you can't judge me, you're here too

Savi, 23, mind your business, why are you still here? Masterlist

[buckymydarlingangel]

BuckyMyDarlingAngel's Masterlist

Bucky Barnes

Eddie Munson

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In The Red

Warning: dubcon, criminal activity, irresponsible spending.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Sergei Kravinoff

Summary: you owe a very demanding man money, so you come up with a deal.

Note: Part of the Dirty Men Doing Dirty Deeds AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

They’re here!!!! You’ve been waiting a whole week for the box to show up. As you walk down the hall to your door, the branded box is there waiting for you. Oh, sweet treasure!

You strut triumphantly across the stained carpet, ignoring the smell of onions and that little tingle in your stomach. You really shouldn’t have spent that money but these are limited edition. You scoop up the package and sigh dreamily, already planning what skirt to wear them with first.

You cradle the shoes like a newborn child as your purse slips into the crook of your other elbow. Your keys jingle as you aim them at the lock. You can’t see past the box. Ugh.

“Special delivery.” The voice drawls and you whip around. Oh, haha, how did you not notice him?

You bat your lashes and bite your cheek. You muster your prettiest grin and kick out a foot, sure to push a hip out at the same time. Kraven comes up to put his hands on the box.

“Hiya. I didn’t hear you walk up.” You cheep.

“Been waiting,” he keeps hold of the box.

“You have? For little old me?”

“Don’t play with me,” he warns.

“Play? No, I wouldn’t.” You chuckle nervously. “Can I call you Sergei? That’s such a sexy name.”

His nostrils flare. “You know why I’m here.” He looks down at the box. “Seems you have money to spare.”

You gulp and try to pull the package away from him. “You see, Sergei…” You rock your shoulders. He growls. “I love saying your name. It’s so… dashing.”

He stares at you. Not a crack in his veneer. You find him terribly scary and well, you should. He’s a dangerous man. Everyone told you so.

“Look, about the money…” you shift. “I have it. Er, I had it, but then… they just released these and I had the money in my account–”

“Had the money,” he grits. “What about now? What do you have?”

You blink and chew your lip. You know you’re in trouble and this isn’t a game. You can’t just ask for interest. You clear your throat.

“Well, Sergei, you haven’t even seen the shoes.”

“Shoes?” He scowls. “And it’s Kraven.”

“Serge,” you smirk and stick your tongue out. His cheek ticks.

“You spent my money on shoes.”

“Beautiful shoes,” you insist. “I’ll… I’ll get it next week. Promise.”

“I don’t take your promises. My men might be stupid but I’m not. I thought they could handle collecting on a little bird like you. They come back with nothing but excuses.”

You squirm and let him take the box. “Then you can have the shoes. Sell them. They’ll double in price once they sell out.”

“I don’t want shoes.” He hisses.

You nod and your eyes roll up to the ceiling thoughtfully. You’ve never been the best at responsibility but everyone just sort of forgives you. You know it’s wrong but… it’s not hurting anyone. It’s just money.

“Hmmm,” you touch his hand, tracing the thick bands on his fingers, and follow his sleeve. He sway coyly and flick your lashes. You pout your lips. “Well, Serge, I could… pay you back in something else?”

He squints and tilts his head. You wait. He’s silent.

“I do this thing with my tongue–”

“You’re propositioning me?” He challenges.

You giggle. “Uh, yeah. Sort of. Well. Yes. I am. But if you’re not interested, maybe I could do some odd jobs–”

He clucks. “You’ll wear the shoes for me?”

“The… shoes?” You echo.

“And nothing else.” He insists.

“And nothing else,” you reach out to hug the box. He clings to it and pushes it against you until your back’s against the door. “Wow.”

“Wow?” He repeats dully.

“I… didn’t think you’d go for it.”

He exhales. “Don’t try anything.” 

“Not even a well-placed finger?” You joke. He tweaks a brow. “Kidding. Ha.”

His jaw clenches and he lets go of the box. He snaps his fingers and points at the door. He steps back and crosses his arms. You turn and angle to unlock the door around the large shoe box.

You push inside and he follows. Close. He drags a fingertip up your spine and you shiver. You giggle again; a mix of nerves and excitement.

He’s not a bad looking man. He’s quite sexy, actually. You’re not usually the type to trade yourself one of those gaming cards everyone riots over, but you don’t have a lot of options. And the shoes are so cute. But also, you could use a distraction.

The door shuts and the chain slides into place. You put the box on the small kitchen table and pick at the tape. Kraven nears and pulls a knife from his belt. You wince and stare at the blade.

“Oh… shiny.” You say.

He slices through the tape and flips back the flaps. You look at the ivory box with the designer emblem. You’re giddy at the thought of opening it up! Just one more layer of cardboard.

“Take them out.” He commands.

You’re all too willing to follow direction. You take the shoe box out and put it on the table. You lift the lid as if you’re in some old movie where a light radiates from within. You touch the red shoes, the ribbons, and nearly moan.

“They’re so pretty!” You sing.

“Hm.” He folds the knife. “Your debt remains outstanding.”

You look at him, your mouth falling open. You almost forgot he was there. You smile sweetly.

“Of course, Serge,” you say. “Please, sit. Let me get myself… ready.”

“Not out of my sight.” he warns. “I don’t do silly business.”

“Silly? Me? Mm, no. You see, I couldn’t even hurt a fly. Even traps. I just see the poor things stuck inside and–”

“Right.” He interrupts as he removes his jacket. He hangs it over the chair and pulls it away from the table. He sits, knees wide, and grips his thighs. “No money, so, you give me everything you have.”

You nod and turn to the shoes. Oh, they’re so sexy. You take them out and admire them. His sole scuffs on the floor. You peek at him again.

“It’s no fun. Close your eyes.” You demand.

He tilts his head and lifts his brows. He sits back and peels his hands off his thighs. He shows his palms then turns his hands and covers his eyes.

“Thirty seconds.” He warns.

You put the shoes down and quickly pull your shirt over your head. You whip it away and shimmy out of your skit. Then you nearly snap your bra and twist your panties down to your ankles. You kick your shoes away and grab the new ones.

You step into them and take your time crisscrossing the long ribbons around your ankles and calves. As you do the second, you glance over. Kraven’s hands are down and he’s watching you. You tie a bow at the back and stand. You face him straight on.

His eyes crawl up from the red shoes and he purrs. The corner of his lip twitches as he goads you silently. You put your hands on your hips and shake your tits at him. He pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Men are easy when you strip down to nothing. Usually, you just have to let your cleavage peek out but that’s not enough for a man like Kraven. You both know it.

You bend one leg and jut out your hip. You pose in the shoes and turn to stick out your rear. You look over your shoulder. “Do these make my ass look big?”

“In the best way,” he growls.

You hum and turn to him again. You sway your hips as you walk up to him. He watches you calmly. Most men get all fidgety. Overeager… Premature.

You bend to touch his shoulders and spread your hands wide. You drag your touch down his chest and feel the muscle. “Oooh, strong.”

He lifts his hand and presses a finger to your lips. He pushes and hooks his finger inside. He pushes on your tongue. He hushes you.

You seal your lips around his finger and suck. He twitches. There it is.

You let his hand fall away and you trace down his stomach. You trail along his thighs and grip above his knees. You lower yourself to kneel in front of him.

You bite your lips as you drag your hands up to his belt. You undo that, then his fly. He groans. You run your fingers along the line of hair leading beneath his boxers. You wiggle as the tall heels stick out from under you.

You pull him out above the elastic of his boxers. You gasp as you pump his thick length. He’s big. You’re not that surprised, just pleasantly so.

You turn your hand as you stroke him, a subtle twist as you slide up then roll your palm over his tip. He grips the chair and jolts it. He grunts.

You push your hand back down and lean forward slowly. You look him in the eye as you pump him again. You hold below his tip and bow down. You run your tongue along his balls and in a line up his length. He growls as he struggles to stay seated.

You swirl your tongue around his tip then wrap your lip around him. You continue to dance on his tender head as he quakes. He grabs your shoulder and squeezes.

“You talk too much but you don’t lie,” he rasps.

You hum and push your mouth down on him. You hold your tongue firm against him until you can fit no more. You pull up and soak him in your spit. He brings his hand up to frame the side of your head.

He hums and moans as you bob your head up and down. You feel up his pelvis and slip your hand under his shirt. Your others, cups his balls, massaging them as you keep your motion steady. His thumb pets behind your ear.

“Mmm, good, mmm.” He drones and rubs the top of your back.

You go a bit faster. He’s close, though he’s lasted longer than most. He tuts and slips his fingers down along your throat. He fists your hair with his other hand and tugs until you slow down.

He twists until your strands strain in your scalp. He urges you down inch by inch. He feels himself dip into your throat from the outside, petting your neck softly. He sighs.

“I am far from done with you,” he snarls. “And I will get all that you owe me.” He drags you up his length until he slips out of your mouth. You heave as your bottom lip hangs open, spit dripping from it. “And perhaps you might get a pretty collar to go with those shoes.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Rest for the Wicked

Warning: noncon, criminal activity, breaking and entering.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your restless night is followed by much the same.

Note: this is a sister story to Criminal Intent, Curtis and As Good as Done, Geralt. Let me know if you want more of either or a few more guys in the fold.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your head is clogged and your eyes are dopey. Another night struggling against your own mind. You don't so much wake up as you drag yourself out of the battle for sleep.

Another day, as exhausting as the night behind you. You sit on the edge of the bed and hold your temples. Sooner than later, your skull might just split.

You get up, body stiff, eyes glazed. You don't think, you move off habit alone. You go out into the front room and squeeze by the sofa to reach the tiny kitchen. You tap the button on the coffee maker, already loaded and ready to brew. You put a mug down in expectation.

You yawn and head for the bathroom. A shower to clear your head, or at least make you feel human. You stand beneath the spray numbly and wash. You shiver as you get out.

As much as the nights repeat, so do the days. The same thing, sun up, sun down. You wrap your robe around your body and give a passing glance to the goblin in the mirror.

The lure of coffee draws you out to face reality. A pot is more than enough to get you a cup before work, a cup to take with you, and a bit extra just in case. You grab the carafe and pause. Your mug is gone. You swear...

Just another slip of mind. You flip open the cupboard and take out a cup to fill. You blow over the steam too and sip. You groan.

You're immune to the caffeine but the taste is familiar. Soothing. You drain almost half before you move.

You go back to the living room and turn, sidling by the couch. An unexpect obstacle hits your stomach. You look down at the boots propped up on the arm and follow the denims jeans up the figure on your couch.

The man lays with a mug in his hand, rested atop his chest, head against the opposite arm rest. He watches you calmly as he slurps. You gasp and nearly drop your coffee.

"Who the hell are you?" You gasp.

His cheek dimples. "Morning."

"What--how--" you stammer.

You recognise the man. Vaguely. That's never a good sign.

"You make a good cup of coffee. I really needed that." He sits up and rubs his neck.

You can't speak. Not when the familiarity sets in. He's the kind you avoid. The sort you broke friendships over.

He turns his legs over the edge and hunches forward. He rolls his shoulders and scratches his jaw. You stare, knowing it's better to say nothing than the wrong thing.

"How about some eggs? Or hey, you make pancakes? From scratch?”

You nod. The sooner you do what he wants, the sooner you’ll be rid of him. You get his type at the liquor store far more often than you like.

“Let me just get dressed–”

“You’re fine like that,” he stands and you flinch. He leans and tilts his head, eyes scouring you. “Can’t see anything untoward.”

You sidle back behind the couch. “Alright.”

You turn and resist the urge to pull down the back of the robe. It’s not the sort you wear when company’s around. Of course, you weren’t expecting any.

You go into the kitchen. He follows. He stands on the other side of the counter where you can look directly into the front room. How did you miss him before?

You open the cupboard as his gaze permeates you. You browse the shelves. He might be disappointed.

“No flour. What about French toast?” You ask.

“Sounds tasty,” he drawls.

You grab the loaf of stale bread. He won't notice once it's doused in egg and fried. You gather your ingredients; eggs, cinnamon, a dash of maple not vanilla, and milk.

The task keeps your hands and mind busy as he looms. You don't want to think about the cellulite peeking out under the hem of your robe or how your tits threaten to undo the knot at your waist. But that man, you can't shake your awareness of him.

You put a skillet on the stove and flip it on. You dip the bread and place it on the hot metal. You flip the slices as they brown. You take out a plate and sprinkle icing sugar on top.

You set it on the counter with a fork and knife. He rubs his hands together as he stands on the other side. He hums.

“Got any syrup?” He asks.

You turn back to the yellowed fridge. You take out the bottle of genuine maple. You put it beside the plate.

“More coffee.” He taps the empty mug on the counter.

You take the cup and fill it. You return it to him. He nods as he places a large piece of toast against his wife tongue and sucks it off the fork. He purrs.

He chews and swallows as you back up and tidy away the mess.

“Cooking like this,” he says through a mouthful. “But I don't see no husband's shoes at the door.”

“Won't find one around here.” You rinse the bowl and set it in the rack.

“Mmm.” His fork scrapes the plate.

You put the eggs away, and the milk. Cap the cinnamon and tuck it back on the spice shelf. You can be cluttered and a bit forgetful, but not today.

“I know you. From the bottle shop.” He intones.

You go rigid. “Work there, sure.”

“You stopped stocking the black rye.” He says.

“I just work the till.”

He scoffs. You listen to him eat. You check the time on the stove.

“Speaking of, I got a shift.” You say.

You look at him. He nods and keeps eating. You cross the kitchen warily. He doesn't move.

You dip out of the kitchen and pass him. You squeeze by the couch and hurry into the bedroom. You grab a fresh pair of pants then fish out a worn uniform shirt from the basket.

You pause and spin. You reach for your phone. You should let Nelly know you'll be late.

“Leave it,” the man startles you as he pushes through the door.

You recoil as your cheek ticks. “Need to call my manager–”

“You need to chill.” He retorts.

He grabs the clothes you laid out on the bed and tosses them on the basket. You cross your arms and watch him. He yawns and pulls strips off his leather jacket. He throws it to cover your pants and shirt.

You bite down on your agitated confusion. What is he doing?

He strips off his tee and his long hair falls unevenly around his face. His left arm is covered in ink. He flings away the cotton and stretches as he turns to sit on your bed. He bends to take off his boots and socks.

You grab his jacket and he hisses. You turn back to him.

“Gotta work.” You say.

He hushes you and beckons you closer with his fingers. You stare at him. He snaps his fingers impatiently.

You near him, hands in fists, jaw clenched.

He grabs the belt of your robe. You put your hands on his. He squeezes and your eyes meet.

“You took care of me. I'll take care of you.” He shakes your hands off. “Not the type to take and not give.”

You try to step back. The knot comes undone and your robe falls open. You gasp and catch the front. He uses the belt to tug you close again.

“Please,” you snap.

“Woman, I got a full belly but you got me needy still.”

You try to close the robe and he grabs your hands. He wrenches the fabric apart. You squeak.

“I didn't come here to hurt no one.” He warns.

Your heart thumps as you stare him down. His eyes dip down and devour your exposed tits. He urges you closer as he pushes the robe back.

“Still find myself hungry,” he growls.

His arm hooks under your robe and his other hand comes up to grope your tit. You exhale in surprise as he flicks his thumb around your nipple. He draws you off your feet and falls into his back. He brings you into him.

He snarls and puts his lips around your nipple. You writhe over him as his hand creeps down your back and scoops up one side of your ass. His thumb traces a dimple in your flesh.

“Please,” you beg again.

He teethes you sharply and you wince. He rolls you over and swings his body over yours. Your legs splay beneath his weight.

He lifts himself as he pets your throat and his blue eyes wander along your chest. You shiver and push on his bicep. He wiggles his hips and grinds against you.

“Be quiet.” He taps your lower lip. “I just want a little more to eat.”

He stretches his hand around your neck and pins you down. He squeezes just enough to paralyse. Your arms fall limp beside you.

He scales down your body, keeping his hand viced around your neck. He feels along your pelvis and trails your lips. Your thighs twitch.

He hunches on his knees and bends to exhale hotly over your coarse curls. You close your eyes as your stomach tangles. He buries his nose in your tuft of hair and breathes you in.

You tremble and bite your lip. It's been a while. A long while.

He pokes his tongue out and drags it along the edges of your lips. You tense as he delves deeper, swiping up to swirl around your clit, and down to your entrance. He purrs and does it again. Your toes scrunch up as you gasp.

He keeps his tongue moving. Long, torturous laps that have you shaking. You clasp onto his thick wrist as your back arches instinctively.

He groans into you as he drinks you up. He rolls his head, smearing your juices in his beard and along his nose. He goes back to work; teasing your swollen and pulsing cunt, toying with your tender and throbbing clit.

“Almost…” he growls into you. “Come one, woman.”

You squeeze his wrist tight as your other hand fists around your hair. You gnash your teeth down as your eyes sting with tears. You unravel against his plucking.

Your body spasms and you kick your legs straight. Your feet arch and cramp as you whine past his stranglehold. You tremor as your orgasm falls upon you like waves on a shore, rolling higher and higher.

You whimper through the slowing pulse and peel your hand off his wrist. You huff as he drags his tongue lazily between your folds and hums. He turns his head and rests it on your pelvis. He pets your pussy with his fingertips as he leans against your soft thigh. He kisses above your curls, his wet lips leaving a singe.

“Now, I could just sleep forever between these thighs.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

As Good As Done

Warning: noncon, criminal activity, abuse, murder for hire.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

Summary: You seek out a dangerous man for a job but his fee is more than you expected .

Note: this is a sister story to Criminal Intent, Curtis and Geralt are a few of many associates. Let me know if you want more of either or a few more guys in the fold.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"You should come." Steffi says. "It will be fun."

You wipe the counter and shake your head. "Can't. I'm saving my money."

"It's not that much." She argues.

"Maybe some other time." You shrug.

She sighs and leans on the counter behind you. Above it, the wall is hung with all sorts of bike frames, tires, and parts; prices hand-written on tags tied to them. Your father's dusty old shop is as stubborn as him. It refuses to go under.

"What're you even saving for? I never see ya for nothing new." Steffi looks up from behind her phone. "Don't tell me you're one of those k-pop girlies."

You shake your head. "I wanna get out on my own. Someday. Soon." You sniff and ball up the wipe, tossing it in the bin under the counter.

"Yeah, well this place don't exactly pay getting out money, does it?" She scoffs.

"Not really. That's why I'm saving."

"You know, I ask Joella if she could get me work down at the restaurant. The tips are crazy there and the geezers are much nicer." She laughs dryly.

"Oh yeah? Well... You should go for it." You stare at the door, keeping your expression vacant. "Dad needs me here."

"Huh, yeah. Guess you don't got much of a choice."

You tap your fingers on the counter. "Guess not."

The rest of your shift goes as usual. Customers come in and try to barter brand new prices for rusted old parts. Other don't want to pay what's on offer. You don't have a problem letting them go. They'll pay double at the pawn shop and more at the hardware store.

Steffi leaves and you close up. You pull down the metal bars over the windows and lock the front door. You hang the keys in the backroom and stop as the creaky old hinges whine.

Your dad enters from upstairs. You close the keybox and roll the dial to hide the code and lock it. He stops you from getting to the safe and grabs the cash drawer from you.

"Better not be shorting me again. I'll have to dock your check." He sits heavily at the cluttered desk.

"I wouldn't--"

"Stand at the counter all day don't nothing and expect me to pay ya. Pfft." He grumbles.

"Slow day," you say and head for the door.

"Didn't say you were dismissed." He shuffles through the few bills in the drawer. You stop and look at him. "Fucking waste of space. I could run this place just fine without ya, ya know? I'm nice enough to give ya work. No one else'd have ya. Just like your ma."

You don't react. Youve heard it all before and his words don't hurt as bad as the belt. Or the bike spoke he keeps behind his bed frame.

"I know. Thank you, dad."

He grumbles and stands with the cash stacked in one hand. "Don't forget. Rent's due this week. Don't want a be spending all my charity on nonsense." He opens the safe and shoves the money inside. "Stayed long enough under my roof for free"

He slams the door and it reverberates in your head. Years of slammed doors, and swung fists flash behind your eyes. You nod. A few more months and you should have enough.

💵

Everyone knows him. Not because he's sociable by any measure, no, only because his white hair and his reputation. His eyes are just as startling and his stature is enough to keep the curious from his path. All but you, but you wouldn't call it curiosity.

Geralt, the formidable figure known as white wolf, sits as he often does. The newspaper is folded back to the daily crossword, he has a black tea beside it, and a worn down pencil in his hand. The thickness of his fingers dwarf the yellow stick off wood and graphite.

You enter and glance at the menu. You're not in the market for a dark roast. You don't even pretend to browse the glass display case as you pass.

You stop behind the empty chair and watch the man as he scratches letters into the boxes. He flicks the end of the pencil and drags his hand down to the next clue. He rumbles like a bear.

"Most people try not to be so obvious when they stare." He growls without looking up.

"If you'd rather I don't look at you, I'll turn the chair around." You say.

He snorts and taps the pencil on the newsprint.

"Seven letters. A lobster of footwear." He reads out the clue.

You squint and think. You remember an old picture book you had as a child. The things you remember after all those years.

"Slipper." You answer.

He fits blocky capitals into the boxes. "Sit."

You take the chair across from him. He crinkles the paper as he smoothes it then grabs his cup. He sips.

"I recommend the Ceylon. Not the Assam." He sets the cup down.

"Appreciated but I'm not here for tea."

"I know." He says coolly. "Who is it?"

"I have the money--"

"In due time. Who?" He asks without looking up.

You take a breath. You're at his table. There's no going back. "Fabian..." You give you father's name.

He nods and taps the pencil tip in a square.

"The money--"

"Not here." He slides his hand down and scribbles on the corner of the newsprint. He tears off a scrap and hands it over. "There. Payment, then service."

You take the paper and nod. You stand.

"Show up or don't come back." He says and takes his tea again.

"Thanks."

You turn away and walk out with your hand around the newsprint. As you get outside, you read the set of coordinates and the time beneath. This is it. You have to choose. It's you or him.

💵

You have the money, tucked right inside your sweater. Most people might take it and run. Things aren’t so simple for you. This isn’t a problem you can leave; it needs to be exterminated.

You’re out of breath as you arrive at the rendezvous. You knew better than to use GPS to look up the coordinates but looking up the place on a library atlas was no easy feat. The photocopy you made on the public printer is hard enough to decipher but you made it.

You let the bike roll to a stop on its own and plant your feet. Your nerves dance as you lift your leg over the frame and examine the outpost. A place like this is forgotten. Once the mines were stripped and shut down, these wooden old shacks were nothing more than hibernation for possum or other critters.

You hover your foot above the kickstand. You don’t see a car or anything around. You must be early.

“Don’t leave that outside,” the voice warns before you can put the stand down.

You scan the shack and the barren landscape. No tire tracks, not even foot prints. The window pane slides open and a hand beckons you inside.

It’s like one of those old movies. A noir? Everything is mysterious and cryptic. The shady dealings can only be done in black and white.

You wheel your bike around to the door as it opens from the inside. You roll it in with you. A single oil lamp lights the space. It’s not as filthy as you expect. There’s a flannel blanket on a wooden framed chair, a small table beside it, a shelf in the corner with a kettle over an oil burner, and a tin cup. It’s no home, just a way station.

Geralt shuts the door and brushes by you. He clasps the middle of the handle bars and drags the bike away from you. He puts it against the wall then shuts the window.

You linger by the door. You feel the lump inside your sweater. You cough.

“I think I have enough–” You begin.

He turns and sits in the chair. His knees are wide as he keeps a rigid posture despite the low back. He watches you calmly.

“You think…”

“I do.” You unzip your fleece and pull out the envelope. You cleared out the safe for good measure. It won’t matter when all is done. “The money’s all here.”

You cross the creaky floor and offer the envelope. He stares. He sits back slightly, his arms light on the low arms. He fingers the silver wolf ring on his middle fingers.

“I never asked for your money.” He says.

You huff, frustration mounting. “No, but I’m paying you to… I gave you his name.”

“Gave me the name. Said you had the fee ready. I never said money.” He insists.

You drop your hand and grip the envelope until it creases. “I don’t understand.”

“You can put that down.” He points.

You follow the gesture. You go to the crate with the splintered frame and put the envelope on top. He’s toying with you. He has to. He has to make sure this is legit.

“You can leave your clothes over there too.” He says.

You flinch and glance at him over your shoulder. “You think I’m wearing a wire.”

“I know you’re not. You came ready to pay. We’re making a deal.” He drawls, his pale eyes flickering with the flame on the table beside him.

You turn your back to him again and shudder. Oh.

“Payment upfront.” He intones.

You unzip your fleece all the way. You lay it over the envelope. You bend to untie your dusty old runners and put them to the side. You tuck your socks into them.

You strip away the layers slow but deliberate. You don’t doubt for a single moment. You didn’t come here to walk away without a deal. You knew when you sat down at that cafe table that you would give anything to get rid of your father.

You pause as all that’s left are your underwear. Black and grey plaid cotton. You push them down with the last of your dignity and face him. He remains as he was, calm, expectant.

You cross the shack and stop in front of him. He watches you placidly.

“You’ll find me ready.” He says.

You bite down and bend to trace your fingers across his belt. You undo the thick buckle as his stomach clenches noticeably under his shirt. You flip away the ends of the leather and pick the button undone. You tug down his zipper and expose the salt and pepper hair beneath.

He lifts himself just an inch and you pull down his jeans and briefs. You leave them at the middle of his thick thighs, woven with the same thick hair as his pelvis and the peek of his lower stomach.

You brace his shoulder as you step between his legs. You climb up onto his lap, legs bent under you as you straddle him. His thick fingertips climb up your stomach and he scoops up your tits. He lifts them and rolls his thumbs around your nipples.

He hums. You reach under you and grip his dick. He’s thicker and longer than the only other man you were ever with. A bad mistake on graduation night. Well, at least degradation is nothing new.

You push his tip against you, angling him along your entrance. He trails a hand up your neck and frames your jaw with his large hand. He squeezes.

“Slow.” He warns.

You hold your breath. You use your fingers to urge his tip past your tight entrance. You groan at the strain. You have no choice but to keep your descent cautious. You stop, with just his head inside, and roll your shoulders. You exhale softly.

His other hand drops your hip. He urges you on. Just a little. You grunt and grip the front of his shirt.

“Breathe. Slow.” He lets go of your jaw and wets his fingers with his tongue. He snakes down to play with your clit. “Keep on.”

You lower yourself further. His breath unfurls as his chest deflates. He flicks his fingers and your thighs knots. You sink further and he growls.

“Tight,” he rolls his fingers faster. “Responsive.”

You turn your head and stare at the wall. He doesn’t need to narrate.

His hand scoops behind you and he gropes your ass. You slip down until you whimper. Your hand slips and you clutch onto the large medallion bouncing on his chest. You arch your back and hiss.

“Little more.” He coaxes and pushes you down.

You bottom out and hang your head forward. You puff through your nose as your heart races. You didn’t expect to come here and fuck this stranger. You’ll forget just as fast as it happened. Once he’s done his part.

He taps the top of your ass. You tilt your hips. You slip up his length then ease back down. His fingers stay on your clit. Each ascent is a relief while your descent has your insides screaming. 

His hand crawls up your back and he sits forward. He leans you back, steadying you with his large hand. His fingers dance on your bud as he drags his nose between your tits. His breath glazes your skin damply and he catches a nipple between his lips. He plucks at you with fingertips and tongues in time.

Your hips move on their own. Urgency builds from more than a need to be done. No, you feel a bloom inside you, fiery and fuming. You close your eyes and let your head fall back. He brings his hand up to cradle your skull as he nips and sucks at your chest. His grizzly growls trickle down your flesh.

You dig your nails into the fabric of his shirt as you brace his thick torso. You choke out a long whine as your muscles unravel. The sounds of your bodies meeting fills the desolate shack.

He grunts and tilts up into you. He leans back against the chair and brings you with him. His arm locks around your back and he crushes you to him. He ruts up from below, his flesh cracking against yours.

He pumps into you until he’s breathless. He pushes his chin down against your head and snarls. His tempo turns jagged and he gives a final sharp thrust before he collapses beneath you. He keeps you trapped beneath his thick arm as you pant against his chest.

“Consider it done already.” He rasps.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Criminal Intent

Warning: noncon, stealing/crime, fear and intimidation.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Curtis Everett

Summary: An act of desperation leads to a moment of retribution.

Note: this idea popped into my mind so I quickly jotted it up. No plans on a series but I could see a couple of continuations if y'all want. Let me know, pls!

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You got over should or shouldn't a long time ago. This isn't about morals, it's not even about greed. This is survival. You just need something, anything you can hock for a couple bucks.

Your stomach is a siren, crying out for anything. You listen to that, not your conscience. When it boils down to it, ethics are as much a commodity as a gold watch or designer purse.

Confidence is key. Not real confidence, just the appearance of. People only notice what you let them notice.

It's dark. Late. You move between the shadows of house, trailing behind the bumpers of pickups, stopping to stand on tiptoe and peek in the beds. Empty bottles won't even get you a return anymore. Fucking pricks in their suits, writing down new rules for everyone but themselves.

Just a small thing. Nothing that's too much. If they can afford them, they can afford to replace them, surely.

You stop and rub your eyes. The streetlights soften the edges. You see something further down a lot.

The long drive is full up. Three pick ups, an outdated corvette, and a couple bikes near the unlit garage with four doors. You weave between, pausing to test the handles and peek through the windows.

Huh. One's unlocked. You find greasy receipts for a burger place this end of town and coupons for more. Jesus. Fat fuck.

You keep on towards the bikes. Usually, you don't get much off of them. You might manage to twist off a mirror or couple pieces of metal to sell at the scrapper.

You check the first. Nothing. The second turns up a couple pills tucked inside the handlebar. If they're any good, you can get a decent profit. You don't touch the shit. Makes you an easy target, even if it would ease the ache in your gut.

The third bike is nice. The silver cobra painted on the matte grey tank catches a glimmer of moonlight. You feel around slowly.

There's a leather pouch right behind the seat. Someone must've been distracted. You unbuckle it, the metal clinking louder than you like, and sift around blindly.

You take out the only object inside. A folding knife. You'll be lucky to take ten from the pawnshop. They have a whole fucking bucket of knives.

A click makes you clumsy. The knife falls between your feet and you stand sttaight. Stiff. The gravel mulches behind you.

"Hands up." The grizzly voice sneers.

Fucker. You raise your hands. The man comes close and kicks the knife under the bike and you hear it skitter to the other side.

"You law?" You ask.

"Shut up." He growls.

You sigh and stay as you are. His body heat clouds around you as he pokes you with the barrel. You huff.

"Keep your hands up and turn around." He commands.

"I'm just hungry--" you say.

"Yeah? Bet those pills are real filling." He jabs the gun deeper between your shoulder blades. "Turn the fuck around."

You close your eyes and deflate. You face the man and look. He's just a black silhouette but you can tell he isn't with the force. You stare at him, bracing for something, anything.

"You know what I do with thieves?"

"I can guess," your fingers droop weakly.

"Don't you know where the fuck you are?" He steps closer and angles the barrel under your chin. The silver glow of the moon limns his long nose and lights his grey blue irises.

"Somewhere I shouldn't be."

"You're goddamn fucking right." He pushes until your jaw aches.

He glares at you as the shadows coil like a basilisk. He drags the gun along your cheek and presses against your temple. He hooks his finger in the top of your hoodie and tugs it away from your neck. He scoffs.

"Listen to every fucking word I say and I might let you limp out of here."

You sniff and shake your head. "What the hell am I gonna do?"

He clicks his tongue. "Turn around. Walk up to that wall. Put your palms flat." He gestures with the barrel.

You obey and march stiffly up to the front of the garage. He follows you. You stare at the obscure siding and resign yourself to whatever comes next.

"Pay for what you took and we're even."

"You think I'm out hear stealing cause I got money--“

His knuckles snap against the back of your skull.

"Point is you took what's mine. You owe me." He shifts behind you. "I didn't say nothing about money."

He kicks your heels.

"Pull your jeans down."

Your body locks up and your fingers curl to fists. You swallow dryly. You reach down.

“Ah, move slow. I’m still being nice.” He warns. “You still got all your fingers.”

You ease your motion. You don’t bother with your fly. You slip your thumbs under the denim and elastic and shove your jeans down. You stop just at the midpoint of your thighs.

A gristly hum climbs up his throat. You flinch as his hot hand spreads across one side of your ass. From that alone, you’re assured that it’s not just the darkness playing tricks. He is indeed a very formidable man.

“Stay like that. Don’t make a noise.” He drawls.

You don’t move. You dip your head forward and lock your legs. You’re terrified but you know better than to show it. Even if you’re not bawling and begging, you’re sure he knows.

He grabs your wrists and guides your arms up. He forces your hands against the side of the garage. He lets go and you stay as he put you.

You close your eyes as something clinks. His belt buckle. A thick breath chafe and his zipper cuts through the still night. You bite down until your jaw throbs.

He grabs your hips and guides your feet back, just a little. With a heavy boot, he moves your legs further apart. He squeezes and tilts your lower back. He traces his fingertips across the top of your ass.

“Be nice, still, and quiet for me.” He rasps.

He steps close, pumping himself slowly. His knuckles brush the curve of your backside. He smells the crown of your head and his hot breath puffs into your hair. His large hand frames your hip as he trails his tip beneath your as and along your thigh.

He rubs up along your cunt as he bends his knees. You clench and clamp your eyes tight. He pushes against you. His slow deliberate intrusion burns. The resistance of your body makes it worse and when he slips inside, you grunt. Just his tip has you trembling.

He brings his other hand to your hip. He grips you tight as he tilts his pelvis up, splitting you with each inch. A long groan grinds from you as you push your hands hard against the wall. You lean your head on the side as you gnash your teeth.

When you think he’s done, he jerks his hips and plunges even deeper. You cry out and he hushes you, digging his nails into your skin. You quiver and nod. You swallow down the pain.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

He stays buried in you as he drags his touch up your sides. One hand slips under your hoodie and the crumpled shirt beneath. He cups your tit as his other arm hooks around your neck. His squeeze just under your jaw and he pushes his head next to yours, his cheek against your temple.

He slides out of you until just his tip. He urges back in and you chuff out another tight breath through your nose. He rolls into you, over and over. Each thrust is long and measured. Torturous.

He turns so his nose presses your temple. His breath dampens your skin. He rams into you harder. Your feet arch so you're on your toes. He bends you until you’re crushed between him and the garage wall.

He snarls as his hand snakes down your stomach and a thick finger delves between your lips. You gasp and gulp, bracing the crook of his arm as your nerves spark. You moan and shake your head. He curls his arm until your knuckles are against your neck and you can’t breathe.

“I said be quiet.” He sneers as he snaps his hips meanly. “You wanna take from me?” He ruts up into you harshly. You keep an elbow against the wall as you clutch at his arm with both hands. “You’re gonna take all of me.” 

He hammers against your ass mercilessly, flesh slapping between your stifled whimpers. Your head hangs over his thick arm as his leather coat opens around you, tickling your sides as his tempo picks up with each tilt. He growls and nips your ear.

“Then we’ll see if you can walk away from this.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bounty

Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

You voted, I wrote it. This is the next June fic! (It’s late. Sorry)

Geralt of Rivia + “You're so soft... so weak.” (Medieval AU)

I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3

Princess Mercaline closes her eyes and lets the breath flare from her long nose. She is immaculate in every way. Tall, lithe, her blonde hair tinged with ginger, her lips a perfect shade of rose petal. She tips her head back as the sunlight limns her fair complexion. She is young and stubborn.

“Your highness,” you nearly whisper at the clatter below. The holler of men adds to the tension.

“He’s won. Again.” She sneers. “All he had to do was leave me be.” Her eyes glisten as she peers off into the sky. “I am as much our father’s child as he ever was.”

“Your highness,” you repeat again.

She keeps her shoulders straight as she watches the courtyard. They will be upon her soon. The city’s siege has fallen and her brother’s general is on his way to claim victory for his liege. Though you wonder, will the new king declare his sister traitor or merely force her hand on the contract she refused from behind these walls?

“I do not fear it.” She assures you stiffly. “My brother is impertinent and one day, that will be his undoing. Be it marriage or the dungeon, he might even send me to the axe, his fate will be worse. He will not be spared the same cruelty he wields.”

She brings her hands up to cradle the silver cross at the end of her rosary. You dip your head reverently. She sighs.

“Matron, how I envy you. You have not known the plight of a man’s will. Not as many must.” She drones. “No husbands, no sons.”

You stand with her, your own insides torn by the anxiety of what heads your way. You mightn’t be more than an old maid sworn to her service, but it never exempted you the obstinacy of the male race. It was a man who put you there with the princess when she was but a girl and kept you there. And it will not spare you the pillage of this failed battle.

“I will meet him in my coronet and cape. I am still princess, as I will be until my death. Whenever that shall be.” Mercaline declares and spins on her slippered heel.

You follow, as loyal as ever. You saw the princess through the seasons of her life. Through toddling in castle halls, prancing through the gardens, swishing in newly sewn gowns as she grew taller and curvier, and in her womanhood, stoic and willful as ever. You will follow her to this as well.

You help her secure the coronet with pink amethyst and diamonds. You smooth her long sleeves then help her shoulder the velvet lined cape with her sigil of doves and lilies. She does not falter as she stands and waits, undaunted by the clop of horse hooves through the courtyard gates or the blowing of victory horns.

You step back, hiding your shaky hands behind you, fingers toying with the strings of your apron. Your shades of grey linen and wool pale in the pinks and lilacs of the royal sister; as your age and plainness are shadowed in the light of her youthful beauty. She is brave where you are nervous, and regal where you are common.

“You will make certain the general is received with proper care,” she bids. “Send for wine from the cellar and permit only the general into the receiving chamber.”

Her courage lends you enough to obey. You go to bid for the bottle and prepare the receiving chamber. You hide all evidence of the siege’s toll.

Jeb returns with what he can find. You dust off the bottle and ready it next to goblets. You hear the advance through the corridors, echoing closer and closer. Men order others to put down their arms or perish. Those with titles will stand trial, others will be sentenced to die regardless of surrenders, as others will be sent to work until they meet the same end.

Commander du Haute-Bellegarde appears in his ebon armour. His silver hair stands out against the dark iron, his helm firmly cradled under his thick arm. You know him by sight. He was the old king’s best soldier, and certainly, this triumph will make him that of the new king.

“The princess,” he demands.

“She will receive you, my lord. Only you.” You approach, gulping as you steady your hands. His eyes flicker as you hide your trembling fingers behind you once more. “That is her order.”

“Her order? She is conquered and she presumes to bid me as a dog, still?”

“You are not dog, Sir Geralt,” Princess Mercaline states. “You are a wolf. I would permit you but not your pack within my chambers. I remain the king’s sister.”

Sir Geralt considers her. He raises his gauntleted hand and wiggles it. The men behind him retreat. There is no escape for the princess, she needn’t a battalion.

“Your highness,” you clasp your hands in front of you, “would you have me go too?”

“Stay, pour her some wine. She will need it.” Sir Geralt insists. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Princess.”

“General.” She strides over, her skirts moving as if she floats on air. “Have you put up your flag? What shall it be? Does my brother have the guts to come himself or does he bid you to do all in his name?” She snipes. “Pray tell, when he married, did he have you consummate as well–”

“Princess, you are not tawdry as so. I know you.” He says. He pauses and glances at you. “Matron, pour the wine.”

You step forward and do as he says. You fill both cups. He approaches and sets down his helm. He pulls off his gauntlets and lays them down as well. His mail brushes against your apron. He takes a goblet and turns to the princess. He goes to her and holds it out.

“A dispensation has been granted to absolve the betrothal. The marquess is shamed by you. He would not have you now.” The general explains. “Your city has fallen but your purpose is met.” He scoffs.

“Be plain about it, sir. I assume I haven’t much time left for your boasting.” She takes the goblet but does not drink.

“I have advised against execution. I know war and I know what stirs it.” He proclaims. “I do not long for battles anon in your name.” He stares her down. “You will be sent to Perily.”

She does not flinch. “I hear the tower is cold.”

“You will know soon enough.”

She grins. “I rather like the cold.” He is quiet. She looks down at the wine and swishes it around the goblet. “And would you bring a message back to my brother since he hasn’t the gall to hear it from me himself? Be a good little hound.”

“Princess?”

She looks up and tosses the wine in his face. He doesn’t move. He runs his hands over his face and pushes back his wet strands.

“Shall I throw wine or piss? Which would be accurate?” The General grits.

She trills with laughter. You admire her boldness though you know it will do her no good. If only you could be as her. If only you weren’t terrified and old.

“Shit, if you have it,” she says flippantly as she throws the goblet and turns away. “Matron, we will need to pack my trunks–”

“Matron,” the General raises his hand. “Matron will come with me.”

For the first, the princess winces. She turns and looks at you. All humour is gone from her.

“Why? She is a maid. Certainly, I would have one in the tower–”

“You would. You have many in this place. I will fetch another and she will go with you to Perily.”

“You cannot–”

“It is the king’s orders.” He says evenly. “You will not retain your conspirators.”

Your heart seizes. You will be as the rest. Punished for loyalty. For doing as you have sworn to do. To serve. Your lip trembles.

The princess scowls. “Good puppy,” she taunts. “Go, be gone from me and wag your tail at the king.”

“Your highness,” you eke. “I… I bid you safe travel. And I bid that you are well kept in the tower and–”

“I bid you silent.” The General snarls as he snaps his fingers. He gathers up his helm and gauntlet. “Princess, you will be kept in solitary. A maid will come to change your pot and bring your bread until your tumbril is ready for transport.” 

He tucks his gauntlets into his belt, keeping his helm under his arm. He seizes you with his free hand, squeezing your arm until you wine.

“I will see to this traitor’s punishment–”

“Traitor!” Mercaline sweeps forward, reaching for you. “No, she is not. She has been loyal! You will not harm her–”

“I will do as the law deems,” he shields you with his burly body and elbows away the princess. “Mind, your brother granted me leave to do as I must to detain you. Whatever is needed to keep you prisoner. Do not make me test the extent of his order.”

“Sir, please, she is the princess–” You beg.

“Quiet, Matron, or I will break her in front of you before I do the same of you.” He jerks you towards the door. “Princess, you will not attempt further folly or this matron will feel the consequence.”

He drags you as your soles scuff. You hear Mercaline whimper and her slippers slap on the stone. It’s too late. The door slams behind the General as he shoves you out into the corridor.

Several of his men linger. He orders them to keep watch. He proceeds along the corridor with you in tow. His grip is painful.

“General, we’ve readied a chamber.” A soldier approaches. “At the end of this stretch.”

“Good man. Go, see to your supper.” The general responds tersely.

He ushers you on to the noted doors. He pushes you through the left one. You peer over your shoulder as he swings it shut on the hinges. You’re confused. You expect a dungeon, maybe even a gibbet.

“Do you know the trouble your princess has roused?” He tuts as he paces around the room. “Surely you do. And what have you done but stood and emboldened her, matron.”

He drops his helm on the round wooden table and rips his gauntlets free of his belt. He slaps them down. You stay by the door, uncertain, eyeing the blade sheathed at his waist. He unstraps the sword from his back and puts it flat across the table.

“You serve her so diligently. You will do thus for me.” He faces you and beckons you with two thick fingers. “Come here. I long to be free of this armour.”

You hesitate, then approach. You examine his chest plate. You never dealt with such before. The heavy iron covers his torso, chain mail around his arms, and he wears more armour on his legs. He removes his belt and puts it with the rest.

He lifts his arms and gestures. You find the strap and unbuckle it. There are several. He patiently stands in place as you loosen each.

He lifts the plate over his head and hands it to you. It’s heavy. He laughs as you struggle to carry it to the bench and lay it down.

“You're so soft... so weak.” He taunts. “But you are not stupid. I could have you killed at this very moment.”

You look at him and quickly bow your head.

“You know it so you obey. You will obey. Whatever I bid you.” He snickers. “You are not done. My mail, my greaves, anon.”

You go to him again. He watches you as you avoid returning his gaze. You feel along his thighs as you search for the fasteners. He lets out a long breath as you graze his leggings in your efforts.

You free him of his cuisses and his greaves, and the pieces over his boots. You stand straight and he tugs his mail over his head and dips his head. You help him lift it off. You set it all aside with his chest plate.

He stands in padding, tunic, legging and boots. You remove the padding next. As you near him again, his fingers stroke along the belt of your apron. He pushes until you stop. He frames your thick waist and turns you around. He tugs on the strings until they loose.

He lets go and lifts the apron over your head, letting it fall to your feet. You shudder and step away. He catches you by the back of your neck. He spins you around. He looms over you.

“You served your princess so loyally. You will do the same for me.” He growls in your face. “Or I will be certain you are only ever on your knees for the executioner.”

You whine as your eyes flick up to his golden ones. “Yes, General–”

“Do you know what battle does to a man? Hm? Days, nights, weeks, out there, sleeping in the dirt.” He moves you backward as he pinches your nape, pressing his forehead to yours. “A man is deprived. A man is cold. A man is… tired.”

He walks you across the chamber as you squirm and wince. He stops you as you feel the breeze through the window against your back.

“A man longs for warmth out there.” His other hand paws at your stomach and slips around your hip. “A man longs for softness. Then he finds it waiting for him.”

You quiver as your veins burn with fire. “Sir, I am–”

“You are the bounty I would claim in this war, matron.” He pushes you against the thick frame of the tapered window. “And when I fuck you,” He spins you around and shoves you against the open window. He grabs your neck again and forces you to bend over the frame and stare down at the perilous depth. “You will scream out your new master’s name so that all know who you belong to.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Vowed to You

Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

You voted, I wrote it. This is June 10th’s fic!

Steve Rogers + “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.” (Medieval AU)

I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3

Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!

Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖

You brush the crumbs off your fingertips and bend your neck. Your veil shifts and you resist the urge to scratch through it. Sister Madeline recites the evening prayer as the others pick at their bread and sip the bitter ale. There’s a tension beneath the silence of the grazing order.

You heard it as you sat and sorted beans from the garden. They all did. The familiar horns and canter of horses. The visitors dismounting at the monastery that shares the same plot with the convent. You hear the monks have lamb and red wine.

The other sisters share looks across the table. You squirm and stare at your plate. You aren’t hungry. Not since you heard his voice carrying from the yard.

Supper finishes and you clear the table with the other sisters. No longer bound to silence, they whisper. You hear the name that keeps you on edge.

You scrape off the crumbs and put the leftover crusts in a basket for the paupers. You wipe clean the wooden plates and stack them as Sister Eleanor giggles at Sister Dawn. Sister Brenna hushes them and chides them to take extra prayers at Compline.

You drift through the remaining prayers and evening chores. You know the walls and floors of the convent well enough to walk them with your eyes closed. Your hands are forged to each task without effort.

You retire to the hard bed of an oak plank. The night keeps you awake outside as the usual creak of branches and snaps of twigs by nocturnal creatures has you imagining more treacherous trespassers. Then the low jingle comes and you are entirely alert.

When the Duke arrives to visit in one of his pilgrimages with the monks, he never fails to send the signal. And you never fail to heed it. The one time you did…

You listen to the sisters around you. Life in the convent doesn’t allow for much rest so when it is had, it’s done deeply. You rise and pull on your robes and veil. You keep your head down as you raise your skirts above the slumbering bodies and cross the room.

The corridors are so dark you can take only small steps. You reach the kitchen door and let yourself out into the moonlight. You don’t look back, only ahead. You go to the mule’s house behind the monastery and whistle in imitation of a sparrow. You wait for the return.

Nothing. Perhaps you imagined it. Or perhaps you are too quick. You shudder and push through the door. Your body readies for what is demanded of it.

The scent of straw and donkey fur meets your nose. You lean into the door to close it. You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall. You turn and search the slivers of moonlight for movement.

Your nerves tangle and your heart clutches. Something off. Something is out of place. You turn and suddenly you’re shoved back. You stumble into a stool as hands clasp onto your sides and keep you from tumbling over.

Lord Rogers chuckles and nuzzles your veil.

“Sacred sister, you’ve missed me,” He growls as he squeezes through your habit. “You’ve no idea how I’ve longed for our reunion.”

Your flick your lashes and gulp. If only he knew the same dread as you do. If only he feared so much for the mark upon his soul and yet, he has no such vow to keep. He is a noble, he is a man who can buy forgiveness. You will repent forever in this world and the next.

“My lord.” You whisper.

“Lamb, please, I long to hear my name upon thy sweet lips.” His mouth grazes yours and his breath clouds hotly.

“Steven…” you murmur as his hands run down to your skirts. 

He presses his lips to yours and growls. He yanks at your habit as you cling to him to keep from falling. He turns you and traps you against the planked wall. His beard tickles your skin as he sighs into you.

“I need you, lamb.” He snarls. “I’ve needed you so badly. It is all I think of.” His hands crawl under your skirts and he kneads your thighs. “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.”

[indiewritesxoxo]

the aliens are cumming!

gojo's out of this world!

synopsis: you never asked to trade sleeping in your bed for sleeping on a cold cot in a spaceship. never imagined you'd become an alien's favorite species to study - or his favorite to fuck either. he might not want to cage you like the rest of them, but then again, keeping you captive wouldn't be so bad, would it? for science, of course.

pairing: alien!gojo x f!reader

content: mdni. smut. porn with plot. slight dubcon. yandere!alien gojo, abduction, probing, examination kink, being strapped down to a table, lube, everyone loves true form sukuna but have we considered gojo with four arms and two dicks?, dumbification, gojo is basically an alien with a porn addiction and a human fetish but he's got cute antennas too, yearning, he's OBSESSED, nipple sucking, fingering, double stuffed, penetration in both holes, unprotected anal and piv sex, creampies

Gojo wanted you the second he saw you.

Technically, he shouldn't have even been in the lab. Technically, he wasn't even a researcher. Technically, he had stolen the security card once he saw that they abducted someone new to conduct their standard blood tests on.

Humans were a hot commodity.

A resource to utilize, something to use like, ah, how did they say it? Lab rats? Something less sentient, more animalistic. A lesser version of them, but with biology similar enough to study.

His kind had never cared about human history. Couldn't be bothered to learn about their culture. Flat-out disregarded the notion an inferior species like that could even really have any.

Satoru simply disagreed.

They didn't care to hear him out either. Kept up the archaic practices under the bland excuse of conducting studies for boring stuff like medicine and science.

It was supposed to be cut and dry. Abduct. Drug. Test. Drop back off.

Humans never noticed.

Waking up the morning after back in their own bed, completely clueless, chalking any memories up to nothing more than a weird dream and moving on with their little lives.

But Gojo had been fascinated by the funny creatures for as long as he could remember. Collected trinkets and snuck their stuff back to his room when they were brought on board. Managed to sneak in and ask a few about what Earth was like while they were still dazed.

He'd only been on the planet once. It was meant to be a brief expedition, to stake out some potential subjects before returning to their spaceship, but he couldn't help himself.

That was where he obtained his prized possession.

Something you humans called porn.

He had permanently borrowed an odd-looking rectangle, purely because it was shiny and fit underneath his shirt when he got beamed back up, using their far more advanced technology to sift through the files to find something that failed to satiate his curiosity. Instead, it sparked an entirely new kind, staring rapt at the screen in his room as video after video of humans mating played out in positions he hadn't thought possible.

Using different holes and sticking body parts in places he was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be, panting and moaning and sweating on camera while they came. And they seemed to do that a lot.

Gojo studied their creativity. Their commitment to pleasure - the rituals they'd perform, the exchange of sex as a form of currency, the fabled pizza guy and the females proclivity to get stuck in dryers.

He even stitched together his own lingerie, even if his fingers ends up bloody by the end of it.

Sex up on the spaceship was boring. Solely for procreation purposes. He'd been rejecting potential mates for years, people who just wanted his position as the future heir to their conglomeration for power.

And yeah, maybe they weren't so civilized, but he was starting to think humans had something right.

After all, their genitalia was sorta like theirs. They could be having this much fun too!

If everyone wasn't so stuffy about everything and insisted on following 'protocols' all the time.

But they'd see just how right he was soon - especially now that he had a test subject of his own.

This was not a nightmare.

You thought it was, at first. Convinced this had to be a strange dream, something your brain concocted after a couple bad horror movies.

Strapped down to a table? Without a single fucking memory of how you got there?

What else could it be?

But you could feel the cool air brushing over your peaked nipples, touch the smooth surface under your palms, blink and squint at the too-bright lights lining the spherical ceiling. Legs held up, fastened in stirrups.

Still, your first conclusion wasn't extraterrestrial. No, you were sure you'd been abducted by some serial killer, kidnapped and taken back to a makeshift dungeon designed to drive you crazy.

Straining against cool metal, squirming and splayed out like a science experiment for anyone to see.

"Hello?" You called out, only getting the faint echo of your own voice back to keep you company.

No one answered. But you couldn't crane your neck to check and see if you were being ignored.

You felt like you were being watched.

Small bumps trailing over your skin when you shivered, an annoying little itch grating at your nerves and insisting you weren't alone.

Still, you wouldn't have guessed what - or technically, who - was with you.

Not until the footsteps.

They were wrong. The pace was just off, some imperceptible thing making your heart race that you couldn't quite place. Were they too close together? Too far apart? Too heavy? They were accompanied by more odd noises, your brain struggling to process it, like listening to a foreign language on the radio, picking apart bits and pieces and trying to make sense out of them.

"Who's there?"

It felt like a cheesy horror movie. You could hear yourself half an octave too high, all pitchy and petrified, but you couldn't control it. Couldn't stop yourself from shivering as you were surrounded by shadows.

Your chest heaved. Your wrists strained. But before you could scream or shout, something sharp pricked your neck, and you were almost instantly paralyzed.

Not fully, but your muscles went from fighting to faintly twitching, but they didn't respond to your brain's demands to move. You could still look around, still could twist and turn your head as much as the collar around your neck allowed.

You were terrified for the worst.

Of being touched, your skin splayed or torn while you could do nothing but stare at the blank walls.

But instead, they just watched.

Something cold grazed against your skin, but it was little more than a faint trail along your leg. A few more pricks in your arm, like they were taking blood samples.

Then they left.

Whatever they were.

The silence was somehow worse. Waiting for them to return. Waiting for some horrible fate to befall you.

Just when you were on the brink of hyperventilating, a few tears pricking at your lash line you couldn't wipe away, you heard them again.

One of the creatures whined, the cold contraptions keeping your thighs spread only pushing them further apart when you tried to move again, muscles still burning through whatever was numbing your body and keeping you mostly frozen from the neck down.

The other one replied in that strange language, and you couldn't comprehend what the fuck they were saying, but it sounded cold. All clinical and curt.

A door shut. And those strange steps came back. These were lighter though, quicker.

A pair of blue eyes were suddenly above yours, bright and intelligent, deep enough to drown in. Unnatural white lashes fluttering, narrowing as he studied your reactions. But it was hard to focus on him when the world felt all foggy, only able to process everything in broken pieces. You tried to recount what was in front of you.

Fading footsteps. Faint beeping. Cold restraints on your wrists. White walls.

And him.

You figured you were really fucked when you had the distant thought some cute guy had to pulling some cruel prank on you. Even though you could only see him from the shoulders up, it almost looked like he was wearing a Halloween costume. His skin practically shimmered, like some strange movie-style special effect, a soft shade that didn't make sense to your addled brain, antennas sticking up in his tousled white hair.

But then something warm brushed against your cheek, moving your hair to the side and sliding something inside your ear, readjusting for a moment.

"Can you understand me now?"

You nodded, as much as you could given the cold collar around your throat keeping your head down on the table.

"Good," he beamed at you, flashing teeth that were mostly human - even if his canines were too sharp for your liking. "I made that myself."

"W-who are you?" You managed to speak, still breathing too fast, trying to glance around again. "Where am I?"

"You can call me Satoru," he earnestly answered, but he paused, blinking as if he hadn't expected you to ask that. "We're on a spaceship."

"Uh-huh," you dryly replied, throat constricting as you tried to consider the chance he was telling the truth and that you weren't on a reality tv show one of your friends signed you up for.

"I'm being serious," he pouted, leaning down to look even closer at you.

His eyes were starry, speckled and swirling, magnetic, pulling you into his heated stare. His breath was cold against your skin, making you shiver and retreat back. But the metal slab you were on was even chillier, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

He looked less human up close. All his features were just slightly wrong, the kind of pretty and perfect that people would have to get plastic surgery and pay years worth of their salary to weakly replicate.

But he looked at you like you were the most captivating thing he'd ever seen.

"A-are you going to probe me?" You didn't realize you actually believed him until you heard the question leave your lips.

You were kinda hoping he'd laugh, assuage your fears. But he just tilted his head to the side considerately.

"Would you like me to?" Like he was your fucking gracious host, happy to oblige his guest's whims and wants.

"Um, what?" You stared. He smiled.

"I could use my fingers, or one of those, how do you call them, dil-" He began offering, and your head was spinning at the concept that aliens knew what sex toys were.

"You don't have to," you interrupted before he could finish, and you were pretty sure he was disappointed.

His little antennas drooped, his bottom lip twitching into a down-turned frown.

"Why am I here?" You changed the subject, unable to break eye contact with your new...acquaintance?

Were you about to be alien livestock? Spliced apart? Stuck in this stasis on this freezing slab forever?

"Research," he grinned again, those sharp blue eyes trailing south, his stare dragging over your exposed body. Antennas shooting straight up, subtly twitching with what you were starting to think was arousal.

"Research?" You echoed, holding your breath, heat coiling inside your stomach at his intensity. At how transfixed he was, tracing your outline and mapping it out just with his greedy gaze.

"I'd like to study your pleasure," he murmured, a not-very-subtle emphasis on the last word, his voice low.

Your brain was buzzing. Nerves electrified at the prospect of how your definition of pleasure might differ from his.

But the fear had dissipated, or maybe just coiled into something more dangerous. Desire.

"Can I touch you?" He hesitated, and you had to stop yourself from gawking. Mouth parting as you tried to figure out if he was actually asking for consent in this situation.

"D-do you want to?" You felt like you were just returning his question, a weak attempt to discern his intentions.

Part of you had started to reconsider the possibility you were dreaming before he chuckled, and your pulse pounding in your ears convinced you once again this was real.

Spread open in stirrups in front of your strange alien abductor.

But it wasn't apprehension or anxiety pumping through you anymore. It was anticipation, staring down a cliff and preparing to fling yourself off of it after his mouth curled up in a cute smirk.

"More than anything."

God, he made it sound like foreplay.

You bit your lip, tasted the hint of blood and iron on it, before making what was probably the stupidest decision of your life. You nodded.

His antennas were vibrating when he reached down to press his palm against your cheek, cupping your face. Soft, like a boyfriend would. Humming and exhaling as he smiled. His eyes didn't crinkle, no little lines etched by his lips, tiny details that stood out and made you shiver.

"I'm going to examine you first," he murmured, and you didn't know exactly how his lungs worked, or if he even had any, but it sounded like his breath hitched. His chest straining to hold it in, hold himself together as his hand traced over the cool metal of the collar down to your chest.

He used both hands.

Grabbing both your tits, not exactly groping, but squeezing hard enough to feel your skin and tissue underneath squish and shift, pure delight dancing across his face.

It was the weirdest breast exam you ever had.

Soft fingers, free of callouses, free of prints, danced over your nipples, making small stars over them.

You assumed he didn't know what he was doing. That maybe this was his first time touching a human. Or maybe a woman at all.

But then he pinched, ripping a raw gasp from your throat as you blinked up at him in surprise.

Satoru hadn't stopped though. Only emboldened by the sound he pulled from you, twisting and tweaking just enough to send sparks down your spine, heat simmering inside your stomach, unable to even squirm when he leaned down, deciding that touching wasn't enough.

He wanted a taste of you.

His tongue was rougher than you imagined, dragging over your nipple with even more fervor. You tried to crane your neck, but it didn't offer enough space for you to see his face, just those pretty blue antennas bobbing above the sea of white while he licked and lapped.

Straight-up sucking on your tits, teeth grazing against your sensitive nipples as he continued to knead into your chest.

You wished you had panties on, anything to hide how wet he was making you, thighs damp and unable to even close them to hide how hot you unfortunately found it.

Satoru pulled off with a filthy pop! before turning his attention back to you, pretty pink lips shiny with saliva as he pouted. "How come there's no milk?"

"Milk?" You gaped, the question coming out shaky, still catching your breath as you stared at his piercing blue eyes.

"Am I not doing it right?" He quizzed, running a finger back over your nipple before pinching again, only stoking the flames he'd set.

You hadn't realized how horny you were until you had to put together enough brain cells to form a coherent sentence, stumbling over your thoughts as you tried to get the words out, "T-that only happens when a girl is like, pregnant."

His brows scrunched together, processing this new interesting bit of information.

"I see," he nodded, as if it was now obvious to him. But he still applied more pressure, like he had to double check. As if he was doing some mental calculation to figure out how to induce it.

One of his fingers trailed down, past your mid-riff and over your belly button - although he did pause to press on that too, just to see if it'd do anything. When it didn't, he kept moving south. He walked around the bed, out of your sight again, both hands settling on your splayed-out thighs.

They were bigger than anyone else's you'd ever been with before. Soft and massive, sinking into your pliable muscles, humming with approval as he just stared.

You were self-conscious, trying to get your weakened muscles to shift when you heard a faint clutter. Your brain tried to do the math.

There were two hands on your thighs - so what the fuck was grabbing stuff?

It wasn't until the third hand slipped between your folds, spreading them even further apart so a fourth could spread something slick over it, that you figured out what was happening.

He had four arms.

And he was more than happy to put all of them to use.

You were already stuck. Already exposed. But he seemed intent on exploring every inch of you for himself, taking his time to drag his palms over the expanse of your body while that frustratingly gentle fourth hand slowly rubbed his palm over your entrance. Massaging in what you guessed was lube, although it made your brain feel even fuzzier. Your senses heightened, tuned into some new frequency, each subtle swirl threatening to make you shiver.

"You're pretty," he complimented, and all the warmth in your chest flooded your face, flushed as you strained to keep yourself from squeaking.

Not being able to see him was a special kind of torture. You wanted to see his face. Study what kind of face he was making when he was drawing such delicate patterns over your skin, murmuring at the little blemishes and marks on them with interest.

One of his fingers moved up, poking at your clit with just enough force to make you jolt. Well, as much as you could given how tight the restraints were, and how little your muscles would let you move with whatever his fellow aliens had put in your system.

"How did that feel?" Satoru curiously asked, circling around it, careful not to touch it again, but obviously amused by your reaction.

"G-good," you murmured. Your voice broke though, cracked when a stray thumb suddenly slipped between your slick folds, fresh goosebumps running down your flesh as he dipped in your wet warmth.

One word - and he was pulling his thumb out to push a full finger in.

It was longer than it should've been, thicker. Swirling lazily around, pressing against your walls like he was testing how much it could stretch.

If that was a finger, you didn't know how you'd fit his cock.

"I-I-" You started, struggling to breathe, struggling to think when you felt something else trying to slot in next to the first.

"Mhm?" He drawled, daring you to tell him more, hanging off every little sound he tore out. You might've managed to murmur that you didn't know how much more you could handle, but then you were being speared open, mean fingers digging into your thighs to pin them down against the freezing table.

The next noise he dragged out of you was feral. Some filthy moan, one that echoed off the walls and came from the back of your throat.

It felt like he was trying to stuff his fucking fist in there.

"S'too-" You whined, but you couldn't even finish. Trying to crane up again, desperate to see what he was doing.

"That's only two fingers," he murmured, experimenting out what it'd take to make you split, scissoring with steady strokes, like he was counting the seconds between each one in his head. "You can take it."

Confident, cocky, slowly increasing the pace, fingering you fast, eventually finding that sweet little spot at the back, crooking them cruelly and chuckling at the lewd squelches of your cunt.

"Look at you," he purred, and you didn't think you'd ever heard anyone sound so pleased. "Every part of you is perfect."

"Mm, S'toru," you slurred his name, eyes rolling back, thighs starting to tremble before he pulled his fingers back out, and you heard the distinct sound of him sucking them clean, moaning himself at the taste of you on his tongue.

You felt empty. Hot. Your skin burning, your body begging for him to keep going, all your thoughts drifting incoherently as you tried to drag out some sensibility from the recesses of your mind. But everything was too cloudy, barely clinging onto what was left of your rationality as one of his hands pressed down on your clit, rolling his palm over it, applying just enough pressure to make you croon.

Whining, all pitchy and weak, fingers forming a fist as you squirmed.

"You need more?" He teased, and you were already nodding, hips trying to move to entice him.

When it came down to it, you supposed you were just another animal, devolving down to your most basic instinct when the right stimulation came along. Depraved.

You felt him shuffle before you saw him, heard the creak of the table as his broad body climbed on top of you.

His hands shifting, one on your hip, one grabbing one of your tits, fully groping you now before he reached up with another to brush your hair back.

You were a little scared to think what he might be doing with the fourth one.

But his eyes were on you, and you were lost in them. Immediately sucked into the shimmer of them, even when the blue was almost swallowed by his blown-out pupils.

"Both my cocks are much bigger than the average penis size on your planet," he proudly proclaimed, something thick and wet nudging back between your thighs.

"Both?"

Too late.

The stretch burned. Each ridge practically engraving itself, leaving an imprint inside you as he slowly dragged along your walls. Pushing past the first ring of resistance with a throaty groan of his own, embarrassingly loud, his sharp jaw locked as he forced the last few inches in.

"That's my girl," he moaned, leaning down to kiss you to swallow your squeak, your guts being rearranged before he had even pulled back out to start fucking you properly.

Where the hell had he even learned to talk like that? Know how to make the butterflies in your stomach somersault?

And really, how on Earth (or in orbit) were you somehow nodding along to the idea of being an alien's girl?

"Told ya you can take it," he murmured between breaths, sucking on your bottom lip messily, biting hard enough you were pretty sure it might be bleeding. But you were too far gone to care, mindlessly agreeing in whimpers.

"Mm, mm," you tried to speak, but nothing more would come out, eyes rolling back when you felt a new pressure pushing against your puckered hole.

He paused though, pulling back enough to wink at you, white lashes fluttering as one of his hands let go of you to reach out and fumble for something on the other table you couldn't see. "Almost forgot."

You didn't get a chance to ask what before he was rubbing more of that lube there, shuddering at the almost slimy feeling on your skin.

Apprehensively, you tensed, but then he started fucking you, and you forgot to even breathe.

Only able to take and take and take, when he started stretching your ass out with a finger while he pumped your cunt full. It didn't feel like a normal cock - and not just because of its size. It was almost ribbed.

It didn't hurt, but it was the kind of intense that was impossible to ignore. Grinding deep against your womb, coaxing you into crying his name when his cock rubbed against all those spots he mapped out earlier.

Your mouth was watering, but he kept kissing you, testing how it felt to press his lips against the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, even down your jaw.

And when he started pushing his other cock in?

Your mind melted. Reason dissolving until the only thing left inside you was him.

You had never even done anal before.

But here you were, letting an alien stuff both your holes past the brim, his cocks big enough you could feel the pressure building and building, only separated by the thin wall of your anatomy.

Satoru was toying with your tits again, like stress toys made specially for him, all the overstimulating sensations mixing together and mounting, heightening each other until all you knew was his hands and his mouth and his cocks. Rewired by how good it felt to be played with, how right it felt to be stretched and split open.

You didn't even sound human anymore, Satoru devouring every single one of your devastated whimpers, encouraging more with delicious whispers that left you arching your back as much as you could off the table.

He bottomed both cocks out, and you thought you might die. Pain? Pleasure? Both?

And then he was back to rubbing more of that lube over your clit, thighs trembling and body quivering as he soothed you through it.

"You wanna cum for me, sweetheart?" He purred, and you could've climaxed from the cute smirk curling up on his lips, his perfectly sculpted face and those pretty patterns he was busy pressing against your swollen bud.

He pulled his fingers back right as you were about to crest over it, chuckling when you let out a huff.

"Say my name again."

"Toru, p-please," you were begging. Unable to move your wrists, to tether your fingers in his hair or claw at his shoulders, giving him your best set of puppy dog eyes.

He seemed to already see you as his pet.

"Well," he hummed, thumb returning to rubbing you again. "When you say it like that."

With one mean circle, Satoru dragged you over the edge - and dropped you into the ocean of him. White (and blue) blurred your vision, your body shuddering as you desperately cried his name, his thrusts somehow lazy and rushed, burying both his cocks in you and moaning at how hard you clenched down on them.

"S'fucking tight," he hissed, but he was right there with you, cumming hard and fast inside you too, hot spurts of it coating your insides as he throbbed inside you.

Your skin was still warm when he pulled out, your muscles sore and tense, body exhausted as you blinked up at him.

"That was fun," he grinned. "Ready for round two?"

Gojo couldn't have created a better specimen himself.

You fulfilled his every fantasy - and then some.

The research department found him two hours later, grumbling about getting locked out of the lab just to find the culprit readjusting a homemade vibrator with clinical precision to your clit.

His new favorite subject not quite passed out yet, cumming for the twelfth time, weak whimpers rolling out, a mess between your thighs and covering the clinic table.

You were drunk on him, delirious since orgasm six, nodding along to all his suggestions, pressing kisses to his skin every time he was close enough, not even straining against the cuffs or collar anymore. Just accepting all that he threw at you.

He checked off twenty items from his bucket list so far already - but he still had about a thousand more to go. Tying you up, fucking your mouth, pressing your thighs up to your chest, bending you over on the desk so he could role play as your boss. Walk you around on all fours around the spaceship and show his newest prize.

"This is unacceptable."

Blah blah blah.

He wasn't listening to whatever they were complaining about. All he was thinking about was new ways to explore your body, how much more research he was dying to do.

He hadn't stopped touching you, refusing to budge, your eyes rolled back and pretty little gasps panting from your lips as he turned up the setting on the vibrator.

"You cannot have sexual intercourse with our test subjects," snapped one of the higher-ups, scoffing at him with that annoying little chitter.

Gojo resented that he said subjects.

It wasn't plural. He only wanted you.

"Why not?" He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's unethical," Suguru chimed in, leaning against the wall, like he wasn't watching your cute disoriented face scrunching up mid-climax.

"You kidnap them without their consent," Gojo pointed out. They didn't get to say no to him. It was his family's funding that supported their expeditions - covered the fuel costs to beam their unsuspecting test subjects up. "At least she consented to this."

One of the directors of the lab grimaced, all of them exchanging looks while Suguru snorted behind them.

What did humans say?

Checkmate.

"Sweetheart."

Someone was nudging you, a weak noise leaving your mouth, a keen whine as you blinked up at the bright lights. Waking up from a wet dream into a weirder reality, squinting up at Satoru's familiar face.

You felt the clamps unlock, thick fingers grazing against your throat before the collar was finally off.

He helped you sit up, your limp body moving like jello, thighs sore, no strength left to stand as you fell into his chest.

"They said I could keep you," he excitedly murmured, cradling you against him. He ruffled your hair, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before nuzzling your nose.

Keep you?

It took a few seconds to set in, your body sluggish as he already started rambling off plans, promising you pretty toys and a soft bed to sleep in, saying that you how cute you'd look all dressed up, how fun life together would be when you got to have sex all the time.

Maybe being an alien's pet wouldn't be so bad.

indie's kinktober

[novatheory]

little mortal is the first name that loki gives you that isn't your own. you bristle at it in the beginning, because you think that it's a cruel way that loki wants to remind you about the differences between you.

as time goes on, you start to believe the fondness in his tone. you notice when he says it—when you're being stubborn, when you're feeling bad, when you're on the cusp of doing something just because you can.

dear heart is when he's being patient—either with you, or with himself. when you're ranting, and he wants to pull you back to the point of the matter—"dear heart, come back."

chaos bringer appears the day that you brought home a duck.

"it's hurt," you tell him. "it's messy," he says. "so are you. so am i. just until it's healed!" he sighs, knowing the battle was lost. "very well, chaos bringer."

lovely one is for first thing in the morning. or last at night. when his guard is down and he thinks that he's gotten lucky in a way that has tricked the universe.

when you roll over in the morning, face still crumpled from sleep, and he reaches out—"good morning, lovely one."

cleverness sounds like immense pride, even when he's not thinking about it. especially when he's not thinking about it.

or when he notices your restlessness in the evening, and you've paced a hole in the living room floor as he reads—"come, cleverness," he says, shifting in his chair, "tell me what troubles you so that i may concentrate."

[mostlymarvelgirl]

I really miss those old avengers tower fics

1. Clint in the vents

2. Bruce and Tony in the lab... science bros

3. Cap being accused and called out by his team ... either it's the "language" or "I understood that reference"

4. Loki for some reason being imprisoned in the tower by Odin to learn humanity blah blah

5. Thor and his poptarts

6. Natasha and wanda being the bestie

7. Reader either dating Loki or Bucky

8. Fury calling out reader initially as a threat as they were an orphan who was a lineage of witches type of trope. OR reader is Tony's kid.

9. Bucky randomly becoming besties with Sam and them having their own fights.

10. Peter and Shuri becoming besties with reader

11. Maria, pepper, wanda, Natasha and reader having sleepovers.

12. Tony having a party every time after a mission. Everyone ends up trying to lift thor's hammer and reader turns out to be worthy.

13. Loki teaching reader how to use magic.

And the list goes on....

[sinnercreations]

Something, something, Steve being too nervous to get intimate with Eddie because it seems like all of the relationships he’s had that he did get intimate with didn’t last and now he’s paranoid that if he does Eddie will leave. But he also wants to have that kind of relationship with Eddie because that’s a way of how he shows his love.

Something, something, Eddie being too nervous to get intimate because he doesn’t want it to confirm their relationship with just being just an experiment and Steve leaving him. But also not being able to show his full feelings because he is very much a physically affectionate person and wants Steve to know how much he loves him.

[tellme-astory]

The first time Eddie called Steve “baby girl” it had slipped out on accident during sex. Eddie’s face burned with embarrassment while Steve blinked up at him between breaths.

“Jesus Christ . . .” Eddie wanted to die right there on the spot. “I . . . “ But before he knew it Steve had wrapped his hand around the back of Eddie’s neck and was pulling him down for a fiery kiss.

“Oh fuck, say it again.” Steve mumbled against his lips.

Eddie’s brain nearly flatlined.

“Such a good baby girl.” Eddie managed to groan, his warm breath dancing on Steve’s lips.

“Ohhh . . . holy fuckin shit!” Steve came so hard it even surprised him.

And from that moment on it was Eddie’s go to magic word.

It worked every time. 💦

[zakkura]

Eddie would have a high libido, we all know this and we all know that Steve would also have a high libido.

However, Eddie never thought that Steve would actually outdo him in just how often he wanted to jump his boyfriend’s bones and now he’s on his back heaving, flushed with his hair in every direction as he stares at the ceiling with a blissed-out expression across his face.

Three times? New record for them.

It’s only when he gets up to piss that he notices just how marked up he is and he lets out a squawk that wakes Steve up.

Who just grins like the menace he is when he spots Eddie trying to arch his head to see all the love-bites.

“Everybody knows I’m yours!” Eddie sighed, his lips in a smirk as he eyes Steve.

“Uh huh and now they are doubly sure of that,” Steve laughs, his hand running through his messy hair, “and I’m just as much yours, by the way,”

“Ooooh, the Harrington Charm,” Eddie chuckled, his fingers still pressing against the marks on his skin, “that only comes out when you’re causing trouble,” he arched his eyebrow playfully.

This results in Steve pausing, a smile on his face, before he swiftly slaps Eddie’s left butt cheek.

“I’m your favourite ‘trouble!’” he yells as he makes his way back to the bedroom.

“STEVE!”

The cackling laughter that follows, makes Eddie grin as he finally lets himself take a piss.

[steviewashere]

To me, Steve Harrington loves naps. He loves napping anywhere he can. On the arm of the couch, on the couch, the floor, in a desk, in his bed, in his closet, wherever.

He curls up, crosses his arms on his chest, folds in his legs, and just sleeps. He snuffles and he snores and he mumbles. He drools a little. But he loves just disappearing during a party or something, and his friends find him later curled up and napping. He just gets so cozy.

Eddie loves laying with Steve, but he doesn’t nap very often. He holds Steve, plays with his hair, runs his hands over Steve’s chest and belly. Loves to leave forehead kisses and read to Steve. Steve’s such a cuddlebug

[sinnercreations]

When Eddie first starts actually hanging out with Steve, Robin is always there, naturally. And Steve just assumes to do the same things he does with Robin for Eddie as well.

One time Eddie and Robin are over and they just came back from swimming in the lake or are freezing their asses off in some way. Steve goes up to change and then comes back holding two sweaters and tosses one at Robin and one at Eddie.

Eddie is very confused

But Robin is a sweater stealer and so Steve has just gotten used to lending his sweaters.

Eddie doesn’t complain. He keeps it and takes it back home with him. It either sits in the back of his pile of clothes or he’ll pull it out when it’s cold (when he misses Steve).

[strawnger]

steddie fuckbuddies where eddie is pining away miserably but assumes King Steve The Heterosexual will never see him as more than a summer phase with a warm hand/mouth. steve thinks they're dating & assumes eddie is a just kind of a bad boyfriend who's not good at showing affection outside of the bedroom (steve finds it mostly endearing). but then one day they're tipsy and post-sex and steve sleepily kisses eddie's forehead and cups his cheek to gaze into his eyes before mumbling "you're so damn pretty, munson" and eddie is just. he just. he can't.

his first instinct is to say "fuck you harrington" and steve looks so lost like a sweet baby doe and eddie is a little nauseous and his heart hurts and he's always been a runner, so why bother changing now? messily shoving his legs back into his rumpled jeans and stumbling out of the front door without saying another word is easier than trying to explain to Steve Harrington that the freak of hawkins is in love with him

[munsonmanor]

steve harrington is a really good fake crier. like scarily good. he learned as a kid that if he makes his eyes shine and lets one tear fall, adults panic and give him what he wants. he still uses it as a grown man to get out of trouble and to bully eddie into doing things for him.

eddie spends weeks thinking he made steve cry that one time he snapped at him and feels sick about it. then one day he watches steve turn the shiny eyes + single tear on some random authority figure to get out of trouble and realizes it’s a BIT. meanwhile steve’s over there like 🙂 and eddie is reevaluating his entire life and relationship choices.

eddie: “dude, I’m not mad, I just said you were being annoying.”

steve, eyes going glassy immediately: “no, it’s fine, I get it.”

eddie: “wait, hey, I didn’t— are you seriously crying?”

steve, one single tear: “just… give me a second.”

Eddie, guilt ridden, thinks about this for weeks.

Months later…

cop: “you were going fifteen over, son.”

steve, same exact shiny eyes + lone tear: “I’m so sorry, officer, it’s just been a really hard week—”

eddie watching from the passenger seat, connecting the dots in real time: “…”

cop: “I’ll let you off with a warning.”

eddie, as they drive away: you manipulative little theater kid, I cannot believe I FELL FOR THAT.

Later that night

eddie: “no. uh-uh. do it again.”

steve: “do what again?”

eddie: “the thing. the eyes. I watched you with your little Bambi routine, Harrington. You’re not slick.”

steve: “it’s not a routine, I’m just sensitive🥺”

eddie: “you turned them on like a faucet.”

steve, already dialing up the shine: “eddie, that really hurts my feelings—”

eddie: “SEE? THERE IT IS. YOU HEAR YOURSELF??” 😭