cheeseburger-tony - Tumblr blog

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

Me thinks that we're also going to get bucky x reader smut down the line

The Cheerleader • P2

18+

As it turns out, fucking your worst enemy's dad in her own home is incredibly satisfying.

Content Warning: DILF!Steve x Reader, mature themes, forbidden relationship, age gap, smut (face fucking, daddy kink, Dom!Steve, praise kink penetrative sex, creampie).

Part One

"You are out of your mind."

Davina's cynical comment elicits an eye roll from you while you touch up your lip gloss in the mirror. "It's fate, Davie. How can I ignore fate?" You ask incredulously, turning to face her. "He's here, on campus. I have to take advantage of this opportunity!"

She lets out a long sigh, shaking her head as she watches you put on your uniform. "What are you wearing that for?" She asks with a frown.

"He might only be into me because of the whole cheerleader thing," You explain simply. "I can't risk him rejecting me."

"He's visiting his daughter at college; if he doesn't reject you, he's a pervert!" Davina retorts, standing up.

"No, he is not!" You shoot back. "He's beautiful, and really good at sex. Will you just let me have this?"

"There's no way he's gonna have sex with you again," She reckons, not too sure herself. "How would that even be logistically possible?"

"I don't need to fuck him; I just wanna see him again," You admit with a smile. "Twirl my skirt a little, take up some space in his mind."

She lets out a sigh but gives up on trying to stop you, which you take as her blessing.

Jamie Rogers' building is on the other side of campus. It's a short walk over, and you spend the whole time buzzing. The second you saw her dad on her Instagram story with a caption about how he had surprised her with a visit, you knew you had to at least try to see him.

You know exactly where she lives, thankfully. Her apartment is right next to Pietro's, which you frequent. When you get there, you knock on her door a few times, before stepping back and smoothing down your skirt. Almost a month has passed since you last saw Mr. Rogers, and you're itching for your next hit.

The door opens and Jamie immediately looks disgusted. "Are you lost?" She asks you, looking you up and down with a frown. "Maximoff lives next door."

"I'm not here to see Pietro," You reveal with a friendly smile, holding up the poster in your hand. "I came to invite you to help out with a fundraiser the Falconettes are hosting."

Utterly confused, Jamie scoffs. "You came all the way here to give me a poster for an event I most definitely will not be attending, let alone helping out with?" She asks incredulously.

You take in a deep breath before pushing past her, casually strolling into the apartment. "It's for a good cause," You insist, feeling your stomach flip when you see her father leaning against the breakfast bar. "Hi, Mr. Rogers! I didn't know you were visiting."

A smile grows on his face as he sees you, looking you up and down. "Hello, Y/N. It's good to see you again," He greets you with a subtle smirk.

"Yeah, she was just leaving," Jamie interjects, snatching the poster from your hand. "Why should I care about this fundraiser?"

Giving her a warm smile, despite how much you just want to give her just as much attitude back, you reply, "We're trying to raise money for our flights to Nationals. But whatever we have left over is going to the Falcons, so I figured you'd be interested in helping out."

"That sounds great," Mr. Rogers suddenly chimes in. "Honey, you're always complaining that you guys don't have enough budget for a new uniform."

"Exactly!" You add on with a grin, holding your hand and taking Jamie's. "Everyone can win, Jamie, if we all work together."

She grimaces before pulling her hand back. "Why are you being so nice to me after last week?" She questions you with narrow eyes. "Get high off your boyfriend's supply, again?"

The mention of last week makes your eye twitch. At a party, you and Jamie had got into yet another argument, which ended with her dumping her drink on your head. Most of your motivation to fuck her dad again comes from the rage you felt that night, but you slap on a fake smile and keep up the act.

"Don't be silly, Jay! Bygones!" You exclaim with a soft laugh, gently hitting her arm. "And Pietro and I are just friends, you know that!"

Raising a brow, she lowers her voice. "Yeah, that's not what I heard the other night-"

"Anyway!" You cut her off, turning to Mr. Rogers. "Have you two got any fun plans today?"

Jamie huffs, giving up with trying to make you leave anytime soon. Mr. Rogers steps forward, folding his big arms across his chest. "We're gonna watch a play," He tells you.

"Right after I shower and get ready," Jamie mumbles, looking down at her watch.

"Oh. Right," You say, feeling a bout of mischief as you slowly back away towards the door. "Well, I'm going next door to hang with Piet."

"When?" She questions, confusing you.

"Uh, right now?" You retort with a frown.

"No, when did I ask?" She asks with an eye-roll, but you're too busy giving Mr. Rogers fuck-me eyes to notice her diss.

"Enjoy your shower, Jamie," You sing, before getting down on one knee and pretending to be tying your shoelace.

"Enjoy screwing your boyfriend, slut," She retorts quietly, to which you shoot her a wink.

"I will," You whisper while she storms out of the room.

When you hear her bedroom door slamming shut, you look up from your shoes to see Mr. Rogers walking over to you. You're about to get up, but he cups your cheek in his hand and lowers his voice. "Stay there," He orders with a mumble, making your pussy throb.

You say nothing, too awestruck by his silent dominance as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his hard cock. Your other knee lowers to the carpeted floor and your lips part instinctively.

"Miss me?" He asks you teasingly, tapping his tip on your bottom lip.

"Yeah," You whisper breathlessly, already flustered into complete submission.

"Been thinking about how good I fucked you?" He questions lowly, slowly inching his dick into your mouth. "'Bout how nobody else could ever make you cum that hard?"

Your stomach flips and you know that it's true; nobody comes close to being as good as him as pressing your every button. For the past month, you've been masturbating to the memory of him, and now that you have the chance to experience him again, you're utterly overwhelmed. Fucking Pietro is nice and all, but he doesn't hold a candle to Steven Rogers.

Without warning, he begins to fuck your face. You tightly grab his thighs in each of your hands, taken aback by his rough intrusion. "Keep your eyes on me," He growls, running a hand through your hair before pulling on the ends. "That's it. Don't act so coy, baby, we both know this is exactly what you came here for."

You let out whimpers around his cock, your heart racing as it tunnels down your throat. Incapable of a single coherent thought, you simply stare up at him, letting your jaw relax and letting him use you like a toy. You feel yourself getting wetter, every one of Steve's grunts making your cunt throb. In an attempt to feel some relief, you squeeze your legs together and slightly move your hips back and forth.

"Look at you," He mutters with an arrogant smirk, slowing down his thrusts. "Getting wet for me, baby? Need me in your pussy?"

You nod as best as you can, eager to fuck him again and also keenly aware that you don't have much time with him. Jamie could jump out the shower any minute, and the two of you know that. Without wasting a second, Steve pulls out of your mouth and grabs your arm, dragging you up to your feet. Dazed, you stumble backwards, and he follows you to push you against the wall and give you a sloppy kiss.

"Haven't stopped thinking about you," He admits lowly, squeezing your hips as his forehead rests against yours. "That perfect pussy. I'm hooked, baby."

Timidly, you wrap your fingers around his dick, gently and slowly stroking it. Steve's jaw clenches as he groans lowly, his eyes darkening.

"Fuck. Come here," He mumbles before lifting up your legs and wrapping them around his waist. You rest your arms on his shoulders and your stomach flips with excitement as he brings his cock to your entrance. "Ready?"

"Yes," You whisper, before gasping when he sinks into you. Slowly, he feeds you every inch of himself, his pulsing dick filling you up.

"Oh, fuck," He groans, throwing his head back. "Shit, you're gonna kill me."

Once you're used to his intrusion, you squeeze his shoulder and nod profusely. Steve takes that as his green light and begins pounding in and out of you, fucking you against the wall and making the shelves shake. Your voice is stolen as he fucks you, and you're unable to let anything besides weak whimpers and moans out of your mouth.

"That's it, baby, you're taking me so well," Steve praises you, thrusting harder. "That's my girl."

You light up at his words, butterflies erupting in your stomach. He can tell he's already got you in the palm of his hand, and he loves it. Suddenly, he stops his movements and begins walking you over to the couch. Jamie's couch. Steve puts you down onto your feet before bending you over the back of the couch and lifting up your skirt again.

"Such a good little slut for me," He utters, slapping his tip against your pussy a few times before pushing it back into you. You feel him much deeper in this position, and it makes your toes curl when he brushes against your cervix. He gives you no time to adjust, fucking into you hard and fast once again.

Steve takes your hands in his, pulling your arms behind you as he slams in and out of you. Your moans are loud, but you don't care. Jamie's music is blasting from the bathroom, and even if it wasn't, you grin widely at the thought of the look on her face if she were to walk in on her dad railing her worst enemy on her own couch.

"You are unreal," Steve says, making you smirk at how smitten you've made him. He slows down his thrusts and cups your face, bringing you up so your back is against his front. "Tell me, baby, who does this pussy belong to?"

Through your smile, you reply, "It belongs to you, daddy. I'm all yours."

He pulls out before turning you around to face him and cups your cheeks in his hands. With a deep kiss, he lets you know exactly how obsessed with you he is, and you're glad your feelings are mutual. During the kiss, as his tongue dances with yours, Steve picks you back up and takes you over to the breakfast counter. There, he sits you down onto a stool before lifting your legs up and placing them on his shoulders.

"All mine," He repeats with a mumble, marrying his cock back to your cunt, sliding back into you. "My good little slut."

He fucks into you deeper than ever, lightly wrapping his hand around your throat. You feel dizzy, overcome with pleasure. "Daddy," You whine as your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, baby, take it," Steve grunts, pawing at your tits through your top. "That feel good?"

"So good," You reply, digging your nails into his biceps. "Please don't stop, daddy, make me cum."

Your words spur him on to fuck you harder, and soon you feel your core tighten. With a loud cry, you let go and cum, overwhelmed with a rush of bliss and intense relief.

"That's my fuckin' girl," He groans, thrusting slower. He pounds into you a few more times before cumming, shooting his load into you with a grunt. "Shit."

Shuddering, you slowly come down from your high while Steve gently puts your panties back into place and smoothes down your skirt. Once your mind is back on the ground, and you can see clearly again, you realize you're sitting at the counter and Steve is opening up a bottle of kombucha before he slides it over to you.

"Drink up, cheerleader," He says, giving you a smile.

"Fuck," You mumble, fixing your hair. "Did we really just do that?"

Smirking, Steve rests his hands on the counter. "You wanna come watch the play with us?" He asks, watching as you take a sip.

"Absolutely not," Is your instant reply.

He knows to give up, shrugging before holding out his hand. "Give me your phone," He orders, waiting for you to fish it out of your pocket and place it in his pal. "Password?"

You tell him the number code, curiously observing as he types and swipes. After a few moments, he hands it back to you.

"You're so old," You tease him.

"Call me," He says simply, to which you snort.

With an eye roll, he sighs. "Fine, text me, or whatever the fuck," He huffs.

"I will," You chirp, putting your phone away.

"When I want to," You say with a casual shrug. "Might not be a while."

"When?" He asks.

Steve raises a brow, giving you a cold look while saying nothing. It's enough to knock all the confidence out of you and you immediately lose the attitude.

"Tonight," You correct yourself, earning a smug look from him. "When will you get home?"

"I have classes tomorrow, and don't you have work?" You wonder with a frown.

"Around 9," He answers, before a mischievous glint shines in his eyes. "Come with me."

Steve shakes his head. "Retired."

"Created a banking software in my early twenties, developed it for a decade, sold it in my early thirties, invested in a bunch of companies with the money, and here I am. No need to work for the rest of my life," He explains calmly, as though he isn't describing his journey to self-made millionairism.

Taken aback, you scoff. "You're like, not even forty! How are you retired?"

"Oh," You say simply. "Nice."

Steve leans forward, resting his arms on the counter. "So, come see my big house," He invites.

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Sounds good, but I have training tomorrow," You say with an apologetic look. "Nationals are soon, and I can't let my girls down."

"So you're gonna let your man down instead?" He asks, smoothly using the possessive pronoun like it's nothing and turning you into a giddy ball of nerves. Your man.

Thankfully, before you have to say something in response, Jamie re-enters the living space, screwing her face up when she sees you. "Why are you still here?"

Sitting up, you give her a grin. "Your father and I were just talking about finance. His journey is truly fascinating, I'm a big fan of his work," You lie through your teeth.

Unconvinced, she raises a brow. "You care about finance?" She asks incredulously. "The cheerleader majoring in Excercising Science cares about finance?"

"I have a quiet passion for math," You claim, standing up.

"Whatever," She mutters. "You can leave, now."

"Aren't you gonna invite your friend to the barbecue next weekend, J?" Steve asks, giving her an expectant look.

"She's not my friend, dad," She reminds him, frustrated.

"Don't be rude, Jamie," He says sternly, before giving you a smile. "You should come, Y/N. Jamie's Uncle Bucky works in Sport Science; I'm sure the two of you will have plenty to talk about."

Storming over to you, Jamie lowers her voice. "I'll come to your stupid fundraiser. Now, will you please get out of my life?"

The twinkle in Steve's eye is holding you captive, and you can't help but smile back at him. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," You sing, before shooting her a wink.

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifs 💞

buy me a kofi <3

4K notes · View notes

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

Bribe the Super

[firefighter!Bucky Barnes x Rogers!reader]

Words: 5.8k

Summary: You have a very hot neighbor. He happens to think the same of you.

A/N: written for @fandoms-writings 1.3k follower Summer challenge! This is quite possibly one of the most unhinged things I've ever written but I enjoyed every single second. Congrats on your followers, Remi!! You deserve the world. :)

like what I do? buy me a coffee on ko-fi. :)

“This is ridiculous, Nat,” you whisper, tugging on her elbow so she’ll scoot further behind the curtain. Not only does your friend not budge… she leans closer to the glass and groans.

“How much money do you have on you?” she asks.

“The twenty you gave me for Thai–”

“Not enough.”

“What are you–oh my god, he’s going to see you!” You both jump back and hit the rug. Natasha peers at you, pressing her cheek into the floral shag.

“We gotta bribe his super not to fix his window unit until Summer is long over,” she says, determination etched into the deep furrow of her perfect eyebrows.

“This feels dirty. We should be ashamed of ourselves!”

“Listen, bitch–it is not on us that he doesn’t have blinds! He could put on a shirt, it is his prerogative to walk around in naught but his boxer briefs in the… relative safety of his own apartment, where just anyone could casually glance across the alley and–”

“This is not casual. This is creepy! If I didn’t know you frequently got some–”

“A girl can window-shop, okay? Besides, you’re single–”

“I’ll kill you.”

“--he’s alone–”

“He’ll kill me.”

“God!” she scoffs. “He’s not a murderer.”

“You don’t know that!”

“He doesn’t have the vibe. Ten bucks says he’s a firefighter–”

“Hang on.” You narrow your eyes. “He is a firefighter. How did you know that?”

“How do you know that?” she screeches. You cup your hand over her mouth and glance up at your window, which is cracked open. There’s no way he could’ve overheard your borderline-stalkerish conversation across a fifteen foot alley, but excited shrieking is another story.

“Sometimes we’re in the bodega at the same time! That blue shirt is unmistakable. And… Rose talks his ear off, so maybe I overheard her one time ask him which station house he’s with, while I was deciding whether or not to buy family-sized Funyuns for little ole’ me.” You smile innocently as her eyes turn wild. She sits up and winds your shirt in both fists.

“I swear to god, Bee–”

“He’s so out of my league…”

“Bitch, you are perfect!”

“For someone who supposedly loves me, you call me ‘bitch’ a lot.”

“It’s a term of endearment you secretive bitch! What’s his name? I swear to god, it’s gotta be like ‘Logan’ or something.”

You pat her cheek. “I don’t know. Rose calls him ‘Sarge.’”

“Stop. Stop. I’m going to orgasm right here, right now.” Nat lets go of your shirt, but she huffs. “You have to find out.”

“No! I don’t–”

“How else will you know what to scream when that man puts his head between–”

“La la la la la!” You stand up and press your hands over your ears. “That man is a stranger!” Any attempt to get away from your best friend is thwarted when she hooks a finger through your back belt loops.

“Can’t I dream about my bestie getting absolutely railed by her neighbor?”

“If you’re having my sex dreams, that doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, you have to earn them. Starting with posting up in the bodega for intel.”

“If I linger at Rose’s counter for one minute longer than usual to get information about him, she will catch on, and I’ll have to find a new source for insomnia snacks.”

“You wouldn’t have insomnia if you were regularly sleeping with a Sargent.”

“How did we go from ogling him out my window to me sleeping with him. Answer me that.”

“Since I know what’s best for you. That–” Natasha points out the window– “is the very best that Brooklyn has to offer. He’s so shiny I think I’m developing a sweat kink.”

“That is disgusting. Your obsession with smut books is killing your brain cells.”

“Don’t you knock my stories. Steven never complains.”

“Eww, that’s my brother, madam. Do not remind me that I share blood with the person on whom you work out your fantasies.”

“What if you take up smoking?”

“Do you know how much cigarettes cost these days?”

“I just gave you a twenty! Buy filtered menthols and stand outside the store until he comes in.”

“Ew. That’s like smoking toothpaste–”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Leaving the Sargent alone, and buying better curtains.”

“Or walk around your own apartment naked–”

“Are you keeping track of the time?”

“I am perfectly capable–oh fuck!” She scrambles for her sneakers, jamming both feet in without bothering to pull the heels up. “Do not text me again until you know his name! I mean it, I don’t want to speak to you until I have confirmation that you’ve either spoken to him, or made Rose do it for you!”

“Been nice knowing you!” you call after her.

She flips you off and then slams the door, racing down the steps to meet her boyfriend (and your dumb older brother) for a dinner which will most certainly have her breaking her own communication moratorium. She’ll love the ring. Almost as much as the rooftop dinner by candle light, and the private tasting menu, and Steve’s perfectly rehearsed speech. He’s been sending you panicked texts all day under the name ‘Karen’ so that Nat wouldn’t catch on if she happened to see your phone while you kept her busy.

Busy, she most certainly has been.

It’s not like this was the first time you’d noticed that the man across the alley just… seemed to be allergic to clothing, but you had never allowed yourself to linger on the thought, before. In fact, the first time you realized that you were seeing glimpses of skin which defied decency, you had smacked your face against the window, and kept your curtains closed for four days after. It was a secondhand embarrassment problem. You thought he should be embarrassed to be caught sans pants, so you were mortified on his behalf. Especially because he was, in fact, beautiful. And it wasn’t the nudity (although that was certainly a special feature).

The first time you saw him, you exploded a can of Arizona iced tea as it slipped from your fingers in disbelief. You had ventured into the tiny corner shop with a rose on the door, hours after getting the keys to your new place. Upon being greeted by ‘Tia Reina Rosario’ (so named by a man nursing a Four-Loko and a fist full of Slim-Jims on the sidewalk outside), and finding your way to the coolers, the bell on the door tinkled… and he entered. You wouldn’t have even turned around, except that Rose cackled in a chest-warming way, and curiosity got the best of you. “Oh, Sarge–you are too much!”

It was the crinkles around his eyes and the full-toothed grin which turned the aluminum slippery in your grip. It was early Spring, then, and he wore a light jacket with ‘FDNY’ printed across the left breast. He carded one hand through brown hair as Rose squeezed his ample bicep in amusement at whatever he said, and raspberry green tea soaked into the soles of your ballet flats. And you could’ve slipped in the carnage, and fallen straight on your ass just then, and it would not have mattered. He made it seem like the only person in that place (indeed the only person in Brooklyn) was Rose. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was beaming, and there was something so incredible about a man who could make a woman feel like the center of her own universe. He was beautiful, and he spoke softly, and you let yourself orbit on the outskirts of the interaction because that softness drew you.

Softness which gains new facets every time you find yourself in the little bodega when he deigns to visit. When Spring turned to a boggy Summer, Sarge seemed like a season of his own (which only made its gifts known on the other side of the register from a woman old enough to be his mother), and he brought Rose little trinkets. A photograph of the firefighters from his station, which she made him sign. A patch declaring her an ‘honorary fire chief’ which was obviously a children’s perk for firehouse visits. One time, he came bearing a flowerpot containing a nearly extinct fern, begging Rose’s advice. He comes for the conversation, and the familiarity. He is just… soft. Sweet.

You can’t remember ever actually seeing him purchase anything. You now have the image of his muscular thighs burned behind your retinas, say nothing of the shivering thrill behind your belly-button, which sinks lower and burns hotter the longer you repaint the image in your mind.

***

You don’t go to Rose’s because you still haven’t heard from Natasha after four hours, and you’ve begun to panic that Steve chickened out on proposing after all the preparations he has put you through, and you certainly don’t go because you are debating taking up the least cancerous drugs possible in order to stretch out how much time you spend at Rose’s. You go because it’s 105 degrees in the shade, and there’s no relief to be found (even in your own apartment with a fairly new unit).

It’s the kind of heat which makes public nudity seem enticing, in theory. You choose to wear a bathing suit, just in case somebody has cracked open a fire hydrant again, and a pair of overalls with the legs rolled up. And even though you know the pavement will obliterate them, cheap flip flops.

People drape themselves over their stoops like Dali’s clocks, with fans made from anything stiff enough to wave. The shaved ice vendor drains his cart down the sewer grate, sold out of a product untenable under such intense sunshine. Kids skip in slow-motion. Even the pigeons seem reluctant to land.

But the door tinkles as you enter Rose’s, and Summer is suspended. She wiggles her fingers at you, and nods towards the coolers as if she’s inviting you to climb inside them. She winks. It feels cheekier than usual, but maybe the heat has gotten to her too as it radiates off her customers. Your fingers graze over crinkly packaging and grab a few sugar-bombs, and the iced-over doors beckon you to the ends of the aisles.

Approximately half-way down the wall of doors stands a man only slightly more clothed than the last time you saw him, with a can of shitty beer tucked under his chin, against his jugular. He doesn’t see you nearly collapse against an end cap full of souvenir shot glasses with a variety of misspelled unpopular first names printed on them, nor does he see you turn around and make direct eye contact with Rose–CAUGHT in your very own nightmare, with no way out which wouldn’t draw his immediate attention. She waggles her eyebrows. You drag your finger across your neck as subtly as you can. She points at him. She waves her hand in front of her face and ‘swoons’. She mouths ‘go!!’ and you wonder for a second if Natasha could have possibly clued Rose in on the window-gazing from earlier…

You step on each tile, deliberate to avoid the grout as if that would give you any advantage over your nerves. It doesn’t even matter what’s in the door directly beside the sculpture of a man nursing a beer can like it’s the last piece of ice in Death Valley–you open it, stick your face in, and let out the most involuntary sound. It’s not a moan, but it could’ve been if your vocal chords weren’t strung up tight from stress. Still. Your neighbor by door and by alley leans back and glances at you.

“It wasn’t this hot when I was a kid,” he breathes, rolling the can over his shoulder until it’s at the back of his neck. You blink at him. His skin has a faint sheen from the beer’s condensation. It makes your tongue itch. Fuck Nat and her sweat kink, you think. He raises his eyebrows.

“Does that actually help?” you ask, gesturing to the can. He nods.

“It’s something they teach you in EMT training. Ice over places where your veins are close to the surface cools the body quickly.”

“Oh,” you breathe. “That’s brilliant.”

“Mhm. Inner wrists, your neck, bottoms of your feet. Armpits, if you can stand it,” he chuckles. “Inner thigh–but the thought of touching a cold can… god, I can’t even finish that thought without cringing.”

He’s smiling at you. His blue eyes are electric in the neon glow of the ancient beer logos, and your brain has detached from the stem because you’re thinking about his fingers holding a can of Rolling Rock against your inner thigh.

“I’m sorry–was that weird?”

He’s blushing. Like… full face flushed, as if he is mortified. Then, he’s toeing the tile and his hair is flopping forward. The Sargent is looking at the ground pitifully, like he’s done something to personally offend it. You’re reaching out before you can stop yourself.

His forearm is so chilly against your fingers that you snatch your hand back…

It’s metal. He’s bashful as you pat the arm which you accidentally recoiled from, both to reassure him and to make sure your senses were correct. Then, several thoughts zing through you at once:

This man has a prosthetic arm. Neat. Gunmetal gray and gold, even–a little audacious for a man blushing in a bodega, but interesting. Somehow, in the course of his body being displayed through the window, you hadn’t noticed. One of those ‘if you’re not looking for it, it isn’t there things’ probably. It’s as jacked as his natural arm, you note, with purely scientific interest.

The arm is cold.

The thigh thing. With the… the can, and the–and the cold, and his fingers. On said thigh. ‘Cooling’ you. Right. Because this is a conversation about cooling down, and not about a living sex fantasy about a man whose name you don’t know.

Your name crosses your lips. You hold out your right hand. Slightly warmer flesh fingers wrap around yours.

“Bucky,” he says softly.

“It wasn’t weird, Bucky,” you reply, because it wasn’t. It was quite possibly the sexiest unintentional come-on you’d ever been subjected to.

He chuckles again, one corner of his mouth turning up and revealing a dimple. “I swear I interact with other human beings on a regular basis. I think the heat has gone to my head.”

“I don’t know. Looks fine to me.” The scream which curdles at the back of your throat is quelled only by the eyebrow which raises on that perfect, beautiful, not sweaty (but certainly very hot) face. The audacity of your tongue given no parameters for operation…

“I’ve seen you here before.” Bucky releases your hand, and you turn towards the cooler to break the intent gaze.

“I live a few blocks away,” you offer the case full of frozen pizzas and burritos, growing tepid by the heat from your bravery in the open doorway. “There’s actually a 7-11 on my block but–”

“Rose,” you say at the same time. He scratches his cheek.

“Worth the walk.”

“Even when it’s above a hundred,” he confirms. “She went to grade school with my ma. I’d be disowned if I took my business anywhere else. Besides, it’s about halfway between work and home–sorry, I am rambling, are you talking about the 7-11 next to the loan place? I live right there, too. I don’t like going in there unless I’m hungover and craving a hot dog, and too messed up to get my butt to Fulton.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear… he’s flustered. He’s not a cusser, which is adorable in a Wonder Bread sorta way. And the longer he stands there, side-by-side with a woman who once drenched herself at the sight of him (even if it was baptism by iced tea), the less composed he seems. It’s harder to forget that you know what color his underwear is, currently.

“Show me?” you ask in your brave haze, pointing to his door, and the bevy of beers on offer.

It’s Bucky’s turn to blink blankly. So. With no brains to speak of, you nudge him out of the way and lean into the gallery of beverages to pick your weapon. All the brand names bleed together, so you choose a black and gold can with a jaguar on it. Then, you turn until the coolness slides icy steam fog up the back of your legs. And you hand him the beer of choice.

To his credit, he takes the beer and cradles your wrist, but he looks at you from under long eyelashes like he’s making sure he understands what you’re asking for.

“You’re a firefighter, right?” you murmur.

That seems to be all it takes for him to lay the full length of cool aluminum over your inner wrist. He nods, and his eyes stay fixed to your skin where a host of goosebumps rise to meet him. Not the cold–you greeted her without any pomp or circumstance–but him. His fingers are long, with calluses on his palms. You note that his fingernails are tidy, trimmed. He’s very tidy for someone with his own heat index.

“What do you do?” he asks, rolling the can from side to side so your veins rise to the surface.

“If you asked my boss, she’d say I ‘charm the money right out of the wallets of even the stingiest investment bankers,’” you laugh. “And if you asked my mother, I ‘enable the dregs of society.’ Bartender.”

“Hence why you keep such weird hours,” he says, but then his flush returns because he realizes he’s revealed more than just seeing you here before. “I mean. I saw you here after midnight one time, I think.”

“Keeping your eye on me?” you ask, as if you hadn’t spent your afternoon staring at his body with your best friend and future sister-in-law.

“Hard not to.”

When he looks at you again, finally, he’s worked the can up to your inner elbow, which means he’s standing closer, and you can see now that there’s a faint gold ring surrounding his corneas. You let yourself bask in the knowledge that he’s made note of you before now, that some part of him has been taking down little observations. What about you drew him? You wonder, as doubt crowds in, what he might find so interesting. But… does it matter? He’s still standing there sneaker-to-flip flop, ‘helping you’ cool down willingly. That thing about him being soft… he’s a marshmallow. With spectacular abs, your libido reminds you.

From the front pocket of your overalls, Bonnie Tyler screams what your lips won’t say out loud: “I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night–”

“Shit! I’m expecting this. Sorry…” You yank your phone out for the only person you’d willingly allow to pull you away from this, and Bucky relinquishes your hand with a gentle smile. “It helped,” you reassure him. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He steps to the side so you can bypass him and take your call, but you note that he keeps the can which was recently pressed against your skin, and puts his original can away. He holds up a hand as you raise your phone to your ear. You smile, and dart down the aisle.

“Hey, Nat–”

“Took you long enough!”

You give Rose a look which you hope says I love you, you benevolent and beautiful angel from above, and she gives you an a-ok as she points to the monitor behind her counter, which has a startlingly perfect view of the beer aisle. Bucky is still standing there, frozen. You slap a five dollar bill on the counter–for him, you mouth–and blow Rose a kiss.

You skip down the sidewalk as Natasha tells you in excruciating detail about how your brother finally proposed to her. Most of the conversation doesn’t land between your ears, but it lasts the entire walk back home. You note that the light is perfectly gold, that the air is still sticky but your body doesn’t really seem to register whether or not it’s hot out anymore. The skin at your wrist is a little red from the helpful care you’d received, but it isn’t until you’re sitting on the fire escape that you take in anything Natasha is saying. The street lights flicker on as the sun finally drops into New Jersey.

“...so he trips, and–”

“Nat.”

“--the waiter gives him this look–”

“I know his name!”

“...You do??” she screeches so loud you hold the phone away from your face. “You let me go on for twenty minutes–”

“You’re excited! I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Tell me everything.”

“It’s… Bucky,” you say reverently. She gasps.

“Of course it is. God. Are you calling me from his place right now? Wait–if you are, you gotta hang a sheet over the window before you do anything.”

You laugh. “He’s very sweet, we wound up at Rose’s at the same time. Apparently… he’s ‘seen me there before.’”

“Not when you wet yourself, I hope.”

“Why do you have to say it like that?”

“I mean, that is what happened.”

“He didn’t mention it.”

“We’re in an Uber to Howler’s right now. Come and relive it for me?? And celebrate with us–what, Steven? No, I don’t tell your sister when I shit, thank you very much. Unless it’s abnormal. Please, babe?”

“You’re gonna make me go to work on my day off?” you groan.

“And have shitty drinks because you’re not behind the bar. Come, come, come, come–”

“Fine, but you’re buying me a drink.”

“Your night is on my fiancé.”

“Am I gonna be third-wheeling this, or what?” You duck under the window sash and climb back inside.

“No, there’s a small group coming. Guys Steve knew in the Army, Wanda… Carol, maybe, if she gets off in time to meet us.”

“Tolerable. I’ll meet you there.”

“Bitch, I love you so much. I’m proud of you for chatting up the firefighter.”

“You know what? I’m proud of me, too.”

“Attagirl.”

***

Nat had texted twice to demand why you hadn’t yet arrived, and the truth is that you lingered in your living room with the lights off, waiting to see if Bucky had arrived home himself after your interaction. A light in his entryway had turned on, but you’d only had a glimpse of sneakers.

The bar is understandably packed by nine pm, but you’re used to shouldering through sweaty bodies to adios beer bottles or deliver margaritas, so it’s nothing to you. When you find Natasha, it’s because she’s leaning over the bar to talk to Sam, your brother’s best friend and the man who put in a good word so his own sibling would hire you. Sarah takes your place behind the bar on your days off, so she waves when you make eye contact, just before tossing a few cherries at the bottom of a glass. She nods towards Nat and rolls her eyes, but she winks. You grin.

“My main bitch is heeeerreeee!” Natasha shoves a man off the stool beside her. He gives her a dirty look and stumbles away. The moment you’re seated, her hands wind around your shoulders. “I’m so glad you came.”

“You would’ve bullied me into it, anyway.”

“You’re damn right. Whatcha drinking?” She turns towards Sam, who appears to be putting together a large order for Natasha. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Sam knows,” you say. He chuckles and reaches below the bar, where Sarah keeps the good stuff. The expensive stuff. If your brother is really buying, you’re gonna have something which was aged in the Scottish countryside and old enough to be your parent. Sam pours you two fingers of whiskey, with one ice cube, and sets the tumblr on the tray.

“God, you’re such an old man,” Nat scoffs, but she giggles. “Come on, we’re in the back!” She attempts to grab the tray but you hold firm to it.

“Which one of us is used to carrying drinks on a busy night?”

She acquiesces. You hold the heavily-laden tray up, winding through the crowd towards the back room, which is really just Sarah’s office with the desk pushed back against the wall and folding chairs pulled out of the storage closet. Steve stands the moment you cross the threshold and removes the drinks from your grasp, and he’s not the only person present. Wanda waves from the corner, where she’s sitting on the lap of her husband Vis. Dugan and Morita lean against the wall, both propped up on only two of their four chair legs. They greet you cheerfully with ‘Hey! Little Rogers!’ It’s a happy little party.

Steve sets the drinks on the desk, and then engulfs you in a tipsy hug.

“It must’ve gone well,” you whisper. Your brother chuckles.

“She loved the balloons.”

“I told you. She likes floaty things.”

“She said that immediately,” Steve says happily. “I’m gonna get married, bug.”

“You are.” You pat him on the back.

“Okay, please let her go, I need to steal her for five minutes to an hour.” Natasha pushes on his shoulder, and attempts to yank you away. But she stops– “Oh. Holy shit.”

“What?” You turn your head and you immediately understand from what depths that Holy Shit originated. Because… holy shit.

“Buck!” Steve bounds over to the office door, where a gobsmacked firefighter stands. Staring at you. He has dog tags hanging around his neck, and he’s changed into a light t-shirt and jeans, but he’s still got that pink in his cheeks. The corner of his mouth turns up as Steve clasps his hand.

“Hey–you ever met my sister?” Steve tosses his thumb over his shoulder in your direction. You hold up your hand.

“Sister,” Bucky repeats. “I… yes. I’ve met her.”

“Oh, great! No intro needed, then. Um. This–” he holds out his hand for Natasha, which she readily takes with the most delighted look on her face– “is my fiancée, Natasha. Nat, he was in the 107th with me and Sam.”

You can’t stop it when it happens. You see it coming ten miles away, but she’s like The Flash–Nat holds out her hand, takes Bucky’s, and says:

“Oh! You’re the hot neighbor. Bucky lives across the alley from her.”

Bucky’s eyes slide over Nat’s shoulder to meet yours. You do what any reasonable woman would, when facing down humiliation in front of the hottest man, nay human being, you’ve ever seen. You reach for your scotch and take a calm sip, never breaking eye contact. If you look away, you’d be admitting that you are ashamed of yourself. You are, but a lady needn’t admit it.

Bucky shakes his head subtly and his mouth twists like he’s trying not to laugh. “That would be me,” he says finally.

“You don’t have curtains,” Natasha says. Bucky glances at her.

“No, I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Natasha pats his arm approvingly. “Don’t bother.”

“...okay. Anyway,” Steve says, missing the point by miles. “Glad you made it, man! What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey.” He might as well have said your sister, the way he’s watching you, piecing together every single part of what he knows about you.

“One of these days I’m gonna convince you to just have a nice cold beer,” Steve chuckles.

Bucky pulls his gaze away from you and folds his arms. “Sorry, pal. Only pretty girls get that honor. I’ll have what she’s having.” He gestures in your direction.

“I’m regretting that it’s my card controlling the tab,” Steve sighs, but he pats his friend on the shoulder. “My sister has expensive taste.”

“I’ll get it.” The moment the words leave your lips, Natasha looks up at you like you’re made of starlight. The least unsubtle future bride, and your best friend, and god love her… not one ounce of coolness watching whatever this is unfold. Still, she pats your ass.

You brush past Bucky, but he follows closely. He says nothing, and he stands beside you at the bar with his arm touching yours as you wait for Sam or Sarah to attend to you. You watch his fingers drum on the bar. You slide your tumbler towards them.

“It’s old as fuck,” you explain. “I don’t know if you’re into a 50-year.”

“You look good for half a century,” he says, raising the glass to his lips. You watch the plush of his lips touch the rim and the caramel-colored liquid slide home.

Bravery swells. “So, you’re… into me.”

“You’ve watched me through my window,” he counters, after letting the scotch settle over his tongue.

“We’re both creepy.”

He laughs in surprise and whatever embarrassment was keeping him from relaxing seems to burn away. He turns his body towards you and leans his left arm on the bar. You sit on the stool, and now when you look up at him, you realize that he’s taking in your change of wardrobe, too.

“Kinda miss the overalls,” he murmurs. “While we’re admitting things. And thanks. For the beer.”

“I’m pretty, huh?”

“You’re perfect, doll.”

It comes out like he thinks those very words every single time he looks at you, like they’re his mantra. You’re perfect. You’re perfect. You’re perfect. Like a heartbeat. Like it’s the truest statement ever made, irrefutable by science and reason. It steals your breath. So you don’t say anything at all, and let it hang between you. He puts one foot up on your stool. Sam spies you seated at the bar, and his face lights up when he realizes who is beside you.

“Oh my god.” Sam shares some kind of secret handshake with Bucky and braces his elbows on the bartop. “You never come out. Remind me to tell Steve to get engaged more often.”

“I’m enjoying myself,” Bucky says with a chuckle.

“Sorry to say that our star-tender is off-duty tonight, but yet… here she sits. What a nerd.”

Bucky looks at you with his eyebrows raised. “This is the joint, huh?”

“Yep,” you sigh. “This is my domain.”

“You two acquainted?” Sam asks.

“She stalks me–”

“Ignore my neighbor,” you say, nudging Bucky with your elbow. “He’s gonna have one of these. And I’ll have another.” You swipe your glass away from the man at your side and down the last few sips in one go.

Sam pours twin glasses of the good stuff. You clink your glass against Bucky’s and you hold eye contact as you both take a sip. Sam clears his throat. You both ignore him. He laughs and takes away your empty glass.

The air kicks on overhead and you shiver as the chilly air blasts down on your bare shoulders. “Christ. Glad the AC works here, but at what cost?”

“Normally, I hate the Summer,” Bucky says softly. “But. I’m coming around.” He touches your shoulder and rubs it slowly, with the intention of soothing away your new goosebumps.

“A firefighter and you hate heat?”

“I hate sweating.”

“Hence the… nudity in your own home.”

“Yeah.” He moves to drop his hand but you catch his fingers at his knee.

“Sorry. It really is creepy of me–us,” you say.

“No, uh…” he coughs. “I didn’t realize it was that easy to see into my living room. So. What were you supposed to do, not look out your window?”

“Obviously not.”

He smiles at your fingers where you’re tracing the lines on his palm. “Hmm. I’m–at Rose’s… you remember.”

How could you possibly forget? “Yeah.”

“Was that…”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re very smooth.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I’m very rusty. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Call it the heat of the moment.”

“Or ice.”

“No, Bucky, that was hot.” You lace your fingers into his.

“Your pulse was making the can jump in my hand.”

You stare at him. Your inner controls snap. “We have to go, now.”

“...we do?”

“Yeah. We do. Drink that. Right now.” You down your scotch and it burns its way down your throat. He obeys. You yank your phone out of your back pocket and pull him through the crowd. Blame the scotch or the heat, but you’re determined.

I’m kidnapping the Sargent, you text Natasha. Your phone dings but you don’t look at it. You’re busy. Those fingers which clutch yours hold on tight to stay with you, and remain so as you flag down a cab.

The whole ride, you cradle his hand over your thigh. He watches you. Every few blocks you look up at him. Each time, his eyes are soft but intently focused on studying yours. At a stoplight, his nose grazes your temple. On a turn, you lean into his torso… and stay there. He switches which hand you have captive so he can put his arm around your shoulders, and the cab is sweltering, but you can’t bring yourself to mind the way you and Bucky seem to melt together.

Then, you’re standing on the sidewalk between your buildings as Bucky pays the cab fare on his phone. You step up onto your stoop and you’re stopped by a fist in the back of your shirt.

“Wait–this can’t be it, doll.” His voice is low and desperate. Poor man thinks you yanked him out of the bar just to send him home alone.

“I have curtains, and a working air conditioner,” you say softly. “And I want you to come up.” You reach behind you to take his wrist. He turns you around. You’re barely a few inches taller than him, even a whole step higher than him, but he looks up at you like you’re the moon.

“Doll…”

“Kiss me.”

“I want to. I do. I’m just–you don’t even know me.”

“Rose does. Steve does. And I have several hours of proof that being in your presence makes me spontaneously combust,” you say, which makes him blush and grin. “Come up. I’ll get to know you over pancakes. In the morning.”

“I’ll walk to Rose’s for coffee, too.”

“I’m sure you will.”

He steps up, caging you against the railing and reminding you just how much taller he is than you. When his lips touch yours, you gasp.

Several hours and a long shared shower later, you shiver under your comforter as your unit kicks on for the fourth time that evening. Warm arms tug you close, and he pillows his head over your heart.

“Warm enough?” he whispers, half-asleep. You card your fingers through his hair.

“I’m sending your landlord a thank-you card,” you reply.

He shakes with laughter, and you earn a kiss to the collarbone. “Sleep, pretty girl.”

“I love Summer,” you say, causing a lock of his hair to flutter against your lips. He says nothing else in reply, but you’re positive that he agrees.

***

Thanks for reading! :)

my masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

Bucky taglist: @peterhollandkait @nahthanks @honeywithemoney

821 notes · View notes

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

Actually obsessed with this fic.... re-read this last night instead of studying for midterms

The Hills Masterlist (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

summary: Unable to watch JJ look at someone else the way you wish he’d look at you, you start to distance yourself from the Pogues. In an effort to numb the pain, you make a drunken mistake, but nothing is coincidental, and you learn better than anyone that Rafe Cameron always gets what he wants.

➥ Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, violence, physical/verbal abuse, public sex, toxic relationship, underage drinking, drug use, non canon ages, one-sided JJ x reader, pogue!reader

Keep reading

3K notes · View notes

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

A Deal Is a Deal Masterlist

A Deal Is a Deal - (INCOMPLETE)

My work contains dark themes / inappropriate content. remember that you choose the media that you consume & what you expose yourself to, not me. 18+ blog.

Summary: When JJ puts the pogues in danger, the reader is forced to strike a deal with none other than Rafe Cameron, knowing that he is the only one that can protect her in this situation. What he wants in return is simple — her.

Part 1

1K notes · View notes

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

Pieces of the Night Masterlist

Summary: It’s your last year of college and you’re just trying to make it though. But what happens when Rafe Cameron sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk.

Notes: this series will be dark but so so juicy! find me on ao3: TheFates I have it posted on there as well but that is the ONLY place where it'll be too.

1: Moon Dance

2: Starry Eyed

3: Morning Dew, Sunrays, & A Bad Moon Rising

4: Mars is Bright Tonight

932 notes · View notes

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

two thousand, five hundred and sixty-nine • part three

18+

the morning after the night before, you can't decide on whether it's best to pretend like last night didn't happen, or to confront the truth - but some things are so obvious, they don't even need to be said.

content warning: frat!bucky x best friend!reader, fluff, slight angst, frat!steve is cute, reader almost faints, mention of vomiting, soft!bucky, best friends to lovers, the idiots in love finally stop being idiots, kissing.

part one | part two

Bucky wakes up in an empty bed. When he realizes you aren't in his arms, where you should be, he immediately gets up. He can hear some chatter and laughter from downstairs, so he washes up before getting dressed and heading down.

Entering the kitchen, Bucky sees you surrounded by his frat brothers who are laughing at something you're showing them on your phone. The thought that this looks like a scene straight out of a porno crosses his mind, but Bucky shakes the crass idea away. Damn, I need to stop watching porn.

"Here's the man himself," Steve says with a grin, patting your shoulder.

Bucky raises a brow in question as he walks over, pulling Thor away so he can sit at the counter next to you. "What's going on here?"

"Y/N's showing us pictures of you as a kid," Sam tells him with a proud smirk.

"You are not," Bucky grumbles, narrowing his eyes at you.

With a sweet smile, you link your arm in his. "Good morning, moonlight. Sleep well?"

"What are you showing them, punk?" He asks with a glare, looking down at your phone.

"You look so cute!" You gush with a pout. "I miss when you still had a high-pitched voice. Remember we'd sing that Whitney Houston song and you could hit every note?"

"Absolutely no idea what you're talking about; you must have the wrong guy," He says flippantly, turning your phone off.

"Aw, come on, man," Sam whines. "We were having fun!"

"Play time's over," Bucky tells him curtly, before looking back down at you. "You eaten anything, yet?"

"Nope," You answer him while the others start their own conversation.

"How about I take you out for some breakfast, hmm?" He suggests, patting your thigh. "Pancakes?"

It seems as though he either doesn't remember what happened last night, or he's electing to pretend it didn't happen - or he's planning on talking about it during breakfast. Either way, the sensation of his boner is etched onto your hand and there's no way you'll be able to get through the day as if nothing happened. You almost fucked Bucky, and things have never gotten that heated between you before.

"Uh, yeah, sounds good," You agree with a smile. "Just let me sort out my hair; it's a complete mess."

He looks at your curly locks and grins. "You look cute, sunny."

"Shut it," You mutter with an eye roll, smiling nonetheless. Just before you can ask him if you can use his shower, one of the freshmen bursts into the kitchen.

"Yo, Barnes," He calls out. "Your girlfriend's here. She's asking for you."

Girlfriend?

"What?" Bucky asks him with narrow eyes. "Who?"

"The one with the dimple piercings," The freshman explains. "The hot one."

Bucky grumbles under his breath before excusing himself and leaving the kitchen. You sit there, dumbfounded, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

"You don't have to worry about Elexis," Steve assures you while patting your shoulder. "She's not actually his girlfriend. They just... you know."

"Yeah, I get it," You say, feeling sick to your stomach.

"She's probably just here to... you know, say hi," Steve offers, wincing at his own failure to comfort you.

"Yeah, probably," You mutter, twiddling your thumbs. Deciding that you can't sit here stewing in your thoughts, you look up to Steve. "Is it okay if I shower in your room?"

"Of course, be my guest," He replies instantly. "Come on up and I'll show you how to use it."

He leads you past the front door, where Bucky and Elexis are mid-convo. Part of you wants to eavesdrop, but you shut out their voices in case what you hear hurts. Why would it hurt? You've met plenty of Bucky's flings before. Why would this one be any different?

"And, voila," Steve announces, pulling back the shower curtain. After showing you how to control the heat and power, he claps his hands together. "Uh, this is usually the part where I'd leave you, but my bedroom door doesn't have a lock and I don't want any of the guys walking in, so is it alright if I just-"

"You can hang out in your room," You tell him with a smile. "I trust you."

"Muy bien, senorita," He says with a grin, backing out of the en suite. "I'll be right outside if you need me!"

The en suite doesn't have a lock, either, but you do trust Steve and you feel comfortable using his shower while he scrolls through his phone on his bed. The shower is probably a little too warm, but you think nothing of it when the room fills with steam - until you begin to feel lightheaded. Your hangover isn't helping much, and you suddenly feel incredibly dizzy, and weaker than ever.

Stumbling out of the shower, you grab a towel and do your best to get to the door. "Steee," You moan, pulling on the handle. "Steve, I'm gonna pa- oh, God, I'm gonna pass out."

He rushes to the door when he hears you, pulling it open with wide eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Gonna pass out," You slur, your eyes half-shut as your head drops down.

Steve quickly wraps the towel around your body and carries you over to his bed, on which he lays you down. He cracks open the window to let in some fresh air and grabs a water bottle, but you can't sit up to drink it.

You feel so weak you can barely talk, mumbling out to him, "Gonna pass out, Steve."

"You're okay, Y/N, just keep breathing for me," He says firmly, rubbing your forehead.

The sound of the door opening is distant, but you still hear it. After some booming footsteps, you hear Bucky's voice. "The fuck is going on here?"

"She was in the shower and she almost fainted," Steve explains to him. "I don't know wh-

"Sunny, you okay, baby?" Bucky asks you, his voice sounding like it's a thousand miles away.

Your vision blurs and you suddenly feel incredibly ill - and then, as though you're not in control, your upper body lurches up and you vomit onto Steve's bedroom floor.

Almost immediately, you feel much better.

"Oh, God," You whine, falling back onto the pillow. "I'm so sorry, Steve, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay, Y/N, don't worry about it," He assures you with a smile. "Not like it's carpet. Plus, this floor has already seen it's fair share of vomit. Nothing it can't handle."

"Sun, you okay?" Bucky asks you, sitting down next to you and cupping your cheeks.

"I feel fine, now," You insist, patting his chest. "Remind me to never, ever drink that much again."

The boys chuckle, shaking their heads disapprovingly. "You're in a frat house, baby; don't sound so pathetic," Bucky teases you. "What did you have, like three shots?'

"You made me drink whiskey at the bar!" You whine, pushing him away. "This is all your fault."

"I'm sorry," He coos, rubbing your hip over the damp towel. "I'll make it up to you with some breakfast, yeah?"

Steve begins to clean up the vomit, the tools being right on standby as if he's been preparing for this very moment. You feel bad, but also don't feel like offering to clean it up yourself. Looking back to Bucky, you break out into a wide smile, making him frown.

"What are you all giggly about, huh?" He asks you with an accusatory tone.

"You look just like the picture," You begin. "The Willy Wonka play in ninth grade."

He snorts at the memory, shaking his head. "I cannot believe I let you talk me into doing that."

"Mr. Wonka," You sing teasingly, poking his cheek. "Gimme some chocolate."

"Tell you what," He says, standing up. "How about we let poor Steve have his room back, and we go get you some breakfast?"

"Oh, that's fine," Steve interjects politely while trying to wipe up the last remnants of vomit. "You can lay in my bed as long as you need, honey."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Bucky grumbles with an eye roll before looking back down at you. "Come on, sunshine, up. Breakfast time."

"But I need to finish my shower," You whine, sitting up. "I was in there for, like, five minutes."

"What if you pass out again?" He asks with concern.

"I didn't pass out; I just felt like I was going to," You correct him.

"Still; I don't feel comfortable leaving you in there alone," Bucky argues, helping you up to your feet. "I'll sit in the bathroom with you."

You snort at his words, while Steve raises a brow. "Absolutely not, moony!" You argue. "It's a shower; I'll be naked!"

"What do you take me for?" He asks with offence. "I'm not gonna perv on you, sunshine, it's me. I just don't want you collapsing and splitting your head open on the bathtub."

After arguing some more, you decide to give in and let him chaperone your shower.

He sits sideways on the toilet, facing away from you while reading through the ingredients of Steve's skincare products. Luckily, he uses a lot, which keep Bucky entertained. You watch him with a grin, baffled by the whole situation. Rinsing the soap off your body, you can't help but laugh.

"What is it, huh?" Bucky asks quietly, his eyes on a bottle of witch-hazel toner.

"Nothing," You answer cheekily, before bursting into laughter.

"What?" He presses, looking up at the wall. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No!" You promise, climbing out of the tub and grabbing your towel. "Just the situation."

He chuckles to himself before returning to the toner, waiting for you to dry and clothe yourself.

"Okay, you can look now, moonlight," You announce once the towel is wrapped around your body.

Standing up, Bucky finally looks at you, his eyes slightly widening. "Oh. Nice towel."

"I'll let Steve know you think so," You chirp before smirking at him. "Want me to take it off?"

He snorts before his face drops as you walk closer to him. "At least let me take you on a date, first," He mutters teasingly.

"You've taken me on plenty of dates, Bucky," You say lowly, looking him up and down. The warm bathroom combined with the dangerous look in his eyes is making you spiral.

"That doesn't count," He claims.

"What if my towel accidentally falls off?" You ask innocently.

He swallows thickly at your question. "I'd... pick it back up and put it back on you. Without looking."

"Really?" You wonder. "Not even a glance?"

Smirking, Bucky nods. "I'm not that type of boy, sunshine."

"Prove it," You demand bluntly.

"How?" He asks, frowning.

Without a word, you pull your towel off and drop it onto the floor. Immediately, he clenches his jaw, straining to keep his eyes on yours. Do not look down, Buck. Don't fucking look down.

He silently lowers to the ground, still keeping his stare on your face as he picks up the towel. A shaky breath leaves his mouth as he stands back up, impressively never looking at your body once. He then wraps it back around you and folds the end over your breast, making you shiver.

"Well done," You congratulate him. "Very impressive, James."

Moving closer to you, he cups your face in his hand, stroking your cheek. "Breakfast date. Twenty minutes."

"Oh, really?" You question with a raised brow, trying to hide your excitement.

"Yes," Bucky confirms. "Don't make me wait too long."

"Alright," You grin, watching as he makes his way to the door.

"Oh, and sunny?" He adds, turning back to you.

"Yes?" You respond expectantly.

A smug smirk grows on his lips. "Nice tits."

"James Buchanan Barnes!"

"This is so weird," You mumble while watching Bucky take a huge bite of his pancakes.

He shrugs while chewing, shooting you a frown once he swallows. "What's weird about it, sunshine?"

"We're on a date," You state, leaning forward. "Us. You and I. Bucky and Y/N."

"Sunshine and moonlight," He says with a grin. "United at last."

You roll your eyes. "You're such a cheeseball."

"Eat your food," He orders you, his tone growing stern. "It's getting cold."

Glancing down at the French toast, you can't help but voice what's been nagging at you. "Who was that girl earlier?" You ask him curiously, trying your best to sound casual. "Dimple piercings?"

"Elexis; she was dropping off my charger," He clarifies, before smirking. "Are you jealous? Is this how it's gonna be, now that we're dating?"

Dating. You squeeze your eyes shut and hide your face in your palms. "This is so weird."

Bucky stands up and moves to sit on your side of the booth, wrapping his arm around you. His free hand goes down to stroke your thigh gently, making your breath hitch in your throat. You lower your hands and look at him with wide eyes as he leans forward to mumble, "Don't be nervous, sunny. It's me. It's your Bucky. We're just having some fun."

"That's it?" You ask with a whisper. "Just fun?"

"Yeah," He confirms, rubbing your shoulder. "You're still my best friend. There's no rush. No commitment. No promises. Just fun."

His words put you at ease, as your track record proves that commitment is far from what you're prepared to take on.

"So, why didn't you just have sex with me last night?" You wonder out loud.

He chuckles softly, gently beginning to rub your shoulders. "Because you're still my special sunshine. I'm still gonna look after you, and treat you right. Fun can still be safe."

"I'm always safe with you," You utter.

"I know that, which is why I never want you to feel as though your safety is compromised," He explains. "If anything happened last night... You were drunker than I think I've ever seen you. I couldn't have possibly trusted you to make informed decisions. And I was drunk, too. I want us both to remember the first time I fuck you."

His words make your heart skip a beat. "Yeah?" You ask, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie.

With dark eyes, Bucky leans forward. "Trust me, baby. You'll wanna remember it."

"So, let's go home," You suggest, not caring how desperate you sound.

He snorts, shaking his head. "You horny little fucker."

"What do you expect when you say shit like that?" You ask him incredulously. "Come on, moonlight. Take me home."

"I'm not rushing this with you," He says adamantly, stroking your cheek. "Let's take our time, baby. I wanna have fun with you."

Narrowing your eyes, you sigh. "You're such a fuckin' tease."

He laughs heartily, kissing the side of your forehead. "Oh, this is gonna be amazing."

"Come on, senorita," Steve sings, pulling on your arm. "Not even just a shot?"

"I'm still hungover from last night!" You complain, hitting his shoulder. "How the fuck do you frat guys do this shit back to back?"

"A little hair of the dog; it'll cure ya," He claims, teasingly waving the shot of tequila in your face. "Don't be a wuss. You're in a frat house; refusing a shot that was specifically poured for you is grounds for the death penalty."

With a groan, you give in. "Oh, what the hell?" You mutter with a shrug, taking the tiny plastic shot glass and emptying its contents into your throat.

"Atta girl!" Steve cheers as the others dance and drink.

Tonight isn't as busy as last night, with just the house members and a few others in attendance. You're wearing one of Bucky's worn band tees paired with cycling shorts and a black corset belt which is accentuating your figure.

"Hey, sexy," Bucky calls out from where he's slumped down on the couch. He holds out his hand towards you when you look over at him. "C'mere."

Throwing the tiny shot glass to the side, you leave Steve at the drinks table and saunter over to Bucky, climbing onto his lap with your legs on either side of him.

"Oh," He utters in surprise, his hands immediately going to your hips. "Hey, there."

"Hi," You respond innocently, resting your hands on his chest. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I am now," He says with a smirk, stroking your waist. "You look really fuckin' hot in my shirt."

"Thanks, moonlight," You reply, playing with his hair gently. "It's comfy. Smells of you."

Suddenly, Steve collapses on the couch next to you, frowning. "What's going on here, huh?" He interrogates you both. "One minute you're just friends, now you're getting all... not friendly?"

"What are you talking about, Steve?" You ask him, feigning confusion as you snuggle closer into Bucky's chest. "We're still friendly."

"You know what I mean," He huffs. "You're sitting on his lap."

"So? Bucky's my best friend," You tell him. "I've been sitting on his lap all my life." Bucky can't help but laugh, but you keep the confused, innocent look on your face.

"So, you guys aren't being weird with each other?" Steve questions you with a raised brow.

Bucky begins placing sloppy kisses on your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin while you do your best to keep your composure. "Not weird at all, Steve," You say nonchalantly. "We're- we've always been like this."

He's utterly gobsmacked at the sight, moving further away when he sees Bucky's hand slip in between your thighs. "Ay dios mio," Steve mumbles under his breath, his eyes wide.

"Bucky and I are gonna fuck tonight," You tell him proudly.

"No, we're not," Bucky corrects you sternly, retracting his hand from your inner thigh.

You pout, gripping your shirt. "Don't be mean!"

"I'm free tonight," Steve interjects with a hopeful look on his face. "And I'm much more fun in bed."

"Fuck outta here, Rog," Bucky grumbles with an eye-roll.

"Oh, really?" You ask Steve coyly. "What makes you so fun?"

"Sunny," Bucky utters with a warning tone.

Steve licks his lips, most definitely drunk out of his mind as he smirks. "My big dick."

"Alright, that's enough of you," Bucky states bluntly, standing up with your legs around his waist. Ignoring your protests, he walks you out onto the porch and sits on the big chair, holding you close to his chest.

The breeze hits your skin, making you shiver as you pull back to look at him. "Buck?"

"Yes, sunshine?" He responds, stroking your goosebump-covered thighs.

"There- there can't be anyone else," You tell him. "If we're really gonna do this. No other girls."

He pulls back, frowning. "Do you really think you even have to say that?"

"I just- I know it isn't normal to be exclusive this early on, but I think I'll die if you even talk to anyone else," You admit, pulling on his shirt.

"Nothing about this is normal," He whispers back with a small smile. "Now that you've finally given me a chance, you think I'd ever do anything to screw it up?"

"What do you mean, finally?" You ask him with a frown.

Sighing, he takes your hand in his. "I've been waiting for this for a long time, sunshine. Waiting for you."

"Really?" You question him, taken aback. "Why didn't you say anything?"

A small smile grows on his lips. "Because, I'm a patient man. It's been nice, slowly gravitating towards each other. Like planets orbiting the sun. They don't know why they're doing it; they just do. You've been waiting for me, too, even if you didn't realize it."

"Hmm," You bring up a hand to stroke his cheek. "A patient man, indeed. You haven't even kissed me yet."

"That's right. I haven't," He says, almost sounding shocked at himself as he smirks at you. "I should fix that, huh, baby?"

Feeling your heart race, you nod. "You really, really should."

With a soft chuckle, he sits back. "C'mere, pretty girl."

"Come here yourself," You retort immaturely, leaning back.

Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs your face in his big hands, pulling you closer. "Shut the fuck up, dumbass," He mumbles under his breath before pressing his lips to yours.

You wrap your arms around his shoulder and part your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. His left hand moves down to grab your ass, his right lowering to your throat. In this moment, you feel closer to him than ever, both nervous and completely comfortable.

After a few sweet moments, he pulls away, his eyes alight with desire and delight. Stroking your cheek, Bucky scans your face. "You're beautiful. I ever tell you that?"

Shrugging, you look down and play with his belt buckle. "Maybe. Coupla times," You mumble, leaning down to rest your head against his chest.

He places a soft kiss to the top of your head, stroking your hair. "You are. The most beautifu-"

"Don't finish that sentence, fuckboy," You cut him off coldly, your voice muffled against his shirt.

Snorting, he wraps his arms around you and tightens them. "But I mean it, sunshine; you're so beautiful. I can't get over it."

"Stop."

"You're gorgeous."

"Enough."

"So fuckin' sexy."

"...Continue."

Chuckling, he lifts up your chin and gives you a smile. "You're everything, baby. You're everything to me."

"One more cheesy line and this is over, moonlight," You warn him with a pointed finger.

He smirks, raising a brow. "There ain't no over, sunshine. You're mine, forever."

"Forever?" You ask with a grimace. "That's a pretty big commitment."

"And you're a pretty big dumbass," He responds, smiling up at you. "But it's okay. I still love you."

Your eyes widen. "You can't say that."

"What? Why not?" He asks with a frown. "We've been saying it since we were kids."

"But that was before," You say, pulling at his shirt nervously. "Things are different now. Love means a different thing."

"Well, I mean it in all its different possible iterations," He claims boldly. "I love you, sunshine."

Looking up to meet his eyes, you purse your lips. "What happened to taking it slow, huh?"

He grins, shaking his head. "That's just the sex stuff. I can't take loving you slowly; it's a little late for that one."

"Bucky," You whine lowly, doing your best to hide your smile. "I guess, me too."

Raising a brow, he grabs your cheeks in his hand. "Excuse me?"

"I said, me too," You repeat with a laugh.

Bucky narrows his eyes. "Say it properly, right now."

"Or, what?" You shoot.

"Or..." He begins gravely. "I'll never kiss you again."

"Never?" You repeat with playful shock.

"Ever," He confirms. "Not until you say it."

Smiling, you rest your hands on his shoulders. "Bucky?"

"Yes, sunshine?" He utters with anticipation.

You lean in and lower your voice, feeling your cheeks heat up as though you're a teenager with her crush. "I love you."

A wide grin breaks out across his lips and he pulls you in tighter, kissing your forehead. "Forever?"

Sighing with content, you close your eyes. "Forever."

side blog for update notifications: @kinanabinksupdates

buy me a kofi <3

2K notes · View notes

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

Been going back and re-reading this fic and i don't think any other fic hurts this much as this

thirty-three and fourteen

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

a/n: here comes...the longest piece i've written (yet, hopefully). i am REALLY proud of this one and got the idea when reading wintergirls. this was...rough.

summary: thirty-three missed calls and fourteen voice mails.

w/c: 4.5k

warnings: not proof-read, death (mentions of it happening naturally and suicide), eds (hints at anoreixa), therapy talk and sesh, sad peter :(

my m.list

requests | my taglist

thirty-three. fourteen.

thirty-three missed calls, and fourteen voice mails.

you had tried to call him thirty-three times, and left fourteen voice mails. peter had four-teen memories of your voice.

you always told peter everything was hopeless, that people wouldn’t keep their promises so they should never even try to make one. especially when it is something as serious as this one.

“look, you write your name right here. and then give me your signature, promising you won’t do anything until our next meeting.” the woman sitting in front of your desk had a sad smile plastered on her face, her eyes showing you nothing but pity. in the other room, behind the white door, was peter sitting on the green sofa and waiting for you to come out. he had offered you to come with you to your next therapy session, but not come inside. your therapist wouldn’t let him in anyway.

“what exactly does this do? last time i was here, i didn’t need to sign anything,” you question as you sit up straight, grabbing the pen she handed you and starting to write down the first letter of your name.

“it gives me the permission to let you go home and not take you anywhere. and also lets me know you won’t do anything to yourself. i trust you,” she sighs. you frown and stop writing.

“take- take me where? you promised i wouldn’t need to get admitted anywhere. my dad-”

“you have an awesome support system. your boyfriend outside waiting, your dad offering you to hang out and more. but we don’t think that’s enough if you won’t come out of your room or at least try to get better.” she explains to you, nodding to her notebook, remembering you of the other sessions she had to use it in and write down your current routine. wake up, lay in bed for hours, sometimes get up and eat, go back to your room.

“i’m already trying to get better. what is this if not getting better?” you give her a spiteful smile, leaving your signature on the open page and putting the pen back down.

“alright, i’ll let you go for now. if i see you not getting any better, we’ll have to talk with your dad. and i don’t think you’d be content with the decision we’d have to make.” you roll your eyes, leaning back.

“i don’t think i’m content with whatever decision that’s going to be made without my consent. i’m good!” she sighs once again, hiding the notebook in her desk drawers and getting up.

that fucking notebook. a look at it and you regret every word you let out to this woman.

you get up too, and make your way to the door.

“i hope to see you next week. enjoy your time, and say hi from me to peter and your friends!” she waves at you, a little too happy for what conversation you just had with her. you give her a forced, tight-lipped smile and leave the room. closing the door behind you, you’re met with peter leaning on a wall and on his phone. when he hears the door and sees you standing there, he puts his phone in his pocket and instantly takes you in his arms.

“how was it?” he smiles. why the fuck is he smiling.

“meh. had to sign some paper and promise i wouldn't do anything until our next meeting. dumb promise.” his smile falls, frowning.

“what- why is it dumb? you won’t do anything, right?” you turn to look at him.

“i mean, i try? like, do you think that if i was on the verge on doing something i’d think about that page in her notebook and stop? of course not, peter! that’s not how it works.”

“i- i hope you won’t do anything to yourself,” he whispers. you groan and throw your head back.

“you all need to stop for hoping so much.”

the day before, you two had a fight over some useless thing. well, for you it was useless. it meant so much more to peter. of course it did, but of course you couldn’t understand.

because how would a person that has given up on everything understand a person that still hoped for the best and for the light at the end of a tunnel? it wasn’t possible.

he begged you to look at the situation from his point of view, and you did. you told him you tried to and could understand that it hurt him. but you also told him how selfish it is from him to want you to keep going in all this pain, just because he would miss you. apparently, it meant that you’d continue for him, not for you.

peter didn’t pick up. he didn’t feel like listening to you blaming him and accusing him to be a selfish boyfriend, asking you to stay for him instead of giving you reasons to stay that would help you.

he didn’t feel like yelling at you again, or hearing you yell through the phone.

but he wished he did. now, he wished he picked up the phone more than ever.

with a shaky breath, he clicked on the first voice mail you left on his phone with his thumb, waiting for the worst.

a sob could be heard before your voice rang through the speaker of his phone. it had a crack on the screen after he threw it against his wall when tony told him what happened. he felt like letting out all the build up anger he had from your fight.

“peter-” crack “i’m sorry, i just really need you right now”

“can you please pick up...please”

“scold and yell at me later, but this is important just call me”

he shuts his eyes, letting out a breath.

“if you call me later i don’t know if i’ll be able to pick up” your voice cracks again, and he hears your sobbing for a couple of seconds before there’s a long bleep.

yesterday was okay. he saw you. then the fight ensued. and now he’ll never, ever see you again. he wishes time between friday afternoon and today morning never happened. he wishes he could take the blue clock hanging on his wall above his desk, rotate the pointer all the way back and never mention your problems or therapy sessions.

he opens his instagram, going through the messages sent between wednesday and thursday. you hadn’t attended school, said your head hurt too much and that you felt dizzy. you only messaged mj telling her how you felt. she was the one telling peter and ned that you wouldn’t come to school the next few days because you were sick.

he then visited the compound on friday. directly going to your room, ignoring steve’s hello and bucky asking him why he seemed so nervous and mad.

“the door to your room opens, startling you and sending your laptop on your lap almost to the floor. you quickly shut it, not letting the person entering your room see whatever was playing on the screen.

you let out a breath of relief when you see it’s only peter. oh.

“you scared me. do you not know how to knock?!” you groan, placing the laptop on your nightstand and draping the covers over your frame. was it always so cold in your room?

“oh, so now you feel better?” he snarls. you frown confused. why the fuck is he so angry at you? he just came in.

“what are you so angry for? and don’t we have school until three on fridays? it’s one, peter”

he rolls his eyes and closes the door, stepping closer to your bed, but not sitting down.

“you don’t come to school for three days, not reading any of my messages, ignoring everyone sending you a message or asking where you’ve been. and then tell mj you won’t come because your head hurts and you’re dizzy?! stop lying!” you gasp, slowly getting up, scared stars are going to cloud your vision once again.

“are you fucking accusing me of lying? i feel dizzy and my head hurts! not as much as it did the past three days, but it does!” you yell.

peter’s gaze wanders through your room, halting on the lunch box on your desk. he nods to it and your gaze follows his.

“did you eat yet?” he murmurs. you throw your head back, instantly regretting it. maybe you should’ve taken your vitamins today. and yesterday. and wednesday. or maybe just the whole week.

“no. but i-” you get cut off by him scoffing and throwing his arms up.

“well, of course you’ll feel dizzy and like shit when you don’t eat or drink!”

“i did drink something! wanda made me some orange juice. and i had soup,” you argue back.

“yeah, because a cup of orange juice and bow of soup equals three days of meals, right?” he asks, raising his brows.

“you’re annoying. just leave me alone,” you say and sit back down, holding your head between your hands that are propped on your knees. peter doesn’t seem to let go. his voice echoing in your head, making the throb in your head worse.

“do you-” he pauses, running his hands over his face and sighing,” do you not understand that this is serious? you are hurting yourself. not just yourself.” your head snaps up, but you try to ignore the pain by squeezing your eyes shut before talking.

“what is that supposed to mean? i know what i am doing! i am not a child,” you huff.

“well, it feels like it when your family has to go after you and ask whether you ate. or drank. or took a shower!” he lists.

you lower your head, breathing out. he never knows when to stop, does he?

“can you just leave me alone? i’m so done,” you tell him, standing up and making your way to your door. you open it, patiently waiting for him to leave. he frowns and cusses.

“what the fuck? we just had a fight and you tell me to le-”

“if you don’t want me to fall down and fucking faint, then leave! this is too much. we can talk tomorrow.” you point to the door, stretching your arm out and waiting for him to leave. he steps closer to you, halting in front of you. you expect him to apologise or ask if you’re ok. never in a million years would you have expected the next words slipping through his lips.

“sometimes i ask myself why i even stay and help you.” the words slip through his words like honey, annoyance dripping off his voice.

he steps out the door, not turning around before walking to the elevator. your eyes don’t leave his figure until he’s out of eyesight and you close the door. feeling tears fill your eyes, you squeeze them shut and throw yourself on the bed.

there’s a knock on his door and he turns off his phone before responding with a quiet “come in,”. he’s afraid his voice might break if he speaks louder. like yours on the voice mail.

may steps into his room and closes the door quietly behind her. she knows what it is like to lose someone you love. but for peter, this may be the second person he lost.

his eyes are cast on his brown nightstand. a picture of you and him framed standing on it. that was the first time may had met you two years ago, she took the picture. it was one of you staring with wide eyes and a smile at the camera, peter turning his face to you when he heard the camera click and pressing a haste kiss on your cheek. in any other circumstance he would feel butterflies erupt in his stomach thinking about the moment. but, right now? he just wants to feel what he felt that day, happy and relieved.

“they’ll do an autopsy today,” may whispers as she sits down next to him. his head snaps to her.

his thoughts occupy his mind. will she feel it? will they give her a bath, and who will take off her clothes?

he remembers the first time you two took a bath together.

“the funereal will be first saturday in september,” she continues.

“in two weeks…” he whispers. his fingers are grabbing on his hoodie, the material hunched up in a fist making his knuckles turn white. may senses his nerves.

“tony asked if you’d like to visit the compound later. you- you can help him and pepper go through her room.”

the breath in his throat hitches.

he didn’t think about your room, clothes and stuff yet. he doesn’t want anyone to go through your notebooks or diary. to go through your phone and inspect the messages, pictures and videos shared with friends and other people you loved. he knows how much you hated it when someone goes through your phone, even if it’s just pepper or tony asking if they could search something on google.

peter nods, finally looking up at his aunt and staring into he eyes. they’re red, glossy and puffy. she’s been crying, too.

“ok, yeah ok tell him i want to help.” she nods, a sympathetic tight-lipped smile on her face as she hugs him carefully. he’s like glass now, she’s scared to break him if she touches him too rough or fast.

may leaves the room after a couple minutes of sitting in silence with her nephew, closing the door behind her and leaving peter alone with his own thoughts. he feels a shiver run down his spine and hugs himself. his room is suddenly so cold. like her body must be by now. it’s probably been around fourteen hours since they found her.

a sob escapes his lips and he cradles his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to ignore whatever is going on in his head.

the next day feels like torutre. he has to force himself out of bed, not bothering to make it before walking straight out of his room and towards the kitchen after brushing his hair. he still has on his clothes from yesterday, not having felt like changing and instantly falling asleep on his bed.

may’s already sitting on a chair, breakfast prepared in front her. he sees a plate filled with mini donuts where he normally sits.

“i thought you’d want to eat something before going to tony. it’s already one, and i didn’t want to wake you up in case you needed some rest.” she blows over her cup of tea, looking at him. he sighs and steps closer to her, engulfing her in a tight hug. taken by surprise, she sets her mug down and pulls him closer. he can’t waste another second not letting the people he loves know he loves them. i shouldn’t have left her. may breaks the hug as she feels him sob on her shoulder, sighing.

“it’s ok. you’ll go to see a part of her today, pete,” she smiles and holds his head down on her shoulder. he nods slowly, brushing his wet face and the tears away, pulling away from her hug and taking a deep, shaky breath.

“i should-,” he clears his throat,” i should get going. i don’t want them waiting just for me.” he turns around and walks to the door and his shoes, putting them on.

“you call me when there is something, alright?” may stands next to him, hand on her hip and her other hand holding the cup she was sipping from before. peter nods.

“if you want to stay, you just call me or send me a message. i won’t be mad,” she hugs him again, letting him go only for him to open the door and leave after a quick goodbye.

when he finally arrived, he walks in not greeting anyone, making a straight bee line to the kitchen. he hoped tony would be there waiting for him.

“-body found in her own room, yeah.” steve’s voice interrupts peter’s train of thoughts, making him snap his head to the blond standing leaned against the kitchen counter and with a phone in head, back turned to the entrance so he can’t see peter walk in. he turned around instantly when he heard steps behind him, eyes widening when noting the brown haired boy standing on the other side of the counter, hands fiddling with his hoodie.

he mutters something into the speaker of his phone, hanging up and placing the phone on the counter. peter’s eyes are glued to it, as if staring into it could bring you back. as if he stared long and strong enough, the bubble would break and you’d walk out of some corner with your arms wide open yelling “surprise!”

he misses you already. he misses every time he’d pick up the phone at two am because you had another nightmare. he wants to tell you love is endless and hear your giggles instead of groans saying “stop hoping too much, peter” he wants to be able to see the old you.

or maybe not. were you always the way you were? or did you pretend to be happy, until it reached a breaking point and everybody thought this was temporary or going on since a couple of months instead of years.

he thinks about the salty tears on your cheek every time you’d cry on his shoulder and vent and he starts regretting all the times he saw the red flags and chose to ignore you, chose to tell you to continue and stay for him instead of giving you reasons for you.

but it’s too late. sorry is a word. he doesn’t know how to bring you back. sorry won’t do anything. sorry won’t make time stop and let him grieve. or better, bring you back into his arms. he hoped you could at least have given him a warning. maybe then, then he could’ve ran to you and stop you? or maybe stop whatever reason made you end up like right now.

the calls. he remembers all the missed calls and voice mails, squeezing his eyes shut. those were the warnings. you tried to ask him for help. you begged him for help and he didn’t listen. he decided to listen to his brain instead of hurt, the only logic solution being ignoring you so you saw how hurt he was. but, he didn’t think about you. he didn’t think about how hurt you were. because even after visiting therapy and having a support system, that’s not enough. it has to come from you, but he didn’t know how. he didn’t know how to make you realize there was a reason to stay. not only one, but more.

“do- do they know why she-” he won’t speak it out loud. his brain stopping him before his words left his lips. steve sighs, eyes cast down on the phone. it lit up with a message from pepper, telling him to get more plastic bags. they must’ve started cleaning, and found more things to throw away. or keep. tony had a lot of space here, he knows where to put things even if he won’t use them for years. or ever.

“they’re not sure what the cause was. judging by the situation, we got told it could- could’ve been her. but she was already weak. maybe it was that,” he whispers. peter had never seen steve so emotional.

steve felt like the scariest situations in his life kept repeating and leaving him speechless and in pain. first he had lost bucky thinking he died, then he lost peggy. now you. he hadn’t seen you a whole day before it happened. didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. it made him die inside. but then again, he couldn’t have known this would happen.

peter nods for what feels like the hundredth time today. he won’t open his mouth. words could spill out like a waterfall or crack like glass hitting the floor and he just doesn’t trust his mind anymore.

“can i go into her room?” he asks. steve nods, giving him a sad smile. peter makes his way to your room, silently staring at the floor and every step he takes. usually, you’d be walking next to him. there’d be small skips in his steps, excited to enter your room and throw himself on your comfortable bed. the last time he visited before the fight happened, it was his turn to pick a movie and he picked tangled. you giggled at his sweet decision. but what could you say? it was one of his favourite movies and you loved seeing him mouth along to the lyrics of the songs, or seeing his eyes lit up when rapunzel and flynn finally kissed. it melted your heart.

now she’s forever cold.

the door to your room is open, shuffling and words coming from inside.

he pinches himself, wishing this was all a nightmare and that maybe if he walks through that door and into your room, he’d find you sitting on your bed with two bowls of your favourite ice cream in hand, waiting for him with a bright smile.

at some point she stopped taking more than two scoops of ice cream, telling me the rest was mine because i loved it so much.

he blinks back tears before stepping into your room, coming eye to eye with tony.

“kid,” he says, walking to him. peter spots the book in his hands, your name written on it in cursive letters. your diary. tony notices the gaze on the item in his hand, stretching out his arm, signaling for peter to take the book.

he takes it with a frown, gulping. he doesn’t want to read your deepest thoughts or the things you’d write inside it every time you felt like there was no way out and didn’t dare to tell anyone, call him.

you wouldn’t have picked up anyway.

his eyes fill with tears again and he bites down on his lip in an attempt to stop his lips from quivering. tony notices, stepping closer and engulfing the teenage boy in a tight hug, letting him sob into his shoulder.

he can feel tony’s shoulder shake too, letting him know that he’s also crying.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. she called me and i- i-,” tony only hugs him tighter and he shuts up. the room is quiet besides the small sobs and whimpers coming from the two in the room.

it feels empty with with all your bookshelves not filled. the white one next to your bed used to have all the books you had to read yet and the one you were currently reading. the other one, next to your desk, had books you had already read and some school books.

the wall next to your wardrobe used to be decorated with pictures of thing you liked and your friends. there were selfies of you and peter, mj, ned. all together, some with you and each one of them alone together in one. there used to be a row of pictures of your favorite movie hang up. the wall in front of your desk still has pictures of high buildings, the ocean and beach. every time peter visited your room, there was a picture more of a place you wanted to visit or live in. you used to hang up pictures right in front of your workspace to motivate yourself to work harder, better. to not get distracted.

to his surprise, your desk is still filled with books, notebooks and more.

tony pulls away first, patting the boy in front of him on his shoulder but not making eye contact. he looks sadly around the room. your bed is so empty.

“we should get going. i put all her books in that corner,” he explains and points to the corner behind the door. there were three stacks of books. the boy nods.

“i’ll give you a plastic bag for all her clothes. if you see something you’d like to keep, like a shirt or something, keep it. the rest is getting donated,” he says. peter gups. he isn’t ready to let go like this. it’s just clothing. his mind tells him. he’s right, it’s just clothing. but they were worn by his girlfriend. it reminded him of you.

when he was done with emptying your drawers and wardrobe, he turned back around to tony. he didn’t expect to be done this fast, but pepper came in and decided to help both of them.

“mr. stark, what about her desk?” he pointed to the desk, still filled with all your belongings. tony gives pepper a look.

“we thought you’d like to go through it. we found some texts, letters and stuff. most of them were for you and friends,” pepper says behind him. he turns to her, frowning.

“what-what should i do with the rest? when i keep the things i want to keep, i mean.” he asks.

“you can take the letters and texts and give them to who they belong to. the rest, you can keep if you want. pepper and i went over it earlier and took,” he breathes in, memories of the words you had written down months ago flooding through his brain,” we took some letters that were for us. i won’t throw away the rest. only going to store it in another, smaller room.” peter can’t help but sigh. why do they have to clean your room so fast? it’s not even been twenty-four hours. as if tony could hear his thoughts, he cut him off.

“we’re cleaning in case we find something that could hint to all this,” he explains.

tony and pepper leave the room, leaving peter sitting alone on your bed and pulling out his phone.

he notes the voice mails he didn’t listen to yet, mentally preparing himself to hear your voice once again. he decides to listen to one of them.

“can we solve this tomorrow? i just- i really need you right now, please,” your voice comes out muffled. he guesses you may be holding your hand over your mouth. it hurts to think about you trying to muffle your cries because you were going through too much at once.

he sees a tear drop down on his phone screen, wiping it away and scoffing.

he didn’t pick up the phone when you needed him the most. so why is he crying? why is he said?

“you’re mad i know and i know you’re on your phone,” that was a lie. he wasn’t. he was crying into his pillow after your fight regretting what he had said and throwing his phone against the wall.

“please please i can’t do this alone. i don’t want to.”

he listened to the rest of them. all fourteen voice mails.

thirty-three. fourteen.

taglists

permanent

@aayaissaa @prancerrparkerr @lunalovegoodsgirlfriend @selfcarecap

peter parker

@emistrash @eloquenceflores @hallecarey1 @parkerpeter24

294 notes · View notes

cheeseburger-tony · 2 years

Text

DID THEY GET THE EASTER EGGS BACK????

³.⍭ 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐚𝐲, 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝟐/𝟐)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | ghostface!ex-boyfriend!Ari Levinson x airhead/dumb!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | soft DARK/DARK!Ari, obsessed/controlling!Ari, possessive/obsessive behaviour, manipulation, blood, murder (not in detail), side character(s) death (it had to be done). implied: stalking. dumb!reader, size difference: 6’10!Ari, condescending!Ari, DD/LG undertones, manhandling, alcohol, weed (edibles). SMUT - minors DNI, fingering (f), non-con/dub-con: aphrodisiacs & stealthing, unprotected sex (p in v), daddy kink, choking, p*ssy spanking, mating press, dirty talk, rough sex, spit kink, dacryphilia, degradation, heavy dumbification, size kink, breeding kink, squirting, creampie.

𝗪/𝗖 | 9.71K

𝗔/𝗡 | thank you everyone for being patient with me, we all know pacing is my enemy and I can’t write anything short ever. mean daddy!ari makes an appearance here, so do a few of his fellow frat bros. As always, all mistakes are my own and i hope you all enjoy !!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐚𝐲, 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | ˗ˏˋ𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Am I stupid?”

“Huh?”

“My friends say I’m not the sharpest… that’s why Ari treated me that way.”

Bryce opens his mouth to answer, but quickly rethinks his blunt: “yes, you are.”

In a way, your friends were right. It was rare for you to be out of that dreamland of yours. You were a little stupid—okay, maybe a lot stupid, but that surely wasn’t a bad thing. Everyone knew about Ari’s domineering attitude, and how he babied you and treated you like his property.

Bryce is only frustrated because he didn’t get to you first. Now that you’re single, free from your overbearing six-foot-ten ex-boyfriend, he can take his chance.

“I think you have a particular way of figuring things out, but that isn’t bad. It’s just you.” He gently pinches your cheek, and you smile shyly, “There’s nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. Nothing at all.”

Through the eye mesh, Ari watches you giggle and sip from the new solo cup. You’re practically snuggled into Langley’s arms, giving him that dumb-spaced-out look as you listen to whatever shit he has to say. His fist tightens around the aluminum handle when Bryce’s fingers trace up your cheek, drifting to your shiny forehead.

“You’re burning up.” He can barely read his lips through the dim red lights.

You blink slowly and nod before your head falls back. A hot feeling builds in his stomach, either rage or desire, as your thighs clench and you subtly rock against the couch. The hem of your dress rides up your flesh, exposing the delicate white nylon begging to be torn—sliced to shreds.

It was a shame, you being so woefully ignorant to leave your drink unattended while you and Bryce danced and mingled. You were lucky Ari was there to watch it—and slip in some crushed pills. A part of him was disappointed that when you returned and drank it all, not thinking about the creeps who would take advantage of you.

Better him than anyone else.

That’s what he found sickeningly comforting until Bryce brought you some more brownies directly after and shoved them into your pretty mouth. Anyone could smell the desperation radiating off of your body, and judging by the way Bryce was licking his lips, he was seconds away from devouring you on the damn couch in front of everyone.

If only Bryce knew that you wouldn’t need anything else after those pills. The brownie was overkill, but Ari did love it when you were just a needy, whiny, dumb whore.

Despite being dumped over text, Ari couldn’t escape you. You were plastered on his bedroom walls, from framed pictures to love letters you’ve written him—with all your spelling and grammar errors. Your scent was ingrained in his pillows and sheets, regardless of how many times he’s washed them. Dashes of pastel and lace were in every drawer and cranny, from your flimsy panties to itty bitty skirts that always showed your ass.

You haven’t asked for any of your belongings back, and he wouldn’t tell you what he’s done with your favourite lacy underwear. He wants you to wear them without a clue that they’ve been covered in his seed while he rewatched the tape of you in one of your tiny cotton shorts, the crotch pulled to the side as he fucked your ass for the first time.

He bets Bryce had no clue you were an anal slut.

Over the booming bass and loud chatter, Ari can almost hear Bryce’s revolting thoughts—your friend has waited too long for this golden opportunity and it’s fucking soaked and needy, only inches away from him.

Moments drag on and Bryce stands to leave, telling you to wait while he gets you cold water. Ari watches him waltz into the kitchen and check the fridge but comes up empty. On the way out, he swipes a brownie and goes to the garage.

Ari follows after him, being masked and unrecognizable, he’s able to blend in with the bustling mob. He lingers around corners and spots the strobe lights don’t hit, the pitch-black robe morphs him into just another tall impending shadow. With a casual pace, his eyes remain locked on the younger man drunkenly humming to himself as he stumbles through the halls that were getting less crowded.

He was making this far too easy.

A loud crash sounds through the empty hallway, bouncing off the panelled walls and expensive paintings.

“Aw shit.” Bryce curses and crouches to assess the damage, the china is scattered across the carpet, bits and pieces of the priceless artifact owned by the spoiled brat and party host. “Fucking shit.”

He looks up at the hooded, looming figure by the door clad in a dark robe with tattered sleeves. A stark white mask contrasts with the black eyes, nose, and dramatically wide-opened mouth—as if it were screaming or crying.

“Hey, uh, don’t tell Ransom about that. I still owe him for the other vase I broke.” He tries to laugh off the nerves. He makes quick work of covering his ass and kicks the shards under the couch. “God knows he’ll never let me over again if he knew it was me.”

Ari locks the door after him, slowly slipping off his mask because he’d rather have his face be the last thing the shithead sees.

“I don’t think he’ll care.”

Bryce’s frame stiffens and he stares forward at the window, instantly making out the long hair and pale skin. Even a few feet behind, Ari is still strikingly bigger than him.

“He’s a good friend of mine, we both see things like that as disposable.” Ari steps forward, crushing the ceramic fragments under his heavy boots, “albeit, it would be impossible to replace the original. Nothing could amount to the first, it could look the same, feel the same—but if given the choice, only a fool would choose the fake.”

“What a drawn-out way to say you’re jealous.” He quirks a brow, “I knew you’d be an obsessed freak, just let her go, man. She’s about to get something—someone who’s actually good for her.”

“She doesn’t know a damn thing, much less what’s good for her.”

The other man glowers, “does she know you talk about her like that?”

“Does she know you’re a pervert who’s taken pictures up her skirt?”

Bryce’s skin goes pale, all colour draining from his cheeks until the only noticeable hue is his blue eyes. He doesn’t move or even twitch, hoping the lack of movement would make him magically disappear.

“You’ve got pictures of my girl’s cunt.” Ari could rip him to shreds and not break a sweat. “And you’re calling me the freak?” Another step closer and more delicate shards crack under his weight. “A sicko like you must get off to that, huh? I wonder what the dean would think of that, you’re already on thin ice after that changing room incident. Fucking pervert.”

The younger man clenches his fists and grits his teeth but he doesn’t speak.

“You aren’t going to ask how I found out?” Ari tilts his head, waiting for a response but he gets nothing but long, ragged breaths. “My friend is fucking the dean’s secretary and she’s got loose lips,” He smirks and chuckles lowly, “in more ways than one.”

In terror, his gaze darts towards the back door between two towering bookshelves. The various lamposts surrounding the property call to him like a beacon, so close yet so far with the menacing shadow only mere feet away.

Do it. Ari has always loved a chase.

In a split second, Bryce takes off, bursting through the door with a leap and racing across the lawn.

Ari cracks his neck and slips on the mask again, his hood following suit. Under his robe, he grasps the cold handle of the knife and follows after him. His heavy footsteps halt when he grabs a sharp fragment of the shattered vase—options, options, which will he choose?

With the taste of revenge on his tongue, he contemplates. One will do the dirty work for you and the other will for himself, his pride and sanity. He couldn’t care less about those other victims when you were so disgustingly violated multiple times, and tonight could have been the worst of all. The difference between Bryce and him is that he’d do all those sick things to you because he loves you so much, and this fucking coward just wants to get his dick wet.

Ari picks up speed, easily following after the drunk, horrified man. They both disappear into the abyss of the night, deeper into the woods of the secluded property. One of them unknowingly races closer to inescapable doom.

A hand cradles your cheek, the touch was so comforting and familiar that you automatically lean into it.

“There you are, bunny.” A drawl pulls you from the shadows, “There’s my girl, are you okay?”

If that voice had a taste, it’d be warm caramel on a vanilla sundae, with rainbow sprinkles and a candied cherry on top.

When you come to, still heavy and disorientated, your blurry ex-boyfriend is knelt by your side. “Ari? Wh-What happened?” You’re sprawled on a bed like a ragdoll. Your legs are spread wide with one hanging off of the edge and the hem of your dress barely conceals your modesty.

The brunette hasn’t stopped caressing your cheek, his gentle motions a stark contrast to the darkness in his eyes, “Bryce slipped something into your drink.” He answers calmly as the aching in your head builds to a pounding.

It takes a few seconds for you to process his words. “N-No… He wouldn’t—he’d never.” Your heart sinks.

“He did. He told me himself before he got into his car and drove off.” Ari explains, “I guess he got scared when you passed out and decided to just leave you here. You’re lucky Steve found you and called me.”

Distraught and sick to your stomach, you try to stand but collapse back onto the mattress, your legs too weak and unstable to support your weight. “Feeling—ugh.”

Ari sweeps you into his arms, “Hey now, take it easy or you’ll hurt yourself. Deep breaths, you’re getting overwhelmed.” He cradles you like a princess, his little damsel in distress.

“My basket…”

Ari chuckles, even at a moment like this, your priorities haven’t changed. “I’ll find it later, baby. Just gotta calm you down right now.”

You almost cry at that. Whether it was the alcohol or the drugs, you feel as exposed and vulnerable as a wilting flower. Like a strong breeze could knock you over, you’re helpless to everything—the loud music, the bright lights and the many guests downstairs.

You feel small.

Tucking yourself into the crook of Ari’s shoulder, you inhale his cologne. The warm musk of cypress and cedarwood seeps into your senses, followed by the gentle undertones of patchouli. You dig your nose deeper, determined to soak up as much as you can before he goes away again—you missed him so much.

Your unfocused eyes dart around the bedroom, from the cream walls and dark furniture. The soft, expensive duvet is wrinkled from your weight and your heels lie forgotten on the floor. Slowly but surely, the lights and pounding become bearable, and you can finally hear yourself think.

Would Bryce do that to you?

If not, why would Ari say he did?

No, Ari never lied. Lying was deceitful and wrong, and Ari would never do that to you.

It seems too soon when Ari returns you to bed. You begrudgingly abandon your safe place and get a good look at him.

“You’re bleeding!” There were red splatters on his face to his neck, a bit even blending in with his dark beard. You quickly touch your own face and gasp when the same vermillion is on your fingers, “it’s still wet!”

Ari quickly cleans your face, a soft chuckle flowing past his pink lips. “It’s fake, bunny. Just touched up my costume before I found you.”

Your eyes fall to his attire, the black hooded cloth draped over his massive shoulders and mask atop his head, holding back his long hair. You tilt your head.

Ari sighs fondly and pulls down the mask, revealing the eerily expressive big eyes and elongated mouth. As haunting as it was, you couldn’t ever figure out if the expression was upset or terrified.

“Oh! I remember that mask.” You recall all the times he’s scared his friends with it. He messed with you a couple of times too.

“Why are you scared, bunny?” He asked, his voice slightly muffled under the guise, as he pinned you against the wall, “it’s just daddy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

What followed was a night tangled in his bedsheets, the mask only coming off after you came all over his length twice. Ari wasn’t satisfied until he was soaked with your essence, he’d spend hours breaking you apart, only to put you back together with loving aftercare.

You wonder if any of that has changed now—if he’s changed since then.

He goes towards the ensuite and switches on the tap. He wipes his face with his sleeve, cleaning away the red.

“You don’t have to take it off.” You hesitate. It was awkward to see him again, he was so nonchalant about it too. “The fake blood is a part of your costume. And you’ll need it if you leave.”

He snorts. “If I was leaving, I wouldn’t care. It makes you uneasy.” He meets your gaze through the reflection, “You never liked scary movies anyway.”

"Bunny, nothing is happening."

"I don't care!" You squeal, shaking in his arms with your face buried in his neck. Your eyes are squeezed shut and if you could, you'd cover your ears too but you refuse to part with your big, protective boyfriend. He was your unofficial bodyguard! "P-Please, turn it off! It's too scary!"

"You said you wanted to do something fun." Ari rubs your back under your shirt, gently dragging his nails down your spine. "Isn't this fun?"

"Not fun at all." You huff in frustration and fear, trying to ignore the creepy music flowing from the speakers, it paints the entire living room eerie and deeply unsettling. "Ari, please!"

"Stop being such a baby." He scolds, spanking your ass. "It isn't even gory."

You pull away with a pout, "not a baby..."

A slow, sinister smile crawls onto his lips. "No? Why are you crying like one then?"

"You're bein' mean..." You move to climb off his lap but he locks his built, firm arms around your waist. "I don't like it."

He ignores you and swoops forward, kissing from your forehead to your wet cheeks, across your nose and finally your lips. He makes obnoxious puckering noises, nibbling on your warm skin until your teary-eyed sulk faded into a sweet, giggly glow.

It never takes much to distract dumb little you.

"How about we get your mind off it, huh?"

"Are we gonna go upstairs?" You ask cluelessly as he lays you on the couch, bracing himself above you. "You said you'd help me with my math homework?"

"I know, baby, I know." Ari sighs softly, lowering his hips between your spread thighs. "You still don't understand? I just tutored you last week."

"I-I tried, but it's still too hard!" You sputtered, "I promise I did all the steps you put on the checklist, but I just—I can't, daddy."

He coos, "Don't worry, bunny. I'll dumb it down for you again."

Your eyes flutter shut when his hard length rubs against your core, and only then do you notice the sticky mess. You squirm, embarrassment flooding your body.

"You're so wet, baby, how long have your panties been soaked?" He asks, kissing from your jaw to your neck, his thick beard tickles your skin.

You moan quietly, "I d-don't know, daddy."

"Pfft, what do you know, ya little dummy." His voice lowers as he rocks subtly into you, his muscles flexing under his weight, "Just let me feel you, yeah? You've been grinding on me all fuckin' day."

You lazily blink up at the ceiling and don’t realize your hand is drifting between your thighs until his voice rings out, “how are you feeling?”

“Uhm—hot.” You immediately retreat and kick your legs in hopes of cooling down. “Like really hot, is that bad?”

He enters the bedroom again, clean and devilishly handsome, “Yeah, I think the drug is still active, it might get worse before it gets better. Did you have Jensen’s brownies too?”

“Oh… only a few. Should I go,” an odd tingling sensation flutters through your body as you sit up, you feel lightheaded, “to the hospital?”

“You could.” Ari considers, his blue eyes trailing from your crooked bunny ears to your pout, “But what if they ask what happened to you? You’ll have to tell them what he did.”

A dreadful weight fills your chest, sinking you deeper into the plush mattress. “...but he’s my friend.”

Ari clenches his jaw, “but lying is bad. Do you want to lie to all those people who are trying to help you? Do you want him to do that to someone else? Because I can guarantee he will if you don’t tell the truth.” He chides with a deep voice, “You know he used to snap pictures up your skirt? The drunk bastard showed me everything on his phone, the entire photo album of your cunt, like you were some cheap slut.”

Your heart shatters, cracking down the middle and bleeding on your trembling hands. The colour absorbs all light, abandoning you in nothingness and leaks onto your pretty dress, tainting you like a white dove in viscous oil.

No, no, no.

“Think about all of the people you’re putting in danger just because he’s your friend.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me.”

Ari cocks his head, “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No! I just—” you heave, blinking profusely, “he’s my friend. He’s nice to me… or was. I don’t know!”

“You should know by now that you aren’t the best at choosing friends.” Look at what they did to us.

You sniffle, wishing to be swallowed whole. Ari was right, your judgement was severely lacking and more often than not, it led you to a road of pain and loneliness.

Could it be that you’ve never had good intuition?

But you picked him, didn’t you? No, Ari picked you. He chose you above everyone else, time and time again.

And you let him go.

“I-I’m sorry, but he’s gonna hate me…” Your vision blurs as your eyes water, “I don’t—I don’t want him to hate me. Don’t want a-anyone to hate me.”

You thought Bryce was kind to you, but that was before tonight. It turns out, he was nothing but a creepy pervert. He violated you and acted like your friend. And stupidly naive little you didn’t notice a thing.

“You wanted him, didn’t you?” Ari crosses his arms. “You wore all those fuckin’ skirts for him? You wanna be photographed like a dumb whore?”

“Wha—No!”

“You did or you still do.” His expression hardens, a deep wrinkle settling between his dark eyebrows. “And everyone’s going to say it’s your fault too.”

You quickly shake your head, wispy no’s tumble from your mouth. That seemed like the only word you knew.

“Did you let him drug you because you wanted him to touch you? If you did, just admit it now.”

“I didn’t…” Your bottom lip wobbles, shiny tears prickling at your waterline, “Ari, please. I only…I didn’t think.” You choke out, “I only want you. It’s always been you.”

And just like that, the switch flips.

In the blink of an eye, he’s knelt next to you on the bed and is cupping your cheeks in his warm palms, “Hey, hey, no need for the tears. We could stay here until you calm down and can make the decision yourself.”

“Can’t.”

Ari’s chest vibrates with his deep growl. He fights every urge to taste those tears on your pretty cheeks. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t think—don’t wanna.” You blubber helplessly, all too overwhelmed with his accusations. “Don’t make me, please.”

“Oh, poor bunny.” He coos, thumbing your cheekbone dusted with glitter. The sparkles are washed away by your tears and make you look even more divine. “I know. I know you can’t think for yourself. That’s why you had me, right?”

You cry harder, beautifully needy and miserable, just how he liked you to be.

“Had me make all the choices for you, do all the thinking and all the work.” He hungrily licks his lips, watching the droplets seep into the corners of your mouth. “Because daddy always knows best. Ain’t that right, bunny?”

“Missed you, daddy.” You manage through hiccups and weakly clamber into his lap. You nuzzle his chest, holding one of his hands to your cheek to ground yourself.

Every part of Ari was your haven. Whenever you sought comfort, you found yourself in his presence, grasping for any piece of him you could reach and holding on with all your might. There wasn’t an instance when he didn’t provide that sweet security, especially now when your head is so muddled and lost.

If only you knew what those very hands did an hour ago.

“Daddy missed you too, princess.” Ari murmurs, massaging the back of your neck and feeling the tense muscles under your skin, “But you broke up with me, remember?”

“Didn’t wanna! My friends—they made me feel dumb for letting you treat me that way.”

“And, where are they now?”

You shrug, “Dunno, they left me a while ago.”

It’s terribly sad that you don’t know they’re already dealt with and their miserable lives were put to an end at the hands of three masked men. They were gone before he even touched Bryce.

All of them are burnt to a crisp, their bruised and battered bodies utterly unidentifiable. You’ll ask about them soon and he’ll play the concerned boyfriend as always, then return the next day to get rid of the remains.

Sometimes it feels like clockwork, except this time, he had the help of two close friends.

He wonders if you remember that stranger who kept you company when he was late for your cafe date one day. Tired and sweaty from practice, Ari waltzed in to find you in a friendly conversation with the other man. Laughing and chatting like you’ve known each other for years.

Lucky for him, the stranger was just another drifter. No family, no home, no friends—except for you, of course. Shortlived that friendship was.

It takes you a while to calm down but Ari never leaves your side. He rubs your back and hums softly, letting you soak his clothes with your tears. He’s painfully missed holding you like this, feeling the little trembles of your body against his and hearing each stuttering word fall from your lips.

You used to cry to him for everything. A late assignment or a failed test—tears, or the store ran out of your favourite comfort snacks—even more tears, perhaps the most you’ve ever cried was when you thought you lost Hazel, the stuffie he gave you.

What’s even more upsetting is when he found it in your friend’s dorm, along with the rest of his gifts to you.

Good riddance, your friends deserve everything that came to them. He hopes they burn in hell.

Eventually, he leaves to get some water for you. He wears his mask while passing through the still ongoing party, dodging drunk students as they screamed to whatever song was blasting through the speakers.

He retrieves a water bottle and some snacks before heading back to the bedroom. Upon reaching the second floor, he flips up the mask and spots a tall figure clad in brown, baggy clothes and leaning against the wall.

“How is she?”

“She’s still a bit shaken. I’m taking her back to the house later so she can sleep it off.”

Steve nods, fixing the worn, burlap mask atop his head. “Okay, do you want me to stay for some extra help? You walked here after all.”

“No, I’ll just call a taxi.” Ari slaps his shoulder, taking out the single key to unlock the door. He couldn’t let you get away as soon as he got you back. “You should head back home before some cheerleader rats you out to coach again.”

Aside from the obvious, their disguises are also because the coach had annoying rules that forbid partying before a big game. It wouldn’t be the first time they were scolded after someone reported them.

Mr. Nice Guy Steve had arrived at the party earlier and kept tabs on you like any good friend. He called Ari right away when you were getting close to Bryce. Unfortunately, sweet as he was, Steve was just like you. Dumb and dim, and painstakingly benign. He failed to notice Ari was already there, and so were Curtis and Bucky. All of them masked and with dark intentions.

It wasn’t like them to leave him out of things, but tonight it was vital he remained unaware.

“I hope she gets better soon. Bryce is a fucking asshole for doing that.” The solemn expression on Steve’s face transforms into determination, “You know I’ll always have your back.”

“I know.” Ari smiles, and a tinge of something more lurks in his eyes. “You’re my best guy, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I think you’ll be my best man too someday.”

The blond laughs and walks towards the stairs, his brown velvet suit complements the vintage-style decor. “Someday as in a few months?”

“Less than a few if I get lucky.”

Steve pulls the burlap mask down, concealing his features but Ari knows he’s wearing a crooked grin. “I don’t think you need luck. She needs you, I know it.”

Ari knows it too.

Beyond the door, you’re still sweating up a storm with your hand tucked between your legs, desperately rubbing yourself over your tights. The door opens and you hurriedly hide your wet fingers under the bed sheet, blinking up at the intruder with wide eyes.

“You okay, bunny?”

“Y-Yes, uh, are you?” Your chest rises and falls unsteadily.

He nods, his gaze drifting over your sweaty skin and hard nipples. “They left with some guys just now.”

“...Without me?”

Ari shuts and locks the door behind him. A deep frown plays on his lips, “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t have a chance to tell them about you, I just saw them drive off.”

As expected, tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time that night. Poor little you, your delicate soul probably couldn’t take anymore.

He sits next to you and wraps you in his arms, “I’m so sorry. It isn’t right of them to treat you this way. Like you’re garbage on the side of the road.”

While that was true and they were hypocrites for saying how badly Ari was treating you only to treat you even worse, that wasn’t why you were crying.

“They don’t deserve you, bunny, much less your pretty tears.”

“N-Not crying ‘cause of that.” You whine against his neck.

“Why then?” He asks although he already knows the answer.

You don’t speak and shamefully open your legs, refusing to meet his eyes. The fur of your dress rides up, revealing a soaked patch of your panties through the white nylon, and the wet spot on the bedsheet. “H-Help me, please?”

Every inhale brings your scent deep into his senses, snipping the final threads of self-control. “I don’t know, bunny. It isn’t right.”

“But I want you! I never wanted to break up, never wanted to leave you…” You sniffle, bringing his hand to your core. His long, thick fingers barely brush your tights, but having him this close is enough to send shivers down your spine. “My friends pressured me��and I still want you. Need you, daddy.”

He groans, letting you helplessly grind against his hand. “Yeah, baby? You want me to take care of you?” That glazed look in your eyes almost brings him to his knees. “I’ll help you, but on one condition.”

It was remarkable how you got this far while being so dim.

“Knew you’d like this. My bunny hates scary movies but gets soaked even when I’m wearing this—” In a daze, you stare at the black eyes, getting lost in the endlessness. The hand around your throat tightens, “There’s my little dummy—you get your tits touched and lose your fuckin’ mind.”

You should be scared or at least on edge with him mounted above you, broad shoulders blocking any source of light. His skin is already covered in your nail marks, from his neck to his lower stomach, just above the band of his jeans.

He massages your breast and pinches your nipple, “Are you gonna say something or just cry like a baby?” He tilts his head, dark shadows enhancing the ghostly expression of his mask.

You cup his monstrous bulge, tears leaking down your face. “Want you in my mouth, daddy.”

He grips your chin, digging his fingers into your cheeks until your lips pucker. “You want daddy’s cock or balls, bunny?”

“Ya kno’wha’….”

He smirks, his hand releases your tit and his rough fingers trail down your clothed slit, “I want you to say it. I know this mouth is more than just one of my holes.”

“Daw-dy,” You exhale shakily, “please, c-can I—ah!” You squeal when he rips a hole in the crotch of your tights, but he doesn’t go any further. His touch lingers on your inner thighs, inches away from your sticky, smeared arousal. “Will you—”

He shakes your head, making you squeak, “Spit it out, dummy.”

You weep, your jaw is getting sore from his harsh hold but you’d be lying if you said you hated it. “Let me suck on your balls, please. Need to taste them. Need them in my mouth, on my face—everywhere, daddy.”

He lifts the mask and hums thoughtfully as if he were pondering a philosophical question. With every slow blink, his eyes get a shade darker and darker, soon becoming a colour you’ve never seen before. A twinge of panic blooms in your stomach, and for a moment, you’re scared of him, of what he could do with you in this vulnerable position, in a full frat party where no one could hear you scream.

But he grins, his pink lips stretched in the sweetest smile that blossoms uncertainty into mindless hope.

Then, it’s all crushed. “No.”

“But—”

“I said to ask. I never promised I’d let you.” The mask covers his face again, but you know he’s still beaming. “You did dump me, don’t you remember? Or is your dumb baby brain too stupid right now?”

“I remember…”

“Yeah, should make you read that fuckin’ text right now.” His fingers press against your slit, immediately seeking your little button. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe before he’s rubbing the bundle with his thumb and pinning your hips down. “But judging by your face, I think my bunny is too dumb to read.”

“I can.” You force your eyes open, toes curling in pleasure. “I can, daddy. I-I can do it.”

“Do you think your little head can handle reading right now?” Ari quizzes slowly. If he weren’t immensely enjoying this, he’d pity you. “Poor baby, you just wanna me proud.” He ridicules, drawing out the last word as his voice goes high. “Stupid bunny just wants praise, how adorable.”

Someone hurt you badly, and a sick part of him wants to thank them for making you into the perfect little airhead for him.

He adds pressure as you weakly thrust upward. His other digits join too, fucking your tightness through your soaked panties as you moan quietly. A few slaps land on your cunt, and sopping noises fill the room over the bass. You’re a disgustingly creamy mess—and the weed brownies were such a glorious overkill.

You whimper, fruitlessly trying to remove the mask. “Off, daddy. Wanna kiss you, pretty please. Missed you so bad, need—” He slaps your pussy harder, “—need you.”

Oh, how could he deny you when you asked so nicely?

He rips the mask off and dips down, capturing your bitten lips. His tongue slides against yours as he groans heavily, “If you keep begging like that, you’re gonna regret it.”

“Pl—Please ruin me.” You ached for him. Every part of your mind, body and soul burned for any sliver of him but at the same time, you were overwhelmed by the slightest graze of his fingertips.

You blame the drug Bryce slipped in your drink.

“I’ll do a lot worse, and never let you leave me again.” He murmurs into your mouth, his facial hair rubbing against your tear-stained cheeks. Then, he stands to undress you entirely. Your dress and leg warmers fall to the floor, along with your torn tights and messy panties. He fixes your bunny ears before stripping off his pants, and soon enough, he’s standing fully nude. You don’t know if it was your time apart, but he looks bigger and stronger.

His skin stretched around his rippling muscles and coarse, dark hair mapped out all of your favourite spots. From his beefy chest and his tummy to the fat base of his throbbing length, and finally, his thick powerful thighs.

Wait, the tiniest voice in your head pleads as he slowly rolls down the condom. With the latex snug, he leers at you and jerks his cock slowly, his fingers meeting around the girth. You watch as the angry red head immediately fills the tip with pre-cum and your core throbs, awakening a hunger inside of you.

He kneels on the bed, “What’s wrong?”

“No–Nothin’...” You gulp and surge forward. “Need you, daddy. So bad.” You mutter against his lips, sucking his tongue messily. Saliva is exchanged and smears down your chin, following in the trails of drool and tears. Your makeup is beyond salvation but he thinks you’ve never looked more angelic.

Ari lies on his back and pulls you on his lap, your creamy folds enveloping his length. He rubs up and down your sides. “You know what to do, bunny.”

You obediently nod and rock against his cock, pouting at the latex barrier. You quickly shake that thought from your head, you’ve never had unprotected sex and you won’t start now.

You focus on rolling your hips, rubbing your swollen button against him as he slides along your soppy folds. The mushroom head pokes out every time you thrust back and his sack brushes your opening, getting covered in your arousal.

When your cream covers him from base to tip—and his firm lower stomach too which surprised you because you’ve never gotten that messy before—you lift onto your knees and gently grab him. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, still too thick for your fingers to wrap around his width. You angle yourself and his tip circles your hole, catching on it before popping back out.

“Deep breath, bunny. Open up for me.” He coos softly, holding back from pulling you onto his cock and fucking you stupid.

You dumbly nod, biting your lip as you sink down again. The fat head breaches this time, feeding your needy hole. You slowly start bouncing, bracing yourself on his beefy chest and fucking yourself on his tip. Overstimulation prickles but you force yourself to ignore it.

“Take more, baby, you can do it. Stretch your little pussy for me. All the way down.” His deep growl contrasts with your high-pitched gasp. “Don’t you wanna feel me in your tummy?” He’s missed that initial resistance of your tightness, the way your hole would struggle to take him as if he hadn’t fucked you with his dick and a few fingers before.

Taking a deep breath, you sink further. A choked whimper escapes from behind your clenched teeth when he slides deeper. His protruding veins drag along your pulsating walls until his balls are flush against your ass. All air is shoved from your body, making room for his dick.

Ari groans, losing himself in your heat, “There’s my good girl. Daddy’s so fuckin’ deep, yeah? That’s why you’re crying like a little baby?”

“T-Too big, da—ddy.” You gasp, thighs tensing at his sides. Little exhales shake your frame, that drug wasn’t holding back.

You can’t ride him, not in this state of mind and he knows that. So, he helps you out. His fingers dig into your flesh, moving you back and forth on his cock. The bulbous tip hits your special spot insistently, and your clit grinds against his pubic bone, the dark tufts of hair sending tingles through your body.

“Look at that fuckin’ mess. Leaking all over me, that little fuckhole must’ve missed me, huh?” His eyes bounce between your face and the stickiness covering his skin, all coming from your weepy core. “Missed me so badly you can’t even think right now. Cockdrunk little bunny.”

You want to do more, but you don’t know what.

It’s a good thing Ari knows, he knows you better than you know yourself. He knows that your head is all jumbled right now and nothing makes sense. He also knows that you want to feel his warmth skin-to-skin, the weight of his bare cock against your throbbing walls.

You don’t know it, but you want it. You’ve always wanted it, and that’s why he’s broken or taken off the condom every other time you’ve had sex. This was no different, besides the hints blood still on his neck and arms, and the missing necklace from your throat. The same one that one of your stupid friends delivered to the frat house, along with a note scribbled in blue ink: ‘don’t contact her ever again.’

As if they ever knew what was good for you—as if they could protect you as he has.

Seeing your collarbones rid of any sign of him, he yanks you down by the back of your head, locking you close with his hand around your throat. “Speak up, dumb bunny. You’ve got a mouth for a reason, tell daddy what you want.”

“But, uh! I-I don’t know!” You lift off of him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you grind against his cock. Your slick smears to his abs and down to his balls, making a whole damn mess of his lap and the sheets underneath.

“Put me back in.”

You shake your head, a burning sensation zips through your system, “C-Can’t—don’t know what’s happening—daddy.” If you weren’t so gone, you’d be embarrassed about the rush of slick pouring from your cunt.

Ari huffs and easily lifts you off of him. Your body flops onto the mattress, the cool sheets soothing the heat momentarily, but the confusion is still high.

Why was this happening?

Bryce. It was Bryce. And this could’ve been with Bryce instead.

While you cry into the pillows, helplessly clenching your thighs, Ari slips off the condom. He crawls behind you, keeping you on your side while slipping his arm under your head and pressing his chest to your sweaty back. His nose nuzzles in the crook of your neck and he delicately lifts your leg, guiding himself to your hole and thrusting forward in one go.

You moan loudly and convulse, “O-Oh, wait—”

“Hush, sweetie, let daddy take care of you.”

You go slack when he presses balls deep, his heavy sack flush against your soppy hole as his length throbs within your walls. His skin tingles with desire and pride. It’s been too fucking long since he’s felt your bare skin against his.

“How does it feel? Is this better?”

“Mhm, so much better, daddy.” With a stupidly blissful smile, the heat inside you is finally bearable, you don’t know if it’s the position, or maybe you just missed him so much, but this is better than anything you could’ve dreamt of. “What did you do?”

“Nothing you need to know about, bunny.” He rocks slowly, wet noises filling the room over the muffled bass.

He fucks you like that. Pounding you on your side, keeping you firmly against him as he tears your little cunt apart. His tip slams into your spot ruthlessly and he groans and grunts into your ear, whispering filthy things you can’t hear over the rush of blood in your head.

You can hardly breathe with his bicep locked around your throat. Drool drips down your chin as you gasp for air that’s no longer there. Your mind goes blank and sparks dance along the inside of your eyelids, painting a photo of him—your saviour and captor.

“Should’ve never left me, bunny. Could’ve been fucking you like this every day.” He digs his nails into your leg, messily kissing your jaw and you spasm in his hold. He growls when you tighten, milking him, “Fuck, just like that? I haven’t even touched your little button yet.”

You missed him so much that having this intimacy again heightens all of your senses. You can feel him so closely, the dull thump of his heart, his skin brushing against yours and his breath fanning across your neck.

You loved this man with every fiber of your being.

The gentle ghost of his lips against your cheek shatters you.

Your juices spurt out as your legs attempt to shut, but he forces you wide open. Fucking your cunt as you squirt, coating him in the most obscene way. You just lie there, helplessly taking whatever he has to offer, and all of your surroundings mash together, blending into one another.

“I think that’s a new record, bunny.” His voice is muddled. He gives your sensitive pussy a slap, he should’ve done this a long time ago.

Ari manhandles you like a doll, pulling you to the edge of the bed as his feet land on the floor. Your back collides with the bed and you’re immediately bent in half, with your legs on either side of your head and your arms sprawled over the pillows. His massive frame covers you almost completely and you want nothing more than to drag your hands all over his body, to feel him.

Your dazed eyes never leave him, but he knows you’re barely comprehending anything right now. He’d bet you’d let him fuck your ass without prep.

He loves when you look at him like that. Like he made the sun, stars and moon, and he could never do anything to hurt you—like you’d never leave him, but you did anyway.

Rage bubbles in his stomach and he roughly slaps your creamy cunt in quick succession, the sound echoing through the room as you weakly squirt again, this time it’s far less. Electricity burns through your veins, making you cry out and quiver, trying to escape his hard spanks.

He gets tired of your relentless whining and wiggling and finally lowers himself, inserting his bare length into your ruined, weepy pussy. He watches your hole stretch to accommodate his girth, “Look at us.”

You take a second too long to do what he wanted, so he forces your head up and that’s when you see it. He loves the look of surprise on your dumb face.

“A-Ari, what are you—you can’t!”

“Hush, bunny.” He bats away your hands, “I’m gonna come in you, and you’re gonna fuckin’ thank me for it.” He lowers himself, his beefy thighs flexing from the measured, steady motion. He wants to see your reaction when he presses deeper, “And you’re gonna tell me how much you love my cum, got it?”

He rises calmly, allowing you to see your eager cunt suck him in and coat every inch of his length in your cream. You don’t know how long he does that, the seconds feel like hours as he imprints every one of his protruding veins into your inner walls. Every time he drops down, the fat head rams into your sweet spot, shoving a choked gasp from your throat.

You can’t bring yourself to look away, even when he removes his hand. Drool seeps out of the corner of your lips as your gaze locks on his monstrous cock spearing into you at a brutally gentle pace. You shudder when his thighs tense under his hairy skin, lewdly wishing to sink your teeth into the flesh.

He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, in an almost scary way. Just a fucking mountain of meat and muscle, an impenetrable force that could crush you like nothing. You must look comically and pitifully small and lost under him, bent in half with your face covered in spit and tears.

The fat tip slips out with an indecent pop, he’s throbbing and hot, covered in your shared arousal. He rubs the head on your clit, dribbling pre-cum all over your sore button.

Your next words even shock yourself.

“Back inside—please, daddy.” You can’t do much in this position. You can only watch him leisurely trace his bulbous tip along your drippy petals, circling your hole. “Daddy—stop teasin’...”

“You want me bare, sweetie?” He asks, lazily dragging his balls over your folds. “You have to say it, or else I’m just gonna rub my balls all over your cunt and you’re gonna come like that.” He lifts easily despite being in a squatting position and stays there above you. Taunting you, making you sweat and whine.

You stare at the string of arousal between your puffy folds and his full sack. “Daddy, I—p-please, want—”

He spits on your cunt and pinches your clit meanly, “You can do better than that. I know you’re dumb, but you know how to speak.”

“Please fuck me—bare,” You sound utterly broken, “W-Want to feel your big cock in my little pussy, want you to pump me full. Make me your cumslut, please! Get—Get me pregnant, daddy.”

Ari spits on your core again and lowers, penetrating you in one thrust, and pinning you down with his weight. He forces your flailing hands to hold your legs in place, keeping you wide open for his carnal gaze. The number of times he’s dreamt of having you in a mating press, one would think he was fucking obsessed. And honestly, they wouldn’t be wrong.

Your eyes roll back and you get that exquisitely stupid look on your face. He smirks, “There, was that so fuckin’ hard? Such a dumb little whore begging me to fuck you bare, you remember how you didn’t even let me finish in you with a condom on?”

Not really, all of the times you’ve had sex, you were too fucked out to notice anything. This time was no different.

Ari builds speed, harshly pounding down into your hole and fisting the bed sheets. “Now look at you, cockdrunk—fuckin’ ballsdrunk too I bet.” Your mouth drops open in a silent moan and all he can think about is gagging you on his sack.

Your response is a garbled yes daddy.

“I fucking knew it.” He drops to one knee and leans over you. His thrusts are harder at this angle and this proximity, he can see every useless thought leave your pretty head. “Little slut, you wanna be daddy’s cumdump, sweetie? You want me to fill you up and toss you aside, treat you like a stupid cumrag?”

You nod helplessly, choking out pathetic uh’s with every thrust. He’s so ruthless too, spitting on your cunt or tits, and easily overpowering your squirming body. His length forces out your juices and it leaks down your ass.

“Begging me to knock you up, and treat this little cunt like a cumdump. I thought you were supposed to be my good bunny?”

“A-Am, daddy…”

That earns you a glob of spit on your face. “I don’t like liars. Admit it, ya little crybaby. You just want daddy’s cum in your pussy.” He admires the fat tears pouring from your eyes, “If you could see yourself now, going fuckin’ stupid for cum.”

He’s so deep, his balls slap against your wetness as he rocks into you—stuffing you to the brim. You’ve never felt this full before. Your body begins to ache from this position, but you don’t want him to stop.

Hot streams of euphoria almost knock you unconscious, but Ari’s fingers jamming down your throat make your eyes shoot open. His chest is flushed and the red bleeds onto his face, his dark hair sticks to his sweaty forehead.

“Keep looking at me, baby. Want you to see when I breed this little pussy.”

Automatically, you suck on his digits and taste yourself. He drops forward, completely covering you and hooking your legs over his shoulders. If possible, his dick hits deeper, and for a moment you confuse his fingers in the back of your throat for the tip of his dick.

“Are you ever gonna leave daddy again?” He prys your mouth open, messily spitting on your tongue as you gag. “Poor girl fucked stupid already. All dumb on daddy’s dick, and crying like a fuckin’ baby. Not a single thought in that pretty head.” He pulls out your tongue and chuckles when it just hangs out, saliva smearing on the bottom half of your face, joining your pretty tears.

You’re just a useless little bunny, crying your little heart out on his dick as if you didn’t ask for it and he isn’t doing you a damn favour—without him, you’d be a wet, pitiful mess and probably getting pumped and dumped by some shithead.

Ari would demand you thank him, but he knows you’re too cockdrunk to speak. So, he rails your tight cunt, splitting you open on his girth, claiming his rightful property. He’s determined to fuck a baby into you.

Your senses go in overdrive when your swollen button is bullied by those same rough fingers. You cry out, trying to shove him away but he only gets meaner and pinches your bundle. You mewl and tremble beneath him, creamy and nearly shattered as he thrusts harder and deeper, hitting that rough patch with cruel precision.

“I fucking love you, bunny.” He grunts, eyes locked on your leaking juices that only make him more ravenous. His whole cock is covered in you, and he can feel your excessive arousal dripping down his balls. “Love you so much—you’re never gonna get away again. You hear me?” He grabs your face, still torturing your clit with his other hand. “I said do you fucking hear me?”

“Yes, daddy!” You sob brokenly, struggling to keep his devious glare, “I-I won’t, uh! Promise!”

When you clench tightly, he shudders and falls on top of you, crushing you to the rocking bed. “Fuck, that’s a good bunny.” He groans deeply, licking up your salty tears. “Daddy’s good little bunny, I fuckin’ love how stupid you are.” He bites into your throat, then soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Luh y-you too, daddy.”

One of his hands grips your shoulder and the other lands above your head, his fingers securing your bunny ears to your head. He can’t look away from your glazed-over eyes, too beautifully ruined, and teary and twinkling. “You leave me again, and I’ll do much worst next time.”

If you weren’t all over the place, you’d wonder what he did this time.

He pulls you down to meet his thrusts, and you can offer nothing but weepy moans as your walls tighten, choking his dick, and bringing him closer to a blissful end. Your legs flail, the band in your tummy so close to snapping with every brutal pound of his hips.

“You wanna know something, dumb bunny?” He leans down, spitting on your cheek before smearing it into your skin. The single action has you spiralling. “This isn’t the first time I’ve filled you up.”

You can’t process his confession since your body loses control. Your juices squirt out forcefully and your walls contract, almost trying to push him out but he doesn’t falter and pumps harshly. Your sharp squeal wrecks your throat as you coat him in your orgasm, soaking his cock and balls, all the way down his thick thighs.

Ari presses your legs into the mattress, lowering his weight onto your convulsing frame. “F-Fuck, that’s it. Milk me, ya little dummy, make a stupid mess all over me. Show me how much you love me.” He hisses, his muscles tensing under his flushed skin. His cock pulses as his balls tighten, then finally, he teeters over. “Oh shit, fucking take my cum. I’m gonna fuckin’ breed this little pussy—” His words break off into a guttural groan that bounces off of the walls. Hot streams of his seed flood your insides, stuffing you full until the white pours out from around his girth.

You fade in and out of consciousness, eventually landing in an in-between. The numbness swallows you up from your limbs, slowly but surely reaching your quaking chest. You don’t know if you’re just breathing unevenly or full-on sobbing, but the wet feeling on your face suggests the latter.

Ari pants heavily, his warm breath fanning over your cheeks. He cradles your hot, sticky cheek and slips his thumb into your mouth. In this floaty headspace, you suckle on him lightly, feeling immediately grounded. “It’s okay, sweet bunny, go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

A brightness pulls you from that special place of dreams, and your surroundings trickle into your air-filled head.

First, you smell him. That familiar musk floods your nose in the best way, calming you like a lullaby. You could’ve fallen asleep again, but a faint conversation sparks your curiosity, so you flip over, still hugging a pillow and slowly open your eyes.

At the doorway, two men peer in with their arms crossed.

You wave sleepily, “G’morning guys…”

“Morning, bunny. You have a good sleep last night?”

“Yeah, I—” you yawn, “—love Ari’s bed. It’s so big and warm… nothing like mine.”

“That’s a good thing since you’ll be staying here a while.” Curtis gestures to the side of the room currently occupied by a few of your bags and some stuffies. “Ari had us pick up some stuff from your dorm.”

Your heart swells, you missed this so dearly.

You missed hanging out at their frat house every day, listening to them joke around and say the most vulgar things. Most of all, you missed having zero worries. Ari made everything as easy as possible for you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way, regardless of what your controlling friends thought. A part of you only wishes you realized that sooner.

“Thank you.” You smile softly, “Did you two go to the party last night?”

Curtis waves dismissively, “Nah, we stayed in. You know coach and his dumb rules.”

You pout. “Yeah… Wish you could’ve came though, it was fun.” You try to recall the previous night, but only get glimpses of strobe lights, cute spooky goodies and getting fucked stupid. Your cheeks heat up, “Uhm… from what I remember anyway.”

“It’s alright, we had our own fun. Right, Buck?”

The brunet nods, almost too enthusiastically. “Most definitely. I look forward to having that much fun again.”

“I wanna have fun too!” You lazily blink at them, not even noticing your breast peeking out from under the covers. “Can I join next time?”

Bucky chuckles deeply, “I think you’d have to ask your daddy that question, bunny. We have big boy fun, nothing that your little head could handle.”

You give them your best pout and even clasp your hands under your chin.

“Nice try, sweetie, but we aren’t big softies like your boyfriend.” Curtis snorts playfully, “speaking of, he made you breakfast.”

On the surface of the bedside table is a full platter of pancakes, fruit and juice. You squirm all giddily, “Ah yay! He is a big softie, right? Just a jumble of all the nicest, sweetest, kindest things!”

How ironic of you to say that as Ari walks up the stairs, freshly showered with his hair still dripping on his shoulders. “You two are still here?” He asks.

“We’re just checking up on the little bunny. Making sure she’s not going anywhere.”

Ari quirks a brow, “As if she could walk after last night.”

The two of them know all too much about that. After all, Ari had them help clean the bedroom and bring you back home. You were knocked out cold the entire time and snoring. None the wiser to the men stripping the bedroom of all traces of anyone’s presence.

When they arrived at the frat house, you were clad in Ari’s shirt, bunny ears, and covered in cum, spit and tears.

They thought you’ve never looked better.

Bucky tuts, “you know, went through a lot of trouble for that little dummy in your bed. Isn’t just perfect how she doesn’t remember a damn thing?”

The two other men hum in agreement, studying your sleepy face as you blindly eat the pancakes, humming, swaying and never once opening your eyes.

“I’d do it again. Wouldn’t you?” Curtis asks.

Bucky is silent for a few moments, only staring at Ari with that sinister smirk on his lips. “In a heartbeat.”

“You sound awfully eager…”

“What can I say? I had fun—and your little bunny wants to join next time too.”

“Absolutely not— ” Ari is cut off by the front door downstairs slamming open.

Steve’s voice rings out, “I hope everyone’s awake! I just ransacked the farmers market and am in a baking mood, so music will be blasting all day!”

The three men sigh softly at the obnoxious pop song ratting the house. They glance between the stairs and you, who was still eating your breakfast—except now there were pieces of fruit and syrup on your face, and you’ve reclined on the bed, undoubtedly making a damn mess on Ari’s clean sheets.

“We’re just surrounded by idiots, huh?”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: once again, thank you very much for being patient with me !! i often find myself adding and moving parts while editing, so for me, editing can take a long while and sometimes a whole day. i don't write much of anything 'sneaky dark' if you get what i mean, so i hope you all enjoyed dark ghostface ex bf!ari !! he was fun to write !! I also wrote most of this fic while listening to brown noise, it helped me focus a lot.

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! here are the rest of my upcoming kinktober fics: ˗ˏˋ𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

2K notes · View notes