this ᵘˢᵉᵈ to be a 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄.

"you would really want to get a farm?" he asked, chuckling because he couldn't believe she remembered them talking about that all those years ago. "I learnt a thing or two on Wakanda, I'm sure i could manage to farm. maybe fix up old bikes so we can take little roadtrips."

"ploughing fields, huh?" bucky smirked as he snaked his arms around her waist to bring her in close, tracing loving kisses against her cheeks. "i think i'd suit plaid, maybe we should do that. get away from the city, only come to visit now and again when we're seeking some adventure."

her thumbs gently stroke the nape of his neck. “ you really think i'd make a good dance teacher? ” her voice drops to a whisper. she lets him see that brief flash of vulnerability before the playful spark returns to her eyes. “ fixing up old bikes sounds exactly like you. grease on your face, swearing at a rusky engine in the middle of nowhere. i can picture it so perfectly. ” she laughs, the sound warm as she leans in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“ wakandan farming techniques, huh? we'll have the most advanced crop of cabbages in the midwest. ” leaning back just an inch to look into those eyes she adores, she traces the line of his jaw. the idea of leaving the city behind, and only returning when they choose to rather than being summoned for the next global crisis settles over her like a warm blanket. “ plaid is definitely your colour, ” she shifs her weight slightly on his lap, a wicked little gleam in her expression as she catches his smirk. “ and i wouldn't mind sitting on the porch with a coffee, watching you work those fields... we'd definitely need to thoroughly test out the suspension on thsoe old bikes you plan on fixing up. ”

Clint only chuckled, still rather amused by all this. A moment later, he arched his brow. So space was what she needed. Well, that wouldn't do. One didn't always have the space that would be preferred but that would not safe you from a good shot. And here he was, providing this unique situation to her. “I'm afraid you'll have to deal with it, Little Witch. Come one, it's not so bad. You have plenty of room to move.” Still, he was kind enough to take a step back before gesturing for her to go on.

“Now, focus on your target and let the arrow fly.” This wasn't supposed to be an activity that involved a lot of thinking. It was intuitive; or at least it was for him. And he wanted her to get to this point as well. If only she listened better.

clint chuckled and finally took a small step back, gesturing for her to continue.

his voice was still laced with that infuriating amusement. little witch.

the nickname should have annoyed her more. instead it settled somewhere warm and traitorous in her chest. wanda drew in a slow breath, trying to centre herself the way she'd been taught. the target sat at the end of the range. distant, clear and waiting. she could do this. she had done far more with far less. but clint's presence lingered even at a distance, like static electricity dancing just under her skin. she could still smell him. still feel the ghost of his breath and picture the way he smiled when he teased her.

she raised the bow, pulling the string back with practiced smoothness. red energy flickered faintly around her fingertips before she forced it down. no cheating, not today. her mind should have been empty, focused only on the arrow, the target, the release. instead, it was full of him. the string slipped a fraction too early. the arrow flew.

fast, but off-line, embedding itself in the outer ring instead of the center. close.

closer than before, but not enough. wanda lowered the bow with a frustrated exhale, cheeks flushing despite herself. she turned to face clint fully, chin lifted in defiance even as her pulse betrayed her. “ happy? ” her voice is dry but it's edged with something softer. “ or are you planning on standing even closer next time to help me focus? ” her eyes lingered on his a beat too long. she didn't step back or look away. part of her wants the praise, too. though she'd deny it. she's eager for it.

a mix of breeding kink/pregnancy kink starters. some may be mildly dubious. proceed with caution! nsfw content. mdni 18+

“I’m not stopping until you’re carrying every last drop of me.”

“Hold your knees back and let me fill you.”

“Let’s see how many loads it’ll take to get you pregnant.”

“I’m not pulling out even if you beg.”

“Tell me how badly you need my cum.”

“You’re going to ride me hard, fuck yourself on my cock until you’re screaming, and then I’ll give you the breeding you need.”

“Keep that plug in after I’m done; I want you tight and sealed.”

“Gonna fill you up tonight. Breed you proper. Stuff you so full of my cum you’ll be leaking for days. You want that? Want me to put a baby in you?”

“You’re going to look so beautiful growing with my child.”

“Arch your back and take every fucking drop I’m about to pump into you.”

“Fuck pulling out—I need to breed you right now.”

“You wanted to be bred, so you’re going to take it, and you’re going to thank me while it leaks out of you tomorrow.”

“Let me hear you. I want your voice when I breed you.”

“Keep it in. I want you leaking for days.”

“You’re so ready for me, aren’t you? Ready to take my cock and let me breed you.”

“Not done yet. Gotta make sure it takes.”

alluring.        that  is  the  simplest  word  he  can  think  of  to  describe  her  –  &*  so  very  dangerous.        every  alarm  bell  in  him  starts  chiming  away  as  she  inches  forward.      alluring  ,  yes   …  but  in  the  way  a  siren  might  be.      in  the  way  he  himself  is  as  he  leads  someone  straight  to  an  early  grave.     it  is  louder  here  –  her  mind  ;  her  aura  ;  her  smell.       he  takes  in  each  –  rifles  through  thoughts  like  an  open  book  ,  no  sense  of  secrecy  upheld.      DEATH  ;  REBIRTH  ;  SEDUCTION  ;  GORE.        not  human  –  not  vampire  –  not  witch  nor  ghost.      just    …     other.      &*  rotten  as  death.     

a  squint  ,  then  a  wry  smile  curves  the  blondes  lips.     she  has  the  same  swagger  as  him  –  he  falls  into  easy  step  with  her  ,  spine  arching  against  the  door  to  press  nearer  to  her.      a  sturdy  hand  finds  purchase  on  her  hip  ,  black  painted  nails  sharp  as  the  hook  at  the  belt  loop  of  her  pants.      ❛    you  smell  like   …    ❜       he  trails  off  ,  a  soft  hmmm  given  as  he  breathes  in  &*  out  deeply.       a  little  click  of  his  tongue.     ❛     take  no  offense  ,  but  you  smell  like  death.   ❜      

a  curious  head  cocks  farther  ,  free  hand  raising  to  trace  a  nail  against  her  jawline  ,  then  down  the  side  of  her  throat   ––––    before  he  digs  the  tip  in  just  shy  of  her  jugular.      the  stench  is  enough  to  shift  lips  to  a  scowl  as  blood  wells.      ❛     i  have  the  strangest  feeling  biting  you  would  drag  me  straight  to  hell  ,  mon  cheri.      'fraid  i  only  bite  mortals.      ❜

everything about her is meant to lure people in. she is the very embodiment of a trap. she had been when she was human, and death has only enhanced that. when she is well-fed, she glows with a beauty no one seems to resist. “ you really know how to flatter a girl, blondie, ” she's amused, though. she always had a thing for blondes, didn't she? that's how needy got her, that one time. her weakness for a pretty blonde. her hands, which feel hot right now, touch his bare chest. she traces the scar on his skin, and drags her hands up until she's wrapping her arms around his neck.

it's flirtation... and a dance of power. she hasn't met anyone who has felt like an equal in... well, ever.

jennifer tilted her head back, giving him better access.

she felt the pressure, but no pain. she no longer felt pain. a wicked smirk spread across her lips. would she really feel the thrill of a bite, if he did bite her? “ what a shame. i would've let you tear my throat open. ” her fingers grab onto his blonde locks, tugging at it slightly. this is her version of dirty talk. “ but you're right, baby. i wouldn't want you choking on grave dirt. ” she pushed him into the door—inhuman strength that made the wood rattle. “ i can feel you in my head. it's rude to be inside a girl without at least buying her dinner first. ”

a hand pressed into his chest, holding him there. it's a challenge. could he push against her? just how outmatched is she, or him?

she'd  caught  his  eye  in  the  crowd  –  an  aura  of  what  he  could  only  begin  to  describe  as  wrong  that  he  simply  could  not  tear  his  gaze  from.        not  a  vampire  –  nor  a  mortal  or  a  witch.        the  smell  of  rot  was  was  unmistakable  ,  even  under  the  sweat  of  the  crowd.       so  he  sang  &*  sang  ,  crystal  cool  gaze  flickering  to  &*  from  the  brunette  ,  tracking  as  she  prowled  closer  to  the  stage  with  each  song.         when  @theirmadness  finally  reached  the  front  ,  he'd  found  himself  kneeling  there  at  the  lip  of  the  stage  ,  crooning  right  to  her.         like  calls  to  like  ,  does  it  not  ?         

when  the  show  ended  ,  a  hand  extended  to  her  ,  drawing  her  up  with  preternatural  ease  as  if  she  weighed  no  more  than  a  down  pillow.       he  led  her  back  with  him  ,  idle  chatter  thrown  over  his  shoulder  to  band  mates  &*  manager  ,  second  nature  at  this  point  &*  entirely  mindless.        soon  they  were  finally  alone  ,  his  back  pressed  to  the  door  of  his  personal  dressing  room  as  he  eyed  her  ,  lithe  arms  crossing  his  chest.         he  couldn't  help  but  ponder  who  exactly  was  trapped  with  who.     

❛     did  you  enjoy  the  show  ?    ❜        a  purr  of  a  question  as  his  eyes  flicker  over  her  ,  as  if  searching  for  some  sign  of  her  species.        ❛    i  apologize  for  my  guitarist.       larry  dragged  through  brutal  love  ,  didn't  he  ?       entirely  hopeless.   ❜       a  click  of  his  tongue  ,  then  his  head  cocks  to  the  side.        ❛   what  is  your  name  ?    ❜

immortal life could be boring. she was forever doomed to live this crossroads sort of life. was she a demon, was she a succubus, was she something else entirely? she never really cared to find out. she knew what she could do, she knew she hungered for flesh and blood, and she knew she was out to have fun. she'd come out in the hopes of finding a new target. maybe one of his bandmates. she ended up moving through the crowd until she was standing at the very front, and when he reached for her, she went willingly. he was strong. stronger than most. she felt it in the way that he touched her.

a thrill went up her spine. a part of her half expected him to bite her. he'd been doing that with the girls he brought up on stage. but he didn't, and she was curious to know why. perhaps he sensed there was something not quite right her—either way, she found herself following him. they spoke through their eyes, barely a word exchanged between them. jennifer walk close to him, the heels of her leather knee-high boots echoing along with the chatter of his band. it was all background noise for her. his scent was intoxicating. he didn't stink the way that men usually did, and he didn't smell as appealing for eating, either... what was he, exactly? a new kind of toy.

she walks into his dressing room like she owns it. when she hears the click of the door announcing they were finally alone, she turned around slowly to face him, her smile predatory in nature. “ i wasn't really paying any attention to him. ”

she bit her lip, taking a step toward him. the air between them felt thick. two predators, circling each other. she tilted her head, darking hair moving as she did.

“ jennifer. ” she reached for his hip, brushing a red painted fingernail against his hipbone. “ you didn't bite me. ” there's a pout on her lips. they're painted purple tonight. she's almost pressing him in against the door, hands resting on each side of the door behind him. “ do i not smell good to you? ” her voice is a purr as she leans closer—to the trained nose, jennifer smells like sulphur and decadence.

' we shouldn't ' she says, but James ignores it. Of course they shouldn't, there are a million things they shouldn't do, but quite frankly he couldn't give less of a fuck. Not when every frustration hangs over him like nooses waiting for him to take one wrong step. He wants to wipe that smirk off of Silver's face. He wants Hal to stop being so difficult. He wants Miranda to understand why he cannot accept these damned pardons. But right now, he wants to forget all of this. Right now all he wants is her.

"Is that what you think?"

His voice rumbles against her lips. One hand returns to her face, grabs her jaw to tilt her head back so that he can ravage her neck. Lips and teeth, it is not his intention to mark her, but his desires have been unleashed by her own. So as his teeth scrape against a milky white throat, a growl falls from deep within his throat. Almost guttural, like a wild animal.

"D'you want me to stop?"

he sounds so fucking good right now, his voice rough and breathless against her kiss-swollen lips. she makes a pathetic sound against him, and when he starts to ravage her neck with hungry lips and savage teeth, she moaned. the sound was pathetic, the kind of sound a young girl makes, not a full grown woman who is in charge of a pirate nation. she bucks up against him, grinding into him, desperate to feel more of him, as he no doubts leaves red angry marks that will turn into bruises on her skin. she has soft, sensitive flesh that bruises so easily. it's almost as if he knows that, as if it's a secret that he is aware of and is exploiting now. his growl goes straight to her cunt.

she feels it in her soul. it makes her so wet that she almost cries out. “ fuck no. ” she growls back, moving against him as she offers more of herself. her neck, her chest, any part he can reach. “ don't you fucking dare stop. ” she pulled back just enough so she could tug his shirt over his torso, her fingers brushing against skin as she does, waiting for him to lift his arms above his head so she can toss it aside. as soon as skin is exposed to her, eleanor marvels at him. her soft, dainty hands touch his chest. tracing old scars and muscle. she's mesmorising him. she moves one hand down to his stomach, between their bodies, until she's groping his cock through his trousers, gasping when she feels him. she applies just enough pressure for him to feel her, her other hand moving up to grab a fistful of hair, forcing him to meet her eyes.

There is no rejection when she leans against him, when her hand wanders to brush against his chest or when her lips find his shoulder. Even with the shirt still covering his body, the brush of lips sends a heat spreading through him. He has been watching her the entire time, even through the frown of half grief and rage. Even through the look of devastation in his eyes, he has been watching her, expecting this outcome, and never stopping it. They should stop it, this should never happen, for now that there is a small opening in this closed door, the restraints in him are weakening.

She is so close now. So close he almost expects her to kiss him, she doesn't, even if he knows of her burning desire to do so. Come on, I know this is what you want. The thought that comes is an ugly one, but he cannot stop it. Not when there is a war behind his eyes. It is not only the pardons that bothers him, everything that has happened since the miserable affair of the Urca schedule, everything that is to come. He might as feel start a fire everywhere and ensure that he is not the only one to come out of this destroyed.

He can lie and say it was the breath on his skin. Or how good her fingers felt in his hair. He can lie and say it was due to frustration, a man's need before a big voyage. She would know the lies, but James would know how badly they would hurt. It would be like keeping the door ajar only to slam it close and never touch it again. Can he do that to her?

she set out the ground for it, quietly asking for permission, giving him the chance to sober up and push her away. he doesn't—she knew he wouldn't. and she didn't want him to. she knows this is going to result in pain and disaster, but she doesn't care. everything happens in slow motion. his hand on her cheek, and then, his lips on hers. his beard scratches her skin gently. he's so gentle with her, like she is something precious and beautiful. doesn't he know she is rotten to the core?

eleanor doesn't move for a whole minute. she stays where she is, feeling the pressure of flint's lips on hers. the taste of ale that lingers on him. and then she moves. she leans into him, her hand gripping his hair with purchase, as she kisses him with more meaning. she accepts it, she takes charge fo it, she drowns herself in it. she doesn't wait before pushing her tongue into his mouth, tasting his sadness and his want, shifting so over him, half standing with a knee pressed into the bed and a leg supporting her weight on the ground. her free hand cups the other side of his face, and she pours the depth of her desire into that kiss. it's something stronger than her will.

when her lungs burn with the need for oxygen, she pulls away, panting, her lips parted, her eyes still shut, her cheeks flushed as she holds his face between her palms with trembling hands. “ you're drunk, ” her voice is something pathetic. she doesn't step away. she should turn around and leave, but she doesn't. she finally opens her eyes so she can look into his. “ we shouldn't, james. ” but god, she can't stop herself from kissing him again before he even has the chance to form a thought. this kiss is more desperate, more passionate. she moves before she can stop herself, tugging at her skirt as she settles over his lap, straddling him on the bed, the warm weight of her pressing down on him as her arms wrap around his neck and she kisses him like she doubts he ever has been kissed before. she should feel guilt.

she only feels him.

Nothing is easy with him.

She sits with him. Her body brushes against his, and it should be innocent, this little moment between them, it is for now, even if the tension tells a different story. James stares at the floor, then at her, watches as her fingers play with the fabric of her skirt. Has he ever seen her this nervous, he wonders, but he also knows that he is the reason for her current discomfort and so his eyes averts back to the floor. She is right, he should lay down. He should be rational and not act on his temper, for instance; he should not drink himself into a stupor before a big voyage. Nor slam doors in a home that is the only safety he has left. Most of all, he should not indulge in drunken wants.

Even so, he looks back at her hand, raises his gaze up her arm to her face. He should not be doing this, but here she has him on her bed. Talking to him as if every insane idea he has ever had, holds some semblance of sanity. She believes in him. When has that last been true in the eyes of anyone else? James takes her hand in his, stops her fidgeting, but that is all. He simply holds her hand and once more his gaze drops to the floor.

she means to sound firm. she sounds weak. vulnerable in a way that makes her feel disgusted with herself. her eyes are on their hands. hers look small in his grip. she doesn't pull away. a part of her wants to ask what part he's apologising for. then she decides it doesn't really matter. she doesn't want it, regardless what it's for. she could've walked away. she chose to stay. she doesn't want to hear his apology about it.

this is as much her decision as it is something else she won't name. she lets out a sigh, running her free hand over her face. she's tired, too. no one has it easy in nassau, but she is the one leading this place. managing money, moving goods, keeping the men from killing each other. it isn't an easy job, but it's the one she chose for herself. and god knows she is damn good at it. but it comes with a price, a heavy toll that weighs down her soul. she just sits there for a long moment, her hand in his. eventually, she leans her head on his shoulder. she shuts her eyes, and breathes him in—he smells like sweat, ale, and something that is uniquely flint. gunpowder and seasalt. her eyes are still shut when her free hand reaches for his chest, her fingers tracing patterns.

she turns her head, presses her lips against his shoulder. stop me. she's screaming in her head. please, god, stop me. her hand cups his jaw. she lifts her head just enough to be able to look up at him, her lips parted as soft breathing touches his skin. she's so close she can see the ring of gold around his irisis. his pupils are blown wide. she tells herself it's the alcohol, not her. her fingers are in his hair, just the tips threading through to feel him. for a moment she thinks she's going to do it. kiss him, break the pact she made with herself ten years ago. instead, she just leans her forehead against his cheek, lets out a sound that is almost like a quiet sob. her hand squeezes his hard, fingers wrapping around it as her nails bite into his flesh. please stop me.