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jtargaryen18 · 9 months

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His Inheritance ~ Chapter 31

Part 31: Girl on Fire

Series Masterlist

Words: 6.7k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, references to sexual violence. Strong language, dismemberment, and physical violence. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bucky’s phone rang, it didn’t surprise him. When he saw Kat’s number… They didn’t have plans tonight. Why the hell was she calling?

“Hello,” Bucky said, pausing the cage match he’d been watching.

“Bucky?” Kat sniffled, tears in her voice.

“Yes?”

“I’m at the hospital,” she said, clearing trying not to sob.

“Have you been hurt?” he asked, pulling the lever to sit up in his recliner. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s my sister, Paulina.”

Ah. “What happened?”

“She’s unconscious,” Kat managed. “I don’t know what happened. But neither of us have insurance…”

Neither of them was legal residents of the US either. Bucky sighed.

“I’ll send someone down there,” he told her, ready to get back to his fight. Before his hand reached the lever on his chair, she started sobbing in earnest.

“Please,” Kat begged him. “Will you come down here?”

Kat wasn’t usually so needy. Usually, she stuck to their agreement. Something had her shaken up.

“Give me a few minutes,” he said before hanging up. Shaking his head, he shot a text to his men telling them he needed the car ASAP.

Erik Killmonger was there in less than five minutes. He’d been a soldier for the Barnes family for the last five years. The entire time, he’d handled the tasks that he was given. He never failed, followed orders to a fault, and was always quiet and respectful, Bucky’s three favorite qualities in a soldier.

Erik’s ambition had been obvious from the beginning. It was in the confident way he walked, the efficient way he took care of business. It was there when he asked Bucky if he could serve him personally. Since then, he had Erik reporting directly to Hansen, and he showed the same respect to him.

The two men were comparable in their abilities, evenly matched when it came to killing a man. But where Hansen liked to put on a show and preen around, psychologically breaking down his prey, Erik was silently lethal. Bucky had to wonder if half of the men he’d sent him to kill even saw him coming.

Now that Hansen was wherever the fuck Hansen was, Bucky didn’t believe for a fucking minute the bastard was dead, Erik was his top lieutenant. Maybe he should have been all along.

He’d put the man in charge of finding Hansen. Erik knew him better than he did. Bucky’s only request was that Hansen be brought in alive. Bucky wanted to kill the fucker himself. The betrayal signed his death warrant. The fact that Hansen thought he was going to just make off with the woman Bucky coveted, the bright jewel in the crown he'd soon wear... Bucky was just sorry he could only kill him once.

“Where we off to?” Erik asked, ready to go.

“The hospital,” Bucky said, following him out to the garage. “Kat’s sister is there. I don’t know what happened yet.”

Erik held the door open for Bucky to climb in the back of the huge SUV. Walking around, Erik took a seat in the front next to the driver.

Bucky caught Zemo’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “We’re going to the hospital. St. Agnes," he told him.

When they reached the hospital, pulling up to the door at the ER, Zemo again met his gaze in the mirror. “Should you be going in there, boss?” he asked respectfully.

“He can go wherever he wants,” Erik said, opening his door. “Nothing’s going to happen to him.”

Damn right. Very soon, Bucky would be the goddamn king of Boston.

He waited while Erik inquired about Paulina, speaking to the older woman at the emergency room desk. His man led him past the desk, swiftly through a maze of corridors until they found Paulina’s room. Kat looked grateful when they arrived, her dark eyes still shiny with tears when she opened the door.

Paulina lay in the hospital bed, curled in on her side. Her hair was a wild tangle around her head and her face was streaked with makeup and tears.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, moving to stand at the foot of the hospital bed. Erik closed the door, staying close to it.

“We went shopping,” Kat explained in her tear-filled voice. “Our car dropped her off first at her apartment building. And then… I w-went home.”

“So she was attacked in her apartment?” Bucky asked.

“I didn’t see it happen,” Kat went on. “But she didn’t make it into her apartment. Someone found her in the hallway… One of her neighbors called an a-ambulance.”

Great. More people in his business.

“My number was the emergency contact on her phone,” Kat went on. “They called me.”

“I’m sorry this happened, Kat,” Bucky said, his patience slipping. “But you didn’t need me to come down here to pay the bill.”

“What if this wasn’t random?” Kat asked.

“What else would it be?” he countered.

“Steve,” she said. “I think Steve is behind this.”

Bucky shook his head. “Why would you think Steve had anything to do with this?”’

“Why?” Kat threw her hands up. “Isn’t it obvious? With everything you’ve done to him? With you taking me away from him? He’s hitting back.”

That had Bucky chuckling. Yeah, he’d put Rogers through some things. And it wouldn’t be long until he finished Rogers, put him and his fucking family down and took the lead that should have been his when the old boss died.

“Yeah, he’ll try.” Bucky stared her down. “But what does that have to do with you and your sister? I didn’t take you away from him. You were all over me when he threw you off to get married if I remember correctly.”

Kat looked affronted. “You took me away from him. Paulina? She was seeing his consigliere.”

“Still not seeing a connection,” Bucky told her, ready to end the conversation.

Ready to end things with her period. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t need Kat.

“Banner betrayed him,” she said. “Maybe that’s why they went after Paulina.”

It was plausible. But why hit his family there? As Kat pointed out, Paulina had been Banner’s side piece. Banner was out of the Rogers’ family and no longer any use to the Barnes family. Honestly, Banner was lucky Rogers let him live. But messing with Banner’s mistress after the fact? It didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t Rogers’ style.

That reminded him. Banner had been laying low on Stark’s turf after Rogers ousted him. Then he’d disappeared. Bucky made a mental note to follow up on that.

“Did anyone see who did it?” Erik asked. “Did the neighbor see anything?”

“No,” Kat told them. “They just found her. Beaten… Don’t you understand? She wasn’t robbed or violated or anything else. Just beaten. To hurt her was the point. What else could it be? Am I next?”

Bucky moved closer to Kat, taking her chin in his fingers. She trembled in his grasp, and he knew she was scared. He wanted her to be.

“Pain and death are always the point,” Bucky whispered, gazing into her eyes. “But Steve’s not after you, Katerina. He’s not after you sister.”

Releasing her, he watched indignation and hurt bleed into her expression.

“When Rogers strikes at me,” he explained, “he’ll make it hurt. He’ll make it personal.”

“This is personal,” her voice was rising. “This does hurt.”

“You and your sister maybe,” Bucky told her. “It’s not personal for me. It doesn’t hurt. I’d have to care about you and your sister for this to hurt me and I don’t.”

Tears slid from her eyes now. “You’re wrong.”

Bucky moved closer to the woman on the bed. Her makeup was a mess but on closer inspection, there were no cuts on her face. There could be bruises under the makeup, he supposed. Pulling back a tangled section of her hair revealed her throat. No bruises there or any injuries at all.

Kat said she was beaten. Were they fucking with him?

Grabbing the edge of the blanket covering the woman, he pulled it back to reveal her unconscious form covered by a thin hospital gown with shorter sleeves. He half-expected her arms and the rest of her to be unmarked as well. He was all ready to flip shit on Kat and her sister for wasting his time.

Paulina’s arm? That was a different story. The bruises were red and angry, lacing up from her forearm like macabre artwork. The gown opened at the back, and she lay on her side facing him. Throwing the blanket back, he leaned over to look at the woman’s back. A wild patch of pink and red marks covered most of it. The one contusion right where her kidney was? That had him wincing.

Tomorrow, her skin would be purple, black, and blue and she’d be feeling it. Shaking his head, he pulled the blanket away from the rest of her. More evidence of the beating she’d taken over thighs and upper shins. Nothing close to the ankle…

Kat, still lost in her indignation, glared at him as she grabbed the blanket to cover her sister up again.

“Still think this is random?” she asked, still swiping away tears.

Bucky shrugged as he headed for the door. “I’ll handle the billing,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out.

The entire situation should have left his mind never to return the minute he was back in his car and headed home. Bucky just couldn’t get his mind off it. It was just so off. Why was it done? What did it mean?

Was it a message for him?

***

After finishing his run, Bucky headed for his study to check messages before getting a shower.

“Bucky?”

He jumped at how off-guard she’d caught him. There Kat stood in the door of his study, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Her big dark eyes were on him, a shiny red shopping bag dangling from her manicured fingers.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked irritably. He didn’t like her coming by his house uninvited. She knew that.

“I’m sorry.” She looked it.

As he stood watching her, a sweaty mess behind his desk, she meekly approached him. Stopping on the other side of his desk, she carefully placed the bag on the top of his desk between them.

“It’s for you,” she said forlornly. “Thank you for helping Paulina.”

Blowing out an exhale, he looked at the bag. “She out of the hospital yet?”

Kat nodded. “She’s home. Resting. I’m staying with her since we don’t know who did this… or why.”

Bucky hated wasting the manpower but in the off-chance Kat was right… “I’ll send someone to keep an eye on her place for the next couple of days, okay?”

“And mine?” she asked, flashing him a smile.

“You said you were staying with her,” he pointed out. “You stay with her, someone’s looking after you too.”

The smile faded and he couldn’t even feel badly about it. Kat was one of many. He’d had women who were more beautiful, better in bed. She wasn’t unique. She wouldn’t even be memorable.

And she’d served her purpose a long time ago. He took up with her to piss off Steve, to hurt his wife. While Rogers had been pissed and insulted that Bucky brought his former mistress to his wedding, he hadn’t succeeded in his second objective. The new Mrs. Rogers hadn’t been hurt.

No, the daughter of the old boss and the new bride of his enemy had turned out to be a lioness.

Think of that. The girl had been hidden away like Quasimodo in his bell tower, mutilated and not fit for society. That was what he’d always been told about the old boss’s surviving child. His bitch wife, who’d ripped Bucky’s family apart by having an affair with his father, died trying to get out and killed the man’s son. The daughter was never supposed to be anything for Bucky Barnes to be concerned with.

Even so, Bucky hated her. He’d been glad she was disfigured, glad she’d never be out in the world. He’d even toyed around with the idea of paying her a visit once her father died. Taking care of the disfigured little lamb once and for all.

Rogers had executed his plan well. That he was kissing ass to claim the crown, Bucky got that. He had no idea, however, that Rogers planned to marry the boss's daughter who was supposed to be horribly disfigured. Within a week of her father dying, Bucky gets word that she’s engaged to Rogers and the wedding Is being rushed.

When he went to confront Rogers about it, he was surprised to find her alone and barely dressed in the kitchen. She was uncovered enough for him to see there wasn’t likely a scar or blemish on her. She was amazingly beautiful wearing her whore mother’s face with innocent eyes. That first impression of her had him both hard as a rock and ready to commit murder, right there in Rogers’ kitchen.

Rogers knew what he was doing. He didn’t care who she was, that her mother destroyed the Barnes family. Rogers didn’t care about anything but the throne and it was then Bucky decided he’d do whatever it took to take Rogers’ crown, to take him and his bitch wife out.

But he couldn't get her out of his head. Not once he saw her.

Bucky had assumed for most of his life that Mrs. Rogers was his half-sister. The daughter of his father. After meeting her, he looked into it, knowing her father would have had a paternity test done under the circumstances. With a little patience and a lot of money, Bucky had an answer.

Mrs. Rogers was not related to him by blood. The old boss was her father after all.

By the time he figured this out, Bucky had found his attitude toward Mrs. Rogers shifting. Yeah, he could kill her when he destroyed her husband. No one would be surprised or even blame him.

But he’d never met a woman like her. There was a fire, an iron will, buried beneath the persona. Mrs. Rogers was stunning, beautiful. But according to Loguidice, Rogers’ bride wasn’t just a pretty face. There was a beast in her heart. The lioness could handle her husband, win his men’s loyalty, and even fucking shoot Lloyd Hansen which had been hilarious when his lieutenant had to explain it to him.

And she would be Bucky’s at the end of this. It was going to happen.

Glancing at his current mistress, he knew it was past time to end things. But he’d wait until Paulina had mended. Make sure nothing else was heard about that little incident. Then he’d drop the hammer.

“Do you really care so little about me?” Kat asked him, pulling him from his thoughts.

It wasn’t a bad acting job. Bucky smiled.

“Do we really care about each other?” he wanted to know. “Relationships aren’t based solely on love. That’s the movies. Relationships are based on mutual need. You need someone to give you money to maintain your lifestyle and I need sex and occasionally some arm candy. Don’t make this something more than it really is.”

Hooking a finger in the bag, he peeked into it to see a wad of tissue paper.

Kat watched him expectantly.

Grabbing the bag, he pulled out whatever she had wrapped in that tissue paper. It felt odd in his hand, more than one thing. The first thing he encountered was a small jewel box. Setting the rest down, he opened that to see a set of ruby cufflinks winking up at him from the black velvet.

He had to give her credit. She knew his tastes.

“These are nice,” he told her with a grin. “Thank you… What else do we have here?”

Kat’s brow creased as she watched him pick up the wad of tissue still in front of him.

“There was nothing else,” she said, looking confused.

But there was something else. Peeling away the tissue paper, Bucky stared at the fucking fingers – five human fingers – he held in his hands. In disgust, he dropped them onto the desk as Kat covered her mouth with her hand, backing away in horror.

“What the fuck?” he demanded, staring at those digits.

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I didn’t do that. I didn’t… I feel sick.”

Kat dashed from his study like the devil was chasing her as Bucky muscled his way past the revulsion to study those digits. The fingers of a white man, toughened from work. There was no blood. No rings. No scars or other identifying marks.

Grabbing the bag, Bucky looked to see if there was something else. There was. A business card for a donut shop on Rogers’ turf. He recognized the name of the shop.

Fuck.

Bucky hadn’t ordered a hit on that shop or the girl. No, that was all Hansen who took the girl that worked there. Bucky hadn’t known a thing about it until after Rogers’ faceoff against Hansen who had since disappeared.

Bucky studied the fingers again. Were they Hansen’s? He didn’t think so. Hansen had big hands, he didn’t remember the fingers being slender.

Well, they’d find out.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he shot a text to Erik to come right away.

Now he wondered if the attack on Paulina was related. Was it tied to this? Was there more to come?

It would make sense if it was Rogers. But Rogers wasn’t usually so theatrical. He’d hit hard, head on. Anyone who was at odds with him always saw him coming. In his defense, he always hit really fucking hard.

This? It was puzzling. And not Rogers’ style at all.

What game was he unwittingly playing? And with whom?

***

The tap at the door pulled Bucky away from trying to catch up on his investment portfolio, sheets scattered all over his normally immaculate desk. His mind wasn’t on it. He’d been pretending to look at the numbers for damn near an hour.

Erik looked as tired as Bucky felt. He was hoping his lieutenant had some news for him. The episode earlier with Kat and the dead man’s fingers still had him rattled.

“Found out who those fingers belonged to,” Erik got right into it. “Belonged to one of Hansen’s men. One of our guys found the rest of him in a dumpster on your turf. The prints matched.”

Bucky nodded. Hansen likely had the guy pick up the donut shop girl for him. And the ax fell on him because they didn’t get Hansen. Bucky nodded. It was something he’d do.

The donut shop girl. What did she know, if anything, about everything going on? Maybe he should chat with her.

“Hansen’s still alive,” Buck said flatly.

Erik nodded. “There’s no proof he’s not.”

“Anything else?”

His man’s dark-eyed gaze met his. “I sent men looking for Banner, but it looks like he skipped town.”

A wise move on the man’s part.

“You don’t think he targeted Paulina, do you?” Erik asked.

Bucky shook his head. “Not with that temper of his. If Banner decided to do that, she would know it was him. He’d make sure she knew it was him.”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Bucky leaned back in his office chair, tried to relax. To think. “Any word on Rogers?”

“You knew Hansen and Frankenstein grabbed Dyson to draw Rogers out,” Erik said.

“Frankenstein?” Bucky asked.

“Neal Logiudice,” Erik explained. “Pop some bolts on his neck and he looks like Frankenstein.”

Bucky snorted. He could see that.

“Then he was supposed to off Dyson and Logiudice,” Erik continued. “Grab Rogers if he could. Hansen changed the plan. He drew Mrs. Rogers out instead of her husband.”

Bucky was still furious about what happened. Dyson would never betray Rogers and Logiudice was collateral damage. The move was meant to break Rogers down. Dyson’s loss on top of Logiudice’s betrayal would demoralize him. Bucky thought it might just finally finish his rival off.

Instead, Mrs. Rogers showed up, playing right into Hansen’s hand. Then her husband showed up and he brought friends. A shootout ensued. Rogers, his wife, and Dyson made it out. So did Hansen and Logiudice, apparently. And Bucky was out several men. Several good men.

“Does anyone know?” Bucky pressed. “Was Rogers shot?”

“Most likely,” Erik told him. “There’s different versions of the story. Some say he got shot. Some say Dyson got shot. Other say Mrs. Rogers was shot to protect Dyson and Rogers got shot trying to shield her.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky blew out an exhale. Needless to say, whoever did or didn’t get shot in Hansen’s grand fuckup was a moot point. Rogers was fine. He’d apparently had enough of Bucky fucking him and now he was firing back at the Barnes’ family.

There was nothing altruistic about their chosen business. You were either a ruthless bastard or dead. Back when they were both younger and coming up under their fathers’ wings, Steve Rogers had been a cocky, dangerous bastard and Bucky always hated all the attention he got. How Rogers always got away with everything.

Bucky always knew that the minute his father was gone, the minute it was just him calling the shots, that Rogers would fail. Then he’d found another mentor in the former leader of the five families but that didn’t last, and he died too. Bucky just knew that without the mentorship of better men, Rogers wouldn’t make it on his own. He was one hell of a soldier, terrifying if he came after you. But a leader?

Still, something was different. So far Rogers had pulled himself out of the trap Bucky set for him with Hansen, sent him the fingers of one of Hansen’s men in Kat’s little gift bag, and maybe had someone beat the shit out of Paulina, Kat’s sister.

While Kat swore to him she had nothing to do with the fingers, Bucky wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He had her taken to her sister’s place and there she would stay under close watch. He didn’t think either woman had anything to do with whatever the fuck was going on. But he’d keep them under glass for now to make sure.

Rogers?

There was an underlying menace to sending Bucky the dead man’s fingers. It wasn’t just the barbarism of the act. It was multifaceted. It was Rogers letting Bucky know that he knew about the donut shop girl and exactly who abducted her. It was knowledge that she’d been taken under Bucky’s command even if it wasn’t his personal decision. It was accusatory and direct.

It left him feeling unsettled. Bucky had been so close to shutting Rogers down, to finally taking everything he wanted.

And now? Well, he sure as fuck couldn’t slow down now. He couldn’t let Rogers even the score.

“My Vinny’s gotten here yet?” Bucky asked. He’d sent out for food from his favorite restaurant. Vinny’s was the best Italian restaurant in all of Boston and the owner's brother was one of Bucky’s best soldiers.

“I’ll go check,” Erik said, heading off to do that.

It was only a few minutes later that Bucky had his takeout, enjoying it in his recliner while he took in an action movie he’d been wanting to watch. His meal didn’t disappoint. The veal was perfect, just what he’d wanted.

After he’d digested a few minutes, he took his dishes to the kitchen, ready for dessert. The tiramisu was in the fridge and Bucky grinned as he pulled it from its foam box to carefully place it on a plate. With a fresh glass of wine, he returned to his recliner and resumed the movie.

Bucky was two bites in when his fork hit something that felt unexpectedly solid in the layered dessert. Frowning, he worked at using his fork to grab the next bite. But something was wrong. Something was in there��

Taking a closer look, he found something solid in there. Plucking it at with his fingers, he found… meat?

He almost lost his meal to realize that something was the tip of a human ear.

“What the fuck?” Bucky said to himself, his heart starting to race in his chest.

Sitting up in the recliner, he kept digging through the dessert to find an earlobe, just as bloodless as the tip.

It was the dark eye staring up at him that from the bottom that had him screaming, fighting nausea as he slung it all away and sent it flying across the room.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” he was shouting as Erik and Zemo both raced into the room to see who was killing their boss.

Covering his mouth with a hand, Bucky fled to the bathroom…

***

“I am so sorry,” Erik said for the hundredth time. “I looked in there, but I should have looked a lot closer.”

Soldiers were crawling his house, crawling the grounds. Zemo was at Vinny’s, no doubt tearing the restaurant apart. And he’d specifically requested that Zemo take Vinny’s brother with him. If there was a rat in his ranks or at the restaurant, heads would roll.

Bucky shook his head, sitting in his recliner with his elbows on his knees. He felt like shit. More body parts sent to him set his nerves on edge.

Was it Rogers? If so, he didn’t like the fact that his enemy was running up the score. That really pissed him off. His mind was spinning with the theories forming in his head.

“We’ll try to figure out who those…” Erik shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Bucky asked, rising from the recliner to glare at Erik. “That’s all I’ve been fucking doing the last three days. You know?”

Erik didn’t drop his gaze, didn’t back down. Bucky admired his quiet accountability.

But it wasn’t exclusively Erik’s fault. It was on all of them. Even him. No one had ever been able to get him directly. People around him, yes. But never him. Taking another drink of his Scotch, his mind spun webs with his instincts. He was starting to form a few ideas on his current situation.

“Boss,” Zemo called, walking into his living room.

Bucky spotted his man, standing a few feet away with a white takeout carton in his hands. He wasn’t going to like whatever was in the box, he knew from the way Zemo shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, trying to be ready for anything.

“We went through Vinny’s, and we found this in Vinny’s office,” Zemo explained carefully. “It’s for you. Vinny swears he didn’t see who left it and he doesn’t know anything about it.”

“You believe him?” It was an honest question.

Zemo nodded.

Bucky motioned him forward, not looking forward to his latest surprise with the dark red stains at its bottom corners. He plucked the card off the top. It simply read, “Hint: It’s not Snow White’s.”

Bucky really shouldn’t have been surprised to find what appeared to be a human heart in that box. He really shouldn’t have. Once he started laughing, it was hard to quit. His laughter was manic, a stress response. Something he hadn’t done in years.

It’s not Snow White’s.

Erik looked concerned. “I’ll get on figuring out who that is,” he offered.

Laughing, Bucky sank back onto his recliner, still laughing as he set the carton on his end table like it didn’t have a human heart in it.

“I think… I might know who this is,” Bucky said when he caught his breath. “It’s not Snow White’s. What did the magic mirror tell the evil queen about the heart the huntsman delivered to her? The mirror said it was the heart of a pig.” Laughter threatened to halt his conversation as pieces of the puzzle started to slide together in his mind. “This is the heart of a pig.”

His men didn’t speak, looked like they had no idea what to say to that.

“This is making a little sense now,” Bucky told them. “Erik, you and Zemo stay. Everyone else, fuck off.”

The soldiers cleaning and checking everything cleared out fast while Erik and Zemo moved closer.

“Who do you think that is?” Erik asked.

“That?” Bucky pointed to the carton. “That’s the heart of a pig. I’ll be really fucking surprised if it’s not Bruce Banner.”

Zemo’s brows shot up. Neither man spoke.

“Kat was right,” Bucky said. “This is Rogers hitting back. But… it isn’t.”

Rising from the chair, Bucky started pacing. Both men watched him in silence.

“Think about each incident,” Bucky told them as he paced. “Paulina was attacked. Then the fingers, eyes and ears, now the heart. All of it’s personal. It’s very, very personal.”

“Personal?” Zemo asked.

That stopped Bucky. “Don’t you see? Paulina was Banner’s side piece. Someone did a number on her.”

“In a way that could be covered up,” Erik muttered.

“Yes!” Bucky pointed to him. “Exactly. Hold that thought… And now, here’s the cheating, deceitful pig’s heart.” He continued pacing. “The tiramisu? I think that must be Logiudice. He was my eyes and ears in the Rogers household.”

Understanding lit up Erik’s face. “What about the fingers? That guy?”

Bucky shook his head. “The guy Hansen sent to kidnap the donut shop girl isn’t the point.”

“What is the point, boss?” Zemo asked.

“Each of these messages were sent on Rogers’ behalf,” Bucky explained. “But I don’t think they are from the man himself. No, this is someone else… All three messages have one thing in common… A woman scorned.”

Erik nodded, listening. He was always quick on the take. Zemo still looked confused.

“Bruce Banner was married to Rogers’ sister, but she didn’t love him,” Bucky told them. “She loved her high school sweetheart, Clint Barton. Banner knew this. That's why he’d beat his wife where it didn’t show. It's why he shot Barton.”

“Then,” Bucky stopped in front of Zemo. “Hansen got away but I was sent the fingers of the man who took the girl from the donut shop by Hansen’s order. Hansen was my right-hand man. A reminder of the wrong done to that woman.”

“Explain Logiudice,” Erik said.

Bucky smirked at him. “Oh, I can. He betrayed Mrs. Rogers herself right before we grabbed Dyson. Her husband had restricted her to their bedroom he was so pissed..” An idea with merit.

“You think a woman gave these orders?” Zemo looked puzzled.

“Maybe,” Bucky muttered, as something occurred to him. “I need to talk to one of these women first.”

“Who?” Erik asked.

“I need you to find the girl from the donut shop,” Bucky told them. “I need to see if she knows anything we don’t before I make any decisions.”

***

Bucky was both surprised and pleased to see the girl waiting for him. The park this time of day was quiet with only one man walking his dog, and she was sitting on the bench by the giant sandbox, just as he instructed her.

When he walked around, she didn’t look up. Hell, she probably had no idea who he even was. He didn’t mind keeping it that way. There was no reason she needed to know anything else about their world. All she had to do was be nice, be cooperative, and he’d help her find her way out of his world.

Carefully, like he was trying not to frighten a doe, he sat a couple of feet away from her on the bench, setting the bookbag he brought with him between his feet.

She didn’t look up until he called her name and then, her eyes were wide in alarm. The lower half of her face was covered by a medical mask, maybe because of the flu going around. She’d made herself small, slouching on the bench with her hands folded on her knees.

He introduced himself just as Bucky, that was all she needed to know. Her cold hand was trembling when she shook his. He knew she was scared, and he didn’t intend to keep her long.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

She nodded, her gaze on the floor in front of her.

“I want to apologize to you for what happened,” he said without preamble. “The man who… While he was a soldier of mine, taking you wasn’t an order I gave. I know that doesn’t change a lot for you. But you should know that.”

Again, she just nodded.

“And I do want to help you,” Bucky said slowly, leaning a little closer to her. “I’ve brought you a substantial gift. Enough to help you get back on your feet and back to school somewhere else.”

“What do you want?” she asked quietly.

Bucky grinned. It was a smart question.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “There is something I want. I want to ask you a few questions about your time with him. Will you answer?”

She squeezed her eyes shut at the mention and guilt pricked at him. Hansen was a fucking weirdo, and he could only imagine what he might have done to her. It had him wishing he’d framed the question in a different way. But it was out now so…

“Do you know his name?” Bucky asked her.

“Lloyd,” she said. “Sir.”

Oh, he did not want to know about any of Lloyd’s kinks or hangups.

“He didn’t give you any other names?”

“No,” she said.

“Another man brought you to Lloyd’s house,” Bucky said quietly. “Did you see anyone else. Besides him and Lloyd, in your time there?”

The young woman shook her head.

“Tell me about the day you got out,” Bucky said.

She shrugged nervously. “A man broke down the door and helped me out,” she said. “That’s all.”

Bucky frowned. That didn’t sound right. “You didn’t hear a fight elsewhere in the house? The sound of bullets?”

After a moment, she nodded, still staring hard at the ground before them on the bench. “It was the day before. There was shouting and a fight. Guns…”

So no one found her until the next day. Bucky wasn’t happy about that. None of his men swept the house?

“Where did the other man take you once he got you out?” Bucky asked.

The young woman blew out a long sigh. “To a friend’s,” she said slowly.

He nodded. “I don’t need specifics. I just need to know if you ran into anyone else since you were taken. Did you ever leave his house until the guy got you out?”

She shook her head.

He hated to ask. “Did he let anyone else…”

“No,” she said quickly.

“All right,” Bucky said in a kinder tone. “What can you tell me about the guy who got you out?”

She was still for a moment, before shrugging. “Not much. I wasn’t… trying to look at him.”

“Did you see any women?” Bucky asked. “Any other younger women like yourself, about your size?“ Did she see Mrs. Rogers there?

“No,” she said after a moment. “Why?”

“Why what?” Bucky asked, giving her one last chance to tell him something useful before he handed her the bag of money and told her to get lost.

“Ask about other women?” she asked.

“I was just wondering if you'd seen someone I’m interested in,” Bucky said simply.

“Why are you interested in her?” the young woman asked.

“For many reasons,” Bucky told her as he rose from the bench. “For our purposes here, I’m curious about the part she played in the last few days.”

She sighed again but didn’t move as he stood above her.

Hauling the bookbag off the ground, he held it up for her. It was filled with money, a lot of it, hers for the taking.

“Take this and make a fresh start,” he told her. “But this talk didn't take place. You understand?”

Slowly, she stood, her head ducked making her smaller than him. With a hand, she reached to take the bag from him. She froze. Her hand gripped one of the straps, but she’d stopped moving.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I can’t…”

She couldn't take the money?

“I’ve got it,” another female voice came from behind him, with a Russian accent. Before he could turn to see who it was, he felt the blade pierce his clothing, pierce his skin before sliding into his flesh at his side. The fuck?

The pain didn’t subside when the blade was pulled free as he expected. The pain grew in intensity, spreading out from the wound.

Was the blade coated in poison?

The woman in front of him now held the backpack in one hand, pulling the mask from her face with the other. Bucky's pain was breathtaking and had him gasping as he dropped to his knees, gripping his side with his hand and listening to shouts from his men drawing closer.

Bucky stared up in pain and rage at the woman he now recognized as Mrs. Steve Rogers.

“You!” he managed. “You fucking bitch! You’re… You did this?!”

Her eyes were fierce on him. “I did,” she said.

"Evil bitch," he hissed.

"When all of you commit violence, you're protecting your family," she explained angrily. "When I commit violence, I'm an evil bitch."

His gaze darted to the backpack and back.

“And you’re taking the fucking money… too?”

Yelena Belova was there, trying to pull her away.

“I’m giving it to her,” she said as Belova pulled her away. “Just like you wanted.”

Bucky's mind was a mad whirl of thoughts as pain strengthened its grip on him. It was her. Not her husband. Did that mean...?

"Is Steve even alive?" he managed.

She held his gaze. "He is."

"He's not in good shape," Bucky shot back, hating how the pain rendered him unable to wring her neck. "He wouldn't let you... He's bad off if you..."

"We have to go," Belova urged her, grabbing Mrs. Rogers' arm and pulling her behind her in earnest.

“I’m… I'll get you!” Bucky promised, his vision fading to black at the edges. "I'll survive this... and I'll get you!"

"If you survive this," she called back, "Steve will get you."

Then she was gone and his men were there, crowding around him, their shouts fading as he let the darkness claim him.

@valsworldofcreativity @21stcenturywitchcraft @coconutqueen21 @bval-1 @caffiend-queen @sadlittlecountess @candy-and-writing @capsicle-shield @chaoticfiretaconerd @chrisevansgirl @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @coldmuffinbanditshoe @daughterofthenight117 @hv-chw3 @iheartsebstan @imanuglywombat @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @justrae9903 @lokislastlove @mariaenchanted @maxwelllee2020 @nekoannie-chan @nerdwholikesword @notyourtypicalrose @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @peaceinourtime82 @rainbowkisses31 @rayofdawnworld @richonne4life @rissysthoughts-blog @saiyanprincessswanie @scarletsoldier21-blog @shygirl-00 @supernaturaldean67 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @team-iron-wannabe-man @titty-teetee @tonib666 @villanellev @vitamingummies @what-is-your-plan-today @what-is-your-wish @xoxabs88xox @rosalynshields @naturalthrone22 @marvelovernfan @gotnofucks @eralen @kawairinrin @bluemusickid @geminievans1 @daughterofthenight117 @sunmoonandbuckyrecs @jesevans @kandis-mom @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @kmc1989

#His Inheritance #Bucky Barnes #Yelena Belova #Erik Killmonger #Zemo #Mafia AU #Mob Boss!Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you

433 notes · View notes

hellsburners · 9 months

Text

pain and suffering

summary: to which criminals run from the shadows, and the shadows run home to you. pairing: frank castle x male reader x matt murdock word count: 4k warnings: 18+ warning, unprotected s3x, dom!mattfrank, bottom!reader, double pen3tration, blowj0bs, mentions of violence a/n: i got this request like a whole month ago and im sorry to anon it took me a while to think of this

masterlist | more matt murdock

gif credit for frank & matt

The night air looms over Hell’s Kitchen. A normal person might hear the honking of cars and the loud chitchat of people in the street, but to a man like Daredevil, he hears everything. He hears Sally from down the street, crying as her husband comes home drunk, or Dominic, stealing another purse to pay for his brother’s medical bills. The city is not just a cluster of sounds for a man like the Devil, it’s a war cry. His city needs help, so he braces for the jump, a leap into the battlefield.

To him, pain and suffering is a saint. The pain of every hit, every jab, and every punch. To Matt Murdock, the pain of getting hit is like lashing for every sin he’s made. He is the fist of God, the guardian angel of the Kitchen, his suffering is the price for the safety of his people. So to him, yes, pain and suffering is the saint that guides him, the adrenaline to jump, to fight, to stand back up and fight again because he knows if he doesn’t, worse men will.

He sits wounded on top of a building, the hanging laundry hiding him from plain sight. He pants, blood gushing from his lower rib. But then he smells it: gunpowder. The sound of clanking metal and rubber boots walking closer to him. He knows that smell, the smell of danger, the smell of bad news, the smell of The Punisher.

“They hit ya’ pretty bad tonight Red,” his rough voice roared across the building. He smells of blood, not his blood, but the blood of at least thirty other men.

“I don’t need your help, Frank,” Matt said, wincing as he tried to stand.

“I doubt that,” he was closer to Matt, he took the rear end of his rifle and pressed it to Matt’s wound, he cried out in pain. “See?”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s your problem, Red. You’re so self-righteous. You’re out here bleeding yourself to death thinking God sent you here on earth to be his punchin’ bag,'' he puts the rifle down, the metal butt hitting the floor. “You think your God can miraculously heal your wounds? The Devil ain’t no saint.”

“And you’re any better?” Matt spat. “You wear that skull on your chest and you think that gives you the license to be a killer?” he licks his dried-up lips, the wounds weighing on him. “You’re a beast, Frank. A wild creature with no self-control, bloodthirsty, and—and inhumane.”

Frank was right, but Matt’s pride would never take any help from Frank Castle, he’s a murderer, a cold-blooded killer, and men like him have no place roaming the streets of New York. Matt tries to walk away from Frank, he could feel the blood drip into his waist, his head dizzy. Before he could even reach a meter away from Frank he feels the pull of the earth and drops into the cement floor, out cold.

“Dumbass,” Frank spat.

—

To Frank Castle, pain and suffering is a weapon.

Pain is the bullet to the head of a wife beater, a pedophile, a human trafficker, and any other demented fuck that helps in spreading crime in his city. He sniffs in the scent, it’s nauseating, the smell of garbage and piss, the smell of dead bodies piled in a heap for the cops to find. The blood pooled on his boots, painting them red. He reloads the gun, pulling on the lever that locks the bullet in the barrel, ready for the trigger.

“Please, man. I have a wife and two kids,” the bald man begged. His shirt was soaked in blood, a bullet grazed his hip. He walks backward achingly, his back hitting the wall. “Fuck, man I swear I don't know anything ‘bout this! ”the man kneels in front of Frank, his hands together like he’s praying.

Pain is the bullet that ends all suffering.

Bang!

The man falls on the concrete, blood dripping out of his skull. Frank wipes the blood splatter on his face with his sleeve. He takes the pistol and slides it into the holster on his thigh. He grabs the man’s sleeve and pulls him into the heap. No loose ends.

Frank takes his rifle and leaves. Taking the rooftops so the cops won’t see him. His body is sore, but it was never a hindrance. He sees a red blur across the building. The Devil himself, running from a bunch of men. Frank notices the Devil walking strangely, a hand on his left to cover a bleeding wound.

He takes the sniper rifle and aims it at the four men searching for the masked vigilante. He reloads the rifle, and one by one the men drop dead. The Devil was clueless as to where the bullets came from. He walks over to the wounded man, lumped over the side of a rooftop wincing in pain.

Frank had always admired the Devil’s determination, always standing back up after a fight, the line he wouldn’t cross, it amused Frank in a way. He liked to toy with it, always putting the red vigilante in positions where his moral code is tested.

You know you’re one bad day away from becoming like me.

Frank once told him, and he guessed it wasn’t true. Despite how hard the world hit him, he never crossed that line. That’s why when the Devil ended up face down on the concrete floor he took his body into his shoulder. Carrying his body to the only place he knew would understand the situation. To the person that knew the creed of pain and suffering.

He stands in front of the wooden door, the door was locked. Not his first instinct to knock, because he knew he would always be let in. He knocked on the door, no answer. He knocked louder, banging on the door, the sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, people will hear you,” you said, answering the door.

—

To you, pain and suffering is a curse. The curse that binds people to hospital beds for years, slowly rotting into the sheets as more and more medicine gets pumped into their veins. The curse that brings people into the emergency room, stabbed my knives, with broken knees, amputated fingers, and gunshot wounds through bone and muscle.

You earn money from pain and suffering. Doctor’s fees from people you know can’t even afford it. You always wanted to give them pro-bono, but you weren't loaded like that. That’s why when injured vigilantes were involved, everyone in the New York underground knew your number.

You had known people like Maya Lopez, Misty Knight, Ben Reilly, Ty Johnson, and Tandy Bowen alongside other masked heroes. That’s why when The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen arrived at your door four months ago you didn’t second guess your decision to help him. To you, helping these people would absolve you of being complicit in the suffering of innocent people in the hospital.

“Got your number from Spider-man, hope you don’t mind,” he said, sprawled on your kitchen table covered in blood. His muscular body contracted from the pain as you sewed his wounds shut. You never truly cared about forming connections with your clients, it was more of a get-patched-up-and-leave type of way.

He would often flirt with you whenever he came by, his dimples forming under his mask whenever he smiled or laughed. “Don’t worry Doc’ I’m a big boy,” he said, smiling at you. The smile quickly faded when you dug into his skin to retrieve the bullets on his bicep, a groan leaving his lips. You tried not to think about it, but he's pretty cute.

On one night, a man banged on your door, you rushed to meet a shadow drenched in blood as if it was raining blood from the sky, a white skull on his chest. His hoarse voice groaned as you took him into your kitchen. Multiple bullet wounds, and gashes on his chest, in your personal opinion a person with that many injuries would've ended up on the morgue.

“Did you fall into a meat grinder? What the hell,” you said. You tried your best to patch him up but he needed some blood transfusions.

“Check the bag,” he groaned. Inside were bags of blood from the hospital, all type O, what the fuck.

He stayed in your house for two nights, you checked his vitals every hour to make sure he was still alive. This hasn’t happened before, you’ve never had a client that was on the brink of death. It was always some minor injury, but this man managed to wake up and stand after two days to leave.

You found a bundle of one hundred dollar bills in your mailbox the next day.

—

“Bring him to the couch,” you said. You took Matt’s body as Frank carried his legs, you took his limp body into the sofa, a deep wound on the torso, an easy fix for you at this point. It has been months since you first met the two men in your apartment. You’ve spent multiple nights helping them, in your apartment, or Matt’s, or Frank’s bunker. You were technically associated with them to the point that you know their real names.

“The emergency kit is on the kitchen counter.”

“Got it Doc,” Frank saluted, removing his trench coat and his bulletproof vest, his muscular form bulging through his black shirt. They reeked of blood, you could taste the iron on your tongue.

Matt’s eyes fluttered, his head turning to the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he said, groaning through the pain. You cut his undershirt open, the wound gushing out blood. You took some gauze to soak the viscous liquid, making sure the clotting starts.

“Sit your ass down, Red,” Frank ordered. You managed to sew the wound shut, you gave Matt some pain relievers as his eyes fell back into sleep. You let him rest for a bit, covering him in a fleece blanket. You walked towards Frank, a few cuts on his arms, he was already in the middle of sewing some of them before you helped. “Don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’”

“Make sure you don’t die in my kitchen this time,” you said, walking to the kitchen sink to rinse your bloodied hands. You opened your refrigerator to grab a drink. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Frank nods.

You took a cold beer from your fridge, the metal caps clanking on the floor. You handed him the bottle, he took a big swig like he was thirsty for water, some liquid falling from the corner of his lips. He sat on a wooden chair, legs spread, the hem of his shirt raising a bit to show a peak of his abdomen.

Matt soon woke up. Much to your disagreement, taking a beer of his own. He took a seat in your dining area, topless with bandages around his torso. The three of you are looking at each other around the table. “So–what happened tonight?” you asked.

Matt’s frown was deadset. Frank taking gulps of his second bottle of beer. You were taking sips of your bottle, looking at the heated tension between the two. It was annoyingly anxiety-inducing. “You know, I don’t know what’s the point of talking to you two—I’m a physician, not a therapist.”

“You need to stay away from him,” Matt said, his lips a straight line. “He’s a dangerous person with nothing good going on for his pathetic life.”

“Boohoo! Little catholic boy here feels entitled about being god’s little bitch,” Frank spat. “Is that what you think bitch boy?”

“See? He’s an immature old fuck that thinks the world’s answer to violence is guns and bullets,” Matt said, downing his beer.

“He’s just using his lawyer bullshit on you,” Frank said.

You rolled your eyes, it’s always like this, them bickering. You downed the beer, the bitter taste running through your tongue. You set it down with a loud clunk. The two men halted their bickering.

“I’m not taking sides but I think both of you are annoying cry babies that should just kiss and make out!” the two men frowned their brows. “You bicker like an old couple—the two of you need to suck it up because, at the end of the day, the two of you leave a trail of blood in this city that I clean!” you shouted.“You know how many people end up in the emergency room thanks to you two, I don’t even keep count of them anymore.”

Matt called for your name, to apologize or something, but you took another bottle of beer and gulped on the bubbly drink. Instead of talking you took his lips to yours, the bitter taste of his mouth shared with yours. His hands come to your neck, fingers wrapping around the flesh as his tongue meets yours. You smell his clean shampoo mixing with the alcohol, he smelled like a man who took hygiene seriously.

You pull back to walk towards Frank, bending down to kiss him, pressing on his shoulder with your hands to guide you. The bitter taste of both of your mouths intoxicates you. He grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling you in more. He smelled of cheap soap and gunpowder. You pulled away to catch them frozen, feet glued to the floor, aghast.

“See,” you rubbed your hands. “Not hard at all.”

Frank was biting his lip chuckling, his fingers massaging his lip. He pulled you to his lap, kissing you harder, his hands falling to your ass. Your hands run through his dark hair, his stubble pricking your face. You moaned from the contact, Matt’s enhanced senses making the sound echo in his head. He hesitated but his groin turned to the noises you made. Frank’s lips fall to your neck, nibbling on the skin eliciting more lewd noises from you.

“See this red?” he said. “This little slut likes it.”

“Play with his ear, he likes it,” Matt ordered. Frank hadn’t known that.

“He also likes it when I do this,” he pinches your nipples, and you shudder from the slight pain. The two men didn’t know that you had experiences of having sex with them on different occasions. “So you’re a little whore huh, you do this to all of your clients?”

“No—,” you gasped. “Just you two.”

Matt chuckled. Frank had set you on his lap so that you were facing Matt, his hands playing with both of your nipples as he left purple hickeys all over your neck. Matt had knelt in front of you palming your growing erection. The ache in your groin grows from the lack of release. Tonight these men offer you more pain and suffering but in ways that elicit nothing but pleasure.

He takes your trousers off leaving you with nothing but your shirt, finally something to ease the pain. Matt stood to open his pants, his thick cock standing tall, the hairs neatly trimmed. “Take his dick inside your mouth,” Frank whispered, while he stretched your legs open so his fingers could tease your hole. He took his fingers to your mouth making it wet.

Matt’s hands ran through your hair, his tip teasing your swollen lips. As you took his length into your mouth, Frank's finger entered your hole curling inside drawing out muffled sounds from your mouth. You were quickly bent over by Frank, his head in between your ass cheeks licking and fingering your hole, while your head was bobbing up and down on Matt’s cock.

Frank smacked your ass so hard it left a red print as he continued to toy with your rear. Matt groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Frank pulled you back with your hair, popping Matt’s cock out with a string of saliva. It was painful the way they carried you, but in some sick twist of events, it turned you on even more.

“My turn,” Frank said, as he takes your mouth to his sex, you engulf his thick uncut cock, your nose hitting his unkempt hair taking in his scent. Matt bent down to toy with your hole, curling and stretching two fingers inside you stimulating your prostate. You were turning your lips as you sucked on Frank’s cock, a hoarse groan leaving his mouth as he grabbed onto your hair tightly.

Matt stroked your cock as he moaned, eating you out with his wet tongue and playing with the rim of your hole. Frank took control of your mouth, fucking into it like you’re his sex toy, his cocking hitting the roof of your mouth at a constant speed. Frank could feel his climax coming so he pulls out leaving you a wet mess next to Matt.

“Can I fuck you?” Matt asked. You nod, taking them into your bedroom.

Frank undressed and took a seat on the small sofa chair in the corner of the room, stroking his hard cock. You were on all fours on the bed, facing Frank. His eyes glued to you as he stroked. Matt lubes your hole before slowly pressing his cock into your hole. You gasped as he sheathed into you. Frank smirked, this turned him on even more, his large arms contracting as he stroked his cock.

Matt started to fuck you slowly, his hips slapping your ass. He started to let out guttural moans, his hips becoming rigid as he gripped onto your waist, his nails digging into your skin. He bends down to kiss your neck, rutting into you, his hard thrusts ramming into you. “I’m close,” he moaned. He jerks your cock to the point that you yelp out, cum shooting out of your cock as he continues to jerk his hips before he emptied inside you, a deep groan leaving his lips as his cum fills you. You two collapsed on the bed, his body weight on top of you.

“Move over Red,” Frank said, looming over you as Matt moves over before Frank mounts you. Matt’s cum formed a slippery lube that made Frank’s cock ease its way as it thrusts. Your body was still weak from your high. He grabs onto your hair as he ruts into you, continuing his hard pace against your body. “You like that?” he said, stroking your sore cock back to hardness.

“Ye–yes, fuck,” you moaned.

Matt was at the edge of the bed, soothing your hair as he peppered kisses all over your face. The bed creaked as Frank humped you, veins popping across his arms as his grip on you tightened, you’re sure it would leave marks. He pulled out, leaving you to gasp from the sudden lack of fullness. He sits back on the headboard of your bed, legs sprawled as he gestures for you to ride him. You mount yourself on his hardness, sitting on his thick and hairy thighs. Matt sits on the edge of the bed, his erection coming back from the sight of you two.

“Take it like a good boy,” Frank praises. You hold onto his chest as you feel the hardness enter you, some of Matt’s cum leaking out. You take Frank’s lips, you now realize how abrasive his stubble was. You move your hips around and around, Frank lets out curses here and there. He pulls your head back, littering your neck with more marks, his fingers find your nipples, teasing them to draw out more moans from you.

Franks sees Matt on the side, his hard already leaking precum just from watching you take Frank’s cock. He calls for Matt to come to you two, to join back in. You feel Matt’s fingertips on your skin, your body is now so filled with stimulation, his mere touch driving you wild. You feel his erection on your back, his lips attached to your shoulders. He takes his leaking cock and presses into your hole, the size alongside Frank’s was a tight fit, your breathing quickens from all the pressure. The two men made sure to guide you and praise you as you take both of their lengths.

You cry out from the sensation. Frank takes your lips to stifle your cries, tears fall from your eyes as your tongues touch, and Matt inches to join your kiss. The three of you kiss into the pain, The two men slowly moving inside you. The pressure was so intense but the arousal overcame, your sex was so hard, leaking so much into Frank’s abdomen. They start to thrust, Matt could feel his sensitive frenulum rub on Frank’s, it made his eyes roll back, his senses overflowing.

All of you reeked of sex, the sounds of slapping skin and wet tongues fighting for dominance against the grunts and moans. The constant rocking was making the bed hit the wall, the mattress moved as if there were an earthquake. You were all covered in sweat, hair sticking onto skin, Hands gripping the wooden headboard, fingertips roaming skin, and tongues lashing on each other.

Everything felt like a blur to you, you were being rocked back and forth like a playground swing, your core sore from the fucking, and there were pairs of hands all over you touching your most sensitive spots. You could feel the climax, creeping into your body tingling your coccyx to the highest peak of your spine. You felt their erratic thrusts, Frank was a groaning mess under you, his neck all red and his face flushed. Matt was a noisy mess on your ear, cursing and calling your name like a prayer, his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucked.

You were at your peak, arousal overflowed from your body into theirs. Their cum filling into you. You all yelped out in pleasure as you rode your highs. Frank dug his hands into your thighs as Matt hid his forehead on your shoulder, rutting their fill into you. The next few minutes came to you in flashing lights, like fireworks spraying colored lights all over the room.

You woke up the next day to two heavy bodies at your sides. Matt’s arms around your waist with your head resting on Frank’s chest. All of you reeked of sweat and cum. As you turned you saw Matt’s eyes flutter, his long lashes flicking as his golden eyes beamed under the sunlight.

“Sorry about last night,” he whispered.

“Why? I had fun,” you said, peppering kisses all over his cheeks.

“You sure?” he said, as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks.

“Pretty sore but nothing a pain reliever won’t fix,” you said.

“I guess you’re right, making out fixes everything,” Frank said, his voice deeper. He joins you and Matt, pressing kisses all over your shoulders. Matt takes this as a sign to kiss you all over your neck, their hands snaking all over your body. “What’s good for breakfast around here?” Frank said in between kisses.

“There’s a good diner across the street,” Matt said, leaving soothing kisses on the marks they left on your neck. Your body was so sore and painful, but these men made sure to make it up to you. You woke up last night to them cleaning you up, Matt wiping you with a damp cloth and Frank rummaging through your closet to grab something for you to wear. Despite their rough lifestyles, they made sure you were taken care of. Maybe a little less pain and suffering next time though.

“But first,” you said, pulling away from them.” Shower.”

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x male reader #daredevil x male reader #matt murdock x male reader smut #daredevil x male reader smut #punisher smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x male reader #frank castle x reader smut #frank castle x male reader smut #punisher x reader smut

648 notes · View notes

moumouton4 · 7 months

Text

Mark Me, Make Me Yours || Katsuki Bakugo x reader

A/n : Prompt 22 of the Smutember 2023

The list of prompts is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : no mention of gender for reader, kind rough sex, marking, biting, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 659

Everyone, even you had often told him to refrain from displaying his exuberant and often boisterous personality. Most of the time in UA he didn’t care at all being this way but when he was outside in “real” public with you he did his best not to make you uncomfortable. Though today it was you who surprised him with an unusual proposition.

Usually when you were busy in bed he wasn't fully Katsuki boom boom boy Bakugo on you. He was… well more focused on other matters. Like not cumming right away or fucking you so hard you couldn't walk for a day straight. Ultimately it depended on his mood of the moment, he could either be vanilla and soft as a short cake or hard and rough as a horny beast. Never ever had the intention of leaving a mark on you without your approval, for fearing of you taking this as him owning you in some sort of primal way. Though this didn’t prevent him from thinking a lot about it. But even his usual over-confident self didn’t bring himself to ask you this. It’s fine though, because today you’re the one taking this step.

You were on your back, your legs tightly wrapped around his slander waist as his cock, snug inside your walls kept you screaming for more. You didn’t know what had gotten into you as you said that, maybe you needed him to be rougher today or just remind you, you were his.

“Mark me, make me yours” you whined breathlessly against his neck.

His movement faltered for a brief second, he blinked slowly as his gaze tried to lock on yours. The air around you was heavy with need and lust “W-what did you just-” but you cut him with the same words that just caught his attention.

“K-katsuki mark me, make me yours”

“Y-you… you’re sure ?” he murmured, his hips stilling as he made sure you both were on the same page.

“I-I want them to know I’m… oh yours… all yours” you moaned.

This time he didn’t need any further pleading as he brought his lips closer to the tender flesh of your neck. He kissed gently the spot there before slowly opening his mouth, his white teeth grazing against your skin before he slowly sunk them inside your skin with a low groan. At the same time, you gasped, your walls milking his cock oh so tightly due to the added sensation. And he too felt himself swell inside you as he dominated you in such a primal and unbridled way.

He didn’t stop at just your neck - that he already bit at least 4 times - his teeth descended the path of your clavicle to yours shoulders, leaving a trail of purplish and bites on their way. His thrusts got more forceful as he neared the edge. Gosh this was so fucking excited to hold such a power over your. He just knew that if he had the intention of biting even harder he'd be able to draw some blood from you and this excited him to no end, to know you trusted him this much. His hands kept roaming over your body as his mouth lavished your skin.

Everyone already knew you were Katsuki’s lever though at this moment it was as if the bites and marks would definitely prove something to everyone. But love doesn’t follow reason after all. So he kept biting you everywhere he could reach, secretly hoping that you too would like to mark him and make him even more yours - without him asking of course because he’d feel so vulnerable.

But fuck it for you he could do everything “And when I finish with you. I don’t want you to miss a single spot on me, go it dumbass ?”

Maybe in another round though because not only a second after he said that he came deep inside you.

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ladytemeraire · 2 years

Text

Okay since that reblog may have confused some people, here’s a primer on terms for some of the most common “styles” of knitting.

Continental knitting: refers to tensioning the yarn in the left hand. Also called “picking” because the right-hand needle scoops or “picks” the yarn from where it is tensioned as it works.

English knitting: refers to tensioning the yarn in the right hand. Also called “throwing” because the right hand has to manually wrap or “throw” the yarn around the needle.

Western knitting: the yarn is wrapped counter-clockwise on both knit and purl stitches. The leading leg of the next stitch will be on the front/near side of the needle.

Eastern knitting: the yarn is wrapped clockwise on both knit and purl stitches. The leading leg of the next stitch will be on the back/far side of the needle.

Combination (aka Combined or Russian) knitting: the yarn is wrapped counter-clockwise on the knit stitches and clockwise on the purl stitches. This results in some stitches with the “front” leg on the front/near side and some stitches with the “front” leg on the back/far side. As long as you pay attention to which leg of the stitch you’re knitting into, it’s fairly easy to avoid unintentionally twisted stitches.

Tension styles can be combined with wrapping styles as the knitter pleases. For instance, I like to use Continental tensioning with Combination stitch mounts for cabled projects to help avoid the sloppy stitches between knit and purl columns, but on lace or other textured projects I generally use Continental tensioning with Western style stitch mounts. And for colorwork, a lot of times I’ll knit with one color in each hand - Continental tensioning (left hand) for the dominant color, and English tensioning (right hand) for the background or secondary color, with Western stitch mounts throughout. Personally I find Continental tensioning plus Combination stitch mounts to both be really dang fast especially for large swathes of simple knit and purl stitches, and to help even out my gauge for knit vs purl stitches. It is entirely up to your own preference and what works with your gauge, your knitting style, and any physical limitations you may have.

To sum up:

Continental and English Knitting refer to how you tension your yarn, or which hand you use to hold and manipulate the yarn.

Western, Eastern, and Combination Knitting refer to stitch mount or how the stitch sits on the needle, which is driven by which direction you wrap your yarn around the needle.

But which one is correct?

Whichever one works for you! As long as your knitting doesn’t unravel and the stitches look the way you want, they’re all correct. Go forth and make things.

(Note that this doesn’t cover variations like Portuguese knitting, Norwegian purling, or Irish cottage/lever knitting. I actually use lever knitting a lot for socks because it works nicely with dpns and it’s easier on my wrists. I’m just trying to hit the most common terms here that are most likely to be confused with each other.)

#knitting #yarnbending

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kp777 · 3 months

Text

By Jake Johnson

Common Dreams

Jan. 6, 2024

"Billionaires attempting to influence politics from the shadows should not be rewarded with taxpayer subsidies," said Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse.

Legislation introduced Tuesday by a pair of Democratic lawmakers would close a loophole that lets billionaires donate assets to dark money organizations without paying any taxes.

The U.S. tax code allows write-offs when appreciated assets such as shares of stock are donated to a charity, but the tax break doesn't apply when the assets are given to political groups.

However, donations to 501(c)(4) organizations—which are allowed to engage in some political activity as long as it's not their primary purpose—are exempt from capital gains taxes, a loophole that Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse (D-R.I.) and Rep. Judy Chu (D-Calif.) are looking to shutter with their End Tax Breaks for Dark Money Act.

Whitehouse, a member of the Senate Judiciary Committee who has focused extensively on the corrupting effects of dark money, said the need for the bill was made clear by what ProPublica and The Lever described as "the largest known donation to a political advocacy group in U.S. history."

The investigative outlets reported in 2022 that billionaire manufacturing magnate Barre Seid donated his 100% ownership stake in Tripp Lite, a maker of electrical equipment, to Marble Freedom Trust, a group controlled by Federalist Society co-chairman Leonard Leo.

The donation, completed in 2021, was worth $1.6 billion. According to ProPublica and The Lever, the structure of the gift allowed Seid to avoid up to $400 million in taxes.

"It's a clear sign of a broken tax code when a single donor can transfer assets worth $1.6 billion to a dark money political group without paying a penny in taxes," Whitehouse said in a statement Tuesday. "Billionaires attempting to influence politics from the shadows should not be rewarded with taxpayer subsidies."

"We cannot allow millionaires and billionaires to run roughshod over our democracy and then reward them for it with a tax break."

If passed, the End Tax Breaks for Dark Money Act would ensure that donations of appreciated assets to 501(c)(4) organizations are subjected to the same rules as gifts to political action committees (PACs) and parties.

"Thanks to the far-right Supreme Court, billionaires already have outsized influence to decide our nation's politics; through a loophole in the tax code, they can even secure massive public subsidies for lobbying and campaigning when they secretly donate their wealth to certain nonprofits instead of traditional political organizations," said Chu. "We can decrease the impact the wealthy have on our politics by applying capital gains taxes to donations of appreciated property to nonprofits that engage in lobbying and political activity—the same way they are already treated when made to traditional political organizations like PACs."

The new bill comes amid an election season that is already flooded with outside spending.

The watchdog OpenSecrets reported last month that super PACs and other groups "have already poured nearly $318 million into spending on presidential and congressional races as of January 14—more than six times as much as had been spent at this point in 2020."

Thanks to the Supreme Court's 2010 Citizens United ruling, super PACs can raise and spend unlimited sums on federal elections—often without being fully transparent about their donors.

Morris Pearl, chairman of the Patriotic Millionaires, said Tuesday that "there is no justifiable reason why wealthy people like me should be allowed to dominate our political system by donating an entire $1.6 billion company to a dark money political group."

"But perhaps more egregious is the $400 million tax break that comes from doing so," said Pearl. "It's a perfect example of how this provision in the tax code is used by the ultrawealthy to manipulate the levers of government while simultaneously dodging their obligation to pay taxes. We cannot allow millionaires and billionaires to run roughshod over our democracy and then reward them for it with a tax break."

#dark money #super pac #citizens united #corruption #taxation #judy chu #sheldon whitehouse

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famwhy · 1 year

Text

Saviour Complex

Yandere! Tangerine X Reader

Act 1 | Act 2 | Act 3

Synopsis: One night, you're pushed straight into an incoming train, causing everything to go black. When your eyes open up once more, you find yourself in a completely different country and face-to-face with your favourite character whose demise was right around the corner. Too attached to the man, you find yourself hatching a plan to save him - unaware of the consequences.

Word Count: 7,556

Act 1 - Regrets, Regrets, Sinking in Regrets

The rough, bumpy texture of a fruit grazed the nerves of your skin briefly before it disappeared immediately - spinning through the air and landing back in your palm with yet another small burst of gravity.

"Stop throwing and catching that dumb orange of yours, you don't look cool."

The biting words of the person next to you could be perceived as venomous by any passerby who decided to eavesdrop in that split second; to anyone who didn't know her personally. You knew her though - you spent your whole life with her, how could you not know her?

Your beloved sister.

"Tangerine, you mean." Your lips split open into a smirk as you corrected her.

Your words caused her brows to furrow in deep irritation on the surface, but, underneath it all, you could tell she wasn't actually mad with you.

"Same thing." She scoffed.

"It really isn't."

She gave you a look, one you were familiar with; a look which told you that she found what you just said utterly ridiculous.

"They literally look the exact same."

"But they aren't."

"Oh shut up." She huffed, one arm crossing over the other in a display of irritation. "You were never so picky about their difference until we watched that stupid movie."

You were torn between lighting up at the mention of your newly-crowned favourite movie, or showcasing your offense towards her critique of said movie.

In the end, you chose to do both.

"Okay, one, that movie isn't stupid-" she rolled her eyes as you spoke, "-and two, I can't go butchering the alias of my favourite character, now can I?"

"I don't get what you see in that guy."

Being sure to exaggerate it as much as possible, you let out a loud gasp.

"How could you say such a thing?!" You proclaimed. "He is so cool and I love his accent."

"You literally have the same accent." She deadpanned.

"Yeah but I don't sound as good as he does."

"You don't sound good in general."

You exhibited yet another over-exaggerated gasp.

"My own sister," the palm of your dominant hand pressed against your chest, fingers curling around the soft fabric beneath them, "treating me in such a way..."

"Oh, get over yourself." Another scoff left her lips, "I don't see how you're still such a carefree person despite what we used to do for a living."

For a moment, the grin on your face faltered and a flicker obscured your vision of reality. But that was all it was, a flicker - and it was only just for a moment. It was gone the next, you swore it was! No crimson substance stained against your mind or hands; no cold steel felt against the heat of your palm as your index finger wrapped tightly around that little lever; no screams that echoed through the confines of your head over and over and over-

-no, none of that. Not anymore, at least.

You were over that.

It was done and dusted.

It was thrown under the rug, ready to compile dust and slowly wither away through the teeth of the critters that lived alongside it.

It was never to be seen again.

At least, not by your hands.

"-ey! Hey!"

Your eyelids met several times in rapid succession as you blinked away the sudden blur that kept you from seeing the concave of your sister's lips.

Ah, see? She did care for you.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was light, barely there, with a sense of gentleness she wouldn't be caught dead exhibiting towards anyone that wasn't you. "I didn't mean to, I was just... I didn't mean it."

"Nah," a small huff left your lips as they curved up into that familiar, carefree grin, "it's fine, I don't care anymore."

The way her expression didn't shift in the slightest was enough to tell you that she didn't believe you. However, even if she had her doubts towards your words, she chose not to speak more on the matter.

After a few beats of silence, a large red vehicle slowly approached from the horizon - emerging as though it was Harley Quinn pulling herself out of the toxic substance the Joker decided to drown her in.

There it was, your bus.

"Listen," your sister's voice was quieter than normal, tender and soft around the edges - still speaking as though what she brought up had bothered you, "I just want you to know that... I find it hard too. You're not alone in this. I was there with you too."

You paused for a moment, standing right outside the open doors that led inside the vehicle.

Then, you took one step on, your hand reaching for the pole inside. Not too long after, you tilted your head towards your sister - towards Lena - and smiled, "I know."

With that, you thrusted the rest of your body onto the vehicle and sent her a wave as it started up - the screeching sound of its wheels being drowned out by the sound of the engine starting back up.

And then, you were off.

The glow of the night sky shined through the see-through walls of the office, lighting up several seats as it bounced off the monitors resting on each desk.

It was quiet, the only sound being the clicks of your heels against the solid ground, approaching the switches on the wall to turn off the one light that remained on. The one hovering over your desk.

With a flick of your finger, the only yellow glow in the room faded away to allow for the moon's blue rays to completely take over.

You didn't mind night shifts, they were comforting - some might even argue - relaxing.

They had this feel to them.

One where you could remain unbothered, trapped within the confines of your mind forever to wonder what exactly life had in store for you next.

There was once a time where you hated being left to your thoughts; nay, you loathed it.

Being left with your thoughts meant being left with your memories; being left with your memories meant being left with the haunting actions of your past; being left with said past actions meant being left with that same voice that berated your existence.

It was frightening.

It was terrifying.

So you ran from it.

You ran until it affected you no longer, you ran until your legs started to ache from the pain; until your lungs shrivelled up from the lack of air that it was so gluttonous for.

You ran until you had left it all behind.

But even then, it still came back to haunt you.

Even then, you couldn't help but catch little glimpses of hair that would disappear past the sharpest corners - hair that seemed to belong to one of them.

But that was impossible.

After all, you-

Your head shook from side-to-side, eyes finally returning to reality and finding yourself right by the lights of your office, finger still hovering over the switch.

You sighed.

It was time to go home.

Your hand instinctively rose up, gripping the disk that surrounded the hat on your head and pulling it down slightly to ensure it stayed there.

Then, your fingers curled tighter around the handle of the gray briefcase and you set off, footsteps swift as they echoed down the empty corridor.

With a 'ding!', the doors to the rectangular space parted to allow you to fill the vacant spot inside.

You stepped in, curling your other hand around the handle of the briefcase as you held it in front of you and leaned against the cold, metal railing.

The glass at the back of the elevator provided for a good scenery that overlooked the night sky twinkling over the busy streets of the city; still ever-so-alive despite the time.

One particular puff of air that left your mouth fogged up the glass in front of you, the sight filling you with a familiar childish sense of delight and, before you even knew it, one of your fingers rose up to draw two lines and an upturned curve underneath before it returned to the briefcase once more.

A small smile drew out your lips as your eyes fell half-lidded.

The moment was then interrupted by the 'ding!' of the elevator once more.

You turned around, stepping outside before tipping your sunhat at the male stood with a phased-out look in his eyes, adorning a black hat of his own with the word 'Security' printed onto it.

Luckily, he wasn't phased-out enough to not notice your greeting, to which he returned with a small, nervous smile of his own.

One of the cuter security guards of your building.

A particular strong breeze had your hand clutching tighter onto your hat and your eyes squinting, trying to avoid any dust from getting inside.

The street lamps illuminated the road as many individuals rushed by, ranging from stressed business men to childish couples wishing to play a game of tag with one another.

You didn't stay too long to observe though; no, you couldn't. Didn't have the time. Your sister was probably awaiting your arrival with anxious, clattering teeth - wondering what was taking you so long while not daring to admit that she was worried for you.

Your eyes travelled over to the stairs in the middle of the street, leading downwards into the network of tunnels connected underground to allow for easy access to many different places in the country.

Soon, your heels were clicking against those stairs, traversing down them to get to the tracks you would need to wait by to be able to set course home.

You stood at a queue, waiting to scan your card. It wasn't a long wait. It never was. At least, not at this time of night. Many people preferred snuggling under a blanket at home and watching a movie with a few snacks rather than having to work a late night shift where who-knows-what could go wrong.

Once you scanned in, you swiftly made your way to your platform, not needing to take the smallest glance at the signs to be able to know where to go. By now, it was all muscle memory anyway.

As you approached the rails, your heels made contact with a prominent bump on the ground - causing you to stumble the slightest amount before you were able to regain your footing just like that.

Now, it was just the waiting game.

You were a professional at waiting. Patience was practically your middle name; it had to be if you wanted to get your previous job done quickly-

-or... the job you had currently. Right, this normal, little office job. You had to be patient when waiting for the printer to be done with your papers, or awaiting an email from a co-worker of yours. Patience was key.

Patience was also risky.

In the time that you were patient, so many things could happen. You could wind up with your hands tied up in a basement because you decided to be patient and wait for your friend; or you could wind up with a gun to your-

"Enjoy hell, you murderer!"

Now, your reflexes were normally stupendous. Out of this world, really. When someone wished to deliver a rapid left jab to your face, you would twirl your body to the side to avoid it. Or when they went in for an uppercut aimed to take out your jaw, you would take one step back too quickly for them to react.

You wished you could claim your reflexes were good in this instance too- but it had all happened so fast.

The flashing lights of the incoming train; the harsh shove against your back that sent you tumbling over the platform; and the searing, white, hot pain that exploded against your side like a highly reactive chemical would with water.

So quick. So sudden.

So painful...

For a split second, everything went black.

Then, your eyes opened back up again.

The first thing you noticed was that you were stood upright, exactly as you were before being pushed - waiting in almost the exact same position. The railways right in front of your vision would have been enough to trick you into thinking that was all a daydream; some cruel concoction your mind conjured up to punish you for your sins.

You would've believed that whole heartedly had it not been for the fact that you were no longer underground.

The light of the moon was barely prevalent with the harsh illumination that was emitted from the lamps of the train station. There were a lot more people at this platform than the one you were previously at, the chatter was also louder than before; lively and sporadic, as though nothing just happened. As though you didn't just die.

You blinked slowly, brain struggling to process what, exactly, had just happened.

You died... didn't you?

No way you went through that pain and didn't die.

Someone pushed you into the tracks as a train was incoming.

How could you have possibly survived that?

Your head glanced from side-to-side as you noticed the people around you - specifically, their features. It differed from the Western features you were used to seeing in your day-to-day life. Instead, they looked to be East Asian, Japanese if your geography skills were doing you justice.

Another thing you noticed were the signs.

They weren't in English, instead filled with the symbols your mind automatically associated with the Japanese language.

You were in Japan somehow.

Was this some sort of final dream?

No way you imagined all that pain- that abrupt slam against your side that caused you to wince just thinking about it.

Before you could further indulge yourself in the expanding, vast sea of your thoughts - a sudden pick-up in the breeze sent your hat flying straight off your head and towards your left.

A small gasp left your lips as your hand reached out, fingers stretching and just barely grazing the ridge before it picked-up speed once more and narrowly escaped your grasp.

It was then that you decided to rush after it, careful to steady yourself lest you stumble over your heels.

Luckily, you didn't have to move much for, soon, the ridge of the hat was caught by a set of fingers that grasped onto it before holding it out towards you.

Your own hand reached out, grasping the other end of your sunhat as you lightly pulled it down - ready to meet the eyes of the one who saved your beloved hat and thank them.

"'ere you go, love."

Your mouth fell open, agape in pure astonishment and disbelief.

The way this person didn't pronounce his 'h'; the way he gave you that specific nickname; those familiar incredibly handsome facial features that belonged to ATJ himself.

This person was-

"Tangerine..." You whispered lightly under your breath, voice practically inaudible as it was drowned out by your pure amazement.

"Sorry?" Your favourite character rose one of his eyebrows, cockney accent as prevalent as ever.

Was this guy really Tangerine? There was no way, right?

"Oh, uhm, I said thank you."

He nodded briskly, about to turn and board the train when a voice called out to him.

"Oi! You coming?"

Another cockney accent paired with the broader figure and unique, silver-dyed hair that belonged to the brother of your favourite character.

That was Lemon, there was no doubt about it.

And if that was Lemon, this was definitely Tangerine.

You watched as Tangerine's facial features shifted, brows furrowing and lips tugging down as he turned towards his brother's direction. "Yeah, I'm coming! Hold your fuckin' horses, mate!"

He then immediately turned back towards you, eyes slightly wider than before. "Beg your pardon, love. Sorry, I forgot there was a lady present for a moment."

His chivalry was cute, and his looks just made him all the more attractive in your eyes.

Before you could even realise it, your lips curved upwards into a huge smile and a small, amused giggle left them as your eyes shone with mirth.

Once again, you seemed to have caught him off guard, causing his eyes to widen a little more as he paused for a moment. But that was all it was, just a moment. The next, he was shaking his head and heading off towards his brother without another word.

Holy shit, you just met the Tangerine!

The same Tangerine that you gushed to your sister about, complimenting his strength and looks and amazing accent.

But if you just met Tangerine... and you just saw Lemon with him... did that mean..?

"Holy shit! I'm in Bullet Train!"

One of your hands rose up to your mouth, pure excitement coursing through your veins as you refrained from letting out a high-pitched squeal.

Although, it wasn't long before that excitement of yours shifted into pure, unadulterated horror.

"Holy shit. I'm in Bullet Train."

Somehow, some way, you had died and got transported into the world of a movie.

And of all the movies you could have been transported to, it just had to be Bullet Train - the movie that ends in this very train flying off the rails and crashing straight into the ground underneath.

How the fuck were you supposed to survive a train crash from a vehicle going two hundred miles per hour?! You weren't Ladybug, you didn't have insane levels of luck!

Okay, okay, everything should be fine so long as you didn't board the train, right?

Dear lord, was this all really happening right now? Were you seriously in your favourite movie?

The setting and two of the characters matched exactly so you must be in the movie.

But then, what the hell happened to you? Who pushed you into that train? If you died, what would happen to Lena?

If you seemed to recall correctly, that person referred to you as a 'murderer'. They must've known, right? And if they knew... then that meant they would go after Lena too.

She would be fine though. You were caught off guard, a moment of weakness - Lena never had one of those. She was always on guard; had been since you both first agreed to stop. She could handle herself.

Yeah, she'd be fine.

Right now, you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Perhaps if you never boarded the train, you could go about your life as normal? Maybe start a new life here, completely fresh? You knew enough Japanese to get by.

Maybe you could start a nice, little bakery and get cute regulars that always asked for the same order. You could hire sweet people to work as waiters or waitresses and create treats for those around you to enjoy. Maybe you could even find the man of your dreams and start a family?

Oh, who were you kidding?

How on Earth could you find another man when you were literally in the same world as Tangerine?

No other man could scale up to the handsome assassin with anger issues.

That's right, he was an assassin. Both him and his brother.

If you recalled correctly, their current mission was to keep the White Death's son safe and retrieve his briefcase of money.

The White Death was a very dangerous individual. The head of a very dangerous criminal organisation.

He was powerful. Too powerful.

Did you really want to get yourself wrapped up in that?

A light bump against your side snapped you right out of your thoughts, causing you to look straight at the cause of the interruption.

"Sorry, that was my bad."

Your eyes widened by a fraction, gaze landing on the face of Brad Pitt himself.

The main character had just bumped into you. Ladybug, himself, had just bumped into you.

Ladybug was yet another assassin who had almost no affiliation with Lemon and Tangerine except for one time where he was shot twice by Lemon on one of his missions. Ladybug used to be brash and temperamental but you believed that, during the events of this movie, he was trying to turn over a new leaf and get his job done as peacefully as possible.

Unfortunately for him, he was both extremely unlucky and extremely lucky.

And he would also later find out that this mission of his wouldn't turn out as peacefully as he hoped.

"Miss, you good?"

You blinked twice, suddenly capable of seeing the furrowed brows of the laid-back male in front of you. He was probably concerned considering the fact that you phased out right as he bumped into you and apologised.

"Uh, yeah." You smiled, nodding your head very slightly. "Thank you for your concern."

He reciprocated your smile with one of his own, eyes twinkling a little in what you deduced was delight. "It was no problem. Y'know I admire your capability of putting that little interaction behind you and moving on. You go, lady."

Lena always found his little bursts of, what you liked to call, 'spiritual awareness' extremely irritating - although, you begged to differ. You found it cute how hard he tried to turn over a new leaf and gain a new attitude towards life. It was nice to see him try.

"Thank you." You bowed your head again, lips still stretched into that smile.

He then excused himself, putting the phone in his hand back up to his ear and walking over to the lockers behind you.

Well, now was probably your queue to leave.

So long as you never entered the Bullet Train, you should be completely fine, right?

With that thought in mind, you turned around, taking one step towards the exit of the station...

...and then a face flashed through your mind.

The handsome features belonging to your favourite character, drowning and choking in his own crimson substance, desperately trying to warn the main character; to let him know of the danger he was with; the danger he was right next to.

That's right... Tangerine died in the movie, didn't he?

Could you really sit back and relax, in the same universe as your favourite character, and not do anything to save him?

You paused mid-step as your chest heaved outwards, a large sigh escaping your mouth before, ultimately, you twirled around; gaze set straight onto the bullet train in front of you.

Curse your favouritism for ATJ.

Alright, well, if you were doing this, you might as well do it with some sort of preparation. Entering a train with several highly-trained assassins and surviving it was no easy feat, after all.

If you recalled correctly, which you almost a hundred percent did due to how many times you had watched the movie, Ladybug retrieved all the aids for his mission from that locker he just went to. In that locker should be a gun which he never bothered picking up.

If you could get your hands on that, you would be able to hold your own pretty well.

It should be fine, you were over your past anyway. It was no longer a bother so you would definitely be able to pick it up again.

Besides, you weren't gonna use it lethally. You swore off of that ages ago.

Now, your only problem was how to keep Ladybug from closing the locker after he was done taking out what he needed from it.

How did one stop another from closing a locker?

It's practically done from muscle memory; an action not given much thought but done as habitually as breathing was - something which was not easy to keep someone from doing without physically harming them.

And you would prefer not to harm Ladybug for the contents inside his locker.

Maybe if you...

No, that wouldn't work.

What if you-?

Nah, that definitely wouldn't do it.

Perhaps you could-

Before you could even think about the third thing, a familiar grey hat passed you - the same hat Ladybug wore throughout the start of the movie.

Did he just pass you?

In panic, your head frantically did a full one-eighty, eyes landing on the blue rectangular spaces lined up in a shelf behind you, one of which was very slightly open - Ladybug's to be specific.

Well, that was convenient.

With a confident strut, you made your way straight towards the locker - eyes trained on the prize. You stopped just a centimetre away from the shelf before your dominant hand rose up and pulled it open, gaze landing straight on the dark object to the side; completely untouched and fully-loaded.

Your lips turned upwards in a sense of accomplishment, despite the fact that you hadn't done much to acquire this object in the first place. Still, you reached for the pistol with that sense of pride - although, it slowly started to ebb away the closer your fingers got to the handle, nerves causing them to start to shake as they drew nearer and nearer; almost like you were about to touch something you suspected was poisonous. But it wasn't poisonous, it was just a gun. You could pick it up.

Yeah, you could pick it up.

Your fingers lightly grazed the familiar cold metal, flinching back after only two seconds of contact, eyes squinting shut as though it was going to explode merely from your touch; as though it would kill you to hold it.

But it wouldn't.

It couldn't.

It couldn't harm you without anyone touching it.

You were fine.

With a small breath of air leaving your lips, you curled your fingers back around the weapon, picking it up and immediately hiding it behind your hat. You waited a few moments; as if to really ensure you would be okay; as if to instil in your mind that it wouldn't hurt you, wouldn't hurt anyone else using your hands.

Then you turned around - eyes widening way more than usual as you witnessed the train start to move and the doors start to close. Quickly, you rushed towards it stumbling a little on your heels before your foot almost got caught on a wedge in the ground. It was at that point, you decided 'fuck it' and lunged towards the door, just barely falling inside the capsule between carriages as you rushed to pull your knees up, narrowly avoiding the doors almost cutting them off.

You let out a sigh of relief before getting up and dusting yourself off, using both your hands to place your hat firmly back onto your head, pushing down on the ridge to do so.

When your hands lowered once more, however, you caught sight of that wretched thing in them once again.

Your breath hitched in your throat; refusing to leave it as the drum of your heartbeat echoed through your ears, growing louder and louder and louder. You could feel it in your ears, as though it traversed your veins from your chest all the way up to the caverns you used to be able to hear, blocking out every other sound so that it was the only thing you could listen to because of how selfish it was for your attention.

As if that wasn't enough, you could even feel it slamming against your chest over and over and over-

-and then it all just stopped.

Just like that, gone.

Your shrunk pupils enlarged once again, eyes landing on the now-empty gun in your hand - the cartridge loaded with bullets having fallen to the ground underneath you.

Without even thinking, you threw the cartridge straight out the open window.

After heaving a few breaths, you realised what you had just done.

"Ah, shit."

What use was an unloaded gun to you now?

"Woah, what are you doing, lady?"

A sudden voice broke you away from your thoughts and caused your eyes to trail up, meeting a certain pair of mesmerising blue ones that belonged to the main character of the movie. You then slowly trailed your eyes back towards the empty gun in your hand before meeting the blonde's eyes once more and slowly, ever so slowly, raising both of your hands up.

"This isn't what it looks like."

He rose an eyebrow, eyeing the gun in your hand and then looking at your face once more.

"Awh, man, lady - I really thought you were better than this. A gun? Seriously?"

"No, no!" You quickly denied, shaking your head from side-to-side. "Seriously, I- I wasn't going to use it maliciously, I swear!"

"Look, we can talk this through, yeah?" He rose one of his arms to the back of his head, scratching it rather awkwardly.

"Yeah, yeah! Of course!" You agreed. "I'd love that!"

"Okay, so how about we put the gun down first, yeah?"

You took off your hat, placing the gun inside before fitting it right back around your scalp and saying, "there. Out of sight, out of mind."

He gave you that same skeptical look you had seen in the movie and, now, had seen twice in real life. Then he decided to leave it be.

"Do you mind if we have this chat after this call I have to take? Sorry, I don't wanna be rude or anything but I did kinda leave someone on hold."

Ah yes, he was speaking to his Handler, wasn't he? The woman who gave him the job as opposed to his sick co-worker Carver, who was actually played by your favourite actor, Ryan Reynolds.

"Oh, yeah, go right ahead. I don't wish to interrupt." You added a little, nervous giggle to the end of that sentence; if only to further push the harmless citizen act you put on.

Act? Sorry, no - it wasn't an act. It was the truth. You were a harmless citizen. All you wanted to do was save your favourite character's life; nothing more, nothing less.

"Could you, uhh, follow after me? Just, keep a little behind though. Y'know 'cause... it would be kinda rude if you listened in on my conversation." He looked to the side awkwardly.

"Yeah, yeah, I could do that."

It wasn't like you didn't already know his exact conversation like the back of your hand anyway. But he didn't know that and neither did he need to know that.

You then watched as he entered the next carriage, being stopped by the staff member who asked for tickets as he proceeded to give the receipt for his ticket but not the actual ticket itself - just one of the many instances where his bad luck kicked in.

Soon enough, it was your turn to follow after, walking down the carriage a little nervously as you were stopped by the exact same guy.

"Ticket please."

"Ah, right." You let out a little, nervous giggle similar to the one you did earlier. "Lemme just..."

You pretended to look for the tickets on your person, fully knowing that you didn't have any considering the fact that you were... well- not really part of this world until you opened your eyes straight after dying.

Your nervous smile grew even further as his gaze grew more stern.

"One stop."

"I know." You sighed, giving up on the act.

You then moved past the man, not wanting to stay any longer under his scrutinising gaze. It wasn't your fault you didn't have a ticket! This world didn't even exist!

Or- well, it shouldn't exist. But somehow, it did.

The door to the capsule in between carriages slowly opened as you approached, allowing you to step through and see Ladybug scouring through the shelves, looking for the briefcase he was assigned to retrieve.

"Oh, uh," as soon as he noticed you, he stopped his search; hand pausing where it was as his head faced you. "So, lady, wanna explain to me what was going on back there?"

"Oh, well... I was just making sure it wouldn't get into anyone else's hands, y'know?" You looked off to the side, wondering how you were going to get away with sneaking a gun on a train right in front of the main character, loaded or not.

"Uh huh..." he sounded skeptical - rightfully so, you would be too if this happened to you. "Why don't you let me hold onto it for ya?"

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly ask that of you."

He gave you another skeptical look and you found yourself recalling The Prince's line in the movie, what was it again..? Ah, yes, 'the innocent girl act doesn't get you far when you have a gun in your hands' or something along those lines.

"Look, lemme just-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you started to spin on your heel and swiftly turned around, making you way back to the carriage you just passed - the carriage housing both Lemon and Tangerine if you recalled correctly.

"Wait! Lady!"

You chose to ignore his calls, continuing to walk until you reached the movement-sensitive doors that opened up for you once more.

Before you completely left, though, you gave one more glance over your shoulder, so sure that he would follow straight after you. You were proved wrong, however, after seeing him pause and reach one hand up to his earpiece, eyes immediately averting from your form over to the shelf once again.

The Handler must've-

Just then, your chain of thoughts was abruptly halted by a collision against your front side. The surface you collided with was rather hard, if you did say so yourself - so hard, in fact, that it caused you to lose balance on your heels - body beginning to stumble before a strong pair of arms caught your form.

"Fuckin' 'ell. Do you mind-?" An irritated voice paused mid-sentence. "Woah, you alright there, love?"

The familiar cockney accent had your heart beating right out of your chest and your head tilting up to peer through the ring of your sunhat and meet eyes with your favourite character himself.

Holy shit, Tangerine just caught you.

The Tangerine.

You could die (again) happy.

Dear lord. This was like all those scenes in those romance movies you would watch with Lena; the ones where the female lead would get caught in the male lead's arms and they would get lost in the endless pools of one another's eyes, drowning in the moment as time seemed to stop around them.

Just the thought that you were having that moment with Tangerine, your favourite character ever, was enough to fluster you beyond belief as a small, bashful smile stretched over your lips.

"'ang on..." he rose a brow, staring into your eyes with such intensity, you almost fainted then and there. "You're the girl whose 'at I caught."

"Yep, that's me." You let out a small, nervous giggle. "Sorry about bumping into you, I wasn't quite looking ahead of me."

At your words, his eyes trailed behind your form, furrowed with that irritated expression that seemed to never leave his face. "What? Is some fuckin' creep following you or something? You look worried."

"Oh no, not at all!" You quickly drew his attention away from Ladybug, not wanting to interfere too much with the movie's plot. "I'm just really clumsy. It's really hard to walk around in heels, haha."

"That so?" He rose a brow at your words but chose to press no further.

Instead, he slowly helped you back up onto your feet and you were so sure he would've left the interaction at that but you didn't want it to end so quickly. Call you selfish but, was it really too much to ask for your favourite character to stick around a little more with you.

So, in hopes of keeping him around for just a little longer, you winced and he immediately took notice.

In all his gentlemanly glory, he clutched your arms tighter and helped lead you over to the set of seats that were completely empty, aiding you in sitting down by helping to gradually lower your body.

Meanwhile, Lemon and the White Death's son both stared at you incredulously.

"Just... sit 'ere, yeah? 'Think those things may have twisted your ankle or something."

He was referring to your heels.

"Thank you, mister..?"

"Tangerine." He introduced himself before jabbing his thumb out towards his brother. "'E's Lemon."

You nodded, parting your lips before hesitating for a second. Should you give your real name? Everyone in the movie went by aliases, not a single real name was disclosed - other than Kimura, of course.

Then again, the reason they went with aliases in the first place was so that they couldn't have their personal information disclosed in the crime world. You literally had no personal information to your name.

Ah, fuck it.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you Tangerine, Lemon."

The Brit then turned towards the Russian seated at the other window.

"See? She knows not to question it."

After that, he gave you a brisk nod and resumed taking his seat on the opposite end of his brother and the mob boss' son once more.

"Right, your daddy hired us to get you out of the trouble what you got yourself into, didn't you, naugh'y boy?" Tangerine smirked as he taunted the boy.

His words damn near drew out a chuckle from your lips had you not restrained yourself enough. One slip of the tongue and you could be regarded as a threat by the 'twins' (a debatable title), and you did not want to be seen as a threat to the people who ended up sawing the limbs off a dozen of the White Death's men in Bolivia.

So, to fully ensure that no suspicion was instilled your way, you turned your head to the side, facing the window that sped by the land of Japan at high speeds, providing a vivid yet beautiful view of the country.

But that didn't matter to you, all you cared about was the reflection of the three men in the glass - looking exactly like they did in the movie. This way, if their comments brought about a smile on your lips - they wouldn't be able to tell you were eavesdropping.

It was such a shame that you missed out on Lemon's tangent about Thomas the Tank Engine though.

"Why, uh, why Tangerine though?" The Son asked, bringing you straight out of your thoughts.

"Oh it's a sophisticated name." Lemon answered.

"Oh, fuckin' 'ell. It's not impor'ant, is it?" Your favourite cut in, looking as annoyed as ever. "What is impor'ant are the seven'een dead bodies we left getting you back from the triad that kidnapped you with plans to ransome you to your extremely psychotic, fucked-up father."

"Actually, it's sixteen." His brother corrected him. Although, he himself wasn't correct since he wasn't counting that one innocent person they killed.

"What's that now?"

"Sixteen kills, mate."

"Oh no, it was seventeen."

"Iiiit's sixteen." Lemon drawled out.

"Lemon, you're starting to get on my fucking tits." Tangerine scowled and you almost let out a giggle as you watched them bicker back and forth.

"It's sixteen."

"I'll smash my fuckin' 'ead through a brick wall."

"Well maybe that'd help your memory 'cause it was sixteen."

"The fuck is wrong with you, man?! It was seventeen goddammit," Tangerine slammed his hand against the table before continuing, "I wanna fuckin' strangle you-"

"Do you mind if we do this right now?" Lemon turned to the Russian male sat beside him.

"Don't worry about him-"

If you remembered correctly, now would be the time where they showed a montage of what happened with Lemon and Tangerine before they entered the train with the White Death's Son.

The montage was funny to watch but Lena begged to differ, scowling at each and every thing they did on screen; loathing the corpses they left behind and the way they carelessly killed other people as if she didn't-

-ah, what were the characters saying again?

"Our job is to keep you safe and to recover the briefcase with the ransome money inside." You heard the character with the face of ATJ say as he looked off to the side, eyes seeming to search for something and growing more frantic the longer he couldn't find it. "And I plan on completing my job and keeping-

"Lemon." He interrupted himself as he called to his brother, pupils stopping their wandering around to land on the other man.

"Hmm?"

"Where's the briefcase?"

"Oh I stashed it."

A pause.

And then, Tangerine placed both of his hands on the table, fingers intertwined with one another. "The case, Lemon. Go get me the fucking case."

The broader male got up to do just that, leaving the two other males on the table alone. You could practically feel the stress seeping from the male with a cockney accent.

"You're a liability, you know?" The Son spoke up again. "To my father."

"Hm?" The Brit left at the table perked his head up.

The Son leaned in, facial expression hard to decipher through the glass - but it wasn't like you needed to, after all, you watched the movie a dozen times before. "He doesn't need a reason to kill people like you, he needs a reason not to. Does he have one?"

The assassin paused for a minute, giving the other male a weird look before opening his mouth as if to respond. Before he could though, his phone went off and he reached for it - though, not without uttering one last sentence. "That's fucking confusin'."

He then picked up the phone and gave his greeting before the male on the other side asked him for The Son, if you recalled correctly.

"What? You mean this dickhead with the silly face tattoos? Yeah, he's sat right here."

Ah, so you were right. Of course you were.

"Yes, of course..." the male continued after a pause, leaning backwards and peering to the side to see Lemon's form stressing over the fact that, unbeknownst to him, Ladybug had stolen the briefcase. Once Tangerine saw, however, the confidence in his tone fell and his voice wavered as he continued, "...I've got the case..."

He kept the phone up to his ear for only a few seconds after as his eyes furrowed and a flicker of realisation crossed over them before the phone in his hand slowly lowered to his side.

After ending the call with one of the White Death's men, he strutted over to the capsule his brother entered - the way he walked almost made a squeal pass out of your mouth - the straight line across his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way he fixed his collar; it was all so smooth, you couldn't help but want to swoon.

Once he left though, your rose-coloured lenses slowly paved way for you to finally see the bigger picture; to understand fully what sort of a predicament you got yourself into.

Your life could be in great peril (once again) because of one specific character that was on her way to this very carriage to kill the White Death's son himself...

...The Hornet.

I just love that Tangerine apologises for swearing in front of a lady before going ahead and doing it again haha

Next Act

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere male #tangerine #yandere tangerine #x reader #female reader #yandere male x female reader #bullet train #ladybug bullet train #lemon and tangerine #lemon bullet train #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #the prince bullet train #kimura bullet train

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underfaller · 9 months

Text

Fiscal Game

Pairing: Pantalone x Reader CW: smut Words: 700

You were starting to regret signing that contract.

It'd only been a month, yet the banker had taken quite a liking to you. Despite your short time working for the Northland Bank, he'd personally asked you to be his secretary-- an honor most would take in a heartbeat. You were no different, but as you shakily held the edge of your desk, pressing your plush thighs together, and hoping no one who came heard the soft buzzing of the vibrator your boss slipped into your panties, you certainly were having doubts whether this job was for you.

At the very least, you should've read your agreement a bit more thoroughly.

It was much too late to back out now. With this man's devotion to your contract, you'd think he was the Liyue Archon himself. But that couldn't be further from the truth. No, this man was none other than the ninth Fatui Harbinger: Pantalone, The Regrator.

You tried to focus on your work. Pantalone needed these ledgers done by today. He’d been very adamant about it… perhaps if he wanted them done so quickly, he shouldn’t have distracted you so much.

Bzz…zzz…

It’s almost as if your boss could hear your thoughts because just as you finished internally complaining, you felt the toy's vibrations get stronger. You imagined his slender finger playfully pressing up his remote’s lever as he sits at his desk, that unwavering, yet false smile plastered on his handsome face. You clenched your fists tightly in your lap as you took a shaky breath. It’s the best you could do to keep from moaning on the clock.

After some time, you actually managed to finish your work. You do your best to stand up, walking carefully to Pantalone’s office, knocking twice.

“Enter.”

You obeyed, tentatively peeking your head through the doorframe.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite little secretary. Have you finished those ledgers?” Your boss asked. His hands are clasped together in front of him as he smiles at you. His glasses’ crystal cord dangling casually as he tilts his head in acknowledgment of your presence.

Yes, sir.”

“Bring them here.”

You nod. However, as you approached him, you staggered a bit. Your eyes rested on his hand once again on your vibrator’s remote. You could feel the smooth plastic vibrating stronger than ever against your clit, overstimulated and swollen from his toying. You stopped in your tracks as the pleasure overtook you by surprise.

“Dearie, is something the matter?”

“N..No Sir.”

You quickly shuffled to Pantalone, placing your work on his desk. He picked the books up, flipping through them as he examined your work. He hummed with approval as he stood up, making his way towards you.

“Perfect as usual. I expected no less from you, dearie,” Pantalone murmured as he caressed your cheek.

You could feel your heart skip a beat. You’ll never get used to the intimacy you two share. Whenever he was this close, you simply couldn’t help but get flustered. It was a mixture of things: his confidence, his dominance, and of course, his quite beautiful face.

“I suppose I should reward you for such good work, hm?”

With that, Pantalone kissed you. You greedily accepted, pulling him closer by his suit collar. You normally weren’t this way, but you’ve been teased the whole day. Your whole body yearned for this man. Today, you would take whatever you pleased.

He moaned as you stuck your tongue in his warm mouth. It made your heart flutter. Your tongues battled for dominance, wrapped around each other in a slick embrace. As you both pulled away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a brief moment before dissipating.

Pantalone bent you over his desk, a familiar position for you. His hand reached up your pencil skirt. You shivered as he brushed against your wet panties, no doubt because of today’s antics. He laughed softly as he leaned forward, whispering in your ear.

"Look at you. So wet already. You've soiled the lingerie I purchased for you. You know those were quite expensive, don't you?" Pantalone teased. “Perhaps I should punish you for that.”

“Perhaps. As long as you fuck me in the end… Sir.”

"Heh. As you wish, my dear."

#pantalone #fatui harbingers #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #pantalone smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics

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anonymousewrites · 4 months

Text

Clan of Three Christmas Special 2023

Father Figure! Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Teen! Reader

Mouse Note: Happy holidays! I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season and like this little moment for Mando and Ginger and Grogu

“What are gifts traditional for apprentices?” asked Mando.

The Armorer turned from the Forge to face him. “Why do you ask?”

“It is the anniversary of when I found Grogu and (Y/N). I want to commemorate it,” said Mando simply.

The Armorer nodded approvingly. “You have a strong bond with your Clan. That is good.” She placed her hammer down and fully focused on Mando. “So, you wish for gifts.”

“Yes,” said Mando. “I’ve given Grogu chainmail to protect him, and (Y/N) has their remade Ushti dagger. I have not had a Clan of my own or apprentices before, so I don’t know what I should give them next.”

The Armorer considered carefully. “Grogu is still quite young for more armor. Perhaps a game for him.”

Mando nodded. “He would enjoy that.” He paused. “Grogu, uh, likes the silver topper of one of the levers from my old ship. It’s a simple sphere, but he’d like that.”

The Armorer nodded. “Very well. And for (Y/N)?”

“They have a blaster and dagger, and I don’t feel comfortable arming them more,” said Mando.

“Their tendency to run into danger worries you,” said the Armorer in amusement.

Mando sighed. “Yes.”

“Then how about something to protect them?” suggested the Armorer. “A piece of armor would guard against some injuries.” She looked at the Mythosaur emblem on the wall. It reminded her that Mandalore the Great had chosen (Y/N) to guide. That was significant. “And it is time for them to start obtaining armor. They have more than earned their first piece.”

Mando brightened but kept calm. “Yes. That would be good. I’d enjoy the honor of giving (Y/N) their first bit of Mandalorian armor.”

The Armorer turned back to her tools. “What piece shall I craft?”

“A gauntlet for their wrist or forearm,” said Mando. “To protect their dominant arm while they fight.”

The Armorer nodded in approval. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” said Mando.

“You’re supposed to throw it back to me, Grogu,” said (Y/N), hands on their hips as they looked at their brother.

Grogu babbled happily, still levitating the stone in front of him. (Y/N) rolled their eyes, lifted a hand, and pulled the stone to them. Grogu squawked indignantly.

“Relax, I’m going to toss it right back,” said (Y/N), flicking their ring and letting the rock float back to Grogu, who smiled widely upon getting to levitate it again. (Y/N) grinned but rolled their eyes. “I need practice, too.”

“You’re supposed to be resting after our last mission,” said Mando, walking up behind them and crossing his arms.

Grogu let the rock drop, and (Y/N) turned around without any embarrassment or guilt.

They shrugged. “I feel fine.”

“The last time you said that, you slept for an entire day when I finally got you to rest,” said Mando.

“That was one time, Buir,” said (Y/N).

“Ad’ika, we both know it was more than that,” said Mando.

“Okay, fine, maybe it was,” said (Y/N). “Sorry.”

“You’re not, but I’m going to accept your apology because I’m going to make you rest,” said Mando.

“Whatever you say,” said (Y/N). They noticed the little parcels he was carrying. “What’re those?”

Mando suddenly shifted, getting shyer. He still wasn’t used to being so soft, even if it was with his kids. And he wanted to do this right since it was an important moment.

“They’re gifts. For you and Grogu,” said Mando. “It’s the day that I found you two first.”

Grogu and (Y/N) were both silent.

“Is this alright?” asked Mando.

“You actually…You remember those things?” said (Y/N).

“Of course. You’re the most important parts of my life,” said Mando.

(Y/N) moved forward and hugged him tightly, and Grogu chirped and jumped up to hug him. Mando was surprised and balanced the presents before hugging them back.

“Thank you,” said (Y/N), and Grogu babbled in agreement.

“You haven’t even seen what I got you,” said Mando.

“Yeah, but you care about that. What you got us doesn’t matter,” said (Y/N).

Mando smiled beneath his helmet. “Thank you, Ad’ika.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still want the gift, though.”

“I know,” said Mando with a light laugh. He held up the presents. “This one is yours, and this one is Grogu’s.”

Before Mando could even hand them over, the parcels levitated and flew to their recipients as the force moved for them. Grogu eagerly opened his first and babbled with a grin as he held up the silver ball.

(Y/N) smiled. “He’ll be levitating and throwing that around the whole ship.”

Mando sighed. “I know, but it makes him happy.”

(Y/N) opened theirs then, and their eyes widened as they lifted up the beskar gauntlet. “Is this Mandalorian armor?”

“You’re a Mandalorian,” said Mando simply. “And you’ve risked your life for us so many times that you have earned it, Ad’ika.”

(Y/N) grinned, closed the gauntlet around their forearm, and hugged Mando again. “Thank you so much, Buir.” They were a Mandalorian. More than that though, they were Mando’s child. And that’s what meant the most.

“Of course, Ad’ika,” said Mando, holding them close. He had his kids. That was all he needed.

Taglist:

@im-making-an-effort

@gr33n-d00dles

@alexpangender

@painstakingly-juno

@treehouse-mouse

@theurbannoodle

@pedropascalsidechick

@dmitrytherat

@dilfsaremyfavourite

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darklydeliciousdesires · 1 year

Note

Captain Syverson and this:

17. “Little kitten. You know better than to make me tell you twice. Now, bend.”

Ooooh, a Sy ask!!! I love you so much for this, babe. I haven't written for him in an age! <3

Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

There are two undeniable facts that never wander far from your mind where your husband is concerned. One, he's dominant, and two, he never deviates from that.

"Bend." His order is clear, yet not followed through. For that, your backside receives an almighty slap in correction. "She's naughty tonight, huh?"

A little purr spills from your mouth like wine, turning to wink at him. "I am."

"Y'all gon' do as you're told, honey?" he croaks, his back sliding against you as he fucks you standing up from behind. Letting go of the hold that had levered your leg up, he runs a blazing sweep of heat up your slick skin, hand curling at your throat, fingers tensing against your tendons. “Little kitten. You know better than to make me tell you twice. Now, bend.”

"Mmm," you hum, turning to lick his cheek. "Yes, Captain."

Your fold at the waist gives him the most deliciously sumptuous sight, the petals of your cunt splayed wide around his cock, his hands gripping your hips, watching himself slowly sinking back and forth into the soaking mess of you. "Yeah, that's it, baby doll. That's my good girl."

To hear such praise, you'd do anything. Eventually.

#captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson smut #captain syverson x female reader #captain syverson x you #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x female reader #ddd drabble requests

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ellaenchanting · 6 months

Text

Hypnovember Day 8: Addicted

There was a study she had read in college.

(He might have read it too.)

There were 4 groups of rats. Each one would push a lever and get a food reward. Some rats would get rewarded every time they pushed. Some would get rewarded every other time or every three times. For the last group of rats, their reward was completely random- there was no predictable pattern to when a reward might happen.

Then the food stopped. The first group of rats- the ones who usually always got rewarded- were the first to stop pushing the lever and to go about their regular ratty business. Then the second group. Then the third.

The last group, though, never gave up on the possibility of food. They would anxiously push their little levers over and over, fruitlessly waiting on a reward that would never come again.

She had felt sorry for them. Poor, stupid rats. If only they had known the trap they were in- surely then they could find the will to pull themselves free.

How could she have known differently?

"Hi," she typed in her message to him. "I know you said you'd get in touch with me this week. FYI I'm around all day today if you want to talk!"

Hit send.

Paused.

Added a cute seal picture.

Tried no to wait by her computer for a reply.

He had been a dream answered at first. A famous, well regarded hypnotist was somehow interested in her- an anonymous internet fan. She had never expected a response when she had messaged him about his file but- not only had he thoughtfully answered her questions, he had asked her some back. Why was she interested in hypnosis? What got her started? What was she struggling with? What did she want to experience?

A few rounds of messaging back and forth had led to a call. And THAT call had led to her first actual experience being hypnotized-an incredible one. She felt deep and dreamy and oh so submissive. It had been everything she had hoped it would be- and more. She hadn't expected the praise, especially, to flow over her the way it did- how obedient she was, how pretty like this, what a natural subject- but she soaked it in like a flower soaking in sunshine.

It had felt meaningful.

Important.

After that, they were in constant contact. They sent stories back and forth. Fantasies. Dreams. He was the only one she had truly been able to open up to about her hypnofetish and her desires to be controlled. She wanted it so much- that freedom to let go and let herself be molded. Not only did he seem to understand- he encouraged it. "This is clearly who you are," he said. "Submission comes naturally to you- just like domination comes naturally to me. Why should we be ashamed?"

When he offered to make her HIS submissive, she had jumped at the chance. Of course, they would keep things casual, like he said. She knew he had other submissives he cared for and that things between them didn't need to be exclusive for them to be special. She also agreed that, as part of being His, she wouldn't interact with any other hypnotists besides him. But that was OK. She didn't know any other hypnotists. Plus, it was dangerous, he said, to give your mind to too many people- have too many people trying to make changes. Hypnotic suggestions and compulsions could conflict with each other, you see, and that could create all kinds of mental health issues. He didn't want that for her.

She was touched when he looked out for her like this.

And how could she want anyone else, anyway? Day after day they exchanged text messaged. Text trances. Video calls. He hypnotized her over and over- making her more and more his. There wasn't room for anyone else in her deeply programmed psyche. She could feel his thoughts and influence constantly in her head- changing and building her even while she slept. It was like she was a project they were both working on together.

It felt like being owned.

It felt like love.

Then just as surely as the flood started- it stopped.

At first, the lack of communication made sense. He was sick, he said, and couldn't respond easily to messages. He still texted her frequently though- maybe not for trance, exactly, but at least to let her know he was ok. He'd talk about what was going on his life and she'd tell him what was happening in hers. It felt intimate in a different way. She appreciated his thoughtfulness.

Then he was traveling.

Then he needed some alone time.

Of course she was understanding of all of this. What friend wouldn't want their friend to travel? To have time to recover? She would be selfish to demand otherwise- for the sake of a silly kink, no less. She sent messages of support and understanding throughout the day. When he mentioned bad mental health stuff, she offered to help him look up therapists in his area.

No need, he wrote back. I'm just going through some things.

And when he started releasing files again? She was overjoyed! Finally he was back to doing what he loved. Maybe that meant he was getting better?

She was relieved. Despite being a good understanding sub, she had really started to feel anxious without him. Part of their dynamic was that she craved to hear his voice, that she needed to have his conditioning in her head. She felt a bit distressed going without it for so long. His new files, at least, were giving her something to hold onto. They weren't personal to her and their dynamic, of course, but the suggestions and mantras in them gave her some of the hot submissive feelings she had grown to crave.

"Devoted, dominated, and dependent", she repeated with the girls in the recordings. "Devoted, dominated, and dependent".

Over and over.

It felt so good.

She messaged him every time she listened (and she listened quite frequently). She knew he liked begging, so she would beg him sweetly in her messages for a call. She took and sent videos of herself under his spell- eyes rolled back, repeating the mantras over and over. She knew he liked those.

Sometimes, he responded.

Sometimes they even had a video call.

When they did, it was great. She felt like his suggestions were going deeper and deeper into her mind- like she was giving him more and more of herself. Things she never thought she'd accomplish as a subject- amnesia, hallucinations, orgasm on demand- all of these things seemed within her reach. She couldn't wait to see what he could make her into.

"Thank you sir," she said at the end of one of their calls. "Thank you so much. I'm so happy that I have you."

"Good girl," he said, smirking. "What a good devoted, dominated, dependent slut you are for me."

She beamed at the praise.

"Sir," she finally braved to ask. "I know you've been busy lately. I know a lot of the time you just have energy for recordings. But- could you make a recording just for me? So I could listen to it when you're busy? It would really help me when we can't find time to talk."

His face turned serious. He seemed to be seriously contemplating her question, finding the perfect answer.

"No," he said finally. "I'm sorry, pet. It's not that I don't care. I just- don't want you to get addicted."

She understood, of course. He had always been thoughtful about her safety.

So it continued.

Occasionally she would see his interactions on social media with others. (Not that she hunted for those.) (Too much.)

For instance, he seemed quite drawn to a new girl named Hypnohunty lately. They publicly interacted all the time. She felt a pang of jealousy about this- strong jealousy, hot and sharp like a knife- but she also felt embarrassed by it. There really was no room for jealousy in their relationship. After all, she had knowingly agreed to be in a polyamorous relationship with him. And she didn't want to feel badly towards Hypnohunty, who was new and friendly and seemed sweet (whoever she was).

Improving her jealous personality had even been an consented-to part of her submissive conditioning. Her Sir frequently worked with her (when he worked with her) to help her feel more compersion towards his other submissive partners. After all, sharing was caring and there really weren't enough Doms to satisfy all the needy submissive girls out there. There was no place for her kind of insecurity in healthy kink.

She'd just have to be better at getting his attention.

Sometimes one of her messages would break through. He'd send her a smiley or a fire emoji when she described a hot fantasy. They'd go a few weeks in a row without him canceling their weekly call. They'd even do hypnosis sometimes- when he was up for it.

Then, there would be periods of nothing.

Which is what seemed to be happening now.

She still had hope, though. He had said he would contact her this week, so she would give him every opportunity to reconnect. Even if it meant waiting by the computer. She'd give him that chance.

She was loyal, after all.

Like a good submissive should be.

Thanks to @daja-the-hypnokitten for the mantra help.

Tagging @mentat101posts @thekinkycocktailclub @jam-and-stuff

#hypnovember #hypnovember 2023 #loosely autobiographical?#but only loosely #and not really about any particular person- thank god #at least not that I've played with #more exploring how addictive these relationships can feel #and especially submission if you're not careful #or- even- if you're just unlucky #ghosting #or rather- fading #ouch ouch ouch

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bsxcrxts · 2 months

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YEAHHHHHHHHHHH TECH THOTS TELL ME ALL ABOUT HIM can we delve into the sex pollen thing because I'm ultra curious

I actually had to take an entire day to gather my thoughts bc omg, I feel like he’s kind of a mystery??? but here are a couple of conclusions I’ve reached

minors dni and ages in bios pls

early on, has a hard time figuring out if you actually like him or not, mostly because he's ruminating on the logic of why it doesn't make sense that you would choose him. he knows he likes you, but Does Not enjoy when his brothers make comments about his crush on you. genuinely won't even look at them or respond, which is basically confirmation for him (he doesn't realize this)

reserved, until he isn't. has a tendency to talk in purely scientific terms unless the two of you are in relative privacy. doesn't really like excessive PDA very much but will hold your hand especially in a crowd. Secretly feels a sense of pride if you lean your head on his shoulder

prefers to be communicated with directly so he can't reason his way out of his feelings. once you actually properly confess to him it's like a lever gets flipped in his brain

this man does not half-ass anything. ever. and that extends to his sex life

by that I mean I think he will truly try anything once, even if he doesn't already have an inclination that he'd like it, he'll try it anyway for you, and make some corny comment about the scientific process about it

equally submissive and dominant. a true switch if I've ever seen one

possessive. this post is already so long otherwise I'd elaborate but I fear I’d ramble. someone ask me about it

his primary love language is acts of service but of course it’s his own little spin on it of course. let him fix your datapad, tinker little inventions for you, if you need to go somewhere he’ll walk with you or pilot you there, he just wants to do things for you. His brothers are kinda flabbergasted because getting him to break his concentration for them is crazy difficult but if you ask him 👀

I have to stop there for general thoughts but I have a lot more headcanons but I wanna get into the sex pollen thing so!!

I can honestly see so many possible scenarios omg

let's start with what happens if you're not together and you happen to accidentally get hit with sex pollen on a mission

Tech is probably one of the only ones who knows the full extent of the effects of the pollen, and he's worried about you :( not because he doesn't know the solution (it's obvious to him what has to happen) but because you're clearly in discomfort

kind of floored that you want to fuck him and not just anyone to satiate the pollen. not to get randomly into his psychology on a sex pollen prompt, but I think Tech has a lot of self assurance (maybe even an ego) about certain things he knows he's good at and has other things he fully expects his brothers to be "the obvious choice" for

but he's not going to argue with you about it. maybe quickly verify that you're actually sure but that's all

gets really affectionate with you really quickly under this specific circumstance. normally he'd be a bit more restrained about calling you pet names or whatever but he's trying to reassure you a bit, so if he calls you love or good girl... well...

I would probably be prepared for this to spark a relationship with him after some embarrassment on both your ends. but I don't think he can fuck you for the first time in those circumstances and get over it very easily lol

okay alternatively... I fully believe during the duration of your relationship, he's accidentally fucked up and doused himself with sex pollen or a strong aphrodisiac somehow

he strikes me as a person who collects things "in case" or "to run experiments on later" in general so I can absolutely see him having random things around that are unknown levels of dangerous

and like. whoops. that random powder he picked up three systems ago that he meant to identify got knocked over, and is now all over his bunk

tries to deal with it alone. fails

goes to you kind of sheepishly and describes what happened

as if you wouldn't be happy to help him

at least he knows what the purpose of the powder is now?

after you've fucked it out of his system, he IS devious enough to think about the possibility of distilling it to be wayyy less strong and use it in the bedroom occasionally. for fun instead of necessity lol

#please if you are lurking and have tech thoughts my inbox is open #tbb tech x reader #tbb tech smut #feral thirsty for him in a way that will embarrass me laterrrr #tech ♥️#tech smut

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homomenhommes · 2 months

Text

saga: SOUMISSION / DOMINATION 116

Je range le pendentif et Jimmy qui arrive, s'étonne de mon piercing et me félicite que ça me va bien.

Après le repas, je le prépare. Lavement, épilation, lavement, puis je le plug. Le trajet en moto devrait faire son effet au travers de ce petit engin. Sous-vêtements sexy, jogging de marque et ma petite racaille est prête. Presque une heure de route (et pas à 90Km/h !) et je sonne chez mon client. Entre 30 et 40 ans, grand brun, carré. Il me tend mon enveloppe et menotte Jimmy les mains dans le dos, il voulait un trip " commissariat / arrestation ". Je mate et m'aperçois que Jimmy était sûrement déjà être passé par là car il était super naturel dans le rôle. Le client aussi, je vais me renseigner mais ce serait un vrai flic que cela ne m'étonnerais pas. Du coup discrètement avec mon portable je fixe quelques photos où son visage et l'action sont bien visibles. Je me crois dans un film porno. Jimmy s'est pris au jeu et il fait parfaitement la petite frappe embarqué pour trafic de shit. Il négocie sa liberté contre l'utilisation de son corps. On peut voir le paquet du mec, appuyé des fesses sur le bord de son bureau, gonfler et tendre le jeans de façon totalement indécente. Il finit par attraper la tête de Jimmy et à lui écraser le visage contre. Quand il sort son matériel, c'est impressionnant. Une grosse tige foncée avec les poils taillés très courts ce qui la rend encore plus imposante. Il prend la tête de Jimmy entre ses mains et lui enfonce son braquemart dans la gorge. Comme Jimmy tousse, il le claque (pas trop fort, ça va). Il continu et Jimmy s'adapte. Je le vois même aller au devant pour s'étouffer avec le gland. Il le fais se lever de sa chaise tout en maintenant la pipe. Plié en deux et ne pouvant se retenir avec ses mains, Jimmy est en bascule vers l'avant sur le sexe du mec. Il se trouve bientôt les fesses à l'air, le jogging repoussé juste en dessous d'elles. Le mec, une mains sur la tête de Jimmy pour la pipe, a utilisé l'autre pour tester son anus. Surpris par le plug, il me regarde. Je lui dis que je l'avais préparé. Il me remercie et tire dessus. Jimmy pousse un cri sourd (le gland du mec occupe toujours sa gorge) quand son anneau s'est dilaté brusquement. Après trois à quatre passages, le client a décidé de passer aux choses sérieuses et de l'enculer. Le torse plaqué sur le bureau, les mains toujours entravées dans le dos, Le faux/vrai flic lui a écarté les pieds. Puis les mains bien à plat sur chaque fesse, il les a écartées. J'osai lui rappeler la kpote avant qu'il ne l'oublie emporté par le trip. Il se couvre. Puis après avoir craché sur l'anus de Jimmy, force sa porte arrière. Jimmy mime un refus de la chose, gueulant qu'il était pas un PD, essayant d'y échapper en se tortillant. Le grand type le bloque d'une main sur son cou, l'appuyant sur le bureau et commence la pénétration. Je suppose que Jimmy serre son petit cul car malgré sa taille, il aurait pu rentrer plus vite si ce dernier l'avait voulu. Ce n'est qu'une fois la bite bien calée au fond de son cul que Jimmy abdique et laisse faire le mec tout en lui répétant " j'suis pas comme ça ", " pas PD ", assortis de " arrêtez Msieur ", " s'il vous plait "... Un vrai porno ! En attendant ça lui fait de l'effet au mec. Ses mains posées sur les hanches de Jimmy, il l'encule. Profitant bien de sa capacité à tout prendre, il écarte ses fesses pour aller plus profondément. D'après ce que je peux voir, il a l'air de prendre son pied grave ! Il le détache soudain mais c'est pour refermer les menottes par devant. Je comprends mieux quand il tourne Jimmy sur le dos, lui relève les jambes et reprend la sodo. Le mec est très résistant car il se passe une bonne heure avant qu'il ne jute.

Alors que Jimmy est sous la douche, le mec resté à poil discute un peu avec moi. Il est super bien foutu et me fait bander ! Je ne sais pas si j'aurais l'envie d'attendre d'être rentré à la maison pour me soulager dans Jimmy ! Il a bien apprécié le trip et me demande si je pourrais lui organiser le même trip avec plusieurs jeunes mecs. Dans ma tête je vois Ed et pourquoi ne pas récupérer temporairement Jean. Celui là, je suis sûr que ce genre de plan l'amuserait (en plus de la grosse teub du mec).

Je lui dis qu'il faut que je vois cela mais que si ça se fait, ce serait plutôt un mercredi ou un samedi après midi. Financièrement ce ne sera pas non plus la même chose avec deux mecs. Il me propose le double de la passe actuelle. Je fais mine de réfléchir et de lui même il triple. Là j'accepte. Il me demande si je pourrais pas lui en trouver plus. Je lui demande combien. Il me dit au moins un troisième et me propose direct un " contrat " multiplié par 4. En moi même je me dis que je vais y aller progressivement. Ça fera durer son trip plus longtemps et ça me rapportera plus ! Il m'emmène alors au sous sol de sa maison et me montre un commissariat en réduit. Un bureau avec machine à écrire, devant une chaise en bois avec des menottes accrochées au dossier, un radiateur en fonte accroché au mur pas très loin et, au fond, derrière des panneaux escamotables, une cellule à barreaux ;avec couchette en bois. J'admire l'installation. Il se coupe en me disant que c'est une reproduction fidèle de ce qui existe. Il s'enflamme en m'expliquant que comme cela il peut isoler un gars le laissant juste entendre ce qui se passe à côté sans voir. Ce qui peut être angoissant pour lui et donc le préparer psychologiquement à la suite. Il m'a l'air bien calé sur le sujet ! au jour dit, je veillerais à ce que ce soit Jean qui soit dans cette position, il est le plus costaud mentalement.

Quand nous remontons, Jimmy est prêt. Nous le quittons non sans que j'ai promis de le rappeler rapidement. Jimmy serré contre moi, malaxe mes couilles et ma bite qui n'avait pas besoin de cela pour bander. Du coup, arrêt dès la première aire de repos. Je le pousse dans les WC pour handicapés et juste la braguette relevée (because combi cuir), je baisse son jogging avec son slip pour l'enculer direct. C'est divin ! Depuis deux bonnes heures que je bande, je commençais à avoir mal aux couilles. Je le prends brutalement tellement je suis excité. Il apprécie, accroché au lavabo. La pression monte vite et je me lâche au fond de son cul. Je le branle et il jute dans le lavabo. ;Nous sortons casque sur nos têtes, heureusement car deux mecs étaient à la porte en train de nous écouter probablement, nous n'avions pas été des plus discrets !!

Le reste du retour s'est fait plus serein, malgré l'accrochage de Jimmy à mon paquet.

Quand nous sommes arrivés Marc était là. Juste le temps de poser la moto et le casque et j'étais dans ses bras. Il est trop mon mec ! Le patin a tellement duré que quand nous nous sommes décollés, Jimmy était parti à l'appart. Dans l'entrée, pendant que j'ôtais ma combi, il m'a pris l'oreille pour l'examiner. Un soupir a ponctué l'inspection. Une fois en shorty et T-shirt, je suis allé chercher l'écrin pour lui montrer le " caillou " puis je l'ai placé sur l'anneau en inox. J'étais à ce moment là un peu stressé en attendant le verdict. Il l'a bien senti et m'a fait attendre encore un peu. Finalement il a du avouer que ça ne m'allait pas trop mal. Je l'ai vite retiré pour ne pas l'énerver plus longtemps. Je n'ai pas attendu le soir pour me jeter sur lui. 4 jours sans lui, je suis en manque. Chemise arrachée, pantalon descendu sur les chevilles avec le slip, j'ai pu emboucher mon mâle. Trop bonne sa bite, directe au fond de ma gorge. Je me suis acharné à le pomper jusqu'à ce qu'il me gave. Calmés quelques instants, il m'a pris dans ses bras pour m'embrasser de nouveau. Je lui ai dit que je l'aimais, même si j'acceptais les cadeaux d'Emma. Il m'a traité de crétin. Comme je le sentais reprendre forme, je l'ai poussé dans un fauteuil et me suis assis sur lui. Une jambe sur chaque accoudoir, mes mains accrochées à ses épaules, je me suis laissé descendre doucement. Contact avec le gland, positionnement correct au centre de la cible, je sens qu'il mouille, puis pallier 3/4cm plus bas, histoire de me prendre le gland. La position statique ne peut pas durer, mes cuisses sont tendues. Quand je relâche mes muscles, je m'enfonce inexorablement sa queue au fond de mon trou. Assis sur ses cuisses, nous nous embrassons avidement, voracement, passionnément. Rapidement j'ai besoin que sa bite me ramone. Il m'aide un peu et c'est moi qui lime mon cul sur sa teub. De temps en temps il monte le bassin pour limiter le retrait mais dans l'ensemble je fais tout le travaille. Face à face, à chaque fois que je suis sur ses genoux, on se roule une pelle. Mais mes cuisses me tirent de plus en plus et nous changeons de position. J'écarte les objets posés sur la table basse et à genoux, y plaque mon torse. Marc écarte mes cuisses, avant de reprendre mon cul. Couché sur moi, il tire ma tête sur le coté et nous continuons à nous embrasser. Trop excité par nos retrouvailles, nous jouissons assez rapidement. Marc s'écroule sur moi ;le temps que nous récupérions quelques forces.

Plus tard, en slip dans la cuisine devant un café, nous nous sommes racontés les 4 jours d'absence de l'autre.

JARDINIER

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