#and only through entering that thing’s mind and destroying it from the inside out was the rest of the crew freed

[samodivaa]

permeated by jealously

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Summary: In your tight-fitting red dress, you look ravishing for the date with a Russian guy—but the moment you retort to Bucky in Russian, it begs to be ripped from your body.

Warnings: smut, angst, kitchen sex, rough/possessive, unprotected p in v, miscommunication Words: 4k

Bucky's veins are full of the serum, but at this moment, they are full with belladonna tincture, the substance of jealousy. Seeing you with another man, he speaks of Love in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him—that guy coming to pick you up from the compound, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed, already a memory. For a split second you stare at each other, you smile at him ruefully. A fleeting, lasting moment for Bucky. Why do you even notice him? Seeing you happy, gives mixed colors to the air of the moment—he is lost in time, sleeping being his only lover.

Bucky wants to kiss you. Instead he puts his lips on the tumbler glass, pretending that it is you. His t-shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and he runs a hand through his hair before he puts the glass down on the kitchen counter—flashes of you in that dress that you wear for your date and the way it lifts your body up from a single look races through his head.

His cock jerks and he shakes his head, grinning as he stares down the bottle of vodka next to his cup.

And, for the first time in his innocent and confined life, he senses in himself a potential for a different corruption that takes his breath away. He doesn’t blame himself. He is a curious, wanting thing—finally, enlightened and free, but also lustful and carnal. But It stabs at him, almost like a physical pain, and he feels both deprived and angry, deprived because Bucky wishes to be with you and angry, because his own choices causes him misery. ----- “It is almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare, you're so relieved. I just wake up into another nightmare."

"And what is that nightmare, Bucky?" He keeps his blue, lusterless eyes fixed on Natasha with a calm but warm and kindly expression in them as he thinks how to say it  "My love life” “Maybe you need to ask her on a date, that’s what Vladimir does”

“Vladimir? Oh , so it is not just 'that one guy' anymore?”  he says in a quiet voice, without a trace of irritation, with a note of the simplest curiosity, his lips quivering as a forced smile comes on to his face. Nat momentarily startles. Then she starts to laugh. “You’re jealous of him?”

He clenches his jaw. “I’m not jealous,” a note of personal affront creeps into his voice “I don’t like his name”  ----- You are on a date, having fun—but anxiety grabs his mind, it is self-perpetuating. Worrisome thoughts reproduce faster than rabbits, he is trying not to lose his balance. Not yet. Especially when the jealousy sets in. 

Bucky is conscious every moment in himself of many, many elements positively swarming in him, ah these, opposite elements. He knows that they have been swarming in him since you started going out with Vladimir and they are craving some outlet from him, but he doesn't let them, would not let them, purposely would not let them come out, because he believes there is nothing so self-destroying, and so despicable, as his jealousy. He tries to appear as a hard shell on the outside when you finally enter the kitchen at 1 am—while there is a runny mess on the inside as he tenses, waiting for you to say something, anything. When you near the sink, your fingers find the curve of the faucet, the metal cool beneath the touch. He turns around to lean against the counter as you pour a cup of cold water. Bucky stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. He is in such an irritated frame of mind, because of your quietness that in rude and abrupt fashion he blurts out the words:    “You must love that dress”

He takes time persing down the length of your body as you take a step back, watching you press against the counter and then back up before locking on your eyes again. You are not wearing a bra and your nipples harden from having his eyes on you. Red, the front needlessly too scandalous—at least for Bucky. The dipping v lets him see the swelled sides of your breasts pushed up and together. Just to be sure, though, a golden necklace with a teardrop pearl at the end, letting it trail just over your cleavage.

  “I didn’t know that you notice what I am wearing when I go out”

You answer, trying to look as innocent as possible. The vindictive smile that stretches on your ruined lipstick sends shivers down Bucky’s spine—did you make out with the guy, maybe more than that? You look beautiful sitting there looking at him like a she-cat. All he has to do is look at you, and he lusts. He wants to take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to go out with anyone else ever again.

  “You’ve worn it for the second time. For your date.”

His gaze drops from your eyes, to the swell of your chest. Your chest tightens and you bite your lip to hide the grin wanting to escape. You notice the disgust written on his face and you laugh coldly, gaze never leaving his buff frame. With the certainty that you have well and truly punished him for not asking you on a single date. The angry, feral part of you feels so close to the surface that you can almost scent its blood-clotted fur. You want to lick the scratches you’ve made on him. You want to scratch him until he breaks apart. You gulp down the rest of your water to ease the heat flaming across your skin. Then you lick your lips. His gaze tracks the movement. You think you stopped breathing.

  “His name is Vlad” 

An audacious expression plasters on his face as you sigh in irritation at Bucky, rolling your eyes. Bucky is still leaning against the counter and rests his metal hand on the countertop while sipping vodka from the mug in his other hand. A beautiful yet deadly ornament—vibranium has no business being as hot as it is on him.

A note of personal affront creeps into his voice “Vladimir, mhm”

  “What else have you noticed about me?” your grin becomes a touch leery, innocently cocking your head to the side.

  “Try me” he says softly.

  “Favorite color?” you ask, interrogatively.

  He chuckles “Red”

  “Favorite quote?”

Your brows lift, anticipation making your nerves sing. You are not sure what he is about to say, but you have the feeling that it will be the right one, your heart leaps at the thought.

  “Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid”  he answers, this time winking at you  “I know everything about you, sweetheart”   he adds and you feel like smacking that stupid grin off his face.

His mind works well when it comes to his work as an avenger, hovering on hummingbird wings, but when it comes to you, especially when you purposely play with his jealousy, It finds a way to push through any seal of his mind, his expressions are always an array of masks he uses to cover it up his emotions—but now, it is all over his face, pure surrender, because he is affected and you can tell, he is staring impudently at you, awning for your response.

  “I prefer kotyonok. Vlad says that cognac and wine is all for the heart and that vodka is for the soul. If it's hurting real bad and you’ve never had vodka before”

His brows lift, because this does surprise him and his stomach tightens at that particular Russian word. His mouth curls into a small snarl at the thought of that stupid man calling you that. A pang of jealousy surges through him. The bad kind. The kind of longing that makes him wonder that there must be a natural comorbidity between sexual appetite and sexual jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill. He clears his throat, his face souring before his mocking tone grates:

  “Looks like you know a thing or two about me, too”   

He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but jealousy is too much, even for Bucky. He settles back into himself, shaking whatever momentary emotion flitted over his face and replacing it with a confident aura that screams laid back and in control as he cages you to the counter, his flesh hand still holding his half full cup. Your throat gurgles slightly, looking at the bigger frame towering you through your lashes like the starved woman you are. You are overwhelmed by his bold move, leaving you both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion here—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. You try to ignore his hard cock pressing against your thigh, your attention remains on his face. You feel drunk without a drink, your nerves tighten, making your muscles clench―this is going exactly how you want. You want him to kiss you. But you make sure to keep your facial features mundane and level.   “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me, Bucky” You also ignore the annoying, visible blush on your cheeks, he must have noticed it because his expression goes grim for a second before a surprised laugh almost breaks free from his lips, responding only by a clink of his tumbler against yours. Judging by the rumble that vibrates in his chest, he likes your reaction, though the noise ends on a cynical note. His blue eyes drop to your mouth, warmth pours through your body and you moisturize your lips as he presses his knee between your legs. Right against your clit—you breathe out, a wave of pleasure sliding down your spine while Bucky just tips his glass back the last of vodka, allowing the burn to sear his throat and warm his stomach—while casually grinding his leg slowly against you, creating a sensation that has heat winding through your core and shooting down your legs.   “Na zdorovie” (cheers) You smile venomously with a kind of joyous sigh, your arrogance in this moment makes you feel very confident. Up to this moment possessiveness has not been that much of a torment, now it suddenly gnaws at his heart. As in slow motion, he pulls back to put both glasses on the counter. He realizes that you do something to him. Every time. It’s your only detriment this past month. To step on his heart—to test his feelings for you, and his jealousy already has made him erupt like a volcano. He has never been jealous before he met you. It burns. Some nights, watching you go with other men on missions, even that drives him mad. 

   “You and that fucking mouth, kotyonok” His voice sounds ill-natured, bitter, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the ways that you are trying to provoke him, but his tone shifts at the last word. Voice warm and low. Intimate. You like it this way. You like the way it sounds and it makes you gasp.   “You like this, don’t you, pretty girl?” Your character has absolutely changed. It is an entirely new and hitherto unknown being who now stands and stares at him somewhat lovingly. There is evidently, he concludes, something at work here, some storm of the mind, some paroxysm of emotion which he won’t question. When you say nothing, his hands move to your waist, his vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire. You let out a deep breath and can’t deny the strange elation you feel when you feel his hands, needing more of it, of his touch. Your pussy contracts as his hands reach around, gripping a handful of your ass, forcing you harder against his both body and leg. The grip is both bruising and possessive, controlling every movement.     “Oh, god-” You open your mouth, and Bucky dips down, catching the moan with his tongue. Satisfaction sparks in his irises and he tilts his head and keeps watching you with those fucking lethal eyes of his. Bucky gives a small grin, a fake one. The type that shows no teeth and barely lifts at the corners. You feel a very small spark to your ego, knowing you are getting a rise out of him. But all of the playfulness in the air drowns beneath the intensity of his thousand shades of blue dancing in his eyes as if he is peeling back your mental layers, his eyes looking down watching the bare length of thigh that shows through the slit in your dress. 

   “You and these dresses” he groans. Whether you want to admit it or not, physically, this man affects you more than anyone else ever has, and that causes panic to percolate through every nerve, you feel like you are losing control, but you don’t mind it. You feel vulnerable, exposed, almost at his mercy at this point. Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, but his jealousy is combined with modesty and there's even something touching about the filthy words coming out of his mouth. He wants you—and finally, he is not afraid to both tell and show it.

   “Ya ne mogu vyrazit', kak sil'no ty menya zavodish'” (I can’t explain to you how much you turn me on) Your lips part and you swallow audibly while he has the most delicious visual of his dick slipping between them, your eyes staring up at him in surprise and that sweet tongue running along the shaft. He surges forward, your face is an inch from his when you breathe out, he breaths in before crossing the final, tiny gap and pressing his lips to yours. It is not a sweet kiss. It is hard, demanding, and possessive, borne out of weeks of pent-up frustration and tension. His mouth is hungry and insistent, his tongue probing your lips, asking for greater intimacy. You grant it, tongues swirling together, yours follow his when it retreats and tasting his in return. When he finally pulls back, he rests his hands on your hips, and stares into your eyes for a minute.

  “Tvoy zapakh s uma menya svodit” (your scent drives me crazy) 

He speaks without haste, controlling himself so well, yet there is something in his voice, determined and euphoric, resentful and insolently defiant. Passion smolders in his eyes as he traces the line of your clavicle with his index flesh finger, pausing for only a fraction of a second. And then you become aware of all the magnificent silk wrapping around your body, you have the feeling that you might drown in his eyes, his two drops of winter rain.   “I would love to make love to you, but not tonight”  He studies your face, pleading silently for your approval, searching for the smallest sign, the slightest movement of your brow, the vaguest reddening of your cheeks, the surprise of your eyes. At that moment, your soul clenches as well as your pussy. The hard dick still pressing into you distracts you from replying. You can feel your panties dampening. And your nipples are suddenly incredibly sensitive, aching as they pucker against the material of your dress. Your chest warms, desire winding like a rope around your core. You think you like Bucky this way. A smile shows on your face. This would be invisible to any, but the closest scrutiny—Bucky has noticed it and taken it for his sign. Then he leans forward and presses his lips once more, his sugar roughness, his possessiveness is what you need to finally feel.   “What did you do when you went out?”   “We had a few drinks. We danced.” you reply, thinking it best to speak the truth at once. His lip quivers slightly, forcing himself to seem calm, but Bucky’s eyes are sparkling irefully, there is no doubt in his expression the full success of your endeavors to make him even more detested.   “You danced with him?” he asks, with sudden vivacity.   “Well, he is my date” You murmur, trying to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, you sense a physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of your own heart, which beats visibly and audibly under the excess of agitation—but before you can even manage to open your mouth again, his metal fingers grab the front of your gown and pull it until it tears, no matter how beautiful, it was meant for another man—perfect breast on display just for him, his cock pulses at the sight. His touch tickles you on his way up to your boobs, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his palms. “Tony’s rules include no sex in the common areas” “Fuck the rules” he grits out, more animal than you have ever heard from a human. And then he gives you a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet—with the filthy touch of his hands, that unexpected warmth rushes through you. His thumbs run over the hardened peaks, making you moan and his dick is so stiff that he is worried that he might come.   “Ty moya” he says coolly. (you are mine)

   He leans in, his voice a rumble in your ear.   “Moy kotyonok” (my kitten)

Bucky moves, gripping the meat of your thighs before he spins you harshly around and bends you over the counter. Your walls are squelching around nothing as you feel him pull back, murmuring something in Russian, it is sinful—and pleasurable, drawing a muffled whimper from your mouth as you hear him tear apart your panties. You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you hear his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs before pressing his body against yours until every inch of him melds into you one more. Bucky’s metal hand grips your chin and forces your head back while the other closes around your throat as his cock presses against you—chills slide up your spine, arousal sending a shot of adrenaline through your center as you feel pre-cum on your naval. Fuck, he is huge. There is a certain satisfaction in manhandling you into this position, the flesh arm tightens around your nape, holding you close to him. 

   "How about we make a deal? You wear dresses for me and I take you out on dates?” He rambles against your ear, tongue slipping out to taste you, just a little bit. His cock nudges around your ass cheeks, to your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead with his metal hand, gliding through your delicate folds and returning his cold grasp around your chin. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you with ease, your wetness sucking him in, making it easy for him to thrust into you until he buries himself to the hilt.     “Fuck, you feel good”

Bucky moans quietly as his eyes close, focusing on feeling your cunt wrapping around his dick for the first time. His lips stay silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands hold, the way he fucks you. You want to see his face, but you can only imagine how perfect he looks.

His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind. It is an igniting feeling to have so much control over your body. It is sick and twisted, he has long learned to run from what he feels and wants, that's why he has nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control. And he needs to take control over something for once in his life. You. He has lost control over everything, even the places in his head. When your moans become too loud, his hand closes around your neck, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. His growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length.

   “Come for me, drench my dick”

He whispers, fucking his cock against your cervix. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath as you struggle to breathe. Jealousy…teeth dragging against your skin, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples, shooting up and down your spine as his thrusts never falter, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb.

Lust is the best of all the deadly sins, you realize as he pulls out and helps you go back on your shaky feet. It all happened too fast. You only wanted a kiss. You push his chest like you want him off of you, but your fingers have Bucky’s shirt clutched in them and he knows you are full of shit. You want him. 

   “I wish I could say I felt guilty for what I did. I don't.” The timbre of his voice goes into that low register that makes your insides curl in on themselves. You want that tongue to swipe your sex like licking the frosting off a cupcake. It is the sexual chemistry you want more of. It is electric. But guilt sets in. You are feeling torn between your commitment to building a relationship with Vlad while engaging with Bucky, in a way it feels like cheating. A part of you is hoping someone from the team would wake up and catch you, so you wouldn't have to live with this lie. But no one wakes up and in the silence that follows, you understand the nature of your new curse: you are going to get away with it. Your silence hurts him, his mouth tightens. But there are some wounds that he can heal only by deepening them and making them worse. And yet, sometimes facts are no more than pitiful consequences, Bucky knows how the public will perceive you if you are dating the former Winter Soldier. Seeing you standing there unresponsive makes him realize that silence has a sound—he knows that you regret sleeping with him. You are the people's favorite Avenger, the one everyone look up to with admiration and reverence—he is sure that you are thinking about it, but he understands. The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put his finger on—and he should be sad, but instead, he feels nothing. He feels a lot of nothing these days. He is empty, as if whatever makes him feel and hurt and laugh and love has been surgically removed, leaving him hollowed out like a shell. This is for your happy ever after, Vlad might be a stupid Russian, but he is at the very core of his existence—a real human. He turns around and paces the room, as if he can leave his regret, you, behind. But it cracks you as you see him walk away, leaving you naked like an ugly shadow made by himself. You have mistaken his lust for love. Regret. It turns into anger, into hatred. And where there is anger there is always pain underneath. You eventually come to understand that in harboring the anger, the bitterness and resentment towards Bucky who has hurt you, you are giving the reins of control over to him—maybe It’s time to finally say “yes” to being Vlad’s girlfriend.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #winter soldier

[flourjsh]

minors dni, 18+ afab!reader

just thinking about a threesome between jing yuan and blade.. but with both of them as your boyfriends! they doesn't mind sharing no of course not, but.. this might be the first time you've taken them both at the same time..

jing yuan loves seeing your fucked out expression as blade eats you out like his last meal. he only stares at you with as teasing smirk, that of resembling a fox.

but when it's finally his turn, he'll make you take his cock down your throat completely. groaning when you press the flat of your tongue against his dick, tracing the outlines of his veins.. you even use your hands to make up for what you can't fit :( but all goes well because you can still feel him cum down your throat!! something about you not being able to take him all the way down awakened something in him..

and as for blade, he's quiet through out the whole ordeal. mostly directing his attention to your pretty pussy <3

his sharp gaze is already enough to make your clit twitch, making you whine in need.. but it's okay!! the multiple orgasms that follow after are more than enough to make you forgive him!! his tongue is as sharp as his name, when he eats you out it feels so good your thighs are almost crushing his head.. not that he minds!! the slurping noises are so lewd!! you can't help but buck your hips harder against his face, your clit touching his nose was probably your final straw..

but when you finally take them both? it'll hurt so much.. two big cocks forcing themselves balls deep in your hole, tears prickling your eyes at the wide stretch you throw your head back onto jing yuan's shoulder, babbling about how 's too much! or too big!. it doesn't help that this makes your pussy tighten around their cocks tighter. your hole is holding them in a vice grip yet you're the one complaining? you're practically suffocating both their cocks!!

once they're finally in (took like eight minutes) they move so much in sync that you lost count on the orgasms you've had today, while one exits the other one enters. both of their cocks pistons in you that you can feel your cervix shake.. the bulge on your belly will only continue to increase once they cum in you..

they'll be so competitive about it too, trying to outmatch the other in terms of speed.. practically ignoring your overstimulated moans as they destroy your insides.. shifting you to different positions in order to angle their cocks better, it feels so good that you eventually pass out from the multiple orgasms..

when you wake up, the scent of sex id the first thing you notice. the cum stained bedsheets ruffle under you as you stretch something sticky between your thighs catches you off guard, looking down to see a complete mess if thick and shiny cum.. they're all over your body, on your belly, thighs, face and most importantly.. inside you!! there's a bump on your belly from all the cum they've stuffed deep in you, at this point you're probably going to give birth to mini yuans and bladies..

#:: #···· hsr !! #···· jing yuan <3 #···· blade <3 #honkai impact x reader #honkai impact smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #blade x reader #blade smut

[kunikuyu]

Until he gets tired.

Heian Era! Ryomen Sukuna x Male! Reader

Warnings: 🕊️ DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. Dom! sukuna, sub! reader. reader is simply crazy. Size kink, cut play, mention of the term 'sex slave', dub-con, sex even when passed out, bulge in the belly, begging, abusive relationship, words written intentionally wrong, sukuna has two dicks, fainting, monster romance (for obvious reasons). DNI MINORS.

Summary: Being Sukuna's partner is something completely insane. Aside from the fact that Sukuna is incapable of loving anyone, he seems to take a twisted pleasure in hurting his partners. Every night, [Name] knows that the next day, he will wake up completely destroyed.

The climate was pleasant. Not too cold, not too hot, a gentle breeze blew through the walls and windows of Sukuna's temple. But what made everything scary and strange were the screams that came from inside.

Today was a special day. [Name] and Sukuna, the king of curses, had completed a hundred years together, as partners. Normally no one would celebrate this, since... Who would want to stand next to Sukuna? No one would be crazy enough to do that.

But, [Name] is.

"Uhm~ 'Kuna..."

The ancient sorcerer purrs. [Name] was sitting in the lap of the curse, skin completely exposed for anyone to see, but protected so no one can touch. And of course no one would touch, who would even dare to come close to the one who is so 'well taken care of' by Ryomen Sukuna. His chest was already completely red and full of small cuts, which were leaking almost invisible drops of blood. He didn't even know how he managed to stay awake anymore, it seemed simply impossible not to pass out there. Not because of the small and insignificant loss of blood, but rather for the pain in his lower parts.

[Name] couldn't move, couldn't even dare breathe wrong, if he didn't want to get slapped in the face. It seemed like an impossible task, and it really was, since Sukuna's dick wasn't just anything, or just an organ. It was big, ridiculously big, it seemed like a joke to imagine that it could fit on someone. So much so that only the cockhead managed to enter the sorcerer's body.

But Sukuna didn't care at all, of course not. He smiled when he saw his flushed face, expressing pain and clearly distorted pleasure. And instead of helping, he only makes the situation worse, squeezing hard around [Name]'s entire length so that he's unable to cum. This felt more like a punishment than a reward for staying by his side for so long.

"Such a dirty little whore... Are you that used to it? Don't you even scream in desperation for me to get out of you? I don't know if I find this interesting or pathetic." He says, with his typical arrogant and self-centered tone.

Deciding that he would take things more seriously, the King of Curses pulls [Name]'s hands close enough to him, so that the younger man is completely lying on top of Sukuna, being the perfect target for the all-out aggression the older man has in mind. He liked seeing his partner like this, but he much preferred seeing him screaming and crying because he couldn't handle his dick.

[Name] lets out a howl of pain as his severed chest is thrown hard against Sukuna's chest. It was like a thousand needles going into his skin because of the small cuts located in the area, but he still managed to find pleasure in the pain.

"Sukuna...! That hurts...!"

"I know."

Suddenly, agonizing screams of pain can be heard from far away. The screams were definitely from [Name], who was now being fucked mercilessly. He drooled against the other man's shoulder while still going through the trouble of jerking off his other cock. It was always so painful, the older man's balls aggressively slapped his ass, while his dick reached the deepest layer of his body, crushing his prostate with ease.

"Stop, please!~ Sho painf- ah!"

He doesn't even have time to complain before another of Sukuna's tricks is revealed. The two bodies completely glued together served so that the mouth on the monster-man's stomach could willingly take in [Name]'s red and swollen cock. He doesn't even know what to feel. It hurts, but he's about to cum!

And...

...To faint...

This lasts all night, and several times, [Name] even faints. It didn't end until Sukuna got tired, and he could never easily get tired of his beloved sex slave. When [Name] wakes up in the morning, a small pool of blood was formed on his bed, and next to the bed, a calm and silent Sukuna was cleaning his own body, which was dirty with fluids from both of them. When looking at his body, the sorcerer realizes that his chest was no longer the only thing that was bleeding, but his entire body. His belly was even full, certainly from Sukuna's loads of cum, which were clearly not few. He can barely stay awake for long before passing out again from exhaustion and blood loss.

#male reader #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #jjk #dead dove do not eat

[shadesoflsk]

      LULLABY FOR A BROKEN HEART

pairing: Leon Kennedy x Gn reader.

summary: After a mission, Leon musters up the courage to ask for one thing he's always wanted.

warnings: hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff, Leon is touch starved, no consumption of alcohol but there are mentions of it, injuries, mentions of trauma.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: Hello! So... I had prepared some dad leon headcanons but after reading DI manga latest chapter... I knew I had to write something about it. I wrote this with a platonic relationship in mind but you can also see it as an established relationship! I just wanted an excuse to write about Leon because he is literally an angel ueueueue. He deserves the world.

      masterlist

With heavy and wobbly steps, Leon’s blurry vision—from the lack of sleep— could make out the frame of your door, your apartment’s door. A part of him knows that he may be a burden—or that’s what he believes. Fatality, sorrow, and overall bad outcomes are the only things his mind can register.

He doesn’t want to bother you. Hell, he doesn’t want to speak to anyone right now. The fact that he somehow made it safely to your front door was enough for him to know that you would be so angry at him. You shouldn’t drive after a mission. You shouldn’t—... let yourself die. He knows all those phrases by heart. 

He’s getting better. He’s a lot better, to be honest. He no longer drinks, but he may as well look drunk right now. His head was hurting like hell, but he blamed it on his mission. He’s getting too old for that shit. But, a healthy improvement doesn’t mean that he can’t fall. 

Recovery isn’t a straight line of betterment. There are nights when he can sleep like a baby. But then again, some days, he goes to sleep knowing that a nightmare may attack his dreams. 

His fist bangs against your door, at first trying to be quiet. But after a few seconds, some desperation came within his knocking, and a louder sound filled the already silent night. 

The melancholic feeling of being alone lasts a couple of seconds before he hears some steps inside your home, those get even closer until he sees the door opening. The sight he admires before him is far from comforting. The eyebags under your eyes, your disheveled hair, and the quiet yawn that escapes your lips say it all, you were sleeping. 

At first, you don’t say anything, letting the silence in the air fill the lack of response from both parts. Yours and Leon’s, two souls that are aching right now but for different reasons.

Leon, who is hurting because he doesn’t want you to see him like this. And yours because you’d give him the world just for him to stop blaming himself. Ironic, but in reality you’re two sides of the same coin.

Amidst the countless things you want to tell Leon, you step aside allowing him to enter your apartment. The one he knows as his cozy getaway. His second home. The first one is your mere existence. 

Physical things last no more than a few weeks, months, or years. Everything is doomed to cease existing. He has witnessed it through the years he has worked as an agent. Those gigantic and marvelous houses politicians love to brag about? A bomb would destroy them. That motorcycle he loves? Yeah, that one…. No more than a few pieces remained.

But the simple fact that you were alive and breathing meant so much. He wasn’t a stranger to death. He knows that he has become desensitized to those topics as much as he denies it. But even if someone were to die, their proof that they belonged to this world would live in those who loved them, those who were close to them. 

And that’s why you’re his home. The kind of home that served as a refuge when life got too much, when life stopped basking him with its sunlights but rather sent him a blizzard. Your presence was enough for him because you granted him the affection he has long forgotten he could have.

As he enters your apartment, the normalcy and everydayness of the living room embrace him like a thick and warm blanket. The usual smell of your scented candlelight also brings him back to the reality where he could feel safe.

He’s alone for a while, you let him sit on your couch even though he might stain it with the dirt on his pants and whole body. You don’t exactly care, you can clean it after. 

His eyes are unfocused as he waits for you to come back. At that moment, the memories of his last mission came to his mind. They don’t haunt him like they used to do in the past, where he decided to stop the voices from getting louder by drowning in alcohol.

Now, they replay in his mind like a Deja Vu, like a movie he was the main star in. However, it doesn’t mean they stop stabbing his heart knowing that he had taken lives. 

He used to be a religious person. Right now if someone asks him if he follows a certain God, he would respond with a simple no. But when he sees the bodies of those whom he had to kill, he would offer a silent prayer, asking whoever hears him that their souls could rest in peace.

Leon kills, but he’s also a lover of life. He loves the world and its people. He wants to believe that he'd be reminded as the one who fought for those who couldn’t, even if he didn’t want to be associated with that type of job.

In his mind, it may sound corny but he has started appreciating the simple things in life. The way someone would smile at him in the supermarket, the way a random stranger would greet him even though they don’t know him. It was a nice reminder that he was, in fact, alive.

Your steps break the silence—once again. In your hands, there’s a first aid kit. 

There’s a certain urgency in the way you sit next to him to treat his wounds. Your eyes never leave him as you try to make sure that nothing is hurting him. Even when he has awoken you from your sweet dreams, you’re the same caring and compassionate person as always.

An alcohol swab touches one cut he had on his temple, a bruise already forming on the skin. Proof that his head was literally slammed against a metal tube. Not his proudest moment, if he had to be honest.

“I’m not going to break, you know…” Leon finally speaks as your hand seems to slightly shake out of fear of bringing more pain to him.

You manage to let out a chuckle at his words. “I know. But I’m not taking risks.”

His eyes continue to remain fixated on your face, like a puppy who is looking at a treat. But rather, he’s like a homeless man admiring one of the prettiest houses he has ever seen.

There are no questions asked, nor complaints about anything related to his late-night visit. He appreciates the fact that he’s welcomed no matter what. Nonetheless, he can’t help but thank you for your hospitality.

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you clean another injury that was just above his eyebrow. “You’re too good for me.” Leon's words show a moment of raw sincerity.

Leon’s humanity is palpable, even when he doesn’t notice it. There’s a childlike glimmer in his eyes when he watches his favorite movies, a hint of regret when he talks about his missions, and a big sense of empathy when he speaks about the victims who died at his hands.

Leon’s kindness knows no limits. And you wish everyone could observe what an amazing human he is.

“Why is that?” You asked, scooting closer to hear him better. To pay full attention to what he’s about to say. There’s nothing Leon loves more than knowing he can really talk with someone about his feelings since he has mastered the art of closing off.

“For this…” He admits as his hands gesture your first aid kit, to your apartment as a whole. “I’m not used to being… pampered like this. I get hurt and I fix myself up.” His expression darkens slightly.

“Well… I’m here, aren’t I?” You give Leon a warm smile before pinching one of his cheeks making sure not to touch any of his cuts. “You don’t have to be alone all the time, Leon. You can rely on me.”

Leon’s lips turn into a shy smile as you pinch his cheek. “Yeah, I know.” He’s grateful for your hospitality and overall care. But it’s hard for someone who has always been in solitude to think that it’s okay to rely on someone, that it’s okay to need a person. 

He’s silent for a moment before asking a question that’s been nagging him for a while now. “But… Don’t you get tired of it? Of taking care of me?”

You instantly shake your head, responding with a blunt “Nope, never.” In fact, you would be awake all night long just to make sure he was alright. 

“You’re a God’s sent… I swear.” He chuckles as his gaze moves towards his own hands which are fidgeting. As if he was looking for something to grab, to hold onto. 

He hesitates for a few seconds, he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries but then again… He’s not used to being touched let alone hugged. But right now… he craves feeling the tender and intimate affection that a hug brings.

When was the last time he was touched? He doesn’t remember. The sole thought of admitting it’s been months if not years that he hasn’t been hugged brings embarrassment to his already troubled mind. 

You notice, you know Leon a little too well. You recognize every little quirk he has, from the way he sometimes sticks out his tongue when he’s focused on something to the way he looks at everyone before delivering a punchline.

But you wait for him, you want him to be comfortable. 

As a sigh leaves his lips, he finally speaks. “Can you hug me?” His words come out hushed, as if ashamed of himself for asking something so… banal, so simple. “I really need it.”

The way he speaks, the way his voice suddenly cracks and the way his fingers twitch even more tell you enough.

“Come here.” You encourage him, opening your arms. He wastes no time getting himself closer and wrapping his arms around you. The kindness that you’re showing him could bring him to tears, but he doesn’t let them fall. Right now, he just wants to be embraced.

He was bigger than you, being an agent built his body to be ready to fight, to kill. Of course his muscles would basically bury your frame as he curls himself into the hug. But funnily enough, he feels like a kitten that found solace on a rainy day. He feels getting even smaller and almost disappearing from the catastrophes of this world.

He could easily rest his head on your shoulder. But instead, he decides to bury his face in the crook of your neck, feeling even more at ease in this peaceful moment. Closing his eyes, he lets the warmth of your body soothe his aching soul.

He always takes care of everyone, his mind and soul are connected to people he may as well never see again. He feels too much, he feels everything. Nevertheless, there are times when he wants to be the one being doted on, to feel safe.

And right now… he is safe.

“You may think I’m stupid…” His words are muffled as his face is pressed into your neck, his stubble ever so slightly brushing against your skin.

“I sometimes think you’re stupid.” You tease him, trying to bring some humor to the situation as you sense that Leon is starting to doubt himself. Your arms hug him closer, tighter. Letting him know that you aren’t going anywhere. “But right now… I think you’re the most amazing person ever.”

Leon doesn’t say anything for the moment. His breathing is steady and calm, drowning in your so familiar scent. His fingers caress the back of your head, touching your hair reminding himself that you were there, as if the hug wasn’t enough.

“You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known.” You murmur, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. “You fight so much, you’re so important to many people. You don’t even know how much I thank life for having a Leon Kennedy next to me.”

Your words break his heart a little. Not because you said something wrong, not at all. But rather… he can’t imagine how his existence could bring happiness to someone. Chris, Rebecca, hell everyone has helped him a lot. But you are like an anchor which he clings to.

“Don’t feed a stray dog…” He tries joking, but his voice is barely a whisper. You’re used to his jokes. Most of the time, they are harmless and light-hearted. However, sometimes they served to hide what he was truly feeling. “They’ll always come back.”

“I don’t want you to come back…”  You respond. letting your hand rub his back. “I want you to stay.”

And Leon is definitely going to stay, he’s going to stay with you and with everyone else. He will fight off every bioweapon, he will succeed in every mission. Just to come back to his home and to his life. A life he’s learning to love and enjoy.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil

[thedevilspearl]

do you think mammon seeks out his human if he’s feeling particularly down? maybe a comment really rubbed him wrong and then boom, you’re stuck in bed with him clung to you, head on your tummy while he talks about it? maybe lightly scratching his head to comfort him? i think about it often, too often.

-☽

➛ put your head on my shoulder

a/n: moon nonnie i’m convinced you can read my mind because i think about comfort with mammon all the time and this in particular is just >>>

tags: 0.5k words, mammon x reader, comfort and fluff

on days like this, mammon tends to find his way to the one place he can feel comforted.

and it’s not the fall, where he can temporarily drown his insecurities in demonus and loud music, nor the casino where he ignores his anxiety with a game of poker.

no, he needs a long–lasting remedy which can easily enter his bloodstream and heal all of the bad things inside of him.

and the only place he can find such a thing is wherever you are.

he trudges through your doorway, closing it quietly behind him; knocking isn’t a norm, the great mammon enters as he pleases. but you notice something which isn’t the norm, and that’s mammon entering quietly instead of barging in with a “hey, where’s my human at?!”

“mammon,” you shove your textbooks to the side, making room for him on your mattress. “i haven’t seen you all day, where have you been?”

his head hangs low, and his shoulders droop in the same direction. concern covers your face and you pull him closer to you.

slumping against your body, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. the weight of his body pressing against you feels heavier today; he’s had a difficult day.

“come on,” you shuffle backwards, giving extra care to not losing contact with him or else he might break from the loss of your touch. moving towards the pillows, you lay flight while mammon collapses against your torso. his head buries itself deep into your tummy and his arms hug your hips like they’re the only solace he finds in this world. “is that better?”

nodding slightly, he snuggles further into your body and you lower your hand to him. his face is hidden even when you brush his messy bangs away from his face, and a long sigh escapes him — a whisper of how profoundly bad his day was.

“wanna talk about it?”

mammon remains still and silent for a few moments. the only sound filling the room are the gentle scratches of your nails running across his scalp and your synced breathing.

before long, he exhales into the quiet.

“no…not yet.”

your heart swells for him; very rarely do you see him like this and it makes you swear to destroy whatever it was that caused him to feel so disdained.

alas, you stay in place because the only thing you can do right now is comfort him.

“that’s okay,” you whisper. “we can stay like this for as long as you need.”

the discreet flex of his arms around you almost goes unnoticed, but you know it’s his acknowledgement — or thanks — for consoling him until his demons go away. you return his tightened hold with one of your own, imprisoning him in your protection, both physical and emotional.

and mammon feels it — your power seeping through his skin and finding home in every one of his cells. he feels your magic work like the sole spell for any and all of his ailments.

you never fail to make him feel better, be it on a good day or bad.

you’re his cure.

#♡ pearl’s writing #obey me #obey me x reader #mammon x reader #obey me mammon #mammon fluff #mammon comfort #obey me fluff #obey me drabble #mammon drabble

[prince-kallisto]

Cradle Tower Incubator & the Dark Mirror Chamber (Meleanor Dark Mirror Theory)

My dear @snakevsnis pointed out to me the similar vibes between Cradle Tower and the Mirror Chamber, and my mind sparked to life! As I was editing the video in my previous analysis post, I realized several things about the Dark Mirror in the prologue that takes on a new context with this recent update of Book 7 Chapter 6

I believe there are visual similarities in the arrangements of Cradle Tower and the Mirror Chamber, or at least with the composition/shape language of it. In Cradle Tower, the egg goes in the center, with a tall column above and below it. There is there “cage” with glowing green lights

In the Mirror Chamber, the Dark Mirror does have this egg-like shape, with the coffins with green lights surrounding it, with the windows/structure in the background that has a similar vibe to Cradle Tower. And in replacement of the column holding the egg, there is a column of glowing green light going down the center of the Mirror. It even has similar dangling green jewels around the ceiling like the Cradle Tower

But like I said, as I was editing the video of my previous post, I realized something. In the Prologue, when the green flames in the mirror flash as Crowley speaks to it, it is extremely similar to the green flames that Malleus AND Meleanor emit when appearing.

Further more, at the very VERY beginning of the prologue, there is darkness before showing the mirror chamber. However, there is this black fog covering the mirror until Crowley speaks to it. A black fog? Like the one that has notably been appearing in dream world, like when Silver realized his connection to the Knight of Dawn, and Lilia beginning to lose himself him to the darkness after Meleanor’s death. Baul and Lilia also believed that Meleanor Overblotted before her death, due to the rise of this black fog and thorns in the area.

What’s really the cherry on top for me is how a hand reaches out from the mirror after this black fog and the GREEN FLAMES, flames which in this game, have only been associated with the Draconia family. And with a hand that, with a closer look at the in-game assets, looks a lot like Meleanor’s hand if her gloves were removed.

So what does Cradle Tower have to do with this theory? I think the visual similarities are purposeful: implying the exact purpose that Crowley or Maleficia or whoever has in store for the Dark Mirror. An incubator is an enclosed, controlled environment/apparatus that will artificially raise and hatch an egg. If we apply this line of thinking to the Mirror Chamber, assuming Meleanor is trapped inside the Dark Mirror, some part of her has been artificially kept alive in the mirror, trapped until she can released (perhaps when she gathers enough blot?), much like a hatching egg. Because who knows, maybe the Dark Mirror will shatter and be destroyed if Meleanor is released, furthering this imagery of an egg.

And looking at the Mirror Chamber in the prologue again, there is a beam of light going through the mirro, and a green fountain below. The chamber is even in an enclosed area too. A controlled light…water source potentially for humidity…and an enclosed area. Perhaps the Mirror Chamber is serving as a protection, or even as a literal incubator to the Dark Mirror???

ADDITIONALLY, we learn in Fairy Gala that the temperature of NRC and its dorms are artificially controlled with a huge magestone. The more I think about it, NRC and the Mirror Chamber meet all the “technical” conditions for an Incubator. I LOST IT when I rewatched this scene in Fairy Gala, because CROWLEY SPECIFICALLY KEEPS IT IN THE MIRROR CHAMBER, THAT HE FORBIDS PEOPLE FROM ENTERING WITHOUT HIS PERMISSION. IN THE MIRROR CHAMBER HELPPP 😭😭😭 The Magestone is huge too, so it could possibly doubly serve as a magic source for the Dark Mirror.

And further more, dragon eggs can only be hatched with true love. In the Prologue, Crowley is practically worshipping the Dark Mirror or someone in it, his “proud, beautiful flower of evil.” In all technicalities, Crowley has recreated this Cradle Tower at Night Raven College, with controlled lighting, controlled temperature, a water/humidity source, an enclosed area, a magic source, and possibly true love. NSJXJXBSJSJCJXSJB

FURTHERMORE, Book 7 has begun to go into interesting extent of possibilities of technology and magic in the Twisted Wonderland world. For example, Ortho brings up the Crystal radio, and how a silver cap on a tooth MEETS THE RIGHT CONDITIONS to work as a radio, saying they weren’t intended that way, but “it just a coincidence that they do.”. He then elaborates that the mirror in Ramshackle Dorm could also potentially meet the right conditions for a Viewglass. Two examples of things not intended for something, but meeting the right conditions…much like a Mirror Chamber that could meet the right conditions for an incubator.

HELP DOES ANYONE SEE MY VISION??? 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst theory #twst analysis #twst dire crowley #twst Crowley #dire Crowley #twst meleanor #twst meleanor draconia #twst dark mirror #twst book 7 #twst book 7 spoilers #twst spoilers #kallistopost

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .6

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mention of disordered eating; Minor breath play; Light choking; Rough sex; Angry sex; Jealousy; Possessive behavior; Pussy slapping; ANGST!!!!!!!!!! (no one come for me!!!) 

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: This is my favorite chapter of the whole story :) Art is Talking it out with Bobby by Holly Warburton

Word Count: 6.2K

Read on AO3

.6

We are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. As we were. As we are no longer. As we will one day not be at all.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

You call in sick to work the next day. You can’t function after that, he’s destroyed you, taken a piece of you away with him and replaced it with something of himself. He lives inside of you now, worse than before, worse than anything you could have ever imagined. You can’t say that it was a mistake, letting him fuck you last night, mainly because it was the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to you, but the accompanying guilt collapses your lungs. 

When you look at yourself in the mirror after you've gotten home from the party, all you can see is your mother’s face in your reflection. And the thought comes hammering on your mind’s door in the middle of the night, you’re just like her now, an infidel. The poison drips through. Someone that’s taken what wasn’t theirs to take, someone that’s stepped into a space that was not theirs to enter. 

You’ve been leaking a steady stream of his come all night. Your cunt, sore and puffy, aching for more. Laying face down on the edge of your bed, arm hanging off the side and gone away to numbness, staring unseeingly out the window. You watch night pass through the sheer specter of your soft, blue drapes, the silver glow of the moon brightening into dawn, and then the light of the sun, sweeping in to reflect across all of your sins. Your head aches a steady constant throb right at the center of your forehead, deep inside your brain, and tears have been a unending salty stream of shame sliding sideways down your face and dripping coldly off the tip of your nose all night long. 

You’re a pathetic sight, you’re sure. And you’re scared, frightened in a way you don’t think you’ve been since you watched your mother walk out the front door of your childhood home at ten years old and had turned to look at your father sitting unblinkingly upright on the living room sofa. He’d stayed there for hours, still and silent while you’d sat in the chair across from him, waiting for him to say something, do something. A part of him had walked out that door with your mother that day and had never returned. You remember you were wearing your pink Barbie sneakers, the light up ones that glowed  bright at the heels. The memory is very clear in your mind, but you can’t tell which figure you are now, your ten year old self, alone, confused, or your father, comatose, fractured.

You’re frightened.

You think you’re falling in love with him – that you’re already there. 

Your greatest fear had always been ending up like your mother, unable to evade her blight of selfishness, of uncaringly hurting the people around her, the people that needed her. But now, now you’re terrified in a way that you’ve never been before, terrified of turning into that sad, broken figure sitting on the couch for years, a piece of him gone away with a woman who’d never return, who’d never really been his in the first place. 

How could something you’d wanted so badly, that had felt so good, enshroud you in such desolation now, just a few short hours later? Was it because you knew you shouldn’t have done it? You could only register that peripherally, for there wasn’t any real part of you right now, in this moment, that regretted it, that felt it was a mistake. You’re riding the strange invisible line between guilt and regret, firmly on one side, not yet crossed over to the other, but just right there, balancing on the tightrope. But you can’t even really tell what it is that you might or should regret, specifically. It doesn’t even feel wrong, it can’t, you don’t think, nothing that had ever felt that right, could ever actually be wrong. It isn’t even the pillar of his marriage in your mind, you don’t think. No, what it is, at its core, the place that this pain stems from, is that you know he wants to be with you, and that you want to be with him, and yet, after what the two of you experienced together last night, you’re alone now, separated, and it’s only because of you. It’s all your fault. What hurts more than anything is that you know how he feels, and yet, he is not here, and you are not going to let him be here with you. It hurts because you cannot let yourself have him, and will not ever have him, even though now you know what he feels like inside of you and what he tastes and sounds like. You’d brushed up against something you’d never thought even existed, something perfect, and you will not have it. 

It is… it is devastating. 

You love him, and you think that there is the very high possibility that he might feel the same way about you too, and yet you will not be together. The fact of your feelings for one another does not erase your history, your fear, the reality of his current situation. 

You have to bear the shame of going to the store for the morning after pill the next day. Too stupid and desperate to even think about being careful last night, cunt still puffy and sore, leaving a trail of him in your wake. It feels like you’re walking around with a bruise inside of you in the shape of him, and some cruel and rotten part of you whispers: it was worth it, you know you’d let it happen again, you know you want it to happen again.

Swallowing that little pill is just added salt in the wound – makes your hurt flare brighter within your heart for reasons you can’t even bear to examine right now, except to say that the idea of erasing whatever’s left of what could, very well, be the only time you’ll ever be close to him in that way, makes you want to die a little bit. 

And you think: perhaps this will pass, as all things do. You’ve never been religious, but maybe you’ll pray for this – to let go of the memory of him, forget what his hands feel like running along the contours of your body, how your skin felt aflame with his gaze on you. To let go of this want for him you’re scared might send you to an early grave. And yet, at the same time, and despite all this, you also beg the universe to make you remember, to never let you forget.

Hunger gnaws at your belly, sharp and chronic, but you’re not letting yourself have anything yet. Some cruel and masochistic part of you whispers that if you can’t control your feelings, the fact that you’re in love with a married man, then you’ll control this – your body – what you’ll let yourself have. It is a bad habit from your mother that you like to indulge in sometimes. The false sense of power it gives you over yourself, the pain and discomfort it lets you inflict on yourself – it grounds you, makes you feel like if this physical suffering continues then you still belong to yourself, you’re still anchored to yourself, you still hold some sort of autonomy over your body, even if your feelings for him have taken the rest of it away. You’re still real – not something that’s been stolen away by him, that piece he’d robbed you of last night is still there. 

-

Gerri climbs into bed with you, one very bad afternoon, drapes her arm around your shoulders to pull you into her warm embrace. You’ve been existing in a haze for days; and food and sleep and you have gone on a sabbatical from each other for the foreseeable future. There is no peace or rest or comfort to be found anywhere within you. Your mind is just too filled with things too terrible to escape from. Mostly your father – you’ve been thinking about him incessantly the past few days. How much you feel for him now, how much you understand him. You think that it is very easy, you now realize, to lose yourself in the dreams of an unattainable love, to lose yourself in the depths of your own grief. You’d cast him in a weak and pathetic light in your mind for so long, and now you were being faced with the terrible guilt of coming to realize that you understood him better than you’d ever thought you would. 

With her cheek pressed against the top of your head Gerri whispers, “It’s Joel, isn’t it?” The reality of how obviously transparent you are is devastating. 

“Yes.” You think your voice sounds almost unrecognizable, even to your own ears, so jagged and marred with agony. 

“You love him,” she says plainly, and all you can do is nod as you feel your tears slide across the bridge of your nose, down your temple to drip coldly into your ear, slipping over the hand you have pressed over your mouth to hold your own terrible sounds inside. “He loves you too.” Your face crumples, your body wracked with trembling sobs. “It breaks my heart seeing you like this, honey.”

“I can’t help it,” you croak. You are so, so tired of crying. Your eyes ache and burn, your body, your mind, your very soul feels exhausted. You are exhausted of missing him and despairing for him and hurting your own self. You don’t even know why you’re doing it all anymore.

But you can’t find a way to let it all go, to move on… to forgive yourself or your parents. It’s all just too much, too heavy. You think of your mother, all the resentment you hold against her – how do you forgive someone who has no interest in your forgiveness, who’s never cared for it? It’s terribly difficult to be so magnanimous, so emotionally intelligent, you think. One can only exist as the bigger person for so long until they explode. But how can you let go or forget, if you cannot forgive? Perhaps, if it had been someone else, something else, but this was no ordinary thing. This was the crux of all your emotional turmoil, of every issue and grievance that had plagued you your entire life. Your parents, your childhood, the pain of an adolescence alone and unsure and angry. Perhaps, if it had not been all that – if it had not been the thing to shape who you were as a person, who you’d grown into as an adult, you could have just moved on, let it go and forgotten eventually, let Joel in, but the pain of your past had now become inextricably intertwined with the pain of what seemed to be a lost future – of Joel, and so you found it within yourself, now, that you would never be able to forget, if you did not forgive your parents, and then, perhaps, yourself. 

But how to do that? You’d yet to figure it out.

-

After much pleading and coaxing and convincing from both Gerri and her sister, you’d agreed to go on a date with the shiny scarecrow – doctor – who you’re reminded is named Seth. Seth, Seth, Seth. You have to repeat it over and over in your mind to make it stick. And amidst your tears and depression and the overwhelming anxiety you’ve been living with for weeks and weeks on end, you ultimately relent. Too weak and fragile to resist the girl’s onslaught of encouraging suggestions and advice.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

He picks you up one Saturday evening, seven o’clock on the dot, to take you out to dinner. Gerri had helped you pick out a pretty soft lavender wrap dress, doing your makeup and hair and wiping away the occasional escaped tear. The silk of your dress is smooth and elegant, and it feels good to wear something so pretty, after weeks of existing like some sort of cave-dwelling-creature, even if that feeling is punctuated by the painful thought that you wish you were wearing it for a different man. 

And as poor, boring Seth leads you into the restaurant, a nice Italian place you appreciate the gesture of, his palm, not broad or strong enough, hovering over the small of your back and making you slightly nauseous, you pray for a nice night. Really, you do. You can’t be miserable anymore, you don’t want to be. Maybe Seth will pull something out of you or himself or the both of you consecutively, that will miraculously force you to have a wonderful time, wipe your memory, and never miss or think about one unmentionable man ever again. 

And then you hear your name being called from across the restaurant. 

It feels, a little bit, like your heart is falling out of your body. 

And you’re turning to take in the sight of Joel and Eva, accompanied by another couple, at a table in the corner of the busy restaurant. 

You think, in that moment, that you might faint. Or vomit. Or that something, very, equally bad is going to happen to you. Because it’s the first time you’ve seen him in weeks and weeks and all you can think about is the pounding rhythm of his cock fucking into your wet cunt and the sound of your voice crying, asking him what the two of you were going to do after this? How you were going to be able to go on after that? 

You do not think that this was the answer – him seeing you out on a date with another man.

His face – his face looks like it’s about to fracture in rage. His eyes are almost glassy, but so dark – burning with anger and shock and hurt. You did that to him. You’ve put that look on his face. And your heart beats so hard and so painfully in your chest, it feels like it’s being ripped apart, like he has it clutched within the embrace of his infinitely strong hand, and he’s squeezing the very life out of you in the middle of this crowded room. You think you can hear Seth’s voice saying something in your ear, Eva, again, calling your name, saying something to you, beckoning the two of you forward, and then Seth’s palm is pressing you forward, towards them, towards this angry, fractured beast you’ve turned the man you love into. You think you might start having a panic attack any moment now, or perhaps, that you’re already there. 

The two of you reach their table. They’re with two other people, but your vision is slightly blurry, all you can see are his furious eyes. Seth nudges you and your mind suddenly snaps back into clarity for a second, “Hi, Eva.” You can’t say his name right now, you can’t, you can’t. You’ll die right here on the spot if you have to utter his name out loud right now. “How are you guys doing? This is my friend, Seth.” You introduce them, she says Joel’s name, you register it peripherally, and at the sound of it, you’re pierced with a sudden, blinding arrow of jealousy. Why, why is he here? Out on a double date with her right now? How could he fuck you the way he had, and then just gone on with his marriage as if nothing? You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. You want to scream and rage and throw a fit. You hate yourself, this is all your fault, you pushed him to this. You’ve been emaciating yourself in the infinite pool of your grief, and he’s out on a fucking date right now? It’s insane and unhinged and entirely nonsensical, you’re out on a date right now too, you have no right to these feelings, but you can’t help it. You feel a slight tremble start up in your body, and you think that Seth might be able to sense something’s amiss with you because he wraps a steadying hand around your waist as he chats, and at his contact with your body, you think that Joel’s knee must jerk violently under the table, for the glass and silverware on the table’s surface jumps and rattles, sudden and loud. You startle and turn your face away from them, try and suck in slow, calming breaths through your slightly parted mouth. You think you hear the sound of his deep, rumbling voice, muttering out an apology, and then Seth’s hand around your waist is nudging you again, and prompting you to say goodbye, and the two of you are turning and walking towards your own table. 

Away from Joel and his anger and his wife.

-

A strong hand shoots out, catching the door as you’re about to shut yourself inside the restroom, needing a moment of escape, of reprieve, to vomit or have a panic attack or cry, you can’t really tell. Your body is in overdrive, panicking and shutting down all at once, and then he’s there, pushing the rest of the way in, crowding you backwards.

He’s here, he’s here, he’s here. Everything will be okay now, he’s here.“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Joel–” you cry, trying to push the immovable wall of muscle he is, back.

You hear the flip of the lock as he reaches behind him, and then his hand comes up to gently circle your throat, and he’s pressing you backwards and up against the wall. Your entire body shakes in a violent, feverish shudder. You haven’t felt him in weeks. Weeks and weeks without his skin on yours. 

You hate yourself. You love him. 

“You are not here on a date with that little fuck. Tell me I’m seein’ things.”

“Get your damn hands off me.” You try and push him away, but he tightens his hold, fingers administering the lightest pressure to the sides of your throat so that you start to feel that delicious, lightheaded rush. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. 

“Tell me–” he’s seethes, bringing your face closer to his, “Tell me you’re not here on a date with him. Tell me, baby.” His spitting hiss turns into a begging croon at the end. As if by making his tone sweeter, he can make the reality of what you’re doing here tonight different to what it really is. 

“I am. I am on a date, and it’s none of your business.” You try to inflect as much spine into your words as you can, but it comes out all breathy and wrong, and your hands are clutching his wrist that’s gripping you, holding on for dear life, trying to bring yourself in closer to him, knees trembling. You’re sure you’re breaking out into a fever. The back of your neck and knees flushing with a cold sweat, flashes of heat spearing through your belly. 

“None of my business? Everything to do with you is my fucking business.” And he’s spinning you suddenly, pressing you to the wall so that your breasts and cheek are smushed against the cold tile and yanking your dress up around your hips. You feel him crouch down behind you, and then his fingers are pulling your panties down to your ankles, and he’s burying his face in your cunt from behind, soaking wet already, Jesus fucking Chirst, big hands gripping the meat of your ass to spread you wide for his tongue. You arch your back to let him in deeper as tears start to fall. 

We shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t. Finally, finally, finally, thank God. 

He licks from your clit all the way to your asshole, spits a glob of saliva onto your already soaked skin and rubs it in. You let out a broken, devastated moan, almost a wail. Oh, it feels so good, so good. You shouldn’t – you can’t help yourself.

“P– please, please, Joel–”

“I know, I know, baby. Gonna give you what you need.” He gets to his feet, and you hear the drag of his zipper, one hand on your hip, the other coming around to press down on your belly, deepening the bend of your spine, and then the wide head of his cock is there, right where you need him the most, where he shouldn’t be, and he’s fucking into you all the way. Deep, deep, deep, without preamble.

 He owns you. You belong to him. How could you ever have been so stupid to think that a date with another man would be a good idea?

You’re whining, stuttering his name over and over again. “We shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, Joel, please, please, please, harder.”

“Shut up. How fucking dare you?” His thrusts are brutal. He brings the hand on your hip up to your throat to yank your head to the side, tongue licking deep into your open, panting mouth. “You force me to stay away, avoid me for weeks, and now you’re here with him? You’re gonna come on my fucking cock now. Remind you who you belong to. Were you gonna let him fuck you? Were you gonna let him have my cunt?”

“Never, never. I promise. Only you.” You’re dizzy, your brain – melted out through your ears, fucked out of you by the relentless onslaught of him inside of you. His grip is almost too tight around your jaw, the palm on your belly pressing down so that you both can feel his cock ramming into you from the outside.

The excruciating pain of missing him – and now this. You hate yourself, you’ll never come back from this. His wife is right out there, but God, God, he feels so good. You’ve missed him so much. You love him. He’s so right inside of you. Tears leak from your eyes, rolling over his hand clutching your face, and he sinks his teeth into the delicate tendons connecting your neck and shoulder. You’re going to come. Now, now any second. The harder he is, the rougher he treats you, the wetter you get, the tighter your pussy gets. You’re so fucked up. 

“All this fucking time apart, just to find you here.” He slides the hand on your belly down to your clit, starts a rhythmic little circular pattern that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your cunt clenching down hard, sucking him deeper. 

“Please– I’m sorry.” Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

“No you’re not.” He gives the top of your mound a quick little slap that has you mewling high and warbled for him. “If you were, you’d have answered my calls, let me see you. What the fuck’s wrong in your head to think you can send me away? To think you can leave and never come back to me? You’re mine, and I’m yours. We belong to each other. Now be my good girl, and come on my cock. Right now.”

“Your wife’s right out there, you fucking asshole!” you cry, inner muscles starting to flutter and pulse around his throbbing length. 

“I don’t give a fuck. Gonna stuff you full of my come and send you back out there dripping me.” He kisses you again, and he’s so fucking dirty, so crude and mean and your orgasm hits you full throttle. So wrong. 

“Yes–  fuck, yes – good girl, such a good girl for me. That’s it,” he presses into your ear, dips his tongue into the soft, little shell. You sob his name, again and again, telling him how much you missed him, how much you need him as he starts to fill you with the searing heat of his spend. 

He presses gentle kisses to your neck, your shoulder, your wet cheek, hugs you tight to his chest. So at odds with the savage way he just took you. Your head rolls back onto his shoulder limply. You’re trying to control your sobbing, your face is going to be all red and splotchy when you walk out of here. You probably look wrecked, just fucked. Everyone’s going to know. Poor Seth – he doesn’t deserve to be disrespected like this. His wife’s going to know. Joel’s going to tell her. You can feel it in the desperation of his movements, the tight grip of his hands. He’s reached his limit, and he’s going to tell her everything, and you won’t be able to hide this anymore, won’t be able to stop him, to hide all of your truths and shame.

“Get away from me,” you gasp, breath hitching. Get away, get away, get away. What is wrong with you? You’re just like her, just like her, just like her. You’re just like your mother. Callous and poisoned. “Get away!” you almost shriek, starting to panic now. 

“Baby, wait – wait. I’m– I’m sorry. Fuck, I shouldn’t’ve been so rough.” He pulls out and you feel the gush of his come, moaning at the feeling. You brace your hands against the wall, trying not to lose your balance on your shaky legs. You feel his hands hovering around your waist, ready to catch you if you need him. 

“Oh God, oh God– what did we do?” You turn to face him, cheeks burning and tear streaked, hands coming up to cup your own face, eyes wide. Your whole body is shaking. “There’s something wrong with us.” He steps up to press himself all along the length of you and you shut your eyes. His gaze is so concerned, swimming with desperation, and you love him so much, you want him so badly, more than anything else you’ve ever wanted in your entire life. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, and you can’t survive this, you can’t, you can’t. He cups his large palms over yours, completely engulfing your small hands and presses his brow to yours. 

“Please, please, baby. I’m begging you right now,” his voice cracks, and you pull your hands from beneath his and snake your arms around his neck to hug yourself closer to him. You need to breathe in his scent in these last few moments, you need to imprint the feel of him in your memory, brand it there to keep with you for the rest of your life. “Please, let me fix this. There’s a way to make this better, please.” 

“We can’t,” you whisper, rolling your brow over the hill of his shoulder in the imitation of a weakly stubborn shake. You don’t even know why you’re refusing anymore. It’s not like it feels any more right or wrong than what you’re already doing. It’s not like you’re better off for being without him, or he’s better off for staying in his marriage. It’s not like your obstinacy is helping anyone involved in this at all. And yet, you can’t help yourself, something inside of you is forcing you to continue to refuse. And at that he pulls himself away from you angrily. Ripping himself out of your hold and leaving you to stumble. 

“No, you can’t,” he spits, teeth bared at you in an almost hiss so that you have to step away from the horrible, painful look in his eyes. 

His anger incites your own, “You’re here on a date with your fucking wife,” you say, swiping your hand out in a halting gesture, “What do you care what I’m doing or who– who I’m with?”

He barks out a laugh, ugly and broken, and the sound of it makes you flinch, take another step back from him. “Wanna know something real fuckin’ funny?” No, you don’t think you do. “That’s the man she’s been having an affair with. The pregnancy scare? That’s him.” He jerks his thumb back towards the door, raises his eyebrows, a mocking gesture, a look that has you wrapping your arms around your middle protectively. He nods his head condescendingly. “Yeah…” He’s smiling, and the look in his eyes is manic and broken and full of an ugliness you hate seeing in him. Like he’s on the verge of fracture.

“Joel– What–” you bring up a hand to rub at the ache that’s starting up in your temple,  “What are you doing here with them? Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Why am I doing this to myself? He murmurs under his breath, shaking his head. He is so full of painful contempt in this moment, and you think that there is a slightly humiliating edge to this, but you don’t know who it is that’s being humiliated here right now. “You think I give a fuck about being here? About them?” His voice takes on an edge you’ve never heard in him before. No… not on the verge of fracture, you think, this is a man deep into the abyss of dissolution. His brow crumples. “I don’t – I don’t know. I can’t fucking think. I can’t function, you– you did something to me. You–” the words break in his throat, “You stole something from me,” the way you’d felt he’d stolen something from you, “My goddamn sanity or sense or something, and then you’ve refused to talk to me, to see me, and I don’t– I don’t know how to exist anymore, do you understand me? I don’t know how to do this alone – without you. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I– I just–” he squeezes his eyes shut and presses the balls of his hands harshly into his eye sockets, “I just need you to tell me how to do this. How are you doing this? Please, just tell me something that’ll help me, and I’ll do it. I swear, I will.” 

He’s breaking right in front of you, here and now, and you’re left speechless, your mind listless, and right before the words leave your mouth you think: don’t say it, don’t say it, please, don’t push him away, don’t hurt him like this again, but instead: “Joel, I can’t. I don’t–”

He cuts you off, “I know. You don’t want to… You don’t want this…” he laughs, another terrible and broken sound. “You don’t want this,” he whispers again, and his face spasms painfully, and then goes suddenly blank. All emotion melting away so that all you’re left with now is a bare, cold canvas. “You’ve never wanted this enough to fight for it… I don’t think. To let go of your fears. I’ve told you that I’d do anything for you, over and over again. And you won’t let me.”

“It’s not that fucking simple!” you cry. “Don’t– don’t say–” He was wrong, he was wrong. 

He tucks himself away, still slick and dripping your mingled come, and it registers for one immensely vulnerable second, that you’ve just had this terrible conversation with the both of you bared to each other in the most intimate of ways. He turns to face the door. A terrible curling lance of shame and disgust roils through you. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes again for one long quiet moment. You watch the broad expanse of his back suck in deep, slow breaths – trying to collect himself. His ribs flare so wide on the inhale, he’s so big. His arms fall to hang limply at his sides. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you. I shouldn’t have been so rough… said all that. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” His voice sounds dead. 

He turns his head to the side slightly, giving you his profile and whispers quietly, devastating, “This–” he shakes his head a little, a frown verging on confusion crumpling his brow, “This is hurting me?” and the way it comes out, like a question, but yet, so simply, so starkly – it would have been less painful had he struck you, than hearing him say those words so plainly. But still posed so unsurely, as if he doesn’t expect you to understand, or perhaps, as if he doesn’t quite understand it himself.

You wrap your arms around yourself to keep all your blood and pain from spilling out onto this dirty restroom floor. Something has just been irreparably destroyed here. You don’t know what it is. But you can feel it happening, and it hurts. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. 

And you want to say, no, you’re the one that’s sorry. You’re more sorry than you’ll ever be able to put into words. 

But you stay silent, and he walks out. 

-

You’d always worried that the moment of true fusion with the memory of your mother, of who she was, would come, or better yet, had come, the moment you’d become involved with a married man. You’d thought that nothing after that could enshroud you in her terrible shadow more than that. But you realize, now, as poor Seth drives you home, silent and uncomfortable as silent tears stream down your face and another mans come leaks from your sex, as the memory of Joel’s broken voice and face flashes in your memory, that this is the moment, above all others, that you’ve felt most like the woman who gave you life. Nothing else has ever been like this. 

The poison drips through.

You think of your dad. Of the way he died, the way he lived in the years after she left – if that sad excuse of an existence could even be called living. 

What a terrible thing it is to love someone so much. 

What a terrible thing it is to know someone so well. Well enough to be able to understand them to their very core, to understand what it is that causes their pain, incites their actions. It is a terrible weight to bear.

Seth clears his throat as he pulls the car to a slow stop outside your house. “Uh… are you… are you okay?” Do I look okay? You want to roll your eyes, but he doesn’t deserve your annoyance.

You sniffle, try and control your voice, “Yes,” you whisper, “I’m sorry for– for all this. I… I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“Look…” he says your name slowly, “I don’t– I don’t know what it is that’s between you and that guy… he’s the same one from the night we met–” you say nothing, “But I don’t think– I don’t think it’s going to work out between us. I’m sorry, but I can’t have all this drama. I’m not really interested in something like that.”

An uncontainable huff of a laugh slips out as you look out the window at the dark street, you shake your head minutely. “To be honest, I’m not so interested in all the drama myself, and yet…” you turn to him now, “I really am sorry, Seth. And I wish you the best.” He nods, stoic, face pointed directly forward, he doesn’t even want to look at you. Uncomfortable and embarrassed by your breakdown and tears and obvious disorder. It’s probably pretty obvious that you’d just gotten the sense fucked out of you.

You step into the dark interior of your quiet house after he drives off. It’s lonely, almost like a shell, an abandoned carcass. None of the comfort you’ve always found here seems to still reside within its wall, and you think that there probably isn’t any place in the entire world, besides by his side, where you’d be able to find any sort of comfort anymore. 

Hot guilt churns in your belly –  a vile mix of desperation, misery, resentment, wanting. Joel was right about one thing, you don’t know what you’re doing anymore either, what all this is for. None of it makes sense, none of it has a point. 

What is the fucking point of all this suffering?

You try desperately to suppress the certainty that lives so willfully within you – that he knows you, that he sees you, that you were made only for him. Something you’ve known for a long time, since the very beginning, probably. That no one, no one will ever intertwine with you, soul fused to soul, as intrinsically as he has. That no one will ever see the muddled shadows of your own self as clearly as he does, as if he was laying his eyes upon the inside of your skin.

You’re in love with him, and you realize that you’ve made yourself into something unrecognizable. A creature out of the very depths of your worst nightmares – the mirror image of the person you never wanted to be. 

Your brain feels as though it’s swollen within the confines of your skull, your tears uncontrollable. Your longing for him a spear of fire through your heart, and you are so, so weary of fighting. 

Your life had taught you that there were no happy endings. They didn’t exist. A figment in the imaginations of desperate people in need of consolation, comfort, excuses. But there could be grateful endings. Endings that you could thank God, the universe, whatever higher power you used to delude yourself with, for. You could be grateful when a thing ended. You could be glad of it. Perhaps, if you lie to yourself hard enough now, repeat it in your mind enough times, you can feel grateful that you’ve destroyed this. That it seems you’ve finally pushed him away for good – maybe this will help you finally rest, even if the lie of it pushes heavily down on your shoulders.

Chapter .7

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female oc #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller au #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[roseghoul26]

Chapter 5: Your Opal Eyes Are All I Wish To See

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this is a short chapter sorry! Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay Chapter List

It was comical, the way the cricket chirping filled in the silence as you stared at the older man. Your mouth formed the words but nothing came out, leaving you looking like a fool. You glanced between the two men, Hosea having a sympathetic look on his face. You couldn’t see Arthur, as he was behind you, but you quite honestly didn’t want to see his reaction. A sinking feeling formed in your gut. Did he know the entire time?

“I… what?” You finally found your voice, barely. You had to admit, it did make sense. You knew so little about his work, only knowing that he did distillery work, but made a surprising amount of money from it. It wouldn’t be surprising if he was actually invested in more… illegal means of work.

“If there’s a moonshine shack in the western states, then Mr. Kerrigan is tied to it. Either he owns it, supplies it, or gets a cut from it. No matter where you look, his fingers are all over it.” Hosea spoke, he and Dutch had moved closer to you now, now that they realized you wouldn’t lash out angrily at the information.

“Alright…” you took a breath. “So how does this include me?”

The two gentlemen looked surprised at your willingness, and that predatory smile returned to Dutch’s face. “You see, Arthur told us you might be willin’ to help us… deter your husband from further illegal endeavors… while we get our own cut, of course.”

At the mention of Arthur, you turned to look at him, finding him glaring at Dutch. “I thought I told you I don’t want her involved in this.”

“I know. But we couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Another sinking feeling formed, this one stronger than he last, and the thought was dizzying. Did he only get close to you to secure a job?

You had to turn away from Arthur, no longer able to look at him. You didn’t think he’d be that cruel, right? Still, you couldn’t help the hurt and anger swirling in your mind. 

Silence hung in the air now, and even the crickets seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, halting their songs. “Let’s continue this conversation inside,” you said through the lump in your throat. Climbing up the stairs of the porch, you held the door open, gesturing for the men to come inside. “Go ahead and take a seat in the living room. Just take your shoes off,” you added as they entered.

Arthur stayed put, looking at you with an indistinguishable expression. He murmured your name gently, but you just shook your head. Sighing, Arthur slowly climbed the stairs, halting in front of you in the doorway. When you still didn’t look at him, he continued on inside, glancing back at you with guilt in his eyes. 

Dutch and Hosea sat on one of the couches, chatting between each other, and Arthur sat on the one beside them. They stopped their conversation when you walked in, and you shook your head, signaling for them to continue. “I’ll go get some tea,” you murmured, heading to the kitchen, and you heard them resume talking, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

You took a shaky breath once you were alone in the kitchen, bracing yourself against the countertop. You felt like you should’ve been more surprised about your husband's true business, but that wasn’t what was causing the negative emotion you weren’t feeling. Those two questions were playing on repeat in your head, and left you analyzing every moment you’d had with Arthur, questioning the authenticity of them. 

The clinking of his gun belt moving as we walked brought you back to the present. Straightening up, you grabbed the kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove, and began the process of boiling it. You didn’t even look at Arthur, not even when he said your name again. 

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you responded, grabbing teacups and saucers. You hated the way your hands were shaking slightly.

Arthur didn’t respond, and you thought he left, until you felt him beside you. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the proximity of his body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and that all but confirmed your thoughts.

“So you knew?” You stepped away from him, grabbing the tea leaves, strainer, and a few sugar cubes in a small bowl. Tears welled in your eyes, his silence speaking for him. You laughed bitterly. “You didn’t think that was important to tell me?”

“I didn’t know it was moonshine.”

“But you knew he was doin’ somethin’ illegal.”

Again, his silence spoke volumes. “I could care less if he was breakin’ the law. I don’t care that he’s sellin’ moonshine, or whatnot. But imagine if someone found out. I mean, y’all were able to. That would wreck my family. Any credibility gone, like that. And then what? I’m married to some old sack of shit with no income who can’t help my family and who doesn’t give a damn about me!” You really tried to keep your voice down, but you still found it rose in volume as the words spewed from you. “Those two years I sacrificed, worth nothing. So I apologize for my anger, but I don’t think any of you realize how ugly this could get.”

You barely felt the tears streaming down your face, panting as you caught your breath. There was still one question that burned in the back of your mind. Finally turning to face him, he stared at you wide eyes. “You know, you’re a damn good actor, Arthur Morgan. I guess I should’ve expected that from an outlaw. For a moment, I really thought you actually cared about me.”

That seemed to get him out of whatever shocked trance he was in. “Whaddya mean?” He asked, genuinely confused. Or at least you thought it was genuine. You couldn't trust your judgment anymore.

“Don’t lie. All this, gettin’ close to me, little touches, nearly kissin’ me. It was all a ruse, wasn’t it? Just to get the money, and once you get it, you’re gonna vanish, leaving me heartbroken and alone and stuck.”

“Darlin’,” he muttered, and you scoffed. 

“Don’t. You don’t get to call me that like you… like you mean it.”

“But I do mean it. I know what this looks like, but please… please don’t think that the past weeks have been fake.” Arthur slowly moved toward you, and when you didn’t back up, he continued until he was right in front of you, just like he had been a bit ago. 

“Then what should I think, Arthur?” You whispered.

“I can’t tell you that,” Arthur admitted. “But I can tell ya what you should know. You should know that I fought ‘em both on this job. You should know that I’ll make sure that nothin’ happens to you and your family. And you should know that I truly do care ‘bout you, darlin’. More than I can put into words.”

The kettle whistled, but it was all background noise to you. You also noticed the way Dutch and Hosea had ceased their conversation, blatantly eavesdropping on the two of you. You didn’t care. All that mattered was the man in front of you. It was hard to stay upset at him though, when he was looking at you so fondly, so softly. 

“You mean it?”

Arthur smiled a bit, relieved. “I do.” You felt him bring his hands up to your face, gently brushing away the tears. “I hate seein’ you cry. And I hate that I was the reason why.” He held you for a few moments, and you felt the tears subside, your cheek only slightly damp. 

The kettle’s noise finally registered in your brain, and you gestured to it with your head. “Mind takin’ that off for me?” You croaked out, voice still recovering. 

Without another word, Arthur did as you asked, the annoying noise disappearing. You grabbed  the teacups with their saucers and set them on a tray, along with the other components needed. You walked past him with the tray in your hands, heading to the living room. You walked with the confidence of someone that wasn’t just crying, and you prayed that your eyes weren’t puffy.

“Go ahead and bring that kettle with you,” you called over your shoulder.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, you took the kettle from Arthur. Pouring out cups for each of the men, you sat once you’d finished, leaving the kettle in reach of the men. Sitting across from them, you observed them preparing their drinks, and Arthur stood around, not quite sure where to sit. Moving over, you patted the cushion next to you with a soft smile. 

With an equally soft expression, he sat next to you, and you resisted the urge to burrow yourself in his side. “Mrs. Kerrigan, thank you for inviting us into your home-”

You cut Dutch off with a light laugh. “No need to be so formal. We’re alone, ain’t we?”

“That we are,” Dutch agreed. “Should we get straight to the point, then?” You nodded. “As we said, Mr. Kerrigan runs the moonshine business in this part of the States. As you were made aware, we ain’t exactly upholders of the law, so we ain’t exactly looking to stop him. We only wish to sabotage him a bit. Attack his supplies on the road, destroy a few of his distilleries. That way, he starts looking for guns to hire. And that’s where Arthur and the rest come in. We’ll offer our services, protect his goods, and we’ll get paid.”

“Alright, that sounds like a decent enough plan, but how does this involve me?” You watched Dutch set the drink down on the tray, halfway drunk.

Hosea spoke now. “We have no idea where anything is at. We have no idea where the caravans are, where the shacks are, who he gets his supplies from. Nothing. We need you to get information for us.”

“You’ll probably have better luck doin’ it yourself, to be honest. He tells me nothin’.”

“We know that. We’re talking about physical evidence. Letters, logbooks, stuff like that.”

“That’ll probably be in his office, but I ain’t got access to that. Again, why don’t you go ahead and just break in yourself and I’ll just, I dunno, not pay attention.”

Hosea sighed. “Because the man sitting beside you would kill us if we broke into your house.”

So that’s what he meant when he said that you weren’t to be messed with. 

You still didn’t think that they needed your help, but a new thought had you grinning. “Are… are y’all askin’ for my permission to rob my house and husband by havin’ me do it myself?”

“In a backwards way, yes,” Hosea conceded, and you snorted. “Arthur did also say you might be interested in… getting back at Mr. Kerrigan, in some way.” It was Hosea’s turn to set the cup down, this one completely empty. You noticed that Arthur hadn't made a move for his own cup, which sat steaming where you’d set it. 

You had to admit, the thought was appealing, and you told them that. “It’s just, I’m afraid how this might end up affecting my family. What if he stops sendin’ my them money ‘cause he doesn’t want to lose more?” 

Dutch and Hosea looked at you, confused. That’s when you realize you said too much; the only person beside you to know what was actually going on with your family was Arthur. It did mean that he had upheld his promise that he wouldn’t tell anyone else, though, and you were grateful for that. Still, you explained to the two men your situation, withholding details you deemed they didn’t need to know. 

“I see,” Hosea shifted in his seat, giving you a sympathetic look. “We can’t promise that he won’t stop sending money, but we don’t plan on asking for a significant sum. Just enough to… help us.”

“And I want to help you, too. But you have to understand where my priorities lie. The minute he even debates ceasing his help to my family, then this is done. You stop attackin’ his supplies, his shacks, everything.  If I find out you’re continuing afterwards, then I will be involvin’ the law.”

Hosea nodded, content with your response. “So you’re willing to help us?”

I want to help Arthur. You nodded, and Dutch extended out a hand. “It’s been a pleasure doin’ business with you, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

You took his hand, shaking it. “You too, Mr. Van Der Linde.” 

You could feel Arthur’s eyes on you, unknowing that you knew what his last name was. You weren’t stupid. As soon as Arthur began to talk about the group that he associated with, it was pretty easy to link them to the Van Der Linde gang that's been headlining the newspapers Hans read. You didn’t mind the headlines; you knew this world was vicious, you had to do what you had to do to survive and protect your way of life. Maybe in another life, you’d be with them, escaping the confines of “civilized” life. 

Dutch raised a brow. “Are there gonna be issues in the future, Mrs. Kerrigan?” You knew there was a threat under the disguise of a question, and you smiled sweetly.

“As long as you keep your end of the deal, then we won’t have an issue. I promise.”

The tension dissipated from the room instantly, and Arthur visibly relaxed in your peripherals. Hosea leaned into Dutch’s ear, speaking too quietly for you to make out, and you felt him drop your hand. “Now, I believe that it’s a good time to mention that Hans will be arriving back any day now. He had eyes on him during his travels, and last we saw he was in Valentine, heading back to Rhodes.”

You expected his trip to Tumbleweed to have taken significantly longer than that, but you realized that he was most definitely not there, probably somewhere in New Hanover instead. “I appreciate that. I’ll… I’ll try to get the information to you as soon as I can, but don’t expect it when he’s home. I can’t tell you how long that’s gonna take, so be patient.”

“We have all the time in the world,” Dutch reassured, but even you could tell that he was lying through his teeth. 

“Good. Now, was there any other business we wished to discuss?” 

“Not today. Thank you for the tea, ma’am.” Hosea smiled at you, and you were surprised to find how genuine it seemed. Out of Dutch and Hosea, you liked the gray haired man more. But maybe that was all a trick, you were talking to the leaders of the most silver-tongued gang in the States. 

“It was my pleasure. Arthur, go ahead and wait down here. I’ll get that payment for you.” Without another word, you stood, collecting the tray and the different components. First dropping those off in the kitchen, you then made your way upstairs. You saw the three of them still in the living room, chatting amongst themselves as they got ready to leave. You failed to notice the way Arthur’s eyes trailed after you, Hosea and Dutch exchanging a look between each other. 

Entering your room, your hands shook as you grabbed the money. It was ten dollars this time, payment for last time and today. You would be a liar if you said you weren’t scared to do what you were about to do. You’d never done anything that even hinted on being against the law, at least now knowingly. But you’d also be lying if the thought of it didn’t excite you, doing something to get back at Hans for the two years of hell. 

The other reason your hands shook made his presence known with a light knock on your open bedroom door. Snapping your head over at him, startled, he stood in the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed. In the dim light, you could only see his silhouette, unable to make out any expression on his face. It had your heart beating, even more so when he slowly made his way into the room. 

“How long have you known?”

“That you run with the Van Der Linde gang?” You shrugged. “Since you showed me the drawings.”

Arthur just hummed. “I don’t mind, you know,” you continued. 

“You should,” Arthur countered. 

“Why?”

“Because we ain’t good men, darlin’.”

“I dunno. From what I’ve seen, y’all are better than most.” 

Arthur didn’t respond, unable to disagree with your statement. Tucking the lockbox back into its hiding spot, you met him halfway, holding out the bills for him to grab. He looked down at them, then back up at you. “You don’t gotta pay me anymore.”

Was… was he stopping his visits? Did he lie to you earlier? Dejected, you tossed the money on the bed, taking a step away from him. “So you’re not comin’ back, then?”

“I never said that. I only said you don’t gotta pay me.”

“Why?”

“You sure are askin’ that a lot tonight,” Arthur teased. “Would you believe me if I said your company is payment enough?”

“I’m sure my company is incredible,” you scoffed. “Sad married woman in the woods, nothin’ interesting’ ‘bout her besides being rich.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar, then?” Arthur challenged.

You almost wish you could. It would make things so much simpler. Instead, you found yourself shaking your head. “Why do you keep comin’ back?”

The atmosphere of the conversation shifted when you asked that question. The conversation had started out almost confrontational, but now it was shifting to something more… tender. 

“I can’t get you outta my head, darlin’. Every single thought I have is of you. Even in my dreams, you’re in them. I can’t stop comin’ back to you, it’s like I’m fuckin’ addicted to you. And just when I think I’ve got it under control, you take my breath away with one of ‘em gorgeous smiles, those soft touches, those shy glances, and I’m hooked again.”

Arthur had closed the distance between your bodies sometime during his little speech, large hands grasping your hips with surprising gentleness. One of them danced up your body, caressing your side, then over your arm, causing you to shiver. You could see him smirk, loving the way you responded. 

He eventually settled on your jaw, tilting your head back lightly. His eyes were dark, but you felt warm under his attentive gaze. Your lips parted, a small gasp leaving them. “Beautiful,” he murmured, almost awestruck, before his mouth was finally on yours. They were soft and overwhelming and they felt like home, and you felt yourself immediately melting against him. It was almost hard to believe that he was an outlaw with how gentle he was being. 

He pulled you in closer, and you wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders, your other hand cradling his cheek. His beard prickled the delicate skin, but it just led you to think about what that would feel like elsewhere. 

The way he kissed you was gentle, but the tightening grip on your hip and jaw was telling you he was quickly losing the battle with his restraint. Before you could push him further and lead to something more, he broke away, resting his head against yours. At least, as well as he could, his hat mostly got in the way. 

Joy unlike anything you’d ever felt bubbled inside of you, escaping you in a small laugh. You’d just kissed Arthur Morgan, the man you thought was unobtainable. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you confessed, breathless.

“Me too, darlin’.”

He moved a bit, kissing your forehead, before resting his chin atop your head. One of his hands cradles your head to his chest, the other wrapping around your waist. Neither of you said anything, simply savoring the moment, and Arthur rocked you slowly. Taking a deep breath, it was mostly the scent of him that filled your senses, making your head spin even more.

He held you like that for a few moments, until you heard the voice of Dutch break the bubble the two of you had created. “Arthur! We’re leaving!” 

You felt him sigh, leaning his head back to look at you again. “I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s alright, Arthur.” You wanted nothing more than to have him stay with you, but he had responsibilities. You couldn’t fault him for that. “Just… kiss me again?”

He chuckled, holding both sides of your face now. “Don’t gotta ask me twice,” he whispered before reconnecting your lips, a pleased sigh leaving you. Fingers curled against your head as he deepened the kiss, pulling away when he heard his name getting yelled again. 

You chuckled “Go. Before they come up here.”

With one final short kiss, Arthur pulled away, walking backwards to the doorway, eyes not leaving you for a second. “Have a good night, darlin’,” you heard him say before he went to turn, about to head downstairs.

“Wait.”

He did, almost immediately, turning his head to look at you with confusion on his face. You really weren’t quite sure what you were about to say, but you needed to say something to him. “Come back to me, alright?” It wasn’t what you really meant to say, but it would have to do for now.

“Always,” he responded with a smile, before vanishing from the doorway. You heard the sound of the stairs creaking as he headed downstairs, the voices of Hosea and Dutch audible soon after. Eventually, you heard them leave, leaving you in stunned silence. 

Another light laugh of disbelief left you, holding your fingers to where Arthur’s lips had been. Everywhere burned where he’d touched you, and your whole body felt like it was on fire. The whole meeting with Dutch and Hosea had practically vanished from your mind, the only thing playing on repeat was the way his lips felt, the way he held you, the words he uttered.

Those memories continued to repeat themselves as you got ready for bed, your thin nightgown doing little to cool you off. They caused you to lay awake in your bed, tossing and turning for what felt like hours. The heat hadn’t subsided one bit, and you groaned frustratedly, sleep coming nowhere near you. 

Getting out of bed, the cold floor felt nice against your bare feet, but it wasn’t enough. You debated grabbing a cigarette, the lighter Arthur had given you in your hands but you decided against it. For once, you didn’t want to forget the way someone’s hands were on you, and so you placed the lighter back into your nightstand.

Still, you stepped outside, the air of the night cooling your skin. Your mind still raced with thoughts of Arthur, but you were cooling down. Eventually, the air caused goosebumps to appear on your skin, and you took that as your sign to try and go back to bed.

Like you always had to, you had to pass the locked door of Hans’ office, and you finally remembered the meeting you had that night. Setting your hand on the doorknob, you debated trying to get in right then, but you realized you had no idea how. You didn’t know how to pick a lock, and breaking it down would be difficult and obvious. A problem for later, then. 

Getting back under the covers, you felt better than you had the first time you went to bed. Sleep was closer now, and as you turned on your side, about to succumb to unconsciousness, you saw the empty side of the bed. 

How you longed for Arthur to be there instead. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You didn’t wake up alone. 

It took a moment for your sleep-addled mind to realize that, nearly turning over and going right back to bed. But when it clicked, you nearly bolted out of bed, dread and sadness chasing away the happiness that came from your dreams of Arthur. 

Hans was asleep next to you, his suitcases stacked in the corner of the room, snoring lightly as he slept. You knew he had to come back eventually, but it still wrecked you. Getting out of the bed as quietly as you could, you snuck downstairs, not ready to face reality yet. 

You paced around your kitchen, running your hands through your hair. You weren’t ready to put on the act again. You weren’t ready to pretend like you were content being Mrs. Kerrigan. You weren’t ready to pretend like Arthur hadn’t just kissed you last night. 

Groaning, you slumped against one of the counters, burrowing your head in your arms. That familiar feeling of guilt returned, but you fought it. You weren’t hurting anyone, being sweet on Arthur like you were. It’s not like your husband actually loved you, so you doubt he’d be too upset. He’d be more upset that something that was ‘his’ was ‘being used’ by someone else. Besides, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. 

And if you were happy, who was to tell you that that was bad?

Standing up, you rolled your shoulders, forcing a smile on your face. You could do this, you told yourself. This wasn’t any different than the last two years. Just suck it up and pretend. And then before you’d know it, Hans would be gone again. 

You got to work cleaning up the kitchen from last night, washing the dishes used by the guests last night. Next, you started making breakfast, the smell of it probably being the reason Hans woke, walking downstairs blearily. 

He sat in his chair at the dining table, and you served him a glass of coffee with a soft ‘good morning’. He didn’t respond, just sipping on the steaming beverage. It was hard to not look at him in a different light, now that you knew what he was really getting up to behind closed doors. But you kept your face impassive, heading back into the kitchen before the food burned.

Eventually, you served him his food, and you sat in your respective seat, much farther than you had with Arthur. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence, assumedly too tired to do so. “Sorry for wakin’ you,” you apologized, and he grunted. 

“How was your trip?” You tried to engage him in a conversation, but were immediately shut down with a glare. All right, then. It took everything in you not to laugh at him. I mean you weren’t a morning person either, but at least you didn’t treat others like this. What an ass. 

You turned your attention back to your plate, poking at it with your fork, appetite now gone. The two of you ate in complete silence, the only sounds being your silverware against the china and the scratch of your chair against the floor as you stood to refill his cup. 

About fifteen minutes passed before Hans left the table, leaving his dishes for you to take care of. You didn’t have to look up to know where he was going, and you heard the sound of his office door shut moments later. When you confirmed that you were alone, you sighed, tired of just pushing the food around your plate. 

You found that you desperately missed Arthur’s warmth, both physically and emotionally. The house seemed to agree with you; it had never felt so comforting, him being there making it so. Now it felt like a prison, your only company the memories of the last weeks. 

You stared at the now empty seat across from you, forcing yourself to eat a few bites of breakfast, hating when you wasted food. You found that you were glad you agreed to Dutch and Hosea’s scheme; you were excited to make Hans hurt. 

But for now, you had to push those plans out the window. You couldn’t do anything right now, at the risk of you getting caught. All you could do now was play his little housewife and wait for the moment that Arthur’s lips were back on yours.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

[venus616]

I- OKAY, THE STREETS FIC DESTROYED ME😭😭😭! Sooo i had this idea where both peter compete who'd get her pregnant.....but ofc there's no way to know cuz they're identical but it's just very very exciting iykwim

(this is first time me requesting it lol, I'm sorry if it's awkward)

Feel free to ignore if you're not comfortable with this tho <3

not awkward at all!! i had fun playing around with this :) i just can’t believe how much y’all are feeling this double peter parker shit omg djjfnfjnjd

the bet (streets ?.?); {tasm!peter parker}

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader (you can interpret this as any peter parker if you so please)

Summary: in addition to this oneshot, this ask and in response to this even hornier ask

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, still dubcon (dubious consent) bc reader is unaware of their intentions, breeding kink, unprotected sex, squirting, oral sex, 18+, NSFW, can this count as kinktober?

Word Count: 4.2k (only smut (LOL))

A/N: okay let's pretend that they decided to live together and that logistically it makes sense… then this is my take on the request

ALSO just to make reading this easy: multiverse!peter is past tense + the shower; husband!peter is present tense + the kitchen counter

previously: streets | the aftermath

Living with two Peter Parkers was not necessarily the dream you’d thought it’d be. Sure, it was really convenient when you needed help around the house and one was busy patrolling, but it seemed like it was of more use to them when they got to have you to themselves a s individuals. 

Through this living agreement, your husband didn’t mind you sleeping with his inter-dimensional self, which was only right since he practically begged you to let him stay despite knowing the feelings he had harbored for you. 

But what you didn’t realize was how intentional every single time they came in you was, since it was something you never minded, in fact preferred or encouraged.

“But I’m so tired,” Is what you whine out when you turn off the stove, knowing that Peter wouldn’t be able to leave you alone unless he fucked you senseless at least once, or five times, tonight. 

You noted to order takeout later instead of cooking since he was so adamant. 

You could feel his hardon from behind and his large hands were engulfing your sides. You arch your backside onto his crotch and hear a soft moan escape his lips and know it’s your husband. He was a little more submissive than his counterpart. 

Especially compared to how he treated you earlier today, it could only be your Peter peppering your jaw and neck in kisses, rubbing your ass through your sleeping shorts and grinding up against you. 

Almost in juxtaposition to how the other Peter had your back pressed against the cold wall of your shower, thrusting hastily inside of you while your legs remained wrapped around his hips and his hands carrying you by your ass. You almost feel bad for how loud you were being from his brute force, only muffled by how your head would dip into his shoulders while your arms wrapped around his neck. 

Your body gets hot thinking about it, especially reminiscing the steam of the shower dizzying you first thing in the morning. You were initially alone until you looked through the screen door, seeing a figure of Peter, not knowing which one even when the towel dropped. 

You made space for him to get in and stepped back closer to the shower head, faced towards where he’d enter, picking up the soap to lather him in. Once he stepped in, you knew it wasn’t your husband for the lack of tattoo, thankful he didn’t end up getting it after all. 

The water began to hit him, and it was a delicious sight that you focused on as the bubbles began to pile up on your hands. Instead of asking for the soap you were about to offer him, Peter got on his knees and pulled your leg to rest on one of his shoulders. Your lips parted, feeling the hot water begin to hit your back from the new position and feeling his mouth ghost your pubic area. 

You throw your head back at how his mouth latches onto your core, lapping up your folds while rubbing onto your clit with his other hand. His tongue had already memorized you, running up and down your entrance while your clit rolled underneath his thumb. You reached down to run your fingers through his hair but ended up pulling at it when the pressure on your clit increased. 

You’re brought out of your memories when you feel the current Peter trail his hand down your shorts to examine your wetness and play with your clit at the same pace. You’re breathy when you shake out of your distraction and feel his hand play with you. 

“Did you hear me?” He asks. You shake your head, turning your head slightly to look at him hanging his head in the crook of your shoulder, still kissing your collar. 

“I said,” He chuckles lowly, almost as if he knew what you were thinking about, “but I miss my wife,” He’s high pitched and breathy when he repeats himself, inserting his large fingers, both the index and middle into you making your body curl into him. 

Your hand clutches onto his much larger forearm that remains on your stomach, clutching at your flesh to keep you in place and your shirt above the seam of your shorts for easy access. You feel his wedding band and lace your fingers with his all while shuddering at his quick and skilled movements. You bite your lip embarrassed at how quick your pants are. 

“I thought you like sharing me,” You rasp out, feeling Peter’s fingers thrust and scissor into you effortlessly. Your wetness coats his fingers easily from the attention he was giving you and the memories of how you started your day.

Peter nibbles on your ear before lowering your shorts further on your hips with his free hand. “Sometimes,” He reminds you. 

You let out a soft sigh, liking the honesty. 

The possessiveness.

“Other times,” He starts while curling his fingers further into your pussy, the wetness dripping out onto his palms. “I just want you filled up with my cum,” He reminds you, before inserting another finger. You become almost too sensitive and recoil in his grasp, almost tightening your legs around his hands before he stops you. 

“And only mine,” He continues, growling in your ear knowing you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him. You struggle to hold it, feeling the familiar tension in the pit of your stomach while Peter’s cock flexes against your back. 

“Mhm,” You nod in understanding, being held against his body for dear life only to get you to stop squirming under his touch. 

“Cum for me baby,” He exhaled, getting just as impatient as you. You held tightly onto his arms for leverage and clenched around his fingers, feeling more than stretched out for whatever he had in store for you tonight. You feel yourself continuing to pulsate around nothing when he removes his hands and pulls your shorts down, pooling around your ankles. 

You step out of them and remove your shirt, revealing yourself to be entirely bare. You arch your back over the counter, feeling especially bold when you lift your knee over the granite to make it easier for him to enter. (Not that he ever had an issue before)

He grins before lowering the waistband of his sweats and raising his t-shirt to reveal his aching cock to line up to your core. He slips in with ease and you moan immediately, encouraging him to go deeper when you lean forward. “Fuck me Peter,” You breath out, with your hands clutching at your counter top. 

“Such a filthy mouth,” Peter taunts. You scoff out a humorless laugh when you remember how the other version of himself said the exact thing earlier, it almost felt like deja-vu.

When you recall it, it was when he had first slammed your back against the wall, causing you to curse out in pain and impatience. But in Peter’s defense, at the moment you had the mouth of a sailor. It didn’t help that he entered into you while you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, caused by him eating you out like you were his breakfast. 

“You’re so mean to me,” is what you responded with that morning. You shook your head when you said it, pouting a little hoping it would make him feel inclined to go a little softer on you. 

Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck desperately, while he rocked his hips from beneath you, still causing your back to grind against the tiles behind you. 

Peter leaned into your ear, arms fully flexed from hiking you up to fuck you like there was no tomorrow. You couldn’t help the quick moans escaping your lips at the sight of his body underneath the water. Feeling his cock hit the depths of your pussy each time he thrusted felt like torture, knowing you couldn’t do much in return while in this position. 

He continued to moan in your ear before meeting your forehead with his own, making you keep eye contact with him. He smiles before he says it, the shower water turning lukewarm when it hits your sides. 

“Only because you make it so easy,” He grunted out before thrusting particularly hard into you. You whimpered, feeling your body jolt from his strength. 

The water dripped down both your faces, and you admired his dark glare into yours while the droplets streaked down his hair. You went in for a passionate kiss, clashing onto his face and holding onto his shoulders while he almost bruised your thighs. 

You ignored how uncomfortable it was being held against this wall because of the pleasure that came with Peter practically splitting you open. He repeatedly hit your cervix making it harder for you to bite back the screams that would surely be heard by your husband.

“You look so good bouncing on my cock like this,” He praised, detaching himself from your desperate kisses. You nodded, locking eyes with him and ran your hands through his wet chocolate locks. 

“Gonna look even better with my cum inside you,” He added before going back in for a kiss, getting sloppier with his thrusts. One of his hands latched onto your breasts, rolling your nipple in between his fingers. 

You didn’t pay any mind to it until your husband echos the same thing the other Peter did earlier. 

Peter pulls your neck back to his chest while you’re still clutching on the kitchen counter and whispers into your ear, “Gonna have my babies,” he continues. 

You’re brought back to reality when your breathing is compromised under his touch. When you inhale a large gasp he lets go so you can lean forward to arch your back, laying your hands flat against the counter. 

Peter then holds onto your hips to maneuver you to repeatedly slam onto his pelvis, the loud smacks echoing in the kitchen. If you thought better of it you’d be embarrassed at the idea of his other half walking in on this scene but you then realized that’s probably part of the thrill for Peter at the moment. 

“Babies,” You repeat, barely of a sound mind still not understanding why they sound identical today. 

“You’re taking me so fucking well,” He grunts out, “I wanna knock you up,” He adds right before sending a sharp smack to your ass. The ring left an imprint on your ass that you’d never get used to. You yelp out a whimper from how it shot sensitivity right up your spine and into your abused core from all the orgasms throughout the day. You swore these boys were fucking with your tolerance at this point. 

“Knock me up?” Peter doesn’t miss that it comes out as a question and drags your body to come back up at its previous position by your breasts, massaging the both of them while your back is pressed up his chest again. 

Your hands are over his hands, playing, almost teasing your boobs while he questions you in your ears. “Do you wanna have babies with me?” 

You’re caught off guard by this. Obviously it was one of the many things you spoke with Peter about before you two got married where you agreed that if the time was right, it would happen. But in the greater scheme of things, it just seemed a little abrupt to bring up. Still, you were so intoxicated off of him all you could do was nod, turning around to meet his eyes lustfully. 

“Yeah?” Peter’s eyes lit up, his thrusts getting sloppier when you moan out what is barely a ‘yes’ through a heavy “Uh-huh.”

When you turn back around and close your eyes, all you can see in your head is earlier today when you watched Peter fuck you from the angle he held you in the shower and the string of curses that escaped both your lips when you were close. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, I’m gonna get you pregnant in no time,” Peter muttered so low you almost missed it. You were too distracted to say anything though, mostly because you weren’t necessarily opposed to it when you were being fucked so well.

All you remember is that your breasts felt like putty in his hands, similar to now, and he took advantage of it in this position as they were practically begging for his attention. 

He raised you a little higher from his cock and lifted you up from the wall, knowing he didn’t need the support. Peter then slammed you onto his hips, making you throw caution to the wind and yelp out. 

“Peter,” You tried moaning out for him to slow down but he doesn’t listen as his teeth latched onto your chest now. You sensitivity was at an all time high now, feeling sharp shots of pain sent through your nervous system when your nipples were being suckled on top of being fucked senseless.

“Let go, let it go for me,” He begged you when he felt the frequency of your clenching pick up. He relished the feeling and started to slow down as your movements stuttered throughout your body on top of him. When you felt his cum shoot into you shortly after, he fucked it into you until you started to feel his cock soften. 

Peter eventually relaxed on your tits and looked back up at you inbetween the valley of your breasts apologetically, as if to say that he couldn’t help himself. 

He finally let you step back down on your own feet but you could barely stand. He supported you by holding onto your lower back but his fingers found his way to your folds and fingered you. You instinctively flinched from the overstimulation but he forced your legs to stay open. 

The cum that ran down your thighs, he managed to fuck back into you through his fingers, but you didn’t note it as he engulfed you in a kiss as soon as you were able to stand up on your own. It was cute to Peter really, you sounded so desperate for him to be gentle, clueless to the entire ploy he and his other self cooked up. 

Still unaware while your husband’s pacing starts to get sloppy, the smacks filling the air while your lower stomach feels tense.

“Peter,” You cry. You’ve lost track of the amount of times you’ve been getting fucked in the last week alone, it almost felt like you were in more pain than pleasure. 

“I know, just hold on a little,” Peter grunts before thrusting even harder a few more times, “longer,” His voice is getting unsteady, you know he’s close. You try to fuck back again knowing it’s one of his bigger weaknesses, seeing how your ass bounces onto him. Peter felt the force of your ass meeting his hips and looked down, knowing he was a goner. 

Seeing the skin of your cheeks ripple off of his and onto his cock so perfectly, while feeling your desperate cunt clench onto him was more than enough. His deep moans praise you while he couldn’t form coherent words, obviously drunk off of your movements. 

“Cum in me baby, give it to me,” You rasp out and turn back around to meet his eyes, knowing that would really send him over the edge. 

“Fuck,” He says it repeatedly, while he thrusts a few more final times. You can feel his hot cum shoot inside you, cock pulsating in your sensitive core which just makes your knees shake but you remain still, or rather, Peter makes you remain still. He moves himself only slightly, trying not to let too much cum seep out and you shake your head mostly out of exhaustion, but also out of disbelief. 

When he fully slips out of you, he repeats Peter’s earlier motions to keep the cum inside of you. You barely have the energy to lift yourself up from the counter and just crave the warmth of your husband. 

Eventually you manage, and then you kiss him gently, while he smirks. You pull away, tiredness written all over your confused expression. 

“What is it?” You ask, fully turned around to face him. 

Peter shakes his head, but what you didn’t know was that he was thinking back to a conversation he had with his other half the other week. 

Peter thinks you read his mind, but it’s really because you finally had enough reason to ask as they lack subtlety: “Care to tell me why you and the other Parker have baby fever all of a sudden?”

He only grabs your smaller hand in his, before leading it to your stomach and rubbing it. “Why, you don’t wanna have my baby?” He pouts, obviously deflecting the bigger question. 

“Of course I do,” you roll your eyes at the accusation before removing both your hands from your stomach.

“I just want to know why now,” You clarify before sitting at the counter. You feel how sore you are when your hands find their way to your cunt again. 

Looking down at how your fingers trace your wet folds, mixed with your cum and his, you ignore how Peter is watching you, cock twitching at the sight of your spread legs and left over sweat trickling on your boobs. 

His eyes flickered from the sight of his cum seeping out of your pussy back to your eyes, still figuring out how he should answer. 

Peter watches your middle finger graze your clit and how your body reacts to the feeling. He loves how sensitive you are. His cock is already half hard watching how your fingers collected the cum that seeped out of you. 

You eventually look up at him and you catch his eyes darken. Round two is about to happen. 

“We have a bet,” He lets the words run together on his tongue, before moving the heels of your feet to the edge of the counter.

There’s a couple of things that go through your mind when he says that while he continues to readjust your body.

One being that you’d definitely have to disinfect this counter before you go to bed tonight. Second is the conclusion that you really can’t leave two Peter Parker's alone together for more than 24 hours. 

“A bet?” 

You know you shouldn’t be as calm as you’re being about this. At least from a rational standpoint. However, none of the decisions made up to this point were rational. 

“We love you so much,” 

Here he goes, you think, 

“We just wanted to see who could get you pregnant first.”

Oh.

When Peter closes the distance between your bodies and kisses your neck you know he has easy access to fuck you. Once his cock is standing against his stomach again he readjusts your legs, one around his waist and another over his shoulder. 

It would’ve been more of a pain if you weren’t used to being put in less than comfortable positions for him by now.

You inhale sharply, trying to be mad at him. “Peter,” You try to say as his hands remain on your hips. One of them snakes back down to his cock to realign with your entrance, and he shoots back up an apologetic look to you, reminding you that you were no match for his brown eyes. 

Either of them really. 

You both hiss when he re-enters you effortlessly but you repeat yourself. 

“Peter, you can’t be,” You moan, but try to keep your voice steady. You failed but you weren’t backing down now. “Fucking serious,” You stutter when the curse leaves your mouth, mostly because of having to readjust to his size at this position. 

He has a guttural groan that shoots arousal down to your core the moment it hits your ears. “Ungh, I, fuck,” He quickens up his pace, obviously not listening to you. “I know but hear us out,” Peter dips his head into your shoulders, kissing the sensitive spots of your neck as if it would make the situation better. 

“Regardless of what happens, we'll take care of you,” He whimpers. His thrusts get sharper when he picks back up his head and your jaws are both slacked at the new pace. 

You’re looking at where your bodies meet while Peter is focusing on your flushed out face, motivating him to go faster. 

You shut your eyes out of the pain mixing in with pleasure, also frustrated by his attention, biting your bottom lip to stop the flow of curses from flowing out. 

Peter studies your reaction and almost feels bad.

Almost.

“You feel so fucking good around me, I can’t help myself,” Peter adds, cooing into your face when his forehead rests yours. You pinch your eyebrows together and shake your head as if to disagree but he only shakes his head with you. 

“We can’t help ourselves,” He corrects, panting along with you.

“Pete,” You whine, arms wrapped around his neck as he fucks you on the edge of the counter, and you can feel him reaching so deep into your cervix repeatedly it makes you want to scream. 

He notices it and starts pulling out far enough to tease you, just to slam back into you. If he wasn’t careful enough you’d definitely hit your head on the cabinets.

You cry out from his increasing speed and feel your thighs burning up from the snapping of his hips against yours from this angle. 

“You’re so fucking good to me,” Peter says, he almost sounds like he’s about to cry when he thrusts into you. 

“Good to us,” He adds, still slamming against your sensitive, sopping pussy.

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes when you feel how deep he’s going inside of you, feeling his balls smack against your cunt.

Peter notes how you tighten around him when he says it, and decides to use it against you. He brushes stray hairs behind your ear before continuing.

“You’re our good girl,” His hands find his way to your throat, gently holding it while you try to stay still as his movements only stretch your leg further. He uses his free hand to hold onto one side of your hips

You whimper and nod, knowing he already won. 

“I’m your good girl,” You repeat, hardly audible from your lips from how hard it is to speak.

“So fucking good,” He reaffirms and matches his thrust to every syllabus in that statement and you feel like you could almost pass out. You don’t even warn him, immediately cumming around him and mewling out at how abrupt the tension snapped in your stomach. 

You look down and realize there was more than cum being released and that a viscous, clear liquid was trickling down the counter and all over his t-shirt, the liquid glistening over his lower abdomen and still hard cock. 

“‘M sorry,” You gasp out, “I couldn’t help it,” your voice is hardly above a whisper. Your chest is heaving from how much energy that took out of you, but Peter was just surprised to see that you were so overstimulated you squirted. 

His eyes only light up with mischief before he goes back and inhales you into a kiss. He holds his cock to enter your pussy and his hips stutter at the wet, hot feeling before slowing down. He removes himself off of your lips to grunt into your shoulder, telling you he was close. He quickly  shoots a smaller load than before into you. 

Seeing you surrender to him, feeling your heat suction around him with no warning, added onto how how fucking hot it was for him to see you squirt onto him? It’s no wonder he came immediately. 

He leans in to kiss you again, this time you’re too exhausted to return it with the same passion. Only gently kissing back while his tongue begs for entrance.

Peter reaches down to rub your clit to garner a reaction and you part your lips out of over stimulation, but you immediately reach for him to stop. Your hands lace when you do, before you meet his eyes again. 

“Too much.” You shake your head, knowing you didn’t have it in you to say more at the moment. 

He grins and chuckles at your fear before listening to your objections.

You pout and furrow your eyebrows before your hands reach down to cover your cunt, closing your legs to tease him. 

“Don’t be mean,” You remind him. 

“Sorry, baby.” He leans in to kiss you again, without the foreplay and this time you let him in. Only caressing your scalp, to help you lean into the kiss. 

Soon after, he swoops you up over the threshold to take you into your bedroom for the night. You yelp out but he covers it up by smothering your face in kisses. You giggle your protests all the way through before you bounce on the shared bed he threw you on. 

And while you struggle to believe that either of them thought this bet through, you let Peter cum into you as many times as he wanted to that night.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #tasm!peter smut #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm andrew garfield #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!spiderman x you #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter one shot #peter parker smut #peter parker oneshot #andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x black reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter x reader #dark!peter parker x reader #dark fanfiction #dark smut #the writing’s on the wall

[holylulusworld]

Ruined

Summary: She ruined him in any way.

Pairing: TFATW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: post-smut, implied smut, angst, cheating, self-loathing, Bucky feels not worth being loved, written in Bucky's PoV

AN: Square filled for Navy and Roo’s slumber party presents bingo @the-slumberparty: Writer's choice - angst

She left me there to rot in my sins and filth. The sheets were still stained with my seed, her juices, and sweat.

A reminder that she was really here with me out of all the guys in this too-crowded city.

My chest still heaves, and I can’t feel my legs as I run my hand over the spot she occupied some hours ago. Now it’s empty, and I feel hollow.

She came over me like a force of nature and broke the walls I built around my heart as if it were nothing.

One day I bumped into her and spilled my coffee over her summer dress. A white dress, making her look like an angel.

Since that godforsaken day, I lost my heart to her little by little. Now it only belongs to her, but she doesn’t belong to me.

No. There is this wonderful guy she always talks about. The man whose face I never want to see. Her heart and body belong to him.

I’m just … I don’t know what I am to her.

To me, she’s my sun, moon, and stars. My whole world.

I only live when she’s around. And when she’s gone, I barely exist.

Maybe I must accept fate. I don’t deserve a woman loving me in my life. Not after I destroyed so many lives.

I sigh and turn around to look out of the window. I still don’t have curtains. The windows are naked, like my body.

I don’t know when she left. Maybe after I slipped out of her one last time? I feel bad for the man she lies to. And I feel bad for myself.

Closing my eyes, I curl into a ball to protect myself from sniffing at the sheets to catch her scent. Goddamn higher senses. I can smell her on me, even if I don’t want to.

If only I was strong enough to stay away from her. But she’s like the right kind of poison running through my veins. She wrecks my system and makes me forget who I really am.

A broken man. A monster. A killer.

The man Steve used to look up to is long gone. I’m an empty shell. Nothing else.

Of course, a woman like her would never want me for more than a night of passion. How could she? I’m not the kind of man you take home and introduce to your parents and friends.

I roll onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. There is no use in thinking about her right now. She’s gone and will spend the next days, weeks, or even months pretending she didn’t screw my brains out last night.

I sigh at the tumult going on in my mind. Restlessness is not a stranger to me.

Maybe I should admit my defeat and just let her go.

The atmosphere changes when I turn to my side. I can feel her before she even steps inside the room.

Confused I watch her enter my bedroom. Well, it’s barely a bedroom. Only a mattress on the ground and a lamp. I don’t even have a nightstand or a wardrobe.

“I got breakfast,” she softly says, looking unsure for the first time since we met. She wears one of my shirts and a pair of shorts. I don’t know where she was hiding the shorts because last night she wore a dress, and her favorite black heels. “Coffee too.”

“Coffee,” I choke out. “That’s…great.”

“I thought we could talk,” Y/N steps toward the mattress to sit next to me. “I-I…” she places the bag filled with delicious-smelling breakfast on the mattress. “I broke things up with him two months ago.”

Inhaling sharply, I jolt up on the mattress, taking her by surprise. She squeals, and giggles as I sit next to her. Still stark naked.

“Uh-good morning to little Bucky too,” her laughter fills my senses, and damn my rotten heart beats faster than it should. “Sir, you should cover yourself.”

“What? I—��� I drop my eyes to my lap, and chuckle. She’s not wrong. Little Bucky goes commando every time she’s around. “Sorry.”

“I’m flattered, really,” she grins now. “What do you think? Not about your morning glory but…”

“You broke up with him,” I question, “and never told me so.”

“I was afraid that you would pull away when I’m…available,” Y/N bites her index finger, a habit I learned to love. “He didn’t take it well, but this can’t be helped. It wasn’t right to cheat on him, but I love you. God, I love you so much it hurts not having you close.”

“You should’ve told me you broke up with him. I don’t have much,” I look around my bedroom, sighing deeply. “But all I got is yours.”

She dips her head to look at me. Oh, I know that look. “If you offer your heart and little Bucky to me, I’m game…”

Y/N will end up underneath me for the rest of the day, breakfast and coffee long forgotten.

I still feel guilty for stealing another man’s woman, but the heart wants what it wants…

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #slumber party bingo #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #angst #tw: cheating #bucky barnes x y/n #tfatw!bucky barnes

[atlasscrumpit]

would platonic yan miguel ever use his tech to track his darling? (and maybe as a punishment like a shock collar if they try to leave the apartment/hq)

Caged Fragments

When your entire universe collapsed in on itself you questioned over and over why you were the only one to survive.

But, eventually you found out you weren't the only one that lived through it, the man who had caused it all lived through it.

At first you tried to kill him, he had killed your entire reality and you wanted him to pay for it, but you eventually learnt he hasn't meant it and he was grieving too.

It take long for Miguel to develop feelings for you that slowly turned into obsession.

No one in the spider society knew about you, Miguel made sure to keep you hidden, in a place only he could get to you.

You wore a thin choker around your neck that Miguel had made, it made sure you couldn't leave this certain part without him.

He made it as comfy as possible, a few computers to write on or play games, a comfortable bed and he often brought you food.

But, you felt like a caged animal in here and you missed the real world...even if it didn't exist anymore.

You heard Miguel enter your 'cage' and you didn't bother to get up.

You just stayed rolled over in your bed with your back facing him.

"Darling? I brought you some lunch." He said as he sat on the side of your bed.

"I'm not hungry." You grumbled as he ran his hand down the side of your body.

"What's wrong, baby?" He asked as you slowly sat up and looked at him.

"I want to get out of here... I want to see other people other than you." You muttered as he looked at you sadly.

"I can't do that, Y/N. Here you're safe, if I let people know that I wasn't the only one who survived, how do you think they'll take that? They take you away from me and experiment on you, is that what you want?" He asked running his finger over your cheek.

"No... But, why am I being punished for a mistake you made?" You asked as his eyes darkened.

"I've told you to never bring that up. Do you want to be punished?" He asked, tilting his head.

"No, I don't. It's just not fair." You whispered as he sighed.

"I know, why don't I take you somewhere tonight? We can go get dinner in another universe." He asked as your eyes lit up.

"Yes, please!" You replied excitedly, making him chuckle.

"Then it's a plan, love. I'll get you a nice dress to wear."

--

You walked along the cold streets with Miguel, you enjoyed the cold fresh air.

He had his arm intertwined with yours as you walk along, you'd already had dinner and your mind was racing crazy with thoughts of escaping.

But, you had to come up with an idea to get the choker off.

Miguel was so much faster than you, you didn't stand a chance.

Suddenly you stopped walking and Miguel looked at you.

"What are you doing, angel?" He asked as you looked at him.

"I want to stay here... In this universe and then you can just come and visit me." You muttered as Miguel groaned and rubbed his head.

"Y/N, are you really asking this right now?" He asked as you turned away from him.

"So, you want to stay in a universe where you don't belong? And then eventually destroy this entire universe because of your selfishness?" He said as you felt tears in your eyes and glared at him.

"That's exactly what you did!" You screamed before he slapped you across the face.

"Over and over I have told you to not bring that up! I made a fucking mistake and I am making up for it by protecting you! Now, let's go home." He demanded before you went to run away but he grabbed you within a second.

"Fucking hell, Y/N!" He screamed as you thrashed in his arms.

He opened a portal back to the society and dragged you back inside.

He dragged you back into your room and threw you onto the ground.

"You know, I was going to make this a regular thing. Taking you out. But, now that you had the fucking nerve to try and escape, I'm never letting you out of here!" He shouted as you looked up at him from the floor.

You felt tears run down your face.

"I'm not the one in the wrong! You're the one doing something wrong!" You screamed at him as he grabbed your arm and made you stand up.

He pinned you against the wall and kept his face close to yours.

"You want to know what would happen if you just ran around all these universes by yourself? They would fucking collapse around you! I am keeping you safe here!" He shouted as you began to cry softly.

"Why can't I just roam around free?" You whisperer as he started to calm down and sighed softly.

"We'll work something out, okay? I'm sorry I was so harsh, I can't lose you." He whispered as you nodded a little and he let you go.

"Let's get some rest, okay?" He asked, kissing your forehead softly.

"Okay..."

#Miguel #Miguel o'hara #Miguel o'hara x reader #Miguel x reader #Spiderman 2099 #Atsv #Yandere

[vilentia]

Unspoken Wounds

Billy Hargrove x reader

A little story to suit my current mood with what I think is the most appropriate character to go with it. 🥲

The night was heavy with tension as you entered your home, weary from your late outing with friends. Your heart sank as you laid eyes upon Billy, sprawled across the couch, a victim of his own alcohol-induced stupor. The frustration that had been building up inside you erupted like a volcano, and in that moment, you couldn't bear to be near him.

You stormed past the unconscious Billy, making your way to the shared bed, seeking solace in its emptiness. Your mind echoed with unspoken words, anger and disappointment consuming your thoughts. How could he disregard your pleas, your worries, time and time again?

The following day dawned, heavy with unresolved conflict. The atmosphere in the house was suffocating, and you couldn't bring yourself to face Billy. Each passing moment only served to deepen the chasm between you, as you avoided any interaction with him. Deep down, you longed for resolution, but pride and resentment held you back.

Billy, though hurt by his own actions, understood the silence that enveloped your relationship. He realized the depth of his mistakes and knew that words alone would not mend the fractures he had caused. Respectful of your need for space, he resolved to give you the time you required, hoping that one day, the wounds could heal.

Days turned into weeks, and the distance between you seemed insurmountable. But amidst the darkness, a flicker of hope remained. One evening, as the sun cast its golden hues across the room, you found yourself unable to ignore the longing in your heart. Slowly, you approached Billy, a vulnerability radiating from your eyes.

"I miss us," you whispered softly, your voice quivering with a mix of pain and love. "But I can't keep living like this, Billy. I need you to understand."

Billy looked at you, his eyes filled with remorse and a desperate desire to make things right. "I know, babe. I'm sorry. I've let you down, and I've let myself down. I don't want to lose you."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke from the depths of your soul. "I love you, Billy, but I can't bear to see you destroy yourself like this. We need to find a way to move forward, together."

In that vulnerable moment, both of you recognized the love that had brought you together. The obstacles that had threatened to tear you apart suddenly seemed surmountable, as you vowed to support each other through the darkness and celebrate the light.

From that day forward, Billy sought help for his alcohol abuse, attending support groups and therapy sessions. Together, you embarked on a journey of healing and growth, learning to communicate openly and honestly with each other.

As time passed, the wounds slowly healed, leaving scars that served as a reminder of the strength of your love. Your relationship transformed, blossoming into a profound connection built on trust, understanding, and forgiveness.

Through the trials and tribulations, you realized that love could overcome even the darkest of moments. And as you held each other tightly, basking in the warmth of your renewed bond, you knew that together, you could weather any storm that life threw your way.

#billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove stranger things #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove au #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove blurb #billy stranger things #stranger things billy

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Shadows and tears

So this is a series about Azriel and reader. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you like it!

Summary: Reader is a tortured soul who barely escaped the brutality of the Illyrian camps finding shelter in the Day Court. Her identity was well hidden until she caught the attention of the Night Court’s Shadowsinger. Will the mating bond be enough for their love to settle in?

Warnings: angst, mentions of abuse and trauma

You don't need a tissue box.....yet

Masterlist

Prologue , Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Chapter 5

What did I do?

It was a month later when you had landed without a sound on the balcony -thanks to the training with the shadow singer- that you found him on the couch with Elain in his arms, kissing her like a starved male, a bile climbed in your throat and then you felt it…

Snap.

You gasped, Azriel jumped on his feet and stared at you, Elain had a smirk on her face, her lips swollen by the kiss. You turned around and run to your room muttering quick apologies to the couple for disturbing them. You felt Azriel moving towards you, but your shadows built a wall behind you covering for you until you were inside the room and had locked the door. Then they slid under the door but stood guard there to block Azriel’s shadows from breaking in. You jumped on your bed a silent sob breaking through your body cursing the cauldron and the Mother for playing you like that. After everything I’ve been through…why? Do I not deserve happiness?

You remembered your young self inside the cell imagining that you would find your mate and he would pull you out of your misery, praying that he wouldn’t be anything like your father, and now you found him, and he is the exact opposite of your father, but his heart? His heart is gold and belongs to another…

Sleep never came, you spent your night crying quietly, Azriel didn’t come for you and your shadows informed you that neither his shadows made an appearance. That’s what you wanted right? Then why did it hurt?

You stayed in your room for the next days Mor and Nesta were the only ones you let inside telling them what happened and making them promise not to tell anyone sealing your promise with a tattoo. They informed you that Azriel was distant, trying to isolate himself from everyone and most importantly from Elain. After some days you decided to make your appearance, you wouldn’t tell Azriel anything about the bond at least not until you decided if you were going to reject it. You made yourself decent enough and walked to the dining room finding everyone there like your shadow had already informed you. You noticed that the seat next to Elain was empty, Azriel was sitting on the small couch on the side almost completely covered by his shadows, he only moved when he saw you enter the room, his gaze filled with hope and sadness. Everyone stared at you surprised as you took the usual seat between Nesta and Mor, they both grabbed each one of your hands giving you an encouraging smile. Elain scoffed. Now everyone’s attention was pulled from you to her. “What?” she snapped. Mor sent her a warning look.

“Come on guys, she appeared here like a wounded beast Oh Azriel please help me with my shadows” she scowled making the worst impression of your voice. Disgust clear in her face “and now after taking most of his time she destroyed the one thing that made him happy….” She continued and pointed at herself. “Watch your fucking tongue” Mor growled her hands gripping the table trying to keep her from pouncing on the Archeron sister.

Your eyes watered and you felt Rhysand caressing the shields around your mind -also something Azriel taught you how to build- you let him in silently asking him not to tell anyone what he saw. Rhysand’s face went from surprised to angry as he stared the shadowsinger. Then he heard you in his mind

Let me go please, I need to go back, I need to clear my head.

He nodded and you jumped sending Mor an apologetic look as you ran to the balcony jumping to your freedom, and as everyone was watching your wings flapping and your silhouette disappearing into the sky Azriel felt it…

Snap.

His face changed into a look full of horror.

What did I do?

A small part for now, I will post another one later.

#acotar #acotar series #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #feyre archeron #rhysand #cassian acotar #a court of silver flames #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nessian

[pilot-boi]

Twins AU

So with this being bonded by Aura thing that twins share, imagine during V9 Yang is hit with a tidal wave of pain and everyone panics because they have no idea what’s happening

It all makes sense when they find Jaune

It was twenty years worth of experience being shared with Yang in a fraction of a second, all of it avalanching down onto her because Jaune went back in time and it’s all catching up to her now

Imagine how horrified she is to see her brother, *her twin,* suddenly so many years older than her

When Yang first lands in the Ever After, she is in agony

White hot and blinding, it’s like a tidal wave of emotions and pain sweep over her, bowling her over. It feels like her arm is being cut off all over again, like her mind is breaking, like she’s blinking and a life age of anguish and sorrow is passing by.

And then it’s over

Yang lays under the canopy of an unfamiliar forest. Her vision is blurry and her limbs are tingling. She wonders distantly if this is how Blake feels when she uses her Semblance, all sort of detached from her body

She can’t place it, but it feels like something inside of her is wrong

Not like something bad happened (although it did) but like something vital inside of her is missing. Something is just… not right, like the whole world is off kilter somehow

Is this what being dead feels like?

Blinding pain and then just feeling not quite all there for the rest of eternity?

She’s shaken out of her musings very abruptly when a raccoon riding a wagon of garbage all but gleefully grabs her prosthetic and runs away

Things happen very quickly after that

She doesn’t catch the raccoon, but she IS accosted by a giant monster that isn’t a Grimm. She doesn’t beat the monster, but she DOES get found by the rest of her team. They don’t know how to get home, but they DO realize they’re in a fairy tale

The Girl Who Fell Through The World, with all of its quirky and charismatic characters

Yang gets her arm back from the Jinxy Peddler. She helps her team battle the Red Prince-formerly-King. The Curious Cat rescues them and pesters them with questions

The Herbalist is a new face, one not mentioned in the story. Yang finally verbalizes what it turns out she knew all along. She doesn’t have to be symmetrical, or whole, or easy to understand. She is a Huntress

She doesn’t have to be whole. When her smoke-self asks if she wants that, Yang can’t help but think of her twin up in Vacuo. Gods, what he must be going through

Feeling her get hurt destroyed him enough, but he must think she’s dead

Maybe that’s why she feels so off, so not-right. Because the other half of her soul is in another dimension

While they travel to the market, Yang mentions the pain she felt when she landed

Blake postulates that it was caused by her lack of Aura, but Weiss’s Aura broke as well, and she didn’t feel anything. Ruby, as taciturn as she’s been, suggests that maybe her prosthetic didn’t like the journey through dimensions, but Yang didn’t have any pain when first entering the Crossroads

Yang wonders aloud whether Jaune was hurt during the time she was falling, and their bond amplified it somehow. The Curious Cat blinks up at her when she mentions him, and smiles knowingly

She doesn’t know what to make of that

Until very suddenly she does

The market is attacked. Neo sends copies of the Jabberwalker to wreck mayhem. And finally, the last missing character from the story appears: The Rusted Knight

He drives the Jabberwalker away and seems to freeze at the sight of them. Yang isn’t surprised, according to the story he’s supposed to be the only competent fighter in the whole place. When copies of the monster appear, he doesn’t try to fight, prioritizing getting them to safety while the Cat covers their escape

The Knight leads them to the top floor of the market while it burns behind them. They follow his gestures into a room inside a giant flower, where his steed is waiting

Blake is pretty much vibrating with excitement next to her. It’s no secret the Knight is her favourite character

“You did good, Juniper,” the Knight says, his voice echoey from behind his helmet. The jackalope’s name tugs at Yang, reminding her of their sister team, of her absent brother. Gods she wishes he was here

Then the Knight takes off his helmet

Long blonde hair, streaked with white and tied back by an achingly familiar piece of red cloth, falls onto his back.

He turns. “Team RWBY,” he says, sounding relieved, sounding exhausted, and Yang can feel her teammates freeze beside her, she can hear them all gasp in horror.

For her part she can’t move, can’t breath, can’t take her eyes off his face.

The same face that stares back every time she looks in the mirror. His sad blue eyes creased with smile lines, with age, with decades of pain. Twenty years older than he should be, twenty years older than her

Dear gods… what happened to her brother?

“You finally made it.”

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #ethans express #mine #asks #my writing #twins au

[dairy-farmer]

Dick gets horny when he became angry...

When he was in his teenage years, he remembered that after every fight he had with Bruce, he hid in his room and while tried to be quiet he did fuck his cock with his own hands

The same situation was happened with Barbara and Kori when they were his lovers. After the arguments, he recalled that he had fucked one of the fleshlights he had with anger and even hit the toy's cheeks, wanting it to redden from his abuse to it

It was only the expressions on their faces during those seconds when they were shouting at each other that caused Dick to boil inside. Why did everyone have to look sexier when they were angry?

However, none of them were at a level to match the situation he was experiencing with Tim...

After Tim created a costume and name of his own and saved Bruce, Dick went to the house where Tim lived alone in order to destroy the gap that had formed between them and spend time with his baby brother

And look, he knew he screwed up taking Robin away from Tim and giving it to Damian. He also knew that after Tim calmed down, he would understand how much Damian needed the costume to understand that he had a place in Gotham and become a better person

What he didn't realize was how much angry Tim would be with him...

Tim did not want to do anything with his older brother, who did not trust him and said that they were equal, and then caused him to question his own mind

He also said he knew that Dick was spending time with himself out of necessity and that he no longer had the energy to play this game

And then he left Dick in the middle of the hall to go to a different safe house...

Tim didn't notice his older brother's eyes starting to darken or the swelling that was starting to gush out of his pants

Dick, on the other hand, felt that he was going crazy. How could he think that he didn't love him and that he was spending time with him out of necessity? Dick would do anything for his baby brother... Had he forgotten that he had killed the Joker for him? Did he have to kill someone else for him to remember? He could have done it, as long as Tim came back to him

But no, he could have found Tim and showed him how much he loved him in another way. Sex was something between two people who loved each other and his little baby was smart enough to understand it. If he brought together that pussy he hid among his laundry and didn't show to anyone because he was ashamed, with his dick that kept getting bigger and bigger the more he thought about it, Tim could realize that he was loved again

So the first thing he had to do was to find out where his little brother, who was hiding, had gone. And if the quest evokes in him the same pleasure received by the hunter who is trying to catch his prey, if his thoughts are becoming less and less vanilla, this was not something that anyone should know

As soon as he found his baby brother, he entered the house quietly through the window, holding Tim's arms with one hand without allowing his little baby to experience awareness, causing him to hit the wall

The taste of the coffee Tim had just drunk was coming through his lips. Dick could feel him trying to yell but he wouldn't let go. No, he would fuck his little brother until he couldn't walk anymore, then he would leave handprints on his little ass and enjoy him peeing on the bed because he lost his last attempt of control

Tim could not be angry with his big brother, whom he loved very much. He could not try to escape from his love and leave his big brother alone...

Dick was never going to let that happen...

i LOVE dick's anger issues getting the spotlight, and the idea of him sort of conditioning and associating his anger with the promise of release is so good. and then tim!!!! he's angry and upset with dick which makes dick upset- which makes dick angry.

all those pent up feelings have been building up for so long and now dick is angry and horny and tim is to blame so of course tim will make up for it. tim is going to let his darling big brother fuck him until he wasn't able to stay angry at dick. until the only resistance from him was a poor little pussy weakly clenching around dick's cock as he fucked in deep enough to bruise timmy's womb. dick is normally a gentle lover. he's not harsh or bruising- except for when he's angry and tim had really made him angry.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #dicktim

[flyinghassassin]

Remember the time you actually tried to kill me?

Summary:  On how Natasha is your therapist and you and Wanda became closest friends after you tried to kill her.

Word count : 1900ish

Warnings : Angst,violence,language,fluff at the end.

You and Wanda knew each other for a while. You both were broken people who had lost their close ones. She had lost her brother, her family, and her hometown. You had lost your best friend after a Hydra attack. You both hated Hydra for everything they stood for, everything they did, and everything they meant.

That's why, when you discovered that a high-ranking member of Hydra was on "business" in Manhattan, you both went to detain her. "Everything was going to be fine," Wanda kept saying.

After all, it was only one person, and from the information you had, she wasn't bringing reinforcements. The Avengers didn’t know about this. Wanda and you knew that they'd try to stop your plans and do it as a team,so you kept quiet. The mission turned out to be a failure. You were captured, and you were trapped in a hidden Hydra base in southeastern Ohio.

Hydra continued their macabre experiments on Wanda, trying to find a way to replicate her power to wipe out the Avengers, while you were injected with an unstable version of the super-soldier serum to see if it was safe for use.

The serum didn't kill you, but it did change you. You had the same abilities as Steve and Bucky, but it changed your mind. The nightmares were constant; you had rage outbursts and wanted to kill all the people on the base, no matter who got hurt.

And that's what you did.

When one of the guards came to your cell to continue experimenting with the serum, you grabbed him by the neck and choked him until he died.

You grabbed his gun and his card and left your cell. One of the guards who was guarding that corridor saw you, so you killed him with an accurate shot between his eyes.

You knew you didn't have much time, so you quickly left the cells.

Immediately more guards began to arrive, but you killed them until you ran out of bullets.

When the bullets ran out, you used your fists, beating the guards to death.

You had a clear objective: kill the Hydra member who had done this to you and destroy the lab.

You quickly reached the lab, where there were a couple of scientists doing their experiments.

You attacked one of them, breaking his neck, and you stabbed the other one with his own scalpel, causing blood to gush copiously from his neck.

Guards began to enter, so you pulled the scalpel out of the scientist's neck and threw it at the first guard who entered, stabbing him in the eye and causing him to fall to the ground.

You tackled the other one, using his body as a shield, causing the other guards to shoot him. When his body fell to the ground, you took his gun and finished  the remaining guards off.

You rummaged through the shelves,looking for something you could use to defend yourself. After a while,you found a shield similar to Captain America's,only this one was black and grayish and had reddish stripes running from the inside to the outside.

You searched the shelves for alcohol and poured it all over the lab. When you were done, you grabbed a box of matches that a guard was carrying to light his cigarettes and set the whole thing on fire.

A dark smirk crossed your face. All that was left was to kill the Hydra member.

You went room by room, looking for her and killing anyone who got in your way. Finally, you reached the last room. It had a metal door,but thanks to your new skills, you thought you could smash it. You started hitting it with your shield and your fists,denting it, until a hole opened up.

The Hydra member looked at you and pressed a button on her desk.

"Don't bother calling anyone. They're all dead. I took care of it."

"I thought you were an Avenger. Weren't you the ones defending people? The ones who didn’t kill?" She said with a smirk.

"Right now, I'm not an Avenger," you said as you threw your shield at her neck.

The smirk she had before was cut off as blood began to gush from her neck. You pulled your shield from her throat and left her office.

You walked through the corridors of the now-deserted Hydra base, blood dripping from your shield. Anger coursed through every fiber of your body as you searched for any Hydra members who might have been hiding.

"Y/N?"  You heard a soft voice call out to you.

You quickly turned around, clutching your shield and breathing heavily.

Wanda stood before you with a raised eyebrow and a frown as her hands emanated the red aura of her power.

"Y/N, I've been looking for you for an hour. What the hell have you been doing? I thought you escaped after the attack the guards suffered."

You didn't answer, and you simply threw the shield towards her. Wanda paralyzed it with her magic while looking at you with a slight fear in her eyes.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

You growled at the loss of your shield and lunged towards her. Wanda dodged your attack and hit you with her magic, knocking you to the ground.

"Y/N, stop.  I don't want to hurt you."

You got up from the ground,blood dripping from your forehead, and attacked Wanda again. You knocked her to the ground and started choking her.

You were so focused on finishing her off that you didn't notice that her hand was directing a metal cabinet, which hit you, knocking you unconscious.

——————————————————————————————

You woke up a few hours later. You were in a white room with an intravenous tube in your arm. You groaned and tried to remove it and get up, but a sudden dizziness made you wince and lie down on the bed.

Three minutes later, someone entered your room: Bruce Banner, followed by Natasha Romanoff.

"What happened?" you asked.

"You went batshit crazy.The tests we've run on you indicate that you were injected with an unstable version of the super-soldier serum," Bruce replied.

Natasha stepped forward and gently grabbed your hand.

"Do you remember anything about what happened Y/N?" She said pushing your hair away from your face.

You shook your head and grumbled.

"I have a hell of a migraine." I don't remember shit" you said while rubbing your temples.

"I'll give you a shot of intravenous morphine. It should help with the pain," said Bruce, grabbing a syringe and injecting you with the drug. "I'll be in the lab looking at your blood work in depth. If you need anything, call me," said Bruce, smiling. "Get well soon, Y/N," he told you as he left the room.

"What happened, Nat?" you asked again.

"Hydra captured you," Natasha said as she stroked your hair gently. "Wanda was with you, remember?"

You shook your head with a frown.

"The information you got led you to Isabela Marklova," she said, showing you a file. "Hydra lieutenant, at the new bases they were setting up here, Wanda and you went after her, but they were waiting. They captured you both and continued experimenting on Wanda. You were injected with the serum," she continued to explain.

"And what happened next?" you asked.

Natasha grabbed your hand and began to trace circles on your palm in an attempt to relax you.

"You... killed Marklova, alongside with the rest of the people on the base."

"I did what?"

"You mustn't blame yourself," said Natasha,grabbing your hand. "You weren't aware of what you were doing; it was the serum."

"And what about Wanda? Did I hurt her? Is she okay? Fuck, I think I'm going to throw up," you said.

"Wanda is fine; you gave her a few bruises; Bruce checked them, and it's not serious," answered Natasha without letting go of your hand.

"I have to go check on Wanda right now; I have to make sure she's okay," you said, trying to get up and letting out a groan of pain.

Natasha put her hand on your chest, preventing you from doing so.

"You shouldn't do that right now; you need to let the morphine kick in, okay?" I'll get Wanda to come see you."

You nodded weakly and lay back on the bed.

"Rest Y/N, you're safe now," Natasha said, giving you a kiss on your forehead.

—————————————————————————————— 

After a few hours, you woke up and groaned, bringing your hands to your eyes and rubbing them.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," said a voice next to you.

You turned around. In front of you was Wanda.

"Wanda?  "I'm so glad you're okay," you said, trying to get up to get a better look at her.

"Calm down,Y/N,you are still under the effects of the morphine," said Wanda, coming towards you and grabbing your hand. "How are you?"

"I should be the one asking you that. I almost killed you! I attacked you mercilessly. We're friends, Wanda. What kind of friend does that?" you said as your lip trembled and tears began to spill from your eyes.

"Don't blame yourself, Y/N; it wasn't you," said Wanda, wiping the tears from your eyes. "It's my fault; I convinced you to go with me to the base. I knew I could trust you,and look how it ended. They tortured you,and it was all my fault." Now it was Wanda who was crying.

"Please don't say that," you said, your voice cracking. "I wanted to go with you, knowing I had no powers. The grudge made me go without a second thought. I'm sorry I hurt you," you said, wiping the tears from Wanda's face. "I guess we're both fucked up now," you said.

Wanda let out a sob and gave you a hug.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, and I hope you can forgive me."

"It's okay, Wanda; I already have," you said, pressing your forehead against hers. "You are one of the most important people in my life,and I want to keep it that way."

Wanda smiled softly, clasping your hands.

"Let me have a seat on the bed, Y/N.You have to be in bed for a few days, so I'll spend them with you."

You lifted the sheet covering you, and Wanda quickly climbed into bed. "Ouch, my stitches," you complained.

Sorry," said Wanda,giving you a kiss on the cheek. "I'll let you pick the first movie as payback."

"What a great honor you bestow on me, Maximoff," you said teasingly.

Wanda groaned and lightly smacked you on the chest.

"Get the movie ready. I'll bring you breakfast."

"Without getting out of bed?"

"You know I can move things with my mind, right?" She said raising her hand and attracting a tray with your favorite breakfast.

"Thank you, Wands," you said, kissing her cheek and making Wanda blush slightly at the nickname.

After a few hours and two movies,you started to doze off. Wanda turned off the TV,moved the tray to the table next to the bed, and tried to get up.

"Stay," you said, your voice muffled by the pillow.

"Of course Y/N," she said, getting back into bed.

You snuggled next to her and began to doze off.

Rest, Y/N," said Wanda, giving you a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #Scarlet Witch #scarlet witch x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader