you feel better?” You asked, letting your hand slip over his flat stomach underneath the blanket.

“Well, aye, that’s probably the only thing that would help,” he agreed, a mischievous twinkle coming to his eyes.

It only took you a second to find the start to the dark trail of hair below his belly button. He rumbled as your hand kept going, until your fingers brushed his rapidly swelling length.

“Like this?” You asked, watching his face as his eyes closed and he focused on what you were doing to him.

“Aye,” he breathed.

A moan almost slipped out of your own mouth when you wrapped your fingers fully around his thick cock. His skin was hot and he felt so good and, fuck, you wanted him too but you needed to do this for him.

He groaned when you began to move your hand and as you reached the tip he bucked helplessly into your palm. The blanket slipped down his muscled thighs when he moved and he tugged on the soft material pulling it away from his body completely.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, hot and hard and wanting you, making a soft little sound of need escape your throat.

“Sweethear’…” he rumbled, in that gravelly, husky voice. Reaching up he twisted his fingers in your hair, pulling your mouth to his again.

He kissed you like he needed to suck the air from your lungs to survive and it set your entire being on fire. His cock seemed to swell even more and you moaned into his kiss. You continued to stroke him lazily, all the way from the base to the head, rubbing your thumb across the tip as precum started to bead there.

You pulled back to watch and he groaned harshly, the sound of it going straight to your center. The dark room was warm and sweat started to form on his temples. One drop rolled down his neck to his chest and you lifted your other hand to rub your palm over the curly dark hair there. He groaned again, turning toward you to bury his face in the curve of your throat, nuzzling hotly, his fingers still tangled in your hair. “Your cock feels so good, Billy,” you whispered against the shell of his ear, making him moan again.

Just as you were starting to unbutton your shirt with the other hand, the door to the bedroom swung open with a bang and suddenly Hughie was standing right there staring at the two of you with wide, shocked eyes and his mouth hanging open.

“Oh fuck! I’m so - fuck - sorry… I thought - it sounded - fuck - sorry…”

You froze, completely unsure of what to do, your fingers still wrapped around Billy’s cock, but you had to let go as he surged up from his supine position. He grabbed all the blankets in one fist to cover his lap and you were glad you weren’t already naked yourself or you’d be fully on display for Hughie now.

“Hughie, I fuckin’ told ya you could check on me in the morning! What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?!” Butcher roared.

Hughie screwed his eyes shut and you almost had to laugh at the varied shades of horror written across his expression but you held it in.

“I didn’t know! I thought - you were hurt. I heard -“

“Just get the fuck out son and leave me be! I’m tryin’ to recover here,” Billy growled, his face flushed with fury.

“Sorry, sorry, okay, sorry” Hughie started backing toward the door then finally turned and bolted out into the main room, slamming it closed behind him.

“Fuckin’ twat,” Billy growled. You held your tongue as you climbed off the bed to lock the door.

“The kid can’t even let me have a shag in peace after nearly gettin’ me killed.”

He was really in a mood now and you had to bite your lip to keep from teasing him. He must hate to have one of the boys see him in such a vulnerable moment but you couldn’t help the swell of affection it made you feel for him.

You were worried about calming him down but when you turned back from the now locked door, his gaze was hot on you despite the scowl that was still on his face. Your shirt was half unbuttoned, slipping down your shoulder and there was nothing underneath. You were sure he could see the bare curve of your breast as his gaze lingered there. Maybe that could help turn the night back around again. As you took another step toward him, you tugged at the rest of your buttons and let your shirt fall to the floor.

It seemed to work.

His gaze was hot enough to burn straight through you and you saw him swallow thickly. “Let’s quit fuckin’ about now,” he finally said. He was frowning but his voice was gruff from need, even more so than before. He tossed the blankets away with a flick of his wrist. “Take the rest o’ your kit off, love, and come sit on my cock,” he husked. “Playtime is over.”

You felt the immediate, undeniable rush of heat and wetness as your body desperately prepared itself for him. “Aye, aye Captain,” you teased, but still your voice was noticeably breathless.

His eyes were glued to your form as you shimmied out of your jeans. He laid back on the bed as you climbed over him, carefully straddling his hips.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he husked, his hands going to your hips, his gaze travelling over you, all the way up and back down. “Take me in, love.”

You bit your lower lip as your body throbbed in response and you guided his cock to your entrance. Slowly, you sunk down on him, relaxing your muscles as he stretched you open, taking him as deep as you could.

As soon as you started to move, he slid his hands up from your hips, and cupped and squeezed your breasts roughly, pinching your tight nipples and tugging.

The bite made pleasure surge through you and you clenched around his cock, almost coming from his subsequent growl, but you held back somehow, letting the heat grow more between you first.

He shifted like he was going to sit up but you held him down again, your palms against his broad shoulders to keep himself from making his injury worse and he growled in reply, his eyes flashing with passion and heated challenge.

Snaking his hand down your stomach, his fingers found your clit with practiced ease. And he knew exactly what it did to you. He knew it made you wild for him. You bounced on his cock, a little bit harder, a little faster, taking him as deep as you could, release just within reach. “Please Billy,” you whimpered, almost beyond words. “Oh…”

He thrust his hips up, and the perfect angle along with the perfect touch of his fingers made your climax come on fast and hard. You cried out as your body shuddered and squeezed around him. His hands went back to your hips, fingers digging into your soft skin as his own climax started to overtake him and he gave a low groan as he held your hips to his.

His gaze was so focused on you as he came, so full of passion and wonder and heat and genuine caring… It felt like your heart could burst.

The pleasure was nearly overwhelming and after a few moments you collapsed against his chest, his strong arms coming tight around you. Nothing had ever felt this good.

You couldn’t imagine anything in your life ever going right, but, fuck, you knew then you would fight like hell to hold on to this man.

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

The next morning was blissfully calm and quiet and you sighed contentedly as you checked Billy’s bandage and found the wound healing well. Everything was perfect. Until Billy offered to make you coffee and bagels just before Frenchie emerged from his own room.

“Eh, Monsieur Charcutier…need a hand?”

——————

Please comment or reblog if you like!!! Thank you for reading!!!

More Billy here! Billy Butcher Masterlist

#the boys #fanfic #billy butcher #karl urban #karl urban fanfic #smut #the boys fanfic #billy butcher fanfic #the boys tv #billy butcher smut #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher fanfiction #karl urban fanfiction

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scekrex · 1 month

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Hey absolutely love your stuff (obviously since I keep requesting lol) anyways could I request Adam who somehow survived after getting beaten up by Lucifer and stabbed who even knows how many times by Niffty gets found by the reader who while an overlord isn't that powerful is super rich (I also picture them being like a mix of Alastor and Vox where like Alastor still holds a lot of more old timey views but also tries to adapt with the changing views like Vox) and decides to take him back to his mansion to try and help him survive (wants to make a few bucks later using him) after a bit the two share an oh fuck moment when they realized they have caught feelings. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

Overlord reader?? Uh fuck yeah!! I fucking love this ask so much xoxo/p

Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 ; Part 5

Chains on my lips just add flames to the fire

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language & sexual tension

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The battlefield was a mess through and through and while the devil and his daughter had built up the hotel again, a new, more inviting looking building was now located on the lonely hill in the pride ring, you still felt Adam's presence. The residents of the hazbin hotel must've already forgotten about him and therefore didn't notice you at all, too caught up in their doing.

The first man was badly injured and while you normally wouldn't care for such things, especially because it was an exorcist angel, this case was special. Because not only was the brunette laying in front of your feet the first man god had ever created, no, he was also the leader of said exorcists. You could only imagine how many sinners and Hellborn people would pay a good amount of money to harm him, even if it was just the slightest injury possible. So you bowed down and scooped the passed out man in your arms. If these sinners and even Lucifer didn't care for him, you would put him to good use. For your own benefit that was, but no one had to know about that yet. So you carried the first man across the entire pride ring of hell until you reached your home. The brunette man in your arms was still unconscious and given the blood he had lost and the hits he had taken that was pretty normal.

Once inside your mansion, you headed to the hospital wing, walking through the building with slow, heavy steps that echoed through the empty hallways. The hospital wing was close to the entrance, a decision you had made after stumbling through the doors with a fatal wound that had been exposing your guts. It was quicker to reach in an emergency and while those rarely occurred, you didn't like the risk. You put the first man down onto one of the beds, your claw sliced smoothly through the fabric of his once holy robe to get it out of the way. You needed to take care of the stab wounds the nifty little demon girl had caused. The stabs were deep but nothing you couldn't fix. You gave Adam one last glance before you stepped over to the medicine cabinet and for a quick moment you asked yourself why Lilith and Eve had left Adam, he wasn't bad looking at all, quite the opposite. And Lucifer had mentioned that Adam had ‘kinda let himself go’ which meant back when the two women were married to him, he must have looked even better. You quickly shook your head, what in the devil's name were you even thinking?

With wound cleaning supplies and a healing potion you stepped back to Adam's bed, the first human ever seemed to be slowly waking up. He braced his palms against the mattress, tried to lift himself up but you were quick to push him back down, the more he moved while his wounds were still ripped open the more blood he lost. And while Adam would be able to recover either way, the more blood stayed inside of his body, the better. At least that's what you thought. “Stay,” you hummed as you cleaned the blood from his skin. It was unusual to clean off golden blood instead of the red mess you were so used to. But you didn't mind, didn't care even.

Adam flinched away from your touch, tried to lift himself up yet again. Your hand took a hold of his throat and held him down by it, “I said stay, stupid angel.” Adam's eyes seemed to clear up a little, the fog that had covered his golden eyes, had made them seem yellow, lifted and the brunette stared at you, clearly not knowing what to feel. You saw anger in his eyes, rage and hatred but at the same time there was fear. Fear and pain.

Once the blood was no longer staining his perfect skin, you took the potion you had grabbed, popped the cork and held the smooth, cold glass against his bottom lip, “Open up,” you demanded, yet your voice stayed gentle. Adam hesitated and you really couldn't blame him. “It will cause your wounds to heal,” you explained to the former leader of the exorcists and he seemed to consider his opinions for a moment. Then he actually parted his lips and let you spill the disgusting liquid onto his tongue. His face scrunched up at the bitter taste and he kept the liquid in his mouth. “Swallow it, Adam.” Adam looked up at you, once again seemingly considering alternatives he had. Given the fact that he did as you told him, there hadn't been many.

Adam checked his chest as the wounds that had caused enough pain to make him pass out healed quickly. The only hint left that they ever even existed were golden scars that seemed to be permanent from now on, but the first man couldn't complain, could he? He was still alive and on top of that there was no more pain. The first man frowned at you, mistrust was lingering heavy in his eyes as golden orbs followed your every move. Yet he remained silent, not a single word was falling from his lips.

Your hand that had been holding him down by his throat let go of him and Adam was sitting up right in his bed in an instant. His hands traced over the new found scars, you watched him in silence. There was something about him, about his vibe that was different. It wasn't the fact that he was an angel, no, even though that made his vibe different too, but it was something soft, something afraid to break. You cleared your throat loudly and Adam's eyes were on you within a heartbeat, while mistrust still lingered heavy in them, curiosity was close behind and you couldn't help but catch yourself that you were curious about him too.

Adam always bragged about being the first man, like that was his biggest accomplishment and if you looked at it from a different viewpoint it wasn't even his accomplishment but God’s, Adam didn't create himself after all. Yet it was the only thing worth mentioning whenever he didn't want to do something, “I’m the fucking man, not your fucking housewife, I'm not gonna fucking clean that.” You sighed as you took a step towards Adam and he flinched, trying to back up but his back hit the kitchen counter sooner than expected. Your hands grabbed a hold of his waist and you effortlessly lifted him up to sit on said counter, Adam was taken aback by that.

It had been a couple of weeks since you had found and saved him and the mistrust that had been filling his eyes from the first second on had never truly left them. He would always leash out on you only to back down as soon as you reacted in some way that seemed too unpredictable for him. “When will you learn to think before you speak?” Your voice held a certain amount of softness, it always did when you were speaking to Adam. The guy wasn't a threat to you, not in his current situation. And you were trying to use that to your advantage. Because he was scared, basically a deer in the headlights, why not put that fear to use? You nudged his knees apart to stand between his legs, still taller than him you hovered over the first man with a mix between a sly grin and a soft smile. “When you start to suck my fucking dick,” you chuckled as his choice of words, very aware that he simply wanted you to fuck off and leave him be, you acted oblivious to that. One hand was placed on the counter to steady yourself, right next to his thigh, the other grabbed his chin to tilt his head upwards, forcing the brunette to look you in the eyes.

“Right now? Right here?” your voice sounded so delicious, Adam wanted to eat it up, in fact, he wanted to devour you entirely, feast on every piece you had to offer and only stop once he swallowed it all. In Christ's holy name, what was he thinking? Your lips were so close to his, so so close, all he would need to do was - he leaned into your touch, why he wasn't sure, it was as if his body was following a call sent to him by nature itself. And then his lips met yours and a low groan spilled from his throat as his hands grabbed your shoulder firmly, he was afraid you'd pull back, that you'd leave him like Lilith and Eve had and he didn't even know why. Why was he afraid of losing you, a sinner, a man he barely knew? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. And yet he kissed you like his life was depending on it.

The hand that had been braced against the counter was now on his thigh, squeezing the soft flesh playfully and drawing a delicious sound from Adam's lips. Oh you could drown in the noises the first man made, the little huffs and puffs, his groans that he tried to keep as quiet as possible, the whimpers he would later deny. Adam was the most beautiful creature that had ever set a foot into hell and you mentally punched yourself in the face for wanting to use him to make money. There was no way you'd use such a divine, holy and glorious man for that, no. Adam was yours, your little secret and you'd keep it, keep him.

When you two partened a sting of saliva connected your lips and both of your eyes were hazy, he looked blissed out and it was then that you decided you wanted to see him like that more often - as often as possible. You were to lean in yet again, wanting more, needing more. But your phone rang. “Pick it up, bet it's something fucking important, they don't fucking call overlords for shits and giggles, do they?” You knew Adam was right and you hated it. You pushed your body away from the first man's and you saw how he wanted to reach out, wanted to keep you close but didn't say a thing about it. You grabbed your phone off the dining table and answered the call, “The fuck do you want, Vox?” It was the first time Adam had heard you speaking so vulgarly, you usually seemed to be collected, considering your words wisely, but that? In the name of God, that was truly something else. And it was ridiculously hot. “No I fucking can't, ask someone else,” and with that you hung up, tossed your phone carelessly back onto the table and found your place between his legs yet again. “Where were we?” you hummed through hooded eyes. And it was only then that the two of you seemed to realize what exactly you had just done, what you were about to do again.

Both of your eyes widened and the next thing you felt were Adam's hands on your body, not just your shoulder this time but also your waist, your chest, your thighs, your back. It seemed as if he was claiming you with his hands and the worst part of it? You truly didn't mind, you even enjoyed his touch on you, leaned into it and closed your eyes to fully focus on his hands roaming over your body.

Fuck, you had fallen deep for this man, way deeper than you ever thought you'd fall. But Adam had followed you, had fallen with you.

“You were about to suck me off,” Adam mumbled, his voice already sounded fucked out and you hadn't even started yet.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

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