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#the last one is me clutching my teeth ferally

hedwig221b · 6 months

Note

Trick or treat!!

Hiiiii! Based on what you usually reblog I think you'd like this piece of a wip

“I’m just feeling on edge today,” Stiles confessed.

That was one way to put it.

“Let’s figure it out then,” Derek insisted, and Stiles couldn’t help but look up at him. “You have to embrace it. You know it’s the only way for you.”

Fuck, Stiles loved this man so fucking much. His throat was closing up at the sheer determination in Derek’s voice. He was probably the only one who didn’t want “the old Stiles” back. Derek didn’t want to change him. From day one he encouraged Stiles to be at peace with what he was, to explore the new abilities in order to understand and control himself better.

Maybe, that was because he was a born werewolf, who was always told by the humans that there was an “other”, wolfy part of him that he had to tame in order to be “normal”.

But Derek was already normal. He just wasn’t human (fully or half) and that irked people because he looked like one.

Derek was the only one who could understand. Well, he and hunters, but the latter weren’t so nice about it.

“Do you need to vent?” Derek asked. “Scream? Punch someone?”

“I want blood.”

Derek’s mouth closed with a click.

Stiles forced himself to keep looking at Derek because his mate needed to know. If Stiles could demand Derek to be truthful with him, he had to do the same. No matter how horrifying the truth was.

Derek cleared his throat and blinked a couple of times in rapid succession.

“In what way?” His voice betrayed nothing.

Stiles’ heart was beating in his throat, despite him sitting still on the couch. He looked to the side, biting the skin off his upper lip. He was clutching at Derek’s hands in a pitiful attempt to make him stay.

“I don’t want to have, like, a Bloody Mary or anything, but… I have this urge, and it’s been killing me, like a constant headache. I want to—” Stiles stopped to swallow the spit that immediately gathered in his mouth. “Want to tear into something. With my teeth, my hands. To feel their last breath and keep breathing myself.”

Now he was afraid to look at Derek. It was too much. Derek was going to look at him in disgust and fear, lean away and run far to where Stiles would never find him.

“Please,” he begged in a choked voice. “Please, don’t— Don’t leave me. I don’t want you to be afraid of m— Oh, my god, why the fuck are you smiling?"

And it was a full smile, with his usual set of bunny teeth and fangs, breathtaking, wide and feral.

And then Derek said the thing Stiles never thought to hear from him in the light of recent events.

“I’m so glad to have you as my mate.”

“Fucking huh?”

Derek chuckled, rolled his eyes, then smacked a hard passionate kiss on Stiles’ lips and jumped up with athletic ease.

“I’m taking you on a hunt, come on.” The man grabbed his hands and lifted him off the couch, tugging his stunned mate after himself.

“Hunt?”

“Yeah,” another giddy smile, so beautiful Stiles stumbled a bit into his shoulder. “I wanted to take you with me for so long, but since you don’t like running in the forest…”

“When I run in the forest it’s usually because I’m running away from someone, that’s why I despise it,” Stiles said to him absently, still reeling from Derek’s reaction. “You’re… you’re not disturbed? Not even for a little bit? Not feeling any urge to call 911?”

Derek snorted and shook his head.

They finally stopped at the edge of the forest; Derek turned around, gave Stiles the softest excited glance, then cupped his face quickly and kissed him again. Seemed like he just couldn’t keep it inside himself.

“You’re a predator now, Stiles,” the wolf breathed out with an almost proud smile, “like me.”

Stiles soaked up the sunny expression on his mate’s face, and the realization hit him hard and with no warnings. When was the last time Derek was able to experience the thrill of the hunt with someone? He was a fucking wolf, for fuck’s sake. Scott absolutely refused to do it, Allison and Lydia weren’t even worth asking and Isaac was still too weirded out by his own urges.

The last time Derek hunted with someone, just for the fun of it, was probably back when his family was alive.

But now… Now he could share this with Stiles.

“Like you,” said Stiles and smiled back.

#YEEEEHAAAW #Stiles is going to be wild in this #stiles stilinski #sterek #sterek fic #my fics #stiles x derek #derek hale #eternal sterek #hedwig221b replies #ask game

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dixonsgirl93 · 8 months

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Blood Thirsty

Rick Grimes x Fem!Reader Inspired by this post by @rickswh0r3 Warnings: blood, smut, feral horny Rick A/N: somewhat made-up scenario. I just wanted Rick feral (Woo! My first Rick Grimes fic and it's a smutty little number. Enjoy!)

Breathing heavy I shoved my knife into the nearest guy who was attempting to steal from us. I turned to Rick.

He was surrounded by 4 others, closing in. I started to run over to help. I got halfway when he'd already taken out two of them, breathing heavy and grunting with each hit he was landing as he swung his knife up into the jaw of one man. He gurgled and collapsed, clutching his throat before going still. The last man took a swing at Rick but Rick was faster, he ducked and at the same time swung his fist up into the man's jaw. There was a crack as his teeth broke, blood spewing from his mouth. He stumbled and fell but Rick got on top of him and punched his face, again, again. He was almost yelling incoherently with each hit. Then, silence as Rick stood.

The only sound was our heavy breaths as Rick stared at the bodies around us, his back hunched, grunting slightly. I hardly recognised him. His face and clothes were covered in blood, hair dripping with sweat. He looked a mess but also the sexiest I'd ever seen him.

His eyes reached mine and in three large steps he was in front of me, hands cupping my face, his lips crashed against mine, fast, hungry, teeth clashing. My arms reached instinctively up to hold him close. My heart pounded harder against my chest.

He tasted of blood and sweat but I kissed back vehemently too, craving more of him. He groaned into my mouth and moved an arm to wrap tightly around my waist. He seemed animalistic in the way he clung to me, like he was in heat.

In seconds his bloodied hands were taking off my shirt and on my breasts. He eyed me hungrily, feeling like prey beneath his stare but I was weak to it, to him, I'd give him whatever he wanted.

He turned away to pull open the back door of our car before grabbing me and almost shoving me inside. He stood at the door and hurriedly undid his belt, releasing his erection and I started taking my jeans off but again, Rick was too quick and he yanked them down to my ankles, lifting my legs.

Then he was inside me, not giving me any time to adjust as he relentlessly pounded into me, hard. I moaned loudly as his cock filled me and pumped into me. His hands gripped my hips, hard enough to bruise but I didn't care one bit.

He leaned over me in the car, lifting my legs over his head and pressing down to kiss me. He half-climbed into the car to get deeper inside and I moaned loudly with each thrust. He grunted against my lips, the metal smell of blood filling my nose.

He lifted a hand to rub circles into my sensitive clit. My cries of pleasure grew louder as my orgasm was already growing. All too soon my walls clenched as my orgasm washed over me, quickly followed by Rick filling me with his cum. He half collapsed onto me, groaning even heavier than before.

A few seconds later, when the high came down he looked up into my eyes, shooting me a cheeky smile and a quick eyebrow raise.

#twd #the walking dead #rick grimes imagine #twd rick grimes #twd rick #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x you #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes x y/n

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valiantstarlights · 11 months

Text

This spicy fic is brought to you by the meme post by @notallsandmen , my tags on that post, and feral post-midnight hyperfocus.

[At OP's request, I'm putting the two CWs before the cut as well. The 1st one is Hob suffering (in a good way) because of slutty!Dream, and the 2nd is piss kink. 😌]

"Dream."

Hob's boyfriend, the horny anthropomorphic bastard, just hums around him inquisitively and Hob has to clutch at the sheets. He literally just came a minute ago and he still feels a little overstimulated. "Darling, really, I need to go to class."

A shake of the head, with Dream stubbornly looking away from him. His tongue laps at the underside of Hob's cock. A really persuasive argument in Hob's opinion, but... "Look. I know you don't even need to breathe down there, but some of us still need to perform basic human bodily functions and--oh, fuck--"

Dream has started bobbing his head up and down again in protest, eyes now glaring balefully at Hob. The clutch of his mouth is so good and wet, his throat tight but greedy, and Hob is the one losing the battle here. Has been losing both the battle and the war, actually. (He doesn't really mind all that much.)

"Look, please, if you won't let me go to class, then at least let me go to the bathroom to pee." Even to his own ears, Hob sounds desperate. That's because he is, at this point. Dream had been on him since early last night, simply vanishing Hob's clothes when Hob protested that he literally just got home and has yet to put down his keys.

It was so hot, seeing Dream so desperate and hungry for his cock, but their play has also never lasted this long. It must be going close to ten hours by now, and Hob is going to get urinary tract infection if he persists on holding back his pee.

And yes, he's not exactly gonna die of it, but he'd really rather not experience the discomfort.

"No."

The answer came from the room itself in Dream's voice. Hob jumped a little. It felt like being in a movie theater, surrounded by the sound of the actors' voices, instead of the their voices coming from a single direction.

(Thank god he managed to hold his pee back from that jumpscare.)

"So you can speak when your mouth is full, but you're just choosing not to," Hob concludes, brushing his silly (sexy) boyfriend's hair away from his lovely face. Dream smiles smugly, or at least, as smugly as he could, with his spit shiny pink lips still wrapped around Hob's cock.

Hob sighs. "Tell me what to do then. You don't want me to go to class, fine. I'll call in sick. You want to warm my cock forever, wonderful." Dream purrs at Hob's approval of his current course of action, and the vibration travels down to the very center of Hob's body. Hob grits his teeth and tries to breathe through it. How many times has he come since last night? How many times has he come in his sleep?

Christ, it's all so ridiculous, but Hob is so stupidly in love with this impossible being between his legs that he finds even being used past the point when his balls are empty to be arousing.

"But, jesus fuck, stop deepthroating me for a second. I'm trying to have a...ah! A conversation with you here. What about my pesky biological needs? Any plans for that?"

Dream shrugs. "Let go." The sound came from the room again and not from Dream's lips.

"I beg your pardon?" Hob did not wheeze out. No, he has more dignity than that. And no, surely Dream does not mean what Hob thinks he means.

Dream huffs through his nose and sends a vision to him, an image of Dream on his front, in bed, mouth wrapped around Hob's cock, as the Hob in the vision bites his lips, a look of concentration on his face, hips and thighs twitching a little. The Dream in the vision starts sucking, and Hob saw a little trickle of watery liquid, definitely not cum, spill a little from Dream's lips.

Fuck. "You want me to..." Hob gulps. His cock twitches inside Dream's mouth. Never mind that for now. Does Dream really...Is he really asking Hob to..?

Dream rolls his eyes at him and surfaces from his deepthroat to lick at Hob's cockhead, the tip of his tongue tense and lapping at the slit on the tip of Hob's cock.

Hob curses. "Do you really want me to--fuck, Dream--calm down for a second--"

Dream ignores him and only holds on to his thighs harder, nails digging in, eyes alight with mischief and hunger both.

Hob feels like he's slowly going insane. He curses Dream a bit in his head, his depraved, diabolical, insatiable little sex kitten, and slowly lets go.

Dream, kinky bastard that he is, seals his mouth around Hob as soon as he feels Hob obeying his order and, eyes twinkling in amusement, starts drinking.

Fuck. It shouldn't be so hot watching his boyfriend drinking not only his cum but also his piss.

"Who would've known you'd be a little piss slut, huh?" Hob asks him breathlessly, fondly, still going, still feeling goddamn strange to be pissing while in bed after more than 600 years of doing it somewhere else, like a normal, civilized human, and thrusts his hips a little.

Dream moans and goes down on him deeper, one hand reaching down so he could jack himself off. You would think he was a man dying of thirst in the desert the way he's gulping Hob's piss down.

"And to think you're usually so prim and proper," Hob continues. He knows Dream loves it when Hob talks dirty, and frankly, Hob likes the pretty shade of red that spreads from Dream's face down to his lovely chest when he internalizes Hob's words. "Probably should bring you to school with me and use you whenever as my personal urinal."

Dream chokes on his moan at Hob's words and a little trickle of piss escapes from his mouth. He is quick to rectify his mistake by sealing his lips even tighter around Hob's cock and going even deeper.

"Fuck, of course you'd like that," Hob says, panting, shaking his head. He was beginning to trickle off, the worst of the pressure relieved, but he still has some left in him. "Tell me, Dream of the Endless, would you rather drink my piss just like you're doing now, or should I piss in your hole and plug you up so you could squirt everything out when we get home?"

Dream comes with a little muffled shout, a hint of teeth grazing against Hob's cock as his throat works on drinking down the last of Hob's piss.

Hob sighs and falls against the headboard, relieved that at least that's over with. He was about to pry Dream off him so he could get out of bed and cook them up some breakfast, but then Dream whines, mouth still around his cock. He still looks needy, so helplessly horny, squirming against the sheets and sucking on Hob's cock again.

Hob makes a noise that was a mix between a bark of laughter and a whine. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" he asks the ceiling. "Am I, at some point in my immortal life, going to get my cock back?"

Dream's refusal to answer that has Hob groaning into his hands.

"Fine. Fine. One more hour. I'll call the department in the meantime, and if you want some pancakes, you're not gonna act like an enthusiastic slut when I'm on the line."

Dream hums happily around him.

Hob is very not looking forward to calling in sick. He looks at Dream suspiciously. Dream looks innocently back up at him.

Yeah, no. Hob is just gonna send an email both to the department and his students.

"Good, darling?"

It has been literal hours since this morning, and Hob had only gotten his cock back around lunchtime, when his stomach growled so loudly that Dream whined in distress, probably remembering a starving Hob back in the 1600s.

Good old 1600s Hob, saving present day Hob 333 years later.

"Yes," Dream says, a bit of honey still on his lips. He has a plate of pancakes in front of him piled high with berries and drizzled liberally with honey. He looks like the cat that got the cream, caught the canary, and terrorized an entire village. "The pancakes are excellent, and I am looking forward to coming with you when you go to work so I can serve as your personal urinal. Shall we start tomorrow?"

Hob groans and bonks his head against the dining table. Maybe he should just fake his death a little earlier than usual this time.

#CW: hob suffering (in a good way) because of slutty!dream #CW: piss kink #writing this has been An Experience #am I glad of it? I have yet to decide #the title of this in my notes is 'the cake meme' because I can't call it what it is #which is 'piss kink dream being thirsty'#I am so ashamed but proud of myself at the same time 🤦‍♀️#dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs

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rriavian · 7 months

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Lemon balm-- sympathy. "Oh no. We aren't as different as I thought."

For Hobrinthian! :)

I had two different ideas for this but forgot one of them until I'd scrolled through my notes in my phone. Still! I hope you enjoy. This is actually part of a larger fic I'm writing but does (or should) make sense as a standalone. This is also so so rough but I keep staring at it and not changing anything so I need to just post it. This is a new pairing for me and I’m a little nervous but I hope you like it! :)

Lemon balm-- sympathy. "Oh no. We aren't as different as I thought."

1689

The less said about that year the better.

But what Hob will say is this.

The years leading up to that meeting could have been far far different, but even though Hob has been ignoring him since Eleanor died the Corinthian doesn’t let the mob drown him.

Somehow he knows—another instance of that same strange preternatural awareness that has befuddled Hob for centuries—has learned the townsfolks plans in time to thwart them. The result is that the Corinthian storms into his house before they arrive, ignores Hob’s alarmed shout as he drags him from it by a fistful of his hair and shoves him into a carriage waiting nearby. An explanation comes then, stilted, clipped, and then the Corinthian is half climbing inside just as Hob gathers his wits enough to stutter out an almost unintelligible plea for one last memento, the pictures he always carries not enough, there something else he doesn’t want to be lost in that house.

The Corinthian growls.

For a moment Hob fears he won’t listen—something feral in the baring of his teeth, the half snarl so familiar even twisted in anger—the golden blond of his hair turned white by the light of the moon. It glances off the lenses of the glasses too, refracts, turns them into eyes that gleam in the dark like a silver mirror of Hob’s Stranger. Then the Corinthian turns away, shoves backwards from the carriage as if needing to release tension, storms back to the house, returns far quicker than Hob thought he would. A small box is tossed his way with a sneer, an expression that remains as the Corinthian sits down opposite him without saying a single word.

Instead he raps sharply on the wood to signal they are ready to depart.

The sudden lurch into jolting movements is not so destabilising as this, as sitting opposite this unchanged creature Hob has known for two hundred years and trying not to shudder under his glare.

For a long time Hob doesn’t dare speak, has to adjust to this first, to the weight of whatever the Corinthian really is rearing out of the luring guise he wears. There is no sensual smirk obscuring it, no seduction here; Hob thinks that seething anger has never been so well communicated as in this stillness, as in how he’s being watched like prey to be culled instead of kept. It’s silence laying like a shroud, an imposition of the Corinthian’s will, but as Hob adjusts to it he thinks that, unlike the Stranger, this quiet is not quite in his gift.

It’s effective but it isn’t quite so natural.

And Hob still has time for jokes.

“Thanks for not letting me die.” He says wryly; hesitates, wonders if that sounded too glib, thinks of the box clutched in his hands and adds. “I would have been fine you know.”

“Be grateful they did not plan to try and burn you,” The Corinthian says softly; the first words he’s spoken since that curt explanation, both a stinging rebuke and an odd sort of rapture in his rolling tone, an almost longing in the picture he paints with words. “I may have been tempted to allow that.”

Hob can’t help but shudder at the very thought.

Then he opens his mouth to reply and is immediately cut off.

“Sulking for eighty odd years like a fool. Crumbling after barely three hundred years of life. You’d have deserved it if they had.” The Corinthian continues viciously, disgusted, repulsed as if he considers Hob’s admittedly pathetic state contagious. “I could have left you to die, to resurrect with the lesson still choking your lungs, allowed you to continue this pathetic cycle until you finally broke. But—“

This time the stillness makes Hob shiver.

The Corinthian’s expression is unreadable in a different way than usual.

There is an almost softness in the lines of his face, lurking in the corners of his mouth, an almost pain. Hob remembers that the Corinthian had known Eleanor too, remembers two hundred years of encounters, of being shoved down onto a bed and held there. Sometimes Hob had been the one doing the shoving. He remembers the Stranger’s question in 1589, his affront at not being asked for permission, how the Corinthian had come to him slyly that evening and laughed when Hob had glared at him because why didn’t you warn me.

“But?” Hob asks.

The expression begins to sour, some of the almost softness fading from view.

“You are his too.”

A scowl.

“So start acting like it.”

#the corinthian #the sandman #Hob Gadling #hobrinthian #my writing #fic progress

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beevean · 8 months

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@viralvava

A breeze moved Trevor's hair.

He jumped out of the way and rolled on the ground. When he regained his bearings, the tip of a large spear was where he was previously standing.

That was slightly too close for Trevor's comfort.

"You must be the other Devil Forgemaster," he greeted the man holding the weapon. From that angle, he noticed the same crest Hector sported on his back... but embedded in his skin.

"Other?" The man's - Isaac's - eyes blazed. With that bright hair and ridiculous boots, Trevor could not believe that he had managed to sneak up on him. "I did not serve Lord Dracula my whole life to be reduced to the other one. Ah, but I take that you're acquainted with the traitor, Hector?"

"I am. I've been looking for the source of the pestilence that has been plaguing the land. It appears that at last, I've found it."

Isaac placed a hand on his exposed chest, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Were you looking for me? I'm flattered."

The hairs on Trevor's neck stood up. There was something wrong about that man. It wasn't just that his clothes were rotten and falling off of his body, itself marred in a shameless display. It wasn't just that he reeked of stale blood, like a feral vampire. It was perhaps his eyes, wild and of a sickly yellow, staring at Trevor like a cat would at a succulent bird.

This Isaac would not be as easy to subdue as Hector.

"I don't think you understand the situation you're in, Devil Forgemaster," spoke Trevor, hand clutching the Vampire Killer, muscle twitching to strike at the first chance. "I cannot let you revive Dracula, nor spread misery among mankind."

"I was about to say the same thing to you," growled Isaac, himself holding his spear tighter and bracing himself. In that crouching position, he truly looked like a beast coiling to attack. "You are the filthy Belmont who killed my Lord. If you believe that you'll be walking out of this room alive and in one piece... then it will be but gratifying to show you the power of a true Devil Forgemaster."

#castlevania #prompt meme #isaavor #trevor belmont #isaac laforeze #i always wondered how their encounter went before their fight in the ruins

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chromes-corner · 2 years

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Wait wait!! I just had an idea since I heavily simp for Dark Cacao Cookie himself!! How about he secretly has a breeding kink?? His thoughts of you being pregnant with his first born (aka Dark Choco Cookie) will make him absolutely feral and crave of you so much!! He even marks you up, both of your neck and shoulders to show on how much he loves you and reader gladly shows it off by wearing a loose kimono.

- 🌹 anon (again)

*if this makes you even a bit of discomfort, feel free to delete this ask!

🌹 anon i want you to know that this request has lived rent-free in my head since the moment it flew into my inbox. did you, like, hire someone to follow me around and learn exactly what makes me tick????? because holy shit this encapsulates EVERYTHING THAT I LIVE FOR. I LOVE YOU FOR THIS. MWAH KISSES FOR YOU <3

i hope you enjoy this one bc i sure loved writing it lmao

---

Celebrations (NSFW)

Dark Cacao/AFAB!Reader

Notes: this is so fucking filthy oh my GOD

Content Warnings: NSFW. Like, very NSFW

A/N: cookie run fandom i am so sorry for this one

The hallways of the castle are bustling, same as they always are. A group of soldiers sits huddled around a table, enjoying high spirits with their overflowing mugs and boisterously jabbering between themselves. A wrestling match between two breaks out, and a crowd of tipsy, off-duty guards gathers to cheer. A gaggle of women shuffles down the hall, giggling in hushed voices as they pass by the rabble. Even a few priests, normally buried in their work, had stopped to coincide with the rowdy brawn of the soldiers. With the Wall reinforced at last, it is only natural that the hardened, world-weary citizens of Dark Cacao take a break and enjoy the finer things life has to offer — such as beating down on their fellow comrades in friendly, drunken combat.

Dark Cacao throws a glance at the celebrating soldiers. He is just as proud of their work as they are, but he lacks the time to properly commemorate the accomplishment. A member of his court walks by his side, discussing with him an upcoming council meeting on the state and future of the villages beyond the walls of the Kingdom. He nods and hums along to the man at his side, giving an occasional bit of candid input when needed. As they discuss the village representatives set to join the council at the meeting, they turn a corner, and the conversation suddenly becomes very one-sided.

You’re standing at the opposite end of the hall, beneath an ornate oil painting of the snowy landscape. You hold a smoldering stick of incense in your fingers before placing it carefully in its holder. The earthy fragrance hits his senses near-instantly, but the scent is not what causes him to trail off in the middle of his sentence.

Your robes, so often neatly wrapped around your body, now hang loosely over your figure. The collar, messily ruffled and open, leaves little to the imagination, and Dark Cacao swallows thickly as his eyes trace over the bare curve of your shoulder. On your shoulder, though, is a mark. An indent that forms a half-circle at the junction of your neck and collarbone. Dark Cacao swipes his tongue over the sharp wedges of his front teeth as he recognizes the pattern of the markings that faintly litter your skin.

His eyes travel down past your shoulders and chest — only after taking a good look at the exposed skin — and land on your stomach, where one of your hands clutches lightly at the fabric of your clothes, adjusting it to your form. The knot that secures the robes to your body is loose. The material could easily be torn from your waist. Your clothing could be pushed up or discarded. A thousand different scenarios of ripping you free of your adornments play in Dark Cacao’s head at lightning speeds, and his heart rate suddenly begins to pick up. He imagines you under him, on top of him, bent over, on your knees, and a whole cocktail of other possible positions. One image, however, sticks out from the rest.

He imagines you heavy with his child.

As his eyes trace the contour of your stomach, the thought hits Dark Cacao like a bolt from a crossbow. It’s a simple image, one that isn’t as raunchy as the rest, but it sets his gut on fire. You’re already his spouse, but to have you bear his child? It brings a new sort of arousal that sets his nerves alight and pools in his loins. There is something about it that makes the tips of his fingers twitch. Something that fills his mouth with saliva. Something that heightens every sense in his body and trains them all on you.

He has to get you alone. He has to get himself alone.

“Why don’t you celebrate our victory this evening?” Dark Cacao says all too quickly, interrupting whatever it was the young court member was worrying himself over. “The Court will not convene for a while. We will work out the finer details at a later date.”

The man folds his hands together, clearly still concerned over the meeting. He opens his mouth to argue, but then changes his mind about protesting against his King's wishes.

“Of course, my lord.” He offers a bow and quickly walks off.

No time is wasted. No hesitation occurs. You are none the wiser to the hungry eyes that roam your every edge. Dark Cacao drifts towards you, each step precise and meticulously placed. The bustle of the crowd is behind him. It is only the two of you in the hallway. Adrenaline akin to that received following a battle rages through his blood, thumping through his veins with unrelenting vigor as he closes in on his prey.

Dark Cacao wrenches you around by the shoulder and presses your back to the castle wall. You are sandwiched between unimaginable cold and palpable heat in the blink of an eye. Ragged breathing fills one of your ears as he leans in, so close you can feel the thump of his heart against your own chest. Warm puffs of air spread across the bare skin of your neck. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Though the incense beside you continues to smoke, all you can smell is the heady bitterness of the man pinning you down.

“What are these games you are trying to play with me?” His voice is so low and quiet that it merely comes out as a breathy rumble.

You sweetly hum in faux confusion. “Games? I don’t think I understand what you’re saying.”

Dark Cacao presses the flats of his teeth against the shell of your ear and snarls. “Don’t play coy with your King. Are you trying to garner the attention of all the men in the Kingdom?”

You lean in just as close as he is and drop your voice to a whisper. “No, just yours. And I can see it worked.”

Your body is flush with his, and you can feel the bump of his erection digging into your lower stomach. It only jabs you further at your insinuation.

Dark Cacao’s only answer is a gruff hmph. You can feel the vibrations of the grunt in his chest, and it sends a shiver shooting down your spine. He trails a hot exhale down your ear, then latches himself right below the point of your jaw. Sharp teeth nestle into your skin where he sucks, and when you make a noise at the sensation, those same teeth clamp down dangerously close to your vital arteries with a reverberating growl.

Your playful provocativity falters as you remember where you are. You cast a nervous glance down the hall. “Anyone could turn the corner and see us, my King.”

“And what would they do?” Dark Cacao rumbles. “Interrupt their King?”

“I suppose not,” you say, “but I would still prefer to seek privacy. That is if you plan to continue?”

Dark Cacao gives you a final nibble and pulls away with a soft pop, leaving you cold in the absence of his heat. There is no doubt in your mind that there is a large red mark on your neck, and in a very visible place, no less. The thought does not bother you nearly as much as it should. He wordlessly takes you by the hand and pulls you along, his steps swift. Though his words have been blunt and jagged, the small squeeze he gives your hand lets you know that the pointedness of his attitude is merely an act fueled by ravenous hormones.

The two of you slip through a pair of large paneled doors that lead to a dark room, illuminated only by the glow of the hushed violet flames of the braziers affixed to the walls. The walls are thick and soundproof, as when you closed the heavy doors behind you with a thunk, the room deafened to the prattle outside. A towering bookshelf makes up one of the walls, containing thick, leather-bound books of all sizes imaginable. An unlit fireplace is nestled into the far wall, behind an ancient-looking desk in the middle of the room. The wooden desk is adorned with a stack of books, and various quills and papers are scattered across its surface.

You walk lightly across the hefty fur rug that spans half the room as you are tugged deeper into the study. You’re suddenly whirled around in front of Dark Cacao, and he drives you backward until you find yourself sitting on the desk. Papers have already been sent fluttering towards the ground, and Dark Cacao shoves the remaining books aside. They fall with a heavy thump onto the stone floor.

You are not given so much as a warning before Dark Cacao notches his teeth into your skin once again. He’s taken to the other side of your neck, latching on like a wolf on a lamb and pressing his tongue flat against your fluttering pulse. His groans come out as growls, vibrating in the back of his throat, when you grasp at his hair for leverage. His hands busy themselves with shoving the fabric of your robes aside to reach the heated bareness within.

“All this festivity over the Wall and I have not yet had a chance to celebrate,” he says lowly, “until now.”

You press your cheek against his head with a satisfied sigh. “And what shall you do to celebrate, love?”

Dark Cacao stops as if in thought. The pause lasts years, it seems, as he remains frozen in place. He removes his mouth from your shoulder, the area growing cold where his saliva still lingers. Then, with a movement that slows time itself, he turns to brush his wetted lips against your ear.

Your name rolls off his tongue like it’s spelled with silk. His voice is breathless and barely louder than the soft crackling of the flames. His hand skirts down your back, dragging the material of your clothes with it. The folds slide off your shoulders and pool around your hips on the desk.

“I am going to fill you, my dear,” Dark Cacao’s voice is deathly quiet, and yet it blares in the stillness of the empty study. “And you will take every last drop. You will feel me between your legs long after I am done with you.”

Each syllable sends an electric jolt through your gut, and your legs spread subconsciously at every drawn-out enunciation. This does not go unnoticed, as Dark Cacao brings you closer to him, so close that you’re only half-sitting on the desk, and more so being supported upright by tightening your legs around his hips. He bunches up the bottom of your robes and smooths a hand up your thigh, inching over the sensitive skin at unbearably slow speeds. When he reaches your pelvis, he hums in near-surprise. He rolls his thumb over the slickness between your legs. You’re not wearing anything underneath.

Dark Cacao pulls away and closely inspects his handiwork — the marks on your neck and the flush on your face. Goosebumps rise on your skin at both the lack of contact and the way he studies every bit of you with enigmatic deliberation.

“Flip over.”

You obey without question. You stand, legs quivering, and turn around, pushing your thighs against the desk and supporting yourself with your hands. Your clothes become a heap of fabric on the floor. The dusty, polished wood beneath your palms is cool to the touch, nothing like the body that bears down on your back after a moment of adjustment.

Dark Cacao grazes his teeth over your shoulder before fitting them into the marks he had left before. His hands wander, then settle, one between your legs and the other over your sternum. Between him finding the sweet spots on your neck and his calloused fingers working your lower half, you find that you’re lowering yourself to plant your forearms firmly on the desk. Even that is too much effort as he leans some of his weight on you with a hardy clamp of his jaws, and you have no choice but to collapse entirely across the flat surface.

He once again pulls back, and you’re getting rather tired of the cold that rushes to fill the space where he once was. Dark Cacao trails a hand down your back. It leaves a trail of electricity that tingles down your spine. You shiver in anticipation.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he muses, “waiting for me to breed you. Would you like that? Do you wish for me to spill myself inside of you?”

Cheek flat against the wood and legs rubbing together, all you can offer is a weak, “Yes.”

He slides himself in with ease, and you grip the edge of the desk as he does so. Dark Cacao is so thick that your every little squirm or twitch involuntarily squeezes his girth. So delectably sleeved around him once he hilts, you can do nothing but shake and gasp once he starts rocking himself inside you. It��s slow, careful almost, as he knows how easy it would be to hurt you. While endearing, however, it’s just not enough.

“Please,” you moan, grabbing his attention.

He is attentive to your needs, leaning down and whispering, “What is it, my dear?”

“I— I need more.” You stuff your knuckles in your mouth when you hear his strangled groan. “Oh, Divines— I need all of it. Please, Dark Cacao.”

At the mention of his name, Dark Cacao’s hips buck forward. The desk beneath you screeches on the stone floor as it lurches forward, and you cry out with it. He plants his hands on the edge of the desk next to your head and snarls like an animal. When you say his name again, you are met with the same reaction.

The desk continues to rattle in protest against the floor, but all you can hear are the obscene sounds coming from behind you. The only thing on your mind is him, and your vocals reflect that as you call his name over and over and over again. Each shout becomes louder and more desperate than the last. Dark Cacao’s long hair tickles you as he leans over your back.

“I am going to fill you,” he grunts, echoing previous sentiments, but with considerably less control than before. “Would you like that? Would you like to carry my heir?”

“Yes, yes,” you whimper, white edging your vision as the spring in your gut coils tighter and tighter. “Oh Gods, I’m going to—”

“Not yet,” Dark Cacao gruffly mumbles, stroking a hand down your shoulder blade, thumbing over the angry red marks he had previously left.

His pace is unrelenting, pushing you back and forth on the table like you’re weightless. Your heels bounce from the ground at the force of every thrust, filling you entirely before he pulls himself nearly all the way out, and the cycle begins again. You beg for release with each pass, your entire body on fire and sparks flying in your vision. The burning coil in your stomach threatens to shatter

You say his name, just like you have countless times before. “Dark Cacao, please, come inside me. Give me a baby,” you cry.

Dark Cacao’s pace becomes sloppy and erratic, entirely offbeat from the perfected metronome of before. His pupils constrict into slits and he roars. It’s feral and it’s abrupt and it pushes you over the edge. Your vision is washed over with white as every muscle in your body pulses, your fingernails digging into the wood and your feet scrabbling for purchase. You can feel him twitch inside you, and after a final pump, your insides are coated with his seed.

Though your lower half is now entirely numb, having ridden off your high, you can still feel the liquid seeping within you. Dark Cacao, fully spent, pulls out — only after making sure every last drop was deposited within — and you can feel him behind to drip down your legs. Two sets of heavy breathing fill the room as you huff and puff, attempting to regulate your lungs. You try to get up, but your weak legs buckle underneath you.

Dark Cacao catches you and hefts you onto the desk, not caring about the mess he’s made of you. He dips back down to your neck, this time giving it feather-light kisses. He traces over the fresh indents he’s made with a gentle finger, softly and delicately.

“Our child will be perfect,” he sighs, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles sweetly, as though he didn’t just wreck your entire shit. “We will try as many times as it takes to bring ourselves a little heir.”

“Dark Cacao…” you say quietly, suddenly nervous about a truth you’ve withheld. You brush the wild, unkempt hair from his face. “About that…”

He looks at you expectantly, eyes wide and clutching your hand in his.

Your lips purse over a wide smile that threatens to break free. “I’m already pregnant.”

#cookie run x reader #dark cacao cookie x reader #nsft

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ssreeder · 1 year

Note

ahhhhh sreedie I lost track of tiiiiime I missed an updateeee

but ykw that means?? you get double the amount of blather from yours truly this time around :D

lmao finally sokka is getting some sword training that isn’t zuko hitting him with a stick when he gets his form wrong

sorry sorry but sweaty sokka is making me think of this one tv show where the main character is panicking bc she has to distract this guy and what she decided to say as a distraction tactic is “I feel.. sticky” and I almost died of second hand embarrassment.

anyways sweaty sokka supremacy this boy needs more minor inconveniences to balance out the major inconveniences that bulldoze over his hopes and dreams

honestly I think sokka is coping pretty well given the circumstances

I’m going to expose myself here but when suki finally reunited with sokka I will admit I was physically wiggling in excitement

aw suki your girlhood dreams are about to be pulverised :((

also can I just say I adore you bc you’ve managed to perfectly balance the fact that suki is a teenage girl with what she thinks is a requited crush BUT ALSO she’s a leader and a tactician and is aware of anomalies in her surroundings at all times

slay kovi my new fav

ALSO ALSO I HAD THIS REALISATION LIKE LAST WEEK BUT WE’RE GETTING MORE AZULA WHICH MEANS WE’RE ALSO GETTING MORE CHEN OR CHAN OR CHANG OR WHATEVER THE ZHAOS BROTHER IS CALLED I FORGOT IM SO SORRY

yoooo suki coming in clutch with the gossip besties

SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV ok yeah I’m gonna be Sooo much more annoying about shen than anybody ever was about reho. now your never gonna wanna remarry me :(

shen is more dedicated to complaining about his sore ass than zuko is to self preservation fr

zuko and shen banter that’s actually purposeful verbal attacks but I’ll pretend is banter bc it’s funny >>>

it’s not Actually funny but it’s lowkey hilarious that shen is like “fuck now I gotta be chivalrous and save zuko over myself if I ever get the chance why must I be such a gentleman woe is me” like bestie if you really didn’t want to help zuko you could just.. Not

also I think you’re handling like the racist propaganda of the fire nation about the other nations really well btw!!

lmao not morrak singling sokka out as an instigator for potential mass injury so blatantly

okay sad that sokka is suffering with communication BUT HOPEFULLY when (and I mean WHEN sreedie istg) zukka are reunited he’ll maybe have a better time trying to get zuko to like.. actually fucking talk about how he’s feeling??? maybe?? a girl can dream okay. but also it’s so real to like not be able to open up to people able difficult topics (not that I have anywhere Near the trauma these boys have) just bc you haven’t yet started talking to someone about them and it’s overwhelming to even think where to begin bc it feels like even if you could figure it out it’ll be impossible to actually convey all the nuance of how you’re feeling bc there’s just so much of it

AUNT WU pls sokka enjoy hating on spirit shenanigans I was you to experience some joy

ohoho please PLEASE let quon’s assholery and ambition bite him in the ass P L E A S E sreedie I’m begging

dude not zuko genuinely considering whether he would maintain his pride better by literally shitting his pants. I can’t anymore with this boy

“are you a good person shen”

“not all the time”

WHAT A SLAY ANSWER OMFG HES AN ICON HES A LEGEND HES-

I’m not sure whether to be scared that quon Will be worse than zhao or laugh at quon’s confidence bc there’s no way he’s worse than zhao

quick question sreedie umm how hasn’t zuko lost any teeth yet am I just supposed to suspend my disbelief about how many times he can get punched in the jaw and not suffer some serious dental damage

awww shen you DO care about zuko :3

genuinely living for shen’s belaboured feral pygmy puma dad era that zuko is forcing him to suffer through its glorious

listen all shen needs to do is leverage sokka against zuko?? like literally just bitch at him about how if he gets himself killed then sokka will be distraught and that’s like at least 60% of his attitude issues solved

do I dislike jet? yeah. do I think it’s going to be wildly entertaining to have him along for the journey? yeah.

NOT MORE OF THE FUCKING BENDER SUPPRESSANTS FUCK OFF ohohoho alas quon you are unaware about zuko being bloody superhuman when it comes to this drug

I was going to say something else but now I have forgotten but!! it’s okay bc now I am going to read the second chapter and hopefully I’ll remember it at some point when I’m writing my next comment >:)

I have been thinking of answering your asks for DAYYYYSSSSS but these damn holidays don’t wanna let me DO IT. But don’t worry ex-lover I am here!

Suki & Sokka reuniting is amazing! She is going to be a good influence on him, I feel it in my BONES!

Or he will gaslight her into thinking he is fine & she won’t be able to help with Shiiit….

Sokka hasn’t spoken to ANYONE about what happened to him except Zuko. & even his dad & Bato got the “safe version” so yeah opening up or even beginning to accept that this is a topic he will EVENTUALLY have to find words to communicate is very difficult… for some people it’s impossible. So I do feel bad for Sokka he isn’t an in easy spot.

It’s funny you mention teeth this was like a big convo in the server today so I’m going to go ahead & say zukos teeth are blessed by Agni themselves so they will not break or fall out it’s canon don’t question me.

Shens teeth are not though

I have my hand pressed against the glass window of my house staring across at your house because we don’t live together anymore but I miss you…..

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goldenrevelries · 1 year

Note

If it’s alright, maybe Gamma and Aria (khr) for your ship requests? I never see anything for them and they’re just adorable

i hope i did them justice, anon! :3c (i surprisingly enjoyed writing about them omg and please ignore any mistakes/typos!! wrote this on my phone ahaha!)

also, sorry for the late posting, I'm a slow writer 😔

Lichtenberg figures

an Aria x Gamma (KHR) drabble

cw // violence, coarse language, slight mention of alcohol

note: to be expanded and posted to ao3

Gamma isn't sure how he's sitting in the Giglio Nero Famiglia's reception room, clutching a tea cup filled with what he discerns to be Earl Gray and avoiding eye contact with one of her Guardians eyeing him like he was a bug under his shoe.

Sighing, he stares out the floor-to-ceiling window but angles his body so that he can still see the other man in his peripheral vision.

—

It went like this:

As a freelance assassin, Gamma is free to choose any of the hits his multiple contacts with various Families occasionally put on the table.

And, it just so happens, Gamma chooses the hit of one small Family he barely spares a thought to.

It'll be easy! his contact says.

Half a day, tops! he says.

You'll be a 100,000 richer! he fucking says.

And, like the idiot he is, Gamma shrugs and takes the job.

Once he had enough information to go forward with the assassination, Gamma gets comfortable on his stomach at a rooftop across a quaint café. His target, a woman with a curious tattoo under her left eye, arrives but he hasn't even peered through the scope before he feels the unmistakable press of a barrel against the back of his head.

Biting back a curse, Gamma freezes, mind whirling a mind a minute. He hadn't even heard the bastard move, much less open the door to the roof!

Damn, damn, damn!

"Remove your hands from the sniper rifle. Slowly."

Gamma gives a minute growl and flexes his hands.

The gun presses harder. "Now."

Knowing that he wouldn't survive a point-blank shot to the head, Gamma obeys.

The last thing he sees is the way the woman darts her eyes to lock with his then she grins and waves.

His mouth barely drops into an outraged gasp before the goon behind him raises his gun and clocks Gamma against the back of his head in one smooth motion.

Darkness is a welcome feeling. At least he can inconvenience the fucker in hauling his lax body to wherever they are planning to interrogate him.

—

He wakes up to a raging headache and, surprisingly, hands and feet not tied to anything.

As he adjusts to being awake, Gamma swears to raze his sleazy as fuck contact to the ground until his Family won't even recognize him. By the rumors he had heard from various credible sources, the jackass won't be missed, what with his... dipping into different pastures, so to speak.

Gamma blinks.

He's on couch?

Alright, either this Family is strong enough to leave a potential threat untied or composed entirely of noobs.

"Believe you me, one Guardian is enough to put you down for even thinking of harming our boss."

Gamma snaps his head up and sees a man glaring at him, arms crossed on his chest. Clenching his jaw, Gamma berates himself once he realizes he had spoken his thought out loud.

He stays silent.

The other man snorts. "Don't worry, Boss will be here shortly." Tilting his head, he moves away from the door he was leaning against. "Hmph, sooner than you think."

The words aren't even completely out of his mouth before the double doors open.

Gamma braces himself.

"Join my Family."

With the image of the Giglio Nero's Boss grinning with a glint in her eyes and her teeth bared too widely to not be considered feral, Gamma promises to buy himself a delectable wine bottle and get absolutely smashed because what. The. Fuck.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #aria khr #gamma khr #aria x gamma #khr request

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paper-sunset · 2 years

Text

Sharp Things

(Warning: HEAPS of violence)

Here’s a little drabble I wrote for a Vampire AU. In the aftermath of Bobby’s rampage, he confronts Hunter.

I probably won’t share this on AO3 so I’ll leave it here. :)

*****

“You stink- you’ve been feeding.”

Bobby pushed past him, but AJ grabbed his arm, tight. Bobby looked down at the hand encircling his wrist and snarled.

Still high on fury and fresh blood, Bobby reveled in the newfound knowledge of just how strong he was now. He looked at the possessive grip and smirked. He didn’t belong to anyone anymore. With a growl in his throat, Bobby slammed back hard against the man looming over him.

But AJ didn’t move. He was still clutching his wrist. Tighter now, twisting.

“Let go of me,” Bobby spit in his face, not backing down.

“You went feeding.” AJ’s dark eyes loomed over him unflinching.

“What’s it to you?”

“You stink of them. It’s all over you,” AJ said with disgust, inching closer. He kept raising Bobby’s unwilling wrist higher in the air.

Glancing up and down AJ’s face, Bobby unhappily tugged at his wrist, not wanting to hear the lecture. He had never felt so free, so powerful. It didn’t matter that AJ gave him that, wasn’t going to apologize, not after finishing what he started.

With a dramatic eye roll, Bobby wiped the back of his hand across his still blood stained mouth. “Yeah, I got my fill.”

AJ narrowed his eyes as Bobby tongued along the side of his palm, catching any stray drops that had been on his chin.

The blow to the side of his head was swift and jarring. After fighting all night, he thought he could handle his own, but this would have knocked his teeth out if they weren’t fangs. He reeled on his feet, turning on his sire.

“You stupid, impulsive whore! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hunter screamed in his face. Bobby didn’t have time to react before his body was thrown into the wall.

Shaking his head, Bobby tried to focus through the sharp pain piercing him. He stomped down the side of him that wanted to bare his neck and ask for forgiveness, and instead tried back on his feet.

“What’s wrong with me? The fuck’s wrong with you?” Spurred on with the pain Bobby swung back at the taller man. He leaned his weight into the hit and ended up stumbling when his fist didn’t connect.

With a feral noise, Hunter grabbed Bobby and flung him to face the other direction like he was nothing but a ragdoll, and closed in from behind. He was pressed up against him, like a cruel reminder of what he used to be. His paw gripped him at the neck, leaning over him.

“Self-destructive whore. That’s what you are.” Hunter taunted in his ear. With a strangled noise, Bobby thrashed and clawed at him, trying to fight back against the iron grip. “You didn’t stop to think for one fucking second, did you?”

“Get the fuck off me!” Bobby screamed, kicking and throwing his head back.

A threatening growl grumbled out from the taller man while he shifted his grip to snatch Bobby’s wrist out of the air, once again.

Effortlessly, he raised Bobby’s own hand in front of his face. Slowly the fight leeched out of him and into the floor below his feet. The broad chest behind him left no room for escape.

One by one, AJ unwrapped his fingers from around his wrist until they were both staring at the open wound still there. The fresh bite marks.

“Nothing,” AJ spit ferociously straight into Bobby’s ear. “But. A whore.”

Feeling uncomfortably like a petulant teenager, Bobby pulled his hand back but Hunter kept his grip at the neck, forcing his head to tilt.

Squirming with defiance, Bobby snarled, “I’d do it again.”

His eyes were watering with the pressure on his neck. With one last valiant elbow to the ribs, Bobby tried to break free but Hunter’s grip tightened until he heard a snap and break. His body was shattered with pain. He felt a dying cough in his throat, unable to work, gurgling with blood and air.

With a deep and threatening gravel to his voice, AJ spoke into his ear, “I didn’t turn you so you could fuck up everything I’ve worked for in one night.”

Hunter let his free hand travel down over Bobby’s stomach, his hip, to land at his crotch where he gripped unkindly. With a sharp inhale, Bobby flinched.

“Don’t forget who you belong to,” growled Hunter.

Bobby’s hands were slapping against the floor, catching his fall before he realized he was released. The flood of pain throughout his body was shocking. He could heal from this, he could stand and fight. With one last vestige of anger that hadn’t yet been drowned out by the choking blackness that was threatening to overtake him, Bobby looked over his shoulder.

“Learn to behave, or I’ll put you down myself,” threatened AJ. He looked down at Bobby on all fours, struggling to stay conscious, with utter disgust and disdain.

Before Bobby could spit out the insult on his tongue the heel of AJ’s boot hit his temple and everything went black.

*****

#Drabble #NP: Vamp AU #Whats the opposite of a one-shot?#Context-heavy one-shot #In the middle of another story #But that story is also not written #This is basically for a very small handful of people who know what's going on

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futzilee · 3 months

Text

Guys you'll never believe it I'm indulging in fanfiction culture (it's Chevron and Error time)

Who tf is Chevron? Maybe I'll post ab him once I uh. Learn how to draw 💀

Anyway

“Why do you ALWAYS show up whenever I'm trying to do something?” Chevron snarled as Error, as always, conveniently arrived after Chevron went to great lengths to get rid of Frisk. Error simply closed the portal he came through as Chevron snapped, “Don't you have the ability to destroy an AU without needing me to do the hard part? Oh wait, you can't. ”

Error approached Chevron, his yellow teeth in a wide smile. “You just make my life so much easier… it’s motivating to get to work when the work’s already halfway done, dontcha think?”

The human grasped onto the lingering soul and backed away. Error wouldn’t be destroying the soul this time. This time, Chevron was going to win, and figure out how to get the determination from the soul and put it into his own… somehow. He had practiced since the last time this happened… which was a staggering 3 days ago.

Error shrugged, scraped some monster dust off his teeth, and flicked it back into the dusty atmosphere. Chevron’s chest tightened. “You know, it sure would make my job a lot easier if you just handed the soul over this time. I’m still recovering from the last time you ‘fought’ me.” Error snickered and resumed closing the gap between himself and Chevron.

Chevron wanted to say something but felt Undyne pushing her way to the surface of his soul, leaving him completely unable to act for himself.

“You wanna say that again, PUNK?” Chevron challenged, the cadence of his voice changing slightly to better match that of the Royal Guard’s. He stomped his foot into the ground and grilled it in, leaning forward with his fists pulled up. “I’ll take you out in a fight ANY DAY OF THE WEEK! You’re nothing but a weak-headed, stupid-sighted bully and I, Undyne-Chevron, will strike you down!!”

Error simply waved away the absurdity. “Call me whatever you want. You’re just a freak anomaly that shouldn’t exist. I’ll actually get rid of you this time.”

Chevron huffed out a misshapen spear and clutched it in his hand, summoning more pathetic, crooked spears (half of them resembled unbaked cookie dough) and aimed them all at Error. “Aim” might be too strong a word. It was more like… they flew out in all directions and maybe one or two sort of flew towards Error. The skeleton didn’t even need to move to dodge the attack.

“Nyagh… what the hell?? Why isn’t it working?” Chevron tried summoning another magic attack, sweat quickly forming a puddle on his forehead. Error summoned his magic attack, a gaster blaster, and blasted Chevron.

Chevron forced his way back to the top of his soul, kicking Undyne out of the driver's seat. Though he hated it, Chevron knew this song and dance from way before he met Error. He healed himself with some spider cider he had snagged on his way through the Ruins and cast the magic attack he practiced: a swarm of magic insects.

Error desperately swatted at the bugs while Chevron took a much-needed breath from his inhaler. His attack didn't last long, dispersing mere seconds after swamping Error. The human grabbed at the soul again, Error having the same idea (only his idea of “grabbing” was using magic blue strings).

The skeleton yanked the soul toward him, forcing Chevron to trip and rip a hole in the knee of his black leggings. Error tugged again to get the soul loose from Chevron but he clutched onto it with vigor. Using his free hand, Chevron produced a shovel from his infinitely resourceful sleeve and batted at Error.

The glitchy skeleton threw his arm to the opposite side, slamming both Chevron and the soul into a cavern wall. The shovel went flying into a little pool of water. A cough forced itself out of Chevron's chest, staining the ground in front of him with a splatter of blood. He regained his balance enough to grab onto Error’s strings, going full feral mode and biting at them to try to cut them loose from the precious heart-shaped container of pure determination.

Error’s entire body spazzed out and his already poor eyesight worsened with the addition of a thousand “ERROR” messages. Chevron grabbed onto the strings and forced them off the soul, took another breath from his inhaler, and sent a much smaller wave of insects toward the other.

“UGH… This is so ANNOYING,” Error bemoaned. He took a step back, summoned a dozen more gaster blasters, and fired them willy-nilly. Chevron carefully danced around the Ruins to avoid getting hit and his soul stirred as such a beautiful place was set ablaze. Toriel couldn't stand to watch it, either. She forced herself to the forefront, just as Undyne had.

Wordlessly, effortlessly, Chevron summoned a fire attack and fired it at Error, who finally lost balance and fell into the water. He glitched tf out and fought to get out of the water but found himself slipping. Toriel retreated and allowed Chevron control over his own body once more. Chevron inched towards Error and looked down at him trying to make out what was happening.

“I'll just be taking this. Maybe someone will come and save you. Consider this,” he took another breath, “one victory for me.”

Chevron swung himself around when several red, glitched-out bones flew from Error and impaled Chevron's chest. They ruined the froggit hoodie, too. The human collapsed and coughed out more droplets of blood, clinging to the ground as if it were his lifeline. The ruined world around him blurred and in the corner of his eye, he saw two unfamiliar humans, a man and a woman, hovering over him.

Stay determined.

To ruin the mood, a dark puddle of ink formed just a few feet away from Chevron's dying body. Another skeleton-this one covered in epic paint-splatter tattoos-sprung out. He observed the damage and pulled out his paintbrush to fix the Ruins before returning to Mr. Spazz and Future Tweenage Corpse. He acknowledged the dust and the Frisk corpse and rubbed his eye sockets.

“Dream, I need you in here real fast,” Ink said to the static atmosphere, summoning another skeleton. This one had the coolest outfit of them all—a golden cape-dress-thing, a sleeveless top with bicep-length gloves, a bow (for shooting), and a crown. He was also the guardian of all positive feelings.

“Yeah, Ink?” Dream collected himself and observed his surroundings. “Ah, oh.” He looked down at Chevron. “There's so many feelings coming from them.”

“Cthulu?” Ink questioned.

“Stripe,” Error corrected, still spazzing out in the pool.

Ink was already spaced out from the conversation.

“No… his name was… um…” Dream pressed a thumb to his chin. “Shelly… no…. Shantel…tron? Anyways… it seems so crowded in there… how can so many emotions fit inside such a tiny person…?”

“Uh, yeah, that's cool,” Ink interjected, “but ever since Champaign showed up, they've been having these massive fights with Error and honestly I'd rather hang out in the AUs than protect them all the time, you get what I'm saying?” Ink's left eye looked like it was having a seizure as he tried to wink at Dream.

“You should want to protect the AUs, Ink, but… having Tron around makes it hard for me to find certain people. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Dream glanced at Ink, whose face was still seizing. “Oh, okay. I get the kid and you get Error?”

“Yes-siree!” Ink stopped making his face wig out and body-slammed Error out of the water, allowing him to finally stop glitching out. (”Dont TOUCH ME—!!¡¡!”) Dream carefully unskewered Chevron and helped him stand up. After a few pats on the back and some bs Dream magic, Chevron was back to normal. Health-wise. His hoodie and leggings were still ruined.

“What? There's even more Sanses?” Chevron mumbled.

Ink chimed, “Yup-! I'm Ink, this is Dream, and we're sending you on a deluxe vacation!”

Before Chevron could even think to respond, Dream and Ink shoved Chevron and Error through a portal where they landed smack-dab in the middle of an empty, foggy, miserably flat field.

#undertale #undertale au #error sans #ink sans #dream sans #original character #fanfiction #story chapter

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hisautumnrose · 1 year

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Christmukkah smut

I hummed to myself as I flitted around the kitchen, finishing up the last of the holiday baking. Laughter floated around me as I sang Mariah Carey into the end of my rolling pin. Arms wrapped around me from behind and my husband rewarded my cheeriness with lots of nuzzling and happy sighs. I relaxed against him and started to ask him about his thoughts on the shape of one of our cookie cutters as his kisses grew more insistent against my neck. My thoughts eluded me as my focus shifted to the delightful sensation. An anticipatory shiver danced across my skin and his hands slid down to my hips. I could feel his warm thumbs skim across my skin under the edge of my tee shirt. Suddenly more than finger tips pressed against me and he took my breath catching in my throat as an affirmative. All at once my hips were pressed against the counter and his hands flipped up the back of my skirt. His hard cock strained against his jeans and my skin felt like electric as the sound of his zipper joined the chorus of our excited breaths. A whine caught in my throat as I ground my ass back against him. A groan whipped around me and I flushed at his clear response to me. He pressed me harder against the counter and rubbed his still clothed cock against my panty covered cunt. The smell of sugar and vanilla overwhelmed me as he gripped my hips and began to dry hump me with more frenzy. There is no gentleness here, only playfulness teetering on the edge of spiraling into desperate need. One of my hands laid flat against the counter top, keeping me from falling forward as he thrust harder, and one hand drifted up to caress my tits. Suddenly air danced on my skin as my panties were yanked aside. With no ceremony his cock pushed forward and he filled my already sopping cunt. I bit back an appreciative moan as he pulled away only to snap his hips back against me. His fingers bruised my waist as he fought to measure his strokes but my moans turned begging were all the consent he needed. A kiss pressed to the back of my neck and then a more feral rhythm began. His left hand skimmed up my stomach to grasp my bouncing tit. His fingers twirled and kneaded my flesh as he filled my hole again and again. I could think of nothing but the swirl of sensations, the pad of his thumb brushing over my nipple, his nails clutching my hip, his cock stretching me as it slipped somehow deeper, his breath on the back of my neck. Filthy sounds spilled from my mouth and he echoed his own need. His teeth found my skin as his jackhammer pace grew even more erratic. Harder and harder, deeper and deeper, he pounded out his place in my pussy. My eyes lifted to the window and I watched the snow outside before my breath caught and I felt his seed fill my dripping cunt. Even as he came he continued to thrust, painting my insides with his need. The warmth disappeared as he pulled his cock from its place and I was suddenly being spun around. My ass was pressed against the cabinets as he dropped to his knees in front of me. His fingers filled my cunt and his eyes met mine before he wrapped his lips around my clit. Deep moans rose from my chest as he abused my cunt and devoured me. His right hand gripped the back of my thigh as he rammed his fingers into me again and again. His tongue dipped into my slit before returning to my sensitive clit. My breath began to come in shallow pants as the sensations overwhelmed me. I cried out my release as he continued to fuck me. He stared into my eyes as I rode the waves and he sucked my slick off his fingers. The smell of our juices mingled with the smell of warm cookies and I could think of no better way to celebrate the holiday.

#christmukkah #smut #ho ho ho #take my chimney #christmas #cookies #hannukah #pinned #take me from behind

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wkemeup · 3 years

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Play Pretend

summary: When Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 7.8k warnings: smut (18+), sex pollen (with as much consent as one can have in a dub/con trope)

“What in the—” you slammed an elbow to the nose of the assailant behind you, “holy,” a quick right jab to another coming up on your left, “godforsaken,” a knee plunged straight to your ribs and you kicked to the assailant who managed to get one up on you, “hell, Rogers!”

Another body fell to the ground and settled at the collection at your feet.

Dripping in sweat, heart pounding in your chest, and your body short of giving out completely, you slumped a shoulder against the cold frame of the wall. Down the hall, at least a dozen more Hydra agents were barreling towards you.

There was no response on the coms; not that you expected as much. The Hydra base in Munich you were tasked with rigging to blow was meant to be abandoned. Nothing left but a dozen empty cells and decades of barbaric research no one should ever lay eyes on again.

Seemed Captain Roger’s intel was just slightly off. Tell that to the series of bodies lying in your wake.

“You better send backup, Rogers, or I swear to God I’ll haunt your star-spangled ass for all eternity,” you grumbled to the broken transmission as you attempted to square up. Fists out ahead of you, swaying slightly on weakened legs, a dizziness in your vision making it hard to tell exactly how many men were charging straight at you.

“What? I’m not enough for you?” Bucky suddenly appeared on your right, chuckling to himself as he released the empty magazine from his weapon and quickly replaced it with a new one. Blood was soaked into his hair line, mixing with the sweat beaded on his forehead, and he brushed the back of his hand against his face to smear it back into his hair.

“About time you showed up. Making me do all the hard work myself,” you scoffed, shooting him a teasing smile as you eyed the hallway he came rushing in from.

He insisted you’d be out in time for movie night back home if the two of you split up, divided the C4 amongst you and met back at the quinjet in twenty. Not even his super soldier instincts could have predicted this place would be overrun with stray Hydra agents looking for a rematch.

One of the agents opposing you whipped out a handgun and Bucky jumped forward, using his left arm as a shield. The bullets ricocheted across the room, puncturing into another Hydra agent who collapsed to the ground clutching his knee.

You exhaled a heavy breath, the edges of your lips dipping down into a frown as you watched more agents stepping over the bodies of their colleagues and advancing down the hallway. You glanced up at Bucky, watching as he weighed the rifle in his hands, bouncing it lightly. It was running low on ammo.

“You get anyone on coms yet?”

“Nothing. We’re on our own.” Bucky gritted his teeth, firing a few rounds down at the mass of Hydra agents swarming their way towards you. It knocked a few of them down, at least.

You started to take a few steps in their direction, yanking a knife from the spine of an agent on the ground before you whipped it down at the ones ahead of you, knocking another to the ground. The echo of gunfire tore through the cramped hall again and it left a pile of men at the front lines.

Four left.

“That was my last round,” Bucky grunted, tossing the weapon to the floor as he tugged a small blade from the holster on his thigh. He smirked as he glanced over at you through the corner of his eye. “Who do you want?”

You shrugged, studying the four agents who came to a slow halt at the opposite end of the hallway. The two on the left looked about as you’d expected from Hydra agents; tall, dark haired, with shoulders twice as wide as their hips and a vicious kind of look in their eyes. Then, a blonde-haired woman who couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Bucky, a hand resting impatiently on the knife against her hip. Last, a man who towered at least two feet above the others with a long, jagged scar covering most of his face.

“I’ll take the two on the right.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, glancing between you and your chosen assailants. The taller one cracked his neck to the side and bared his teeth.

“You’re sure?”

You feigned offense; a hand pressed your heart as you took a few steps forward, sliding the batons out from the holsters along your shoulder blades and twirling them between your fingers. “You underestimate me, Barnes. You think I’d let you have all the fun?”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he jogged to catch up with you, disregarding the battle cries of the Hydra agents as they advanced as if it was only ever the two of you in the room. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.”

The blonde woman stared to advance on Bucky, eyes trailing him up from his boots to the top of his head with a devilish kind of look in her stare. She licked at her lips hungrily, as if she was ready to take a bite into him, though he paid her no mind as he rushed at the two men to her right.

“Hey, Barbie!” you called, waving a baton in the air to grab her attention. “Looks like your stuck with me.”

She glared at you, pausing in her strut for only a minute, but it was all you needed. You sprinted towards her, using the wall as leverage as you jumped up against the frame to propel yourself into her. Baton at ready, you slammed down into her collarbone as she let out a yelp and fell down to the ground. It didn’t take her long to get back on her feet and when she did, her knife was nestled tight into her grip, a new kind of intrigue on her face as she stared you down.

“Need any help over here?” Bucky called out from the end of the hallway as he ducked under the right hook of one of his assailants. He clipped one in the knees, sending them spiraling to the floor with a pained shout, before he smirked over in your direction.

“Mind your business, Barnes!” You rolled your eyes as a smile crept up against your lips.

Barbie took a single glance back at Bucky before her eyes returned to you and there was something darker within her stare you didn’t quite notice, or perhaps you simply mistook it for enemy territory. Either way, when she raised her arm with knife in hand, you whipped around the baton in a backhanded strike, sending the knife flying down the hall. Unarmed, she stared at you with wide, fearful eyes, until you knocked her out with a final hit to the side of her. Nothing fatal, but it would keep her under until backup arrived to hull her in.

Bucky was still fighting off his second attacker as you approached the man leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, patiently waiting. He pushed himself off the wall, cracked his knuckles between his palms with sharp snaps that echoed down into the hallway.

“Think you can take me, little girl?” he taunted, voice low and thick, like it had gone years in disuse. He made a show of the way he settled into his stance; fists held out in front of him, shadow boxing in an attempt to intimidate you. It seemed to catch him off guard when you rolled your eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” you shrugged, “and frankly, I’d like to go home. So, let’s make this quick.”

The arrogant smirk dropped from his face, replaced quickly with a wash of rage that a woman half his size would dare mock him in such a way. But he was clumsy in his stance and in his swings, so you saw each of his moves coming a mile ahead. With every right hook, you slid under his arm and stepped out behind him. In every jab, you side stepped out of reach. He exhausted himself while you made little effort in your defense. Without a single offensive throw, he was panting in a matter of minutes.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he bellowed, loud enough to make Bucky pause for a moment and you winced as his assailant took advantage of the moment to get in a punch to his jawline. He recovered quickly, giving you the security to face your own attacker head on. The Hydra giant was dripping in sweat, red in the face, teeth bared and near feral. “Fight me!”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

As he threw his next swing, you met it with the brunt of your baton, stilling him in his stance. He stared at you, wide eyes and jaw slacked, as you winked at him and dove under his legs. Before he could manage to turn around, you flicked at switch at the bottom of the batons which emitted an electrical pulse from the top edge and plunged it into the man's neck.

He convulsed, gargling out a few incoherent words, before he collapsed to the floor at your feet. You grinned, sliding the batons into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

“Alright, I take it all back,” Bucky’s voice chuckled from behind you. “You don’t need me at all.”

You laughed, shaking your head as several strands fell down into your face, lost to the bun at the top of your head in the struggle. As you turned to face Bucky, you found him standing with his hands planted on his hips and the brightest smile on his face, one that took him years to find again since you first met him and damn if it wasn’t one of the most beautiful sights you’d ever seen.

But then, there was a sudden rush of movement on the ground. One of the Hydra agents wrestled back up to his feet behind Bucky, a malice imbedded deep into his glare, a determination as he rushed forward.

There was little time to think as you lunged for the knife you broke free of the blonde agent’s hand and whipped it across the room. It plunged straight into the man’s jugular and he fell backwards, hands sliding out from around Bucky’s neck as blood coated the tile floors.

“Shit,” you panted, hands on your knees. “You okay?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Slowly, heart pounding in your chest, you glanced up to find him pulling a syringe from his neck. He stared at it for a second, stunned as a few stray droplets dripped from the edge of the needle before he dropped it to the ground, letting it slip out from his fingers limply. The vile was empty as it rolled along the tile and settled against the dead body of its owner.

“Bucky?”

There was a sudden, paralyzing dread that swept over his features, one that seemed to worsen as his eyes fell upon yours. Then, his knees started to buckle, his stance falling unsteady and you rushed forward, darting under his arm to catch him before could lay amongst the bodies of Hydra agents. He was shaking, hands trembling, and you could feel the sharp rise and fall of his breath as you held him steady.

“We have to get you out of here,” you said, trying to push down the panic etching its way up your spine, but Bucky shook his head.

“No time.” It was all he could mutter out.

“Bucky, you've just been injected with God knows what and we need to get to you a medic or—”

“There,” he grunted, pointed to an open room at the end of the hallway. With a thick, metal door and dozen locks lining the outside, it was more of a cell than a room. You started to shake your head, but Bucky gripped tight to your arm. “Y/n, please.”

You watched him carefully, noticed how he couldn’t seem to meet your eye, how sweat was beading at his hairline more profusely than it was in the midst of a battle, how his breaths were broken and trembling on every exhale.

“Okay, okay. Hold on.” You slowly guided him to step over the bodies at your feet, most unconscious, others not as lucky, and swiftly led him into the cell. It seemed to put him at ease as you aided him to sit on one of the metal chairs at the center of the room. As you released your touch from his arm, a rush of what appeared to be pain twisted into his facial features though he tried to hide it.

“So, what do we do now?” you asked. “I could try to find the lab. They could have counteractants to whatever this is. Or I could try to fix the coms... but we all know Parker’s a lot better with that stuff than I am.”

You laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room, but it was so thick you could have cut through it with the blunt edge of your baton. Bucky’s eyes were glued to the floor, his hands curling around the undersides of the chair until the metal warped under his grip.

“You need to leave.”

Your smile dropped. “What? No, are you crazy? I’m not leaving you alone after—”

“Go!” His voice boomed against the walls and you tried not to let the shock startle you.

“Bucky, stop. That’s not happening.” You dug your fingers into your hips as you paced back over the door, stole a quick glance in both directions. It was still empty save for the bodies lying in your wake. It seemed you and Bucky were entirely alone. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “We’ll figure something out, okay? We always do. This can’t be worse than the time we were buried in that old chevy under twelve feet of snow in Alaska last year, can it?”

You shot him a grin, hoping to ease him, though it did little use. His face was red, jaw stoned. He looked like he was barely breathing.

“You’re not hearing me,” Bucky groaned, his voice molding into something darker. “You're not safe here. You need to leave. Now. Before I... Before I can’t control this. Before I hurt you.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about? Do you… Do you know what that stuff was?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away from you the best he could. He let out a pained groan and kicked the chair out from under him. It slammed against the wall with a harsh clash and forced a skip in your heartbeat, a hand darting up to your chest. Bucky leaned over the table, trying to find support, but he ended up gripping onto the sides hard enough to dent imprints in the shape of his hands.

You rushed forward, desperate to help because you couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It touched upon the thick straps of Kevlar for only a second, and still, it was enough to elicit a visceral reaction. He whined, something between a moan and cry, and he slumped down out of your reach.

“Don’t touch me,” Bucky warned, though his voice broke in the effort. His breaths were labored and heavy, and still it seemed as though he could barely get one in. “Please. You—You have to get away from me. I’m— I’m begging you.”

Bucky choked back a cry, biting down hard on his lower lip, and it was then you noticed his right hand palming at the hardened outline nestled tight against his thigh. He pressed the heel of his left into his eyes, shame burning hot against his ears and cheeks and trailing down in red patches along his neck. He tried to hide behind his hair, hide from you, but it was enough; you recognized what this was.

It was a serum created by Hydra in the seventies, meant to create inhumans of their own design when the clinical measures were proving unsuccessful. It was created to induce a euphoric state, a primal need beyond personal control, to put its host through hell until Hydra had what it wanted: a viable chance at an inhuman child.

“Bucky,” you called gently, though all you earned was a whimpered grunt in response. Slowly, you crossed the plane of the room to him and laid a hand against his collar. His eyes fluttered shut in response, his whole body keenly alert to every touch.

“You should leave,” he warned again, his gaze slowly drawing up to meet your own; a glossy shine shielded over a stunning ocean blue. “Let me... let me take care of this on my own. I’ll be f-fine.”

“It’ll be agonizing,” you told him, having remembered the speech Tony gave a few months back after the team first encountered the serum in Peru. “It won’t kill you, but it will feel pretty damn close. Nothing you do on your own will relieve it. It doesn't work like that. You need someone to help you through this.”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t-- I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to,” you replied gingerly, drawing your hand up along his arm, tracing over swells of muscle as watching the way a shiver followed so tenderly in your wave. You rested your hand along his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eyes. He was scorching hot. You smiled at him, something soft and gentle, something sad. “I’m offering, Bucky.”

“No,” he grunted out. “I—I can’t. I won’t.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall to the side. It was remarkable he was able to hold himself back this long, let alone decline an offer when presented to him. You’d heard the stories of men to devolved to a near primal state, who attempted to jump the first person they saw and fought their way to release. Bucky was determined to spare you, even as you offered, even knowing that turning you down would put him through a world of pain.

“Okay,” you conceded. “Tell me what you need. Tell me something I can do, Buck, because I can’t just watch you in pain like this.”

Bucky stared at you, pupils blown wide, almost as if he could see right through you.

“Need to get this off,” he finally admitted, eyes drifting down to his suit.

“Okay,” you replied steadily. “Do you want help?”

He shook his head, his stare glued to the floor, but you could see the way his hands were reaching out for you, how he had to keep himself in check and hold them firmly at his sides. He tried to unfasten the buckle at his chest himself, but within seconds he let out a hallowed cry, dropping his head in defeat.

“Hurts,” he exhaled, and slowly his eyes came back up to yours. He forced out a halfhearted smile the best he could. “Can you...?”

You returned the nervous smile, as you took a cautious step forward. He followed your every move as your hands extended towards his chest, fingers clipping the buckles easily as they unsnapped down his jacket. Each one left a new breath of relief in its wake, like he was just on the edge of the surface, under only a few inches of water.

Your hands slid under the seams, helping to slip the sleeve down his right arm, and Bucky choked back a moan. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just slightly, and you jumped back.

“Sorry,” he muttered. His cheeks were near on fire.

“It’s alright, Buck. It’s not your fault.” You reached out for him again. “Here, let me help with your belt.”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” His hands were shaking as he started to fidget with the buckle. He swayed on his feet, trying to find some relief. As he unfastened the latch and unbuttoned the hem of his pants, his eyes flashed up to you. He exhaled a heavy breath. “Can you... Christ... can you turn around?”

The look on his face, the shame radiating from every ounce of him, shattered you right to your core. You nodded quickly, turning your back to him and making your way to the door. He needed privacy – of course, he did. He didn’t need you around to bear witness to the consequences of Hydra’s newest attempt to leave him powerless and vulnerable.

But just as you approached the door, Bucky called out quietly, “don’t go.”

You stilled in an instant, though you didn’t dare to turn around.

“It, um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think it helps if you’re here. If that’s alright.”

“Need something to look at, huh?” you laughed, trying to make light of the impossible position he was in, and you were thankful for the short chuckle you heard behind you.

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll. You’re the only one here,” he replied, a teasing back in his tone, and no matter how tense it was or how forced it felt, it made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled, shaking your head. Leave it to the two of you to find the humor in a situation like this. Biting down on your lip, you tried to suppress the grin, though it did little use.

Then, you heard the soft fall of his shirt to the floor. Quickly followed by the pants of his suit, dropping to the ground in a heap. He exhaled a breath that sounded as though he hadn’t done so in years and you found yourself wondering what he looked like standing there behind you, naked and aching, harder than he’d ever been in his life.

“Swear you won’t tell Sam about this.”

You shook your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek to hold back another laugh. “No promises.”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got to be in crippling pain, Buck. You don’t have time to be embarrassed right now,” you shot back teasingly. “Stop edging.”

“Fine, okay,” he grumbled back, though you could hear the light in his voice, even if it was a little tense. “Just… give me a second.”

The room became impossibly quiet, painfully so, and you waited under bated breath for something to happen. The smile slowly left your lips, fading into a restless frown as you listened intently to his labored breathing, the tight groans of pain, until finally, his hand circled around the base of his cock.

The whine that left his lips was near sinful, and you felt your own breath hitch in your chest as you listened to soft whimpers parting his lips as he stroked himself, covering his length in the precum dropping at his tip. Heavy breaths and wet pumps of his closed hand around his cock, and you clenched your thighs together, wondering how his eyes might travel over your frame.

But God – those sounds he made were beautiful. You could picture him tugging his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut, his shoulders slacking, knees falling a little weak the harder he gripped at himself. Little murmurs of ‘oh god,’ and ‘fuck yes,’ and ‘please’ as he fucked his fist.

You didn’t know how much time had passed by, but your lip was nearly chewed raw, nails indented into the palms of your hands. You could hear how close he was, how his movements picked up in pace, how his breaths labored, how his moans filled the room higher and higher until – it stopped.

Sudden and aching, he lost it before the fall and your heart broke as you heard him cry out in pain.

“Bucky?” you called softly, not daring to turn around to face him after he asked you not to. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hands clenched tight, and you swore your knees would buckle out from under you if you unlocked them for even a second.

“Fuck, I… I can’t...”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you tried again, worried. There was a panic in his voice that wasn’t there before, a desperate longing etched into every syllable, and it scared you.

“I can smell you,” he said simply, achingly.

Your breath hitched and you squeezed your legs together. There was a throbbing there, an emptiness you couldn’t quite shake. “Do you... Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he replied quickly and you could tell he was contemplating his options. He was growing desperate and that lingering sense of control he maintained was slipping through his fingers. “No, I— You were right. I can’t do it on my own. I need—fuck. I need…”

“Just ask,” you offered again, head tilting just enough to the side that he could see your face but you kept your stare to the wall. “I’m here. I’m saying yes. Just tell me what you need.”

“You.”

It surprised you as he said it; a little lower, a little darker, but certain.

Slowly, you turned to face him.

Sculpted by Michelangelo himself, Bucky carried the most beautiful lines across his body; divots along muscles and carvings of delicate design. You could tell he expected your eyes to fall straight to his shoulder, to the mess of scars and metal he loathed, or to the vulnerability standing hard in his grasp, but instead, you kept your gaze focused on his eyes.

Bucky stood completely naked before you, his right hand still pumping slowly around his cock as you edged forward. He watched you, biting at his lip as he flicked his thumb over his tip. Eyes trailed down over your frame greedily, hungrily, as if the act of simply looking was enough to draw a twitch from his cock. He tugged his lip between his teeth, tightening his grip around himself.

As you came up beside him, you reached up and sat your hand against his right shoulder, watching how he closed his eyes in response, how his jaw slacked. His lazy thrusts evened out, slowing down, as you traced your hand down his arm, simply lost in your touch. Your hand slid down his bicep, over raised muscle, along his forearm to his wrist, and then, you gently nudged his hand from his cock and replaced it with your own.

His lips fell open, a slight tremble in his breath as you gripped him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, leaning against you as he caged you to what appeared to be an interrogation table. You felt the warped metal against your thighs from where he’d clutched at it just moments earlier.

Steadily, you began to pump him in your hand, careful to spread the wet of his precum down his shaft. He was hard within your grasp, painfully so, enough that you could feel the crystal outline of a vein running up along the underside. You pressed your thumb against it as you slid your hand up to his tip and brushed it over his slit. The whine he released against your neck was the most beautiful sound you ever heard.

“This okay?”

“S’good.” He nodded meekly against your collar but you could feel the strain in his shoulders, the restraint that left his jaw wired shut and breaths tight.

“It’s not enough, though. Is it?” you asked gently, though you knew the answer. You knew what he needed and your hand, or even your mouth, would not be enough. The Hydra scientists knew what they were doing when they designed this. It had a very specific purpose and it would not yield for anything less.

“You don’t have to, Y/n,” he said, stronger than you’d heard his voice since he was injected. It took nearly all his strength.

You smiled, letting your free hand cup at the side of his face. He leaned into the touch, seeking more, almost instinctively. Bucky was a complicated man; capable of light-hearted jokes in the middle of a warzone and an immeasurable guilt and shame that had not left him in his years since he was freed from Hydra. He was your closest friend, your partner in the field, a man that you trusted above all others, a man you cared for in ways he would never quite understand.

“I’m here, Bucky. I’ve got you,” you whispered sweetly, but you could still feel his hesitance. “Listen to me, I’ll leave if you really want me to. I’ll stop if this isn’t what you want. But please, don’t send me away and leave you suffer through this alone because you think I don’t want you. I do, Buck. I want you. I want to make you feel good. I want to take away your pain. Let me.”

He stared at you for a moment, a strange mixture of disbelief and longing upon his features. Slowly his hands lifted from the table and felt for the clasp at the back of your suit. You nodded at him, and slid the zipper down your spine, exposing perfect, untouched skin. He pealed it down along your shoulders, over your chest and down your waist. You helped him remove it down to your feet and kicked it off to the floor beside his own.

His eyes drifted to your chest, hands itching to reach out, but he held them firm at his sides.

“It’s okay, Buck. You can touch me,” you told him, reaching behind your back and releasing the clasp of your bra. The straps fell down your shoulders and you let the fabric slip from you. Bucky swallowed, his eyes drifting to your exposed chest. A smile started to curve upon your lips the longer he stared at you, like you were something to revere.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, as if saying it purely for the state of fact.

Your heart skipped a beat, lips parting in a slight shock, and you wondered if this was what it was like for the women he brought home on cold, lonely nights from the bar. You’d seen the content smiles on their faces in the morning as they sauntered out of his room with messy hair and a blissful kind of look in their eyes.

Bucky wasn’t the cold, calculating man the papers made him out to be. He was kind, exceptionally sweet, and a selfless to a fault. You didn’t suspect he was any different in a bedroom.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I never thought this would be how—"

But then— his face started to contort and suddenly Bucky was keening over. He clutched at his stomach, digging his nails deep into the muscle and he nearly collapsed to his knees.

“Bucky!”

You grabbed a firm hold of his right arm, just enough to keep him steady, and even the smallest of touches alone seemed to ignite something in him. Goosebumps littered his skin and a sweet kind of whine escaped past his lips as you ran a hand soothingly along his spine.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time,” you warned gently. It was a miracle within itself he was still on his feet. This serum had put ordinary men into shock within minutes if they didn’t find release. Never enough to kill them, but just enough to make them wish it would.

Bucky followed you back to the table at the center of the room, his hand clasped tightly in your own. It was the most physical affection you’d shown for one another, a tenderness outside of the rush of foreign chemicals in his veins, and you tried not to think about the fallout you were bound to find after.

He helped to guide you onto the table, resting your back against the cool, metal surface. Then, slowly, he crawled on top of you. His eyes drifted down to your panties and you lifted your hips for him, giving him the permission he needed to pull them down your legs.

His hand slid down along your curves, drawing goosebumps in his wake, until he swiftly slid his fingers between your thighs. Dipping into the wetness at your core, he spread his fingers around, lubricating himself until he slid two easily inside of you.

“Oh, Bucky,” you moaned, back arching as he pumped them against your walls. “God, that feels—so good.”

His left hand was curled tightly into a fist near you head as he propped his body weight up against the arm; gears whirring, the scars at the base of his shoulder red in the strain of it. One quick glance at the tension coating his muscles, the sharp breaths in his chest, the whine as his cock touched your thigh, and you were pulled swiftly from the clouds, a startling reminder why you were doing this in the first place.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” you told him, a little breathless as he added the third finger. “I’m fine, Buck. You need to come. This isn’t about me.”

He shook his head, determined. “You’re not ready yet.”

You chuckled, a heat of embarrassment washing over you, even as he scissored his fingers, stretching your walls. You had to choke back a moan and the urge to clamp your thighs together around his wrist.

“I’m more than ready,” you said, voice a little higher, hands clenching at the sides of the table as you felt your walls tightening around his fingers. “Trust me, Buck. Just listening to you touch yourself was enough.”

You laughed again but the room was thick in tension, almost unbearably so. Bucky could hardly hear you. His hair had fallen down to shield his face, his gaze focused on where his fingers were lost to the most intimate parts of you; determined.

“It has to be good for you,” he muttered out slowly. You narrowed your eyes on him, growing worried as he seemed to retreat within himself. He was distant, his mind far away from his body. “It has to be good… it has to be good for you otherwise… otherwise I’m… I’m...”

He wouldn’t say it but you knew what he meant.

“Bucky, come back to me.” You reach up and grabbed a firm hold of his cheeks, thumbs at his jawline, and drew his attention to your eyes. It took him a moment to get there, but you found ocean blue again, even if it was clouded in dark, stormy skies. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about how I feel, alright? Just do what you need to, I’ll be fi—”

“I won’t use you like that!” Bucky snapped defiantly, startling you. “I don’t care that it feels like my skin is on fire and there’s knives carving through my body. I don’t care that I feel like I’m going to pass out and everything in me is fighting to force my way onto you and take what I want regardless of what it does to you! I don’t care! You’re my best friend and I… I…” He was panting, red in the face, and he couldn’t seem to find his words. He swallowed, though it looked as though it burned. “It has to be good for you, okay?”

You nodded, running your hands gently along his arms; his left, solid metal, unwavering, and his right trembled deep within the tissue – the gentle movements of his forearm pressed up against your stomach, his fingers searching out a pleasure he so desperately needed you to feel.

“I…” he started before he clenched his jaw. A heavy exhale followed, a drop of his gaze, and he muttered out weakly, “I need to pretend this is real.”

Your lips parted in shock; heart stammering so painful in your chest you wondered if he could hear it. Before you could say anything, before you could ask him what he meant by that, Bucky let his fingers slip out from between your legs, resting slicked against your thigh. The emptiness was startling.

“I think you’re ready for me now.”

Bucky nestled himself between your legs, lined his length your entrance with a gentle sweep of his top through your folds. He shivered, something near violent as it shook through his spine, and you were reminded again that Bucky was suffering, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins that ripped away his control and left him powerless to Hydra.

His skin was flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead and down his neck. There were sharp marks in the palm of his right hand where he dug his own nails into his skin. His breaths were coming in quickly and uneven.

“Look at me,” you ordered, stern enough to draw his attention. “Don’t hold back. You need to get this out, okay? I will tell you if it’s too much.”

It took him a moment, a breath of contemplation, before he nodded; slow and hesitant. You could see the strain in his jawline, the tension in his shoulders from how much he was restraining himself. It must have been agonizing, but Bucky had been through worse in his life. You supposed pain had become a familiar friend, one he learned to tame and control, even when it ripped him apart.

The moment he pressed his tip past your entrance, as he bottomed out in one thrust, as he felt your walls squeeze tightly around him for the first time, Bucky nearly came on the spot. He gasped into your shoulder, sucking marks against your skin as he rolled his hips against you. Slow and steady at first, reveling in the feel of being consumed whole, of being taken so well, of a rush of endorphins and pleasure he’d never felt even in the peak of sex. Everything was heightened, every touch was immaculate; he could feel your heartbeat through the walls squeezing at his cock.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he moaned against your ear, breath hot, voice dangerously low. “Fuck you feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking good. Goddamn perfect.”

You nodded, arms circling up around his shoulders as you rolled your hips to meet his own. You could still feel the stone carved tension in his muscle, how much he was holding back from what he needed. He was trying to be gentle with you, loving in a way the serum was not designed for, but it was testing him. He wouldn’t give into it, not in the way you asked him to, because Bucky had already lost so much to Hydra, already lost pieces of his mind and body, he would not let them take his soul, too.

“Just for you.” The words passed through your lips before you could quite catch onto their meaning. Your hands slipped down his chest as you brushed your thumbs against his nipples. He moaned, hips picking up in pace. He needed the encouragement, you realized. It was the only way he’d allow himself the release he needed to free his body of that serum.

He needed to pretend it was real.

He needed to pretend that you weren’t laying upon a cold, unforgiving table in an old Hydra base, that maybe this was something more than the consequences of a vile he didn’t ask for.

The line between the fantasy and reality was painfully thin.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight,” he mumbled breathily. The table began to squeak with every snap of his hips, with every drag of his cock at your core, the brush of his tip to the sweetest spot. It was easy to lose yourself in him, to forget that you were in an abandoned Hydra cell, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins determined to destroy him. He felt like heaven.

“S’all yours,” you whispered, drawing your hands down along his waist, slipping over his hips and gripping into the soft flesh of his ass. You pulled him deeper into you, daring him to go further. His pupils were blown so wide, you could barely see the blue in his eyes. He was slipping, barely holding into the restraint he so desperately clung to, and you rolled your hips at just the right angle, squeezed him enough to draw a mangled cry from his lips.

You kissed at the dip of his collar, sucking sweetly as he all but purred in response. Your lips mapped a path up his neck, along his jaw line, over cheekbones and at the tip of his nose, until you paused at his mouth. His heart was pounding, thunderous in his chest, and his hips seemed to pick up in pace with every kiss.

It wasn’t until you captured his lips against your own that Bucky lost the last ounce of control he had been clinging onto.

Something like a growl purred against your lips, a sound near feral, and the gentle push of his hips like ocean waves against you turned into quick, harsh snaps. He pulled his lips from you, trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck, until he found the place he was looking for and sunk his teeth to the crook of your shoulder.

“Ah, Bucky!”

All consuming. Feverish. A man untamed and he did not relent, not as your walls tightened around him like the twist of a coil, or as the sound of skin and wetness between your legs echoed high into the room, or when his fingers touched at your clit and rubbed harsh, quick and pressured circles until you were crying out so loudly, it must have carried through the whole base.

“Fuck! Ah, God, Bucky, don’t stop!”

Bucky groaned against you, sucking a mark where his teeth had met your flesh. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, the pulse of his cock in your cunt, the thick vein that ran along his underside as it added so sweetly to the pressure at your entrance. It was wild and unhinged, but God – it was good.

“Y-yeah, baby, right there,” Bucky moaned, his thrusts falling uneven, haphazard, needy. “F-fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—ah, ah, f-fuck—”

The heat of him, the way he filled you so perfectly, the rush, and it pushed you over the edge. White hot and intoxicating, the wash of it broke open in floodgates and swept through you. His fingers did not let up on your clit as you squirmed and withered below him, his thrusts falling lazy as he chased the end of his release.

Breathless and a little dizzy as you came down from your high, you felt his heartbeat inside of you; quick, but even. The serum had done its work. It released him from its hold.

Bucky was panting, the full of his weight having fallen onto you. His hair was wet with sweat, messy and untamed, and the room smelled distinctly of sex. But more than that, it was unbearably silent.

Slowly, Bucky began to pry himself off of you, allowing his softened cock to slip from between your legs, slick and satisfied. He swallowed, a blush creeping onto his cheek as he pushed his hair behind his ear.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You chuckled, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watched him quickly tug his pants back on before he bent down and picked up your suit for you, handing it gingerly to you upon the table with a shy sort of smile.

“Alright? I’m great.” You grinned over at him, glowing in the aftermath of your release. “You feel okay now?”

He nodded, a nervous smile tugging on his lips as he watched you jump down from the table and step into your suit. His eyes must have lingered on your thighs where his cum was still slick along the skin from his release because his smile began to fall, his jaw tightly clenched.

“SHEILD has me on birth control, Buck. Don’t worry about that,” you told him softly. You tugged the sleeves back up your arms, though it proved difficult with the lingering sweat on your skin. You flipped your hair over your shoulder and turned your back to him. “Do you mind?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling forward to zip up the back of your suit. He brushed a few stray strands of hair over your shoulder, the gentle sweep of cool metal a relief against the hot flush of your skin; impossibly tender for a man capable of the things he was.

“So,” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice as he grasped hold of the zipper, “should we talk about this or—”

“Bucky? Y/n? You guys read me?”

Steve.

“Seems the coms are back on,” you sighed, stepping to the side after Bucky finished zipping your suit. He was still holding his tactical vest in his hand, along with the one-armed jacket. His hair was untamed, cheeks flushed, and you imagined you looked of the same.

“We got you, Steve,” Bucky replied, though it seemed rather reluctant. “Where you been, man? You dropped us in a warzone.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Steve grumbled back. “Get to the jet. We’ll debrief on the way back. Don’t forget to rig the place to blow on your way out.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, grinning at Bucky as he slipped his jacket on. “Certainly, can’t forget the one thing you sent us here to do.”

“Unless you’ve got more Hydra agents hiding in the wings?” Bucky added on and you could practically see Steve deadpan from the cockpit.

“Just get out of there before I come get you myself.”

You laughed as you slid the batons back into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

It was strange, how quickly it felt as if nothing had changed at all. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was a quick release and you were simply helping a friend. Maybe it was something neither of you would speak of again and you’d go right back to being partners, friends, as if it never happened.

But as you turned around at the edge of the room, a smile wide upon your face, you found Bucky watching you with a kind of look in his eye you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t one you recognized, wasn’t one you’d seen in him before. It was something new.

His eyes flickered to your collarbone where a mark upon your skin was growing discolored; bite marks and bruising where his mouth had been. A strange mixture of remorse and longing, affection and need, all rolled into one.

“You ready, Buck?”

He nodded quickly, snapping himself from his gaze with a pressed smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, though he tried. He met you at the edge of the room, trailing a few steps behind you, and you turned around to find him staring back into the cell, like he was trying to preserve a memory of some kind.

You realized as you watched Bucky clear his throat awkwardly, turning back to you with a gentle blush of pink in his cheeks, that there was no pretending you hadn’t crossed a line together. There was no going back.

---

part 2

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes X you #bucky x reader #sex pollen #bucky barnes smut #tw dubcon

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 2 years

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Head empty- thinking about fishnet sex now. I have to imagine he’d go feral for a garter around the thigh too no?

He’d go insane.

He’d be in the middle of slowly dragging her dress up her opened legs, placing wet kisses along her silky inner thighs as he does so, when his lips suddenly brush against something rough and textured that definitely isn’t her skin. He draws back for a moment, disoriented and confused, and upon further inspection finds that the obstacle blocking him from descending further up her leg is actually a frilly lace garter. It’s made of ruffled black fabric strewn with glitter, and has cherry red rhinestones sewn along the rim, which glint under the dim lighting of the singular lamp on his nightstand. It’s clutching her thigh snugly, complimenting its plushness and complexion as it sits decoratively halfway up her limb, as if the band had been waiting patiently for the moment he would take notice of its existence.

Harry’s brain glitches for a beat, his vision washing in different shades of red as he processes the image before him. He seems to lose control of the impulse that keeps his mouth sealed, considering his response voices itself without his permission, weighing in as a breathy whimper. “Fucking hell.”

Y/N’s smug tone carries down from above, accompanied by a jesting tug delivered to the curls at the crown of his head. “Having fun playing iSpy?”

Harry slightly angles his head up to look at her from beneath his lashes, his pupils dilated larger than usual as his tongue swipes forward over his bottom lip, as if to collect his words in order to form an adequate sentence. “Is this for me?”

Y/N twirls a few of his shiny ringlets around her index finger for a second, proceeding to then drag her thumb down one of his sharp cheekbones and across the peaks of his Cupid’s bow, admiring the smoothness of his flushed skin. The way she’s gazing down at him, with a sultry glimmer in her half-lidded eyes as she digs her front teeth into her lush lower lip, sends a pang of electricity racing through the pit of his stomach. She looks so fucking hot perched on his bed amidst rumpled sheets, leaning back on one palm casually as the other cups his jaw almost teasingly, her legs spread around his shoulders with her dress bunched around her hips, exposing the matching black lace panties that barely cover the area he so desperately wants to get to.

Even when Harry is on his knees, he usually always feels in control, considering he’s the one pleasuring the other person, tuning and plucking strings as he deems fit. But right now, with Y/N suspended above him with a firm grip on his chin and her heels digging into his upper back, he feels like his signature dominance is very much up for debate. And, truth be told, he’s only slightly ashamed to say he likes it.

Y/N clears her throat softly, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly as she tilts her head to the side knowingly, her painted mount quirking into a crooked smirk as the sleeve of her dress rides down to expose her bare skin, which seems to glow under the warm ambiance of the room. The confidence that emanates off her in thick waves makes the fabric around his crotch tighten significantly. “I mean, last time I checked my schedule, you’re the only person I’m set on fucking tonight, so the answer is pretty self-explanatory. I might have to check my calendar again, though, just to make sure. I know how much you value credible sources.”

Harry takes a deep inhale, letting it out slowly as he bends down and drags his nose just underneath the cusp of the garter, following along its length until he reaches the inside of her thigh. Then, he retraces the trail backwards, but with his moistened lips instead. The breath that catches in Y/N’s throat and the shiver that simultaneously runs down her spine is only half the reward he needs. The other half will come directly from her mouth.

Despite the fact that he adores her fiery attitude and the clever banter she so readily provides, right now, he just needs her to be sincere and honest towards her reply to his curiosity. He needs the implied praise and underlying affection that comes from her admitting she’d worn it just to impress him. That she’d worn it because she knew he’d fancy it, and because she wanted to satisfy him, and because she likes him enough to take his preferences into consideration. He doesn’t know why, but he fucking needs to hear it from her, word for word. He just does.

“Y/N,” his accent comes out as a measured whisper, as if he’s using every last ounce of self-control to make his vocal cords function, “just answer the question.”

Y/N traces across the steep slope of his nose with the tip of her nail, pushing his blocky glasses up the bridge playfully as her lashes flutter from the feathery sensation of his mouth moving against such a sensitive region on her body. She instinctively opens her legs wider to let him in if he so wishes, and she can feel him print a cheeky grin against her leg as he accepts her unspoken request and shifts a bit closer to her core. The tip of his cold nose momentarily bumps her clothed clit as a result of his movement, and the watery gasp she releases is so pitiful, she wishes she could swallow it back up and disappear.

The action sends her senses into a frenzy, causing her to bury her fingers back into his hair for the sake of having something to grip onto, as a physical tether to her bearings. Her voice cracks as she speaks. “Harry, I—”

“Just answer the question.” He repeats with more insistence, his tone still as smooth and collected as before. She’s always envied the sheer amount of willpower he possesses; it’s like he can turn his emotions on and off at command, all while making an utter disaster of her own. “Is this for me, yes or no?”

“Yes.” She chokes out, and the effortless arrogance she’d been sporting prior begins to crumble to ashes; a consequence of his warm breath fanning over the dampening area spanning the middle of her underwear. Her answer comes out more strained and needy with every passing second. “Yes, it’s for you, H. I wore it for you.”

Harry hums appreciatively as she finally forks over what he’s been craving all along, and the thrumming sound gradually molds into a low, condescending chuckle that makes her abdomen twist into a tight knot. He’s gotten the upper hand again, just as he intended.

He slowly coasts the pad of his middle finger up the back of her calf and onto the front of her knee, walking it— along with his forefinger— across the top of her thigh, stopping at the garter and wedging both digits below the elastic band, pulling the flimsy material from her body to bring emphasis to it. His taunting touches are quickly dismantling her composure, and the manner in which he’s skimming his teeth along the seam of her panties isn’t helping any. “So this pretty little piece is all mine, then? You sat on your bed and took the time to tie it around your thigh, just so you could come crawl into mine and have me compliment it while I bury my face between your legs and make you cry my name.”

Y/N doesn’t know if his statement is supposed to be rhetorical or not, but the expectant glance he gives her through the reflective lens of his bifocals is enough to pull a numb nod from her fidgeting frame. That seems to be enough for him to continue, at least for now.

Harry pulls the garter higher off her leg for more significance, the jade around his pupils sparking with snarky amusement. “You put this on just so I’d tell you how fucking hot it looks while I grip your hips and help you bounce on my cock, one of my hands tangling under it and gripping your thigh to guide you against my lap, all while I moan against your throat and tell you how fucking good you feel taking every inch of me so fucking deep. You slid it below your dress so I could leave my teeth bruised all around it, and so I could watch the cute little rhinestones twinkle under the light while I mount your legs onto my shoulders and fuck you into the bed over and over until you’re begging me to give you a break. Is that right? Is that why wore it, just for me?”

Y/N swallows heavily, her chest beginning to heave the more bothered she becomes. “I…I wore it because— well, because I wanted to— I did it so—”

A cruel, boyish snicker escapes Harry’s throat as he watches her fumble for a coherent explanation, and his ridiculing only makes the task more difficult, evident in how her voice tapers off as she feels her cheeks begin to boil in humiliation. Harry softens his features into a dramatically sympathetic expression, pouting at her childishly as he sweetens his accent into a sarcastic drawl. “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t take it?”

The young woman clears her throat roughly, attempting to appear as steely as possible, though it’s painfully obvious that he can see right through her facade. And in all honesty, it’s hard— it’s hard to compete with Harry’s natural poise and skillful wit. Especially when he’s left her feeling so utterly exposed.

“Not so confident now, are you?” He jeers, stretching an arm up from his place between her legs to grasp her chin with just enough strength to stun her. He holds her face still, squishing her heated cheeks in a patronizing manner, just to toy with her. “Where’s all that arrogance gone, hm? Where’s all the back-talk and disrespectful little digs?”

He then pitches his cadence higher to mimic her own, imitating her stuttering from earlier in a degrading fashion that makes her tummy bubble in a way it really shouldn’t. “I— I wore it be-because I wanted to— I did it s-so— I wore it because— I— I— I—” He scoffs at her expense, shaking his head conceitedly as he taps her nose fondly, getting off on cornering her. “Poor thing forgot how to speak, which is so fucking ironic considering you never seem to get tired of doing so.”

“Fuck off.” Y/N spits out, and she’s embarrassed to say that’s the best comeback she can muster at the moment, given the whiplash she’s undergone. He just knows how to push every single one of her buttons perfectly, and it’s both infuriating and exhilarating at the same time.

“Mm.” Harry simply simpers up at her without even the slightest bit of contempt behind his demeanor, but for some unknown reason, that makes the atmosphere of the room all the more eerie, as if a silent threat is floating in the air between them, waiting to be fulfilled. It’s almost like he can read her mind, because all of the sudden, Harry releases the garter he’d been withholding with his forefinger, allowing it to snap back onto her skin with a loud smack.

Y/N lets out a startled yelp, a throbbing pain stinging across her thigh as a result of the force that had erupted from the elastic band. One of her hands immediately flies to massage the wounded mark, rubbing over the welt starting to form across the smooth surface. Her brows knit together angrily at his antics, and she shoots him a petty glare as he quirks his own eyebrows daringly. “What the fuck, Harry?”

“I thought you liked a bit of pain. Said so yourself.” He states in an apathetic tone, sitting back on his heels to observe her carefully. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Y/N purposefully ignores his assumption, particularly because it’s entirely accurate. She just refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He counters one last time, calmly pushing himself up off his knees to tower above her, rolling out his shoulders as he looks down at her over the crests of his defined cheekbones, a cocky flare interwoven throughout his behavior. “Wanna know how I can tell?”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him seethingly as she puts on a sardonic act, shackling her desires as she watches him reach for his belt to begin unbuckling it. “Please enlighten me.”

Harry tugs at the leather cord in even, leisurely motions, loosening it with no apparent hurry to get the article off his body. His attitude reflects the same type of indifference as his actions. “People tend to avoid eye contact when they lie; it helps stave off guilt, and keeps scrutinizing witnesses from divulging the truth through a fracture in their expression. ‘The eyes are the windows to the soul’ and what have you.”

“Okay? What’s that got to do with me?” Y/N grumbles, ogling at his large hands as they finish unclasping his belt.

“Good question!” Harry chirps theatrically, grabbing the zipper of his slacks and yanking it down in one sharp gesture, the sound ripping through the still room like a bullet. He folds the flaps of his trousers over, revealing the waistband of his black briefs, as well as the chiseled dips of his pelvis, which vanish temptingly below the fabric of his underwear. He gifts her an easy smile, as if he's completely unaware of the impact his indecent exposure has on her sanity, and she hates that she can’t find it in herself to deny his remark. “You haven’t looked me in the eye once since I said it.”

She stares at him bitterly from her spot on the bed. “Eat shit.”

“Get on your back.”

Her eyes widen at his abrupt boldness, appalled by his random demand. Who the fuck does he think he is, mocking and degrading her only to then boss her around, implying that she fold under his whims? He’s lost the fucking plot if he thinks she’ll actually cave. “Excuse me?”

Harry juts his chin towards the unkempt duvet, as if to point out exactly where it is she needs to oblige. “Get on your back.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She bites spitefully, fighting the urge to smack him across his stupid smug face.

“I just did.” Harry retaliates, the edges of his lips twitching with evil delight. He then ducks down until his mouth is level with the shell of her ear, his breath hot as it cascades across it, his energy shifting into a darker, more dominant one that leaves her mind spinning in drunken circles. He props both of his palms on either sides of her trembling body, bracketing her against the mattress in order to establish a certain degree of influence over her stubborn drive.

When he speaks, it’s in the form of a low murmur, as if what he’s about to say is for her interpretation only. The words he grits out, alongside his authoritative mood, sends an aroused quiver down into the marrow of her very bones. “And you and I both you fucking loved it. So I’m gonna repeat myself once more, and it’ll be the last time I do so: shut your mouth, and get on your fucking back. Now.”

#anthropologyrry

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fandomfluffandfuck · 2 years

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Fat thighs make alpha Steve ferallllllll 🥵🥵🔥😫

Side affects of Steve seeing Bucky's thick thighs, which indeed push him to a feral state:

Steve gets the unbelievably strong urge to put his mouth on those thighs, that ass, his hips and bite. Steve already always has the alpha instinct to claim his omega, fitting his teeth to his neck, puncturing his mating gland, and claiming him as his but somehow, seeing his thighs... the urge to bite him is even stronger.

Whether those thighs are completely bare, clad in sweats, jeans, skin tight spandex, or anything. Bite. Nothing stalls Steve's alpha brain from lusting after his fat thighs. It's just something about the softness of those thighs, Steve's pretty sure. Bucky has always been thicker, and dating Steve - happy and comfortable moreso than he's ever been before - has affected his body. The omega has got softer and more comfortable through the course of their relationship and the physical show of how well Steve is providing for his omega makes his alpha brain go dark. It makes a primal growl, nearly a purr, eminate from his broad chest every time.

There's also something about the fact that if he litters bruise after bruise, mark after mark, there then... no one else will see it. Bite. It will be all for Steve, all because of Steve. Bite. He did that. He's allowed to to that. Bucky, his omega, lets him mark him up and loves it. He moans and cries and begs for it- for his teeth.

Looking at Bucky's thighs, especially when his omega is in pre-heat or full blown heat, suddenly Steve has never wanted to suffocate more. It increases exponentially when he's in season and still hasn't lost the marks from the last time Steve got his mouth on him because really, his head spins with the need to lick, lap, and suck at his omega's hole until he cums, loud and wet all over his face. His face buried between those thighs.

Those thick thighs don't have any space between them and... fuck... Steve really fucking wants to knot between his thighs. He wants to fuck his thighs and feel the hot, wet spill of his slick down from his aching, twitching hole down onto his throbbing cock, listening to Bucky, his sweet, sweet omega beg for Steve to use him. "Yeah, yeah, yea- ah! C'mon alpha, yeah, yeaaah, mmngh! F-fuck my thighs c'mon alpha, c'mon, wanna feel that fat knot blow between my legs, gggod! Yeah! Do it! Make me messy. Make yourself feel good. Make yourself cum, please. Please. Knot between my legs, mmm, yeah, yeah, alpha! Do it! Please!"

Steve always has his hand on Bucky's thigh. Sometimes he has his hand on Buckys thigh going down his pants, up his shorts. He especially has a heavy hand resting on his leg under tables. The alpha can't help it. He just thinks about his omegas legs and he's instantly grabbing and petting him. To Bucky, the touch is usually comforting. Except for when the alpha feels a little possessive... just in one of his moods (which Bucky loves but will never admit to, no sir, it's not flattering when his alpha is few and far words between low grunts and growls, teeth at his neck, nails ranking down his sides, with his wicked, honey-dripping mouth only seeming to remember "mine" and "omega" as he ruts into him like he wants to get as deep as he physically can, 100% gone stupid with his instincts). Usually in those moods, he presses his fingers into the bruises he knows he left on Buckys skin, last time he was laying attention up and down his thighs. Sucking marks into the plush skin. Biting him to hear the pretty moans he makes.

Bucky gets his legs waxed one time (by Nat's wax technician) and he waltzes out of the shower with water drops still rolling down his smooth, bare skin and he swears for a moment that he's killed his poor alpha the second he sees him. He freezes. Eyes dark and nearly crossed. One of his hands clutched his chest. Then the next second he knew- Bucky was slammed back into the wall. Steve kept one hand palm down on his soft tummy, hot and pinning, and got down on his knees. Using those soft lips to trace up his legs, ankles all the way to the tops of his thighs, breathing in his scent and growling. Low. Rumbling. Vibrating Bucky's bones. Steve kept kissing him, licking him until Bucky was shaking, short of breath, and so so ready to fucking cum that he couldn't bear it. Breaking down with a pathetic whimper.

Once Bucky was feeling extra sweet and pretty and he, with color high on his cheeks, tucked his dick back between his thighs and sent Alpha a picture. Posed with panties (the same color as the flush in his face) and his white collar. Steve saw it, rushed home (breaking a few laws to get from work to home as fast as possible), and railed his pretty omega over their kitchen island, biting his neck and growling into his mouth and ear... all with those soft thighs clenched tight around the alpha's trim waist. As pay back, the alpha didn't touch his dick the whole time, laying engorged and throbbing on his stomach. So what sent Bucky off was Steve rasping, "my omega-" the words were fucked right in his mouth, dirty and so so hot "-such a pretty girl, legs for fucking days, best fucking pussy around, God, feels so good on my knot. So wet and tight- shit." Bucky came, exploded really, with an embarrassing wail. Not prepared for how hard the feminization and embarrassment would hit him.

Oh, also, in the summer, poor Bucky gets rashes where his thighs rub together when he wears Steve favorite kind of shorts on him- tiny, itty bitty shorts that barely cover his ass (which that too, by the way, is fat and makes Steve go fucking feral). Steve noticed the rash the first time and promptly spread his omega down on their bed, splitting his legs apart, kissing up his thighs, and rubbing some soothing lotion into those red areas. Bucky was panting and dripping wet by the end of the massage and soothing session. Ruining their bedsheets but also very, very in love with his horny and empathic alpha.

Uhhhhhh anyway- I guess thick thighs make me feral too huh. Not just alpha Steve. Hopefully you enjoyed at least 😏

#asks #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #omegaverse #a/b/o #fandomfluffandfuck #fic #omega bucky #alpha steve

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genshinboys · 3 years

Text

Going out on a date with Genshin boys - Kazuha

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Kazuha x gn reader

„Hey, Kazu, stop that, will you?” Your hands desperately clutch onto the hem of your kimono, which is now dancing with the wind, fluttering around, and thus jeopardizing the safety of your bottom by flaunting it to the cheerful ronin marching behind you.

„Stop what, Sweetheart?” Ever the innocent Kazuha remains oblivious to the accusations thrown at him.

The wind keeps whirling around and, alas, on this occasion, the garment does blow all the way up, rendering your buttocks as naked as the Moon before the fugitive from Inazuma.

The fucking audacity. Your eyes scream bloody murder when you turn on your heels to throttle the chuckling vagabond to death.

Upon seeing your vengeance-seeking face, your free-spirited lover does seem to fight for breath as he roars with laughter, hands holding onto his belly. His eyes crinkle merrily and if you thought you couldn’t possibly fall harder for him, well, you were stupid. Your brain turns into mush and all you can register is his boyish-like giggle ringing in your ears like a plague of mosquitoes. Your stomach does a flip when he titters for the last time in this high-pitched airy manner that never fails to tug at your heartstrings.

„Sweetheart, what’s all that anger for, hmm? Let me braid your hair so that you can relax a little.” Kazuha approaches, carrying the overflowing with field flowers basket in his hands.

Earlier in the day, he courtly offered for you two to stroll around the lands of Liyue in search of some blossoms.

„I want to make a pretty flower crown so that it can adorn the head of the Queen/King of my heart.” He confessed with a soft smile on his face when questioned about the objective of the outing.

You let out a defeated sigh when he intertwines your hands, and with a roll of your eyes, allow him to drag you in the direction of the nearest Sandbearer tree. Its peachy leaves and long branches perfectly shelter you from the burning rays of the setting Sun. He sits down, resting his back against the trunk and extends his arms to invite you to settle between his thighs. You comply with his wish, and he helps you to position yourself comfortably in his loving embrace.

Kazuha notices that you’re still sulking over his playful advances from earlier so, he places a kiss on the very tip of your ear and teasingly blows the air behind it, which causes your body to tremble like the flowers in his basket. Mischievously, he presses his fingers under your ribs and begins tickling you as though there was no tomorrow.

„No, Kazuha, please stop!” Pleading cries evoke yet another fit of giggles in the fugitive ronin.

„Only when you say that you love me.” He does not yield no matter how much you squirm in his arms.

„I do, I do, I do!” You surrender, yelling loud enough to wake the under-the-table drunk bard of Mondstadt.

Kazuha continues chuckling happily, feather-like kisses brush over your reddened cheeks.

Sitting in the shadow of the tall Sandbearer tree, with your back flush against Kazuha’s warm chest, the ronin meticulously weaves flowers into your strands while reciting his most recent haiku poems. Kazuha’s voice, velvety and smooth, in sing-like manner chants into your ear, eliciting hums of approval from your drowning in ecstasy limp body.

„You’re such a little brat Kazu, you know?” The accusation, barely a whisper, directed at your playful lover is almost lost between the grunts of pleasure caused by the jolts of electricity numbing your mind.

He snickers.

„What am I now, huh?” With colourful flowers gracing your head, Kazuha considers his job done. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, and his fingers start teasingly playing with the strings of your kimono. Your gut clenches in anticipation when you come to a realisation that he’s actually pulling at the strings to undo the knot.

„You aren’t exactly lily-white yourself, Sweetheart.”

The platinum blonde eventually untangles the loop and sneaks his hand underneath the garment to feel you. He purrs like a kitten into your ear, charmed by the softness of your skin. His bandaged hand smoothly circles your abdomen. You whimper weakly once his hot tongue licks your earlobe, and then he grazes over it with his teeth, making you moan out even louder.

„That’s it, Y/N. Sing for me in that needy voice of yours,” Kazuha encourages progressively kissing lover and lover down to your neck. Your kimono falls to your sides and the gusts of wind do but little to cool down your blazing skin. There is this spinning in your head, like a merry-go-round when the ronin starts tormenting your body by swirling your nipples with his fingertips. The sensations spread throughout you. His playful fingers shoot off sparks straight into your groin. He is a tease. Kazuha’s patience knows no bounds, and he can elongate the rhythmic flicks of his fingertips till you beg and cry for him to make you cum. Your hips start bucking forward, looking for non-existent friction, as he gently pinches on your nipples. Blood rushes into the sensitive nerves, the erected buds turn slightly red, and you rut into the air turning Kazuha’s thoughts feral.

He lets his hot breath tickle your ear when he whispers sweetly, „Rest your legs on my thighs, Love. Spread yourself for me and I’ll make sure you won’t regret it.”

With a racing heart, you place your legs on top of his thighs, knees pressed to his. Cheeks burning in shame when you expose your arousal to grant the ronin’s request.

„Immaculate,” Kazuha praises, one of his hands boldly wanders lower. He starts stroking the flesh, spreading your juices all over you to make sure that it doesn’t hurt in the slightest. The wanton moans and desperate pleas falling from your lips make his erection twitch and he loses his stoic composure, grinding right into your back. Kazuha rolls his hips while both of his hands work their magic as the unbearable tension builds up in your belly. He keeps on moaning, lewdly whispering how good he feels with his cock dry-fucking into you from behind. He palms your wetness, rubbing in a circular motion while rolling his thumb over your nipple. Each time he does so, the aching feeling inside of you becomes too much to bear. Your core tightens and muscles spasm erratically with each stroke of his hand. Shuddering and whimpering, Kazuha is moving rhythmically with your pelvis right behind you. Nearing his climax, your lover’s thrusts turn brutally hard and even faster. He pants heavily, attempting to send you over the brink together with him.

„Kazu, Ahh--,” hard and full waves of pulsating energy still you in the ronin’s tight clutch as he joins you, spilling himself into his trousers with your name on his lips. His forehead is sweaty and strands of hair messily cling to the skin of his face. Kazuha’s hands shake uncontrollably when he places them on top of yours and pulls you into a breath-stealing hug.

„You should know better than not to put on any underwear on a date with me.”

He wanted to be serious, but his eyes tell a different story, and this time both of you laugh out loud heartily.

Other boys:

Albedo

Kaeya

Diluc

Xiao

Zhongli

Childe

Other series:

Thigh job with Genshin boys

#kazuha headcanons #kazuha smut #kazuha scenarios #kazuha x reader #kazuha reader #kazuha x you #kazuha you #kazuha genshin impact #kazuha drabbles #kazuha imagines #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin smut #genshin imagines #genshin drabbles #genshin headcanons