A/n: This was written in 15 minutes after listing to "the tortured poets department" because my playlist is on shuffle. So it's heavily inspired. No big warnings but maybe implied depression? Idk. And if you still haven't noticed yet then yes I do enjoy making rational man become irrational. Maybe a bit too much but anyway. Enjoy...
Alhaitham never understood poetry. Not the kind that bled from broken men onto crumpled pages, anyway. But he understood you.
You, with your disheveled blond mop of hair, ink-stained fingers, and tattoos that told stories no one dared to ask about. You, who slept like a golden retriever only when curled against him, despite the nightmares that clawed at your throat most nights. You, who kissed like you were drowning and he was the last breath of air.
The couch was old, threadbare in places, but it held the weight of your love like a shrine. You had collapsed there again, head in his lap, the scent of tobacco and old paper clinging to your skin. Alhaitham’s fingers threaded through your hair absentmindedly, scratching gently at your scalp like he was coaxing peace from chaos.
You stirred, lashes fluttering against the bruised crescents beneath your eyes. "Haitham” you rasped, voice thick with sleep and something deeper. “Kiss me.”
He did. Of course he did.
But it wasn't just a kiss. It was dangerously close to a prayer, a devotion. One hand on his cheek, the other gripping his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish. You kissed him senseless, kissed him like he was the only thing tethering you to this world. Like he was oxygen. Like he was salvation.
Alhaitham’s mind, usually so precise, so sharp, dulled under the weight of your desperation. He tasted tobacco and longing, felt the tremble in your fingers, the ache in your soul. And when he came back to himself, he was laid out on the couch, breathless, with you hovering above him like some inked-up deity bathed in morning light.
Sunlight spilled through the window, casting golden halos around your messy hair, illuminating the tattoos that danced across your skin like ancient scripture. You looked divine. You looked tempting. You looked like you belonged to him.
You bent down again, lips brushing his like a prayer. “Oh, you don’t know the things you do to me,my love”
Alhaitham could’ve said the same. Could’ve told you how he’d confessed to Tighnari once, voice low and trembling, that if you ever left—if you ever disappeared into the void you sometimes stared into—he wouldn’t survive it. Just like you had said the same thing to Kaveh.
Two men. Two tortured poets. Two halves of a madness that made sense only when tangled together.
If Alhaitham could still conjure up his rationality, he’d complain that you were the one messing him up. That your chaos was a virus in his system. But he’d take that infection over sterile solitude any day.
And if he was still rational, he wouldn’t be drowning in the scent of tobacco and ink and you.
But he's not.
And he like it that way.
He likes the way you can ruin him with just a gaze, a touch, a glint in your eyes.
He is utterly and thoroughly infatuated with you. And there's nothing that can help him.
Currently thinking about this sub!nat fic I’m writing who has a thing for calling reader mommy and thrives of gun kink. A massive thing for Nat because she can actually trust someone enough with it.. it’s so whorish and soft all at once- 🤭
(Also imagining her being a switch and having her have a thing for reader calling her daddy or something. Buuut.. maybe I’ll save that for P2 and just enjoy sub natty for now..)
IS IT THE ONE WHERE STEVE RIPS A LOG IN HALF??? BECAUSE SAME.
Just kinda wrote a little thing for it, boo, don’t mind me...
---Okay I started in my usual style with just the cute description of Bucky arriving and checking out Steve, but then I tried to summarize what would happen after and it got SO HORNY. Like I went from “Oh nature, what a beautiful man this is” to “Bucky wants to grind endlessly on Steve’s lap”.
I mean, what can I say? Bucky is just horny for Steve and so am I.
Okay, so: Bucky driving out to a quiet village to be around nature more, to reinvent himself, to relax and get his mind straight. The last couple of months had really send him over the edge, and he could no longer stand to be in the city that never sleeps. After a lot of manipulation and mind games of people he thought were his friends, he made up his mind and packed his stuff. He wanted to break out of that, get far away to somewhere the life would agree with him more.
When his car pulled up on the other side of the pebble-filled road, the small stones scrunching beneath the tires, he could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, and when he stepped out, the rustling noises of nothing but nature surrounded him at once. He almost felt guilty for obscuring the sound of birds tweeter, crickets chirping and the wind blowing through the canopy of trees with the roaring of his car.
He got his stuff from the trunk; two suitcases and a stuffed backpack. The house came with furniture included, so there was no need for a moving van or all that mess. He could move in immediately. It was a small house, but he liked it already; though he supposed the mosquitoes that had attacked him already would be of great annoyance to him. Truth be told, Bucky wasn’t much of an outdoors person. But his mother had told him it would be good to get out for once. To just try something new.
Walking up to his house, he stopped in his tracks once he caught sight of a moving blur. He looked at his side, over the low fence to the other garden. There was a man there, walking out of his own house leisurely. Bucky cocked his head to the side, frowning a little as he watched the man grab something from his porch, before he strolled towards the pile of wood that was lying in the center of his garden. The man raised his hands and the ax, and then took a swing at the wood, huge biceps flexing and showing with a glimmer of golden skin.
He must have been doing it for a while, because Bucky could see the tight shirt he was wearing stick to his skin, adjusting to every bump and... and every curve of that man’s body. The man had thick strands of blonde hair, and a body that could make a Greek god jealous.
What Bucky could see were impossibly long legs that the man used to strut around so carelessly. The proportion of the blond’s broad shoulders to his narrow, tapered waist were drool-worthy, to say the least, and the way he swayed his hips when he moved should be illegal. The man was wearing a short-sleeved, blue shirt that showed the contours of muscular arms that worked to swing the ax, and Bucky wanted to run his hands across it, slipping beneath the shirt that should not be there. The blond was wearing a pair of jeans that reached to his ankles, showing off all the curves, the outlines of his thighs, and a peachy-firm ass that Bucky would not mind grabbing whenever he’d bend over like that, to grab a piece of wood.
Just as Bucky thought of calling out, walking closer to make himself known, the man took the piece of wood in hand and ripped the thing in two with his bare hands. Like that, Bucky started to imagine what other things those strong hands could do.
Licking his lips, Bucky’s hand tightened around the handle of his suitcase, thumb rubbing across the grip a little, and he shifted on his feet, pressing his thighs together just slightly as he kept staring at the blond hunk that was chopping wood like it was a porn movie, and he was going for an Oscar. If it’d been up to Bucky, he would get one. Like right now.
Oh, if only this man had a co-star to finish that movie with.
---
Or basically, Steve is the big strong neighbor chopping wood and doing all the super manly stuff, and then Bucky comes along and suddenly it’s not just wood anymore that Steve wants to split in half.
I’m thinking they’re both very interested, but in different ways. Like it’s Bucky who comes over and grabs Steve’s ass, whines for more attention, gets into the dirty stuff really quickly, and wants his kisses, but it’s Steve who uses those big hands of his to just grab every part of Bucky that he wants, lifting him up against his chest so Bucky can curl those legs of his around Steve’s waist so Steve can just shamelessly have his hands on Bucky’s ass, hips and back. Or Steve sets Bucky on the kitchen counter, on a log, on a table, anything that reaches high enough for them so Bucky can run his hands through Steve’s hair, on his neck, throat, shoulders, pecks (mostly his pecks, probably).
Like Bucky would have a thing for Steve’s big hands that can rip a log in half, but Steve has a thing for Bucky’s hips and waist (and everything between ;), and he just loves how Bucky can curl his legs around Steve’s waist. Bucky would be taking every excuse to just straddle Steve’s lap, and though Steve had been unsure what to do at first, it would come to him very naturally after that. It started with Steve just murmuring praise and soft things, saying how Bucky’s such a pretty boy, which turned to heavy make-out sessions, and eventually Steve pulling his baby close so that Bucky could grind on him, get closer and closer, and Steve would bite softly at Bucky’s lips, then mark up the soft skin of Bucky’s neck, and really, feeling Bucky get needier and needier against him was just undefeated.
Like Steve’s not very familiar with this kind of relationships, and it’s very new to him to just have a pretty boy in his lap, grinding his thigh and telling him where to kiss and what to grab, but Steve’s a real natural. Once he gets on track it goes from nervously just massaging Bucky’s hips and skimming along his thighs, kissing him softly and gentle, and asking, “Is that okay? A-am I doing it right? Are you supposed to make that noise?!”
To something more like: Steve making Bucky grind on his thigh, working himself up to the climax, just so that Steve can grab him and hold him still, denying him that what Bucky wants, relishing in watching Bucky whine and squirm and trying to buck his hips to get that friction back, and all Steve says is, “Such a sweet mess, aren’t you, darling’? Wan’ me to kiss those lips all red? Huh? Tell me what you want, baby. Want to grind against my thigh until you cum, moaning and begging like the sweet little slut you always are for me? Is that what you want? Tell me baby, wan’ me to grab that cute lil’ waist of yours and just hold you down until I say you can cum? Hm? Is that what you want?”
And yeah, that’s exactly what Bucky wants.
---
Ok I am so sorry if this isn’t what you meant, but it’s really all I could think of.
I dunno why I put this as BABTQFTIM Switch *shrug* it's what came into mind so ye. Don't judge, I didn't think I should have uploaded this, BUT YOLO! (Fresh would be proudish) Sorry girls about the badly drawn hands and some disfigured body part XD @cheerfulblossom @theniceprincess-tnp @ania-da-peasant And ye! Improvements later I might colour this... idk
Robin muses on this for a second, remembering the plethora of conversations they’d had that informed him of each slang term. He pursed his lips.
“in theory…a switch? I assume. I do have moments of domineering energy I just…need to find someone who is more submissive than myself— which is… difficult.”
