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leossmoonn · 2 years

Text

Personal Stuff

masterlist

pairing - lucas scott x fem!reader

type - fluff

note / request - “Can you do a best friends to dating fanfic with Lucas Scott?” Enjoy!! Also not edited sorry if there are spelling mistakes lol

summary - after some help from your friends and jamie, you and luke become more than friends

warnings / includes - mild language, ramatic love confession (bc it’s oth and how else would this happen?), this is after high school. happy ending !

————

*gif isn’t mine*

“There’s my favorite basketball player!” You grin as you walk up to your friends. You smile at Nathan, giving him a high-five before you look to Lucas. “Hey, Luke. I didn’t see you there.”

“Yet you don't talk to me?" He questions. You sigh, "I'm sorry. You just seemed so busy.

You grin, “oh, I think I’m hilarious.”

Nathan looks between the two of you, rolling his eyes. “Once you two are done flirting, there is a five year-old who needs to be babysat.”

“Oh, I know. I’m looking at him right now.” You giggle and pinch Lucas’s cheek.

“Hey!” He swats your hand away. “Have you gotten meaner since you’ve been in San Diego?”

“Mm, no, but I think you’ve mellowed out,” you smirk. Lucas sighs, “well, I haven’t had your teasing to keep me in check.”

“Don’t worry. I’m here now, and I’ll have you back in tip-top-shape!”

He lets out a breath laughs, opening his arms out to you and engulfing you into a hug. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his shoulders, molding into his body.

“I wouldn’t love anything more,” Lucas says.

Nathan sighs impatiently. “I know you two haven’t seen each other for a long time, but I really need to go, and Jamie is about to wake up from his nap.”

You and Lucas pull away from each other, bashful smiles on each of your faces.

“Right. Sorry. Taking care of your son right away!” Lucas exclaims, making his way to the kitchen to make Jamie a snack.

“I’ll do that list of chores Haley left me,” you snort. You turn on your heel to walk away, but Nathan stops you. “Hey, Y/n?”

You stop and turn back around. “Yes, Nate?”

He gives you a warm smile. “It’s nice to have you back. We’ve all missed you. Especially Luke.”

You sigh happily, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets. “It’s good to be back, Nate.”

It had been two long years since you’ve been back to Tree Hill. After high school, everyone spread out. The only people who have stayed in Tree Hill were Haley and Nathan with their son. Now almost everyone was back, and have been for about a year now. You finally decided to pay a visit to your home and visit your friends and family. You weren’t sure if you were going to stay, you still had your job back in California, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay for a couple weeks.

“Alright, I’ll see you two later. Please don’t have sex with Jamie in the house. He’s too young,” Nathan remarks.

“Oh, shut up!” You exclaim. “I don’t know how Haley has stayed married to you. You’re awful!”

Nathan flashes you a grin while walking out the door. You roll your eyes, finally making your way to the kitchen.

“Looks like we’re still getting teased, huh?” Lucas chuckles.

“Looks like some things never change,” you hum.

The teasing about you and Luke started later on in high school. You two become the closest of friends once Keith died. This led all your friends to ship you two together and make suggestive comments about your relationship. Although your friendship stayed strictly a friendship, you would be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for Luke.

There were so many chances where you could have gotten together with him. You would have jumped on all those if it weren’t for the love triangle of Peyton, Brooke, and him. But now you all were grown up and moved on. It was the perfect chance for you two to start a romantic relationship. But last you heard of Lucas was that he had a girlfriend who also happened to be his book editor, and he always was dating Peyton well after graduating high school. You were beginning to think it wasn’t in the cards for you.

“I think the little monster is awake,” Lucas whispers.

Your eyes snap up to the ceiling where you hear a thud. “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. That was probably Chester,” Lucas explains. You raise your brows. “Who is Chester?”

Lucas grins, “you missed a lot.” “Yeah, so everyone keeps telling me,” you sigh.

“You should stay a while. Your clients don’t need you,” Lucas says.

You scoff with a smile. “They do if they don’t want to get convicted for murder.”

Lucas opens his mouth to reply back, but stops once Jamie appears down the stairs. “Uncle Lucas!” He exclaims, running full speed to Lucas.

“Hey, buddy!” Lucas greets. He picks up the young boy, spinning him around as he hugs him.

You can’t help but smile. “He looks like your son, Luke.”

“Oh, I know. That’s the running joke here,” Lucas grins.

Jamie turns to you, furrowing his brows. “Who’s this?”

You give him a kind smile, walking over to him. “You obviously don’t remember me, but I’m Y/n. I’m a long and old friend of your parent’s.”

“And she’s my best friend,” Lucas adds. “I thought Mommy was your best friend,” Jamie frowns.

“Oh, she is. We’re both his best friends,” you explain.

“Hm, okay. How come I’ve never seen you before?” Jamie questions.

“Well, I’ve been away and at work. I was here when you were born, though. And I came to visit you two Christmasses ago. You were three then. I remember you were so little!” You gush as you remember carrying him around the house, attempting to feed him Christmas dinner, having to change his diaper because Haley and Nathan went to “bed” early.

Jamie purses his lips and looking over you, studying you. “Why haven’t you visited sooner?”

Your eyes flicker to Lucas, raising your brows at how interrogative the five-year-old is. Lucas chuckles softly. “Her job is not in Tree Hill, buddy. Just like Brooke’s. Remember before she moved to Tree Hill, you would only talk to her in the phone?”

“Yeah,” Jamie nods. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, Aunt Y/n.”

You smile, “it’s just Y/n.” “Nu-uh, your Aunt Y/n now,” Jamie grins.

You giggle, “alright. I’m Aunt Y/n.”

“Hey, Jimmy-Jam, why don’t you get dressed to go to the park and Aunt Y/n and I will make you some lunch, yeah?” Lucas suggests.

“Okay,” Jamie nods. “Can you make a pb and j?” He asks.

“You got it boss,” Lucas grins and puts Jamie down. Jamie runs back upstairs, leaving you two alone.

“Cute kid,” you comment. “He is,” Lucas confirms.

“You’re great with him. You ever thought about having a kid of your own?” You ask. “Yeah, but probably not soon,” Lucas sighs.

“Why not? Lindsey not ready for mini-Lucas’s?” You grin. Lucas lets out sad laugh. “Linds and I aren’t together anymore.”

Your smile falls and your brows furrow. You move towards him, wrapping your arms around his middle and pulling him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

Lucas sighs, hugging you back and resting his chin on your head. “It’s alright.”

You pull away and give him a bittersweet smile. “I know how much you loved her. You wanted to marry her.”

“Yeah, I did. I think she wanted to marry me, too.”

You frown in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know the book I wrote, “The Comet”?” Lucas asks. “Yeah, what about it?” You ask.

“Lindsey thinks it’s about Peyton.”

You slowly pull away from Lucas. “Is it?”

Lucas purses his lips, avoiding eye contact. His hands slip off your body and he steps backwards, resuming making Jamie lunch.

“Luke,” you frown. “It’s not about Peyton! I’m over Peyton. Yes, I loved her and I still do, but I have no desire to be with her. Why does everyone find that hard to believe?” He groans, roughly spreading peanut butter into a piece of bread.

“I don’t find it hard to believe, Luke, but can you blame everyone for being suspicious? You left Brooke for Peyton, you wanted to marry Peyton, everything was about Peyton.”

“Yeah, but it’s not anymore. She’s moved on, I sure as hell have moved on. I thought I could spend a life with Lindsey. Be with her forever.”

You give him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I can still say I’m sorry. I understand.”

“Oh, you do? You were engaged, but ended it because your fiancé thought you were in love with somebody else?”

You chuckle softly, “no, but I was in a relationship and I also thought we were going to be together forever.”

Lucas raises his brows. “Really? How come I haven’t heard about this?”

“Because we were both so busy, and I never told anyone.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three months.”

“Why did it end?”

You shrug, “personal stuff.” “Mm, so there was somebody else,” Lucas raises his brows.

“There wasn’t! Now stop digging. I come back for a little bit and you decide to focus on the past?”

“You’re the one who started it.”

“Mhm. I asked about your future and that led to the past.”

“I suppose,” he sighs. “Help me make Jamie lunch, yeah?”

“Do I have to? I think I’d be better at eating lunch,” you grin. He glares at you playfully. “You agreed to babysit Jamie.”

“He’s not even here! So my job hasn’t officially started yet.”

“Fine I’ll make you something to eat, too.” You’re lucky I love you.”

Your heart skips a few beats. Your eyes meet his and you two share a cheeky smile, heat crawling up both of your faces.

“I love you, too, Luke,” you grin. “Oh, I know. I’m just that cool,” he winks.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you nod in agreement. “You definitely are.”

————

“And that’s another one for Jamie and still zero for Y/n. Hey, did you know you suck at basketball?” Lucas asks you.

You scoff, “did you know you are very rude and a horrible role model.”

“What?” Lucas exclaims. “Jamie, am I a horrible role model.”

Jamie grins and looked between the two of you, then nodding in agreement. You giggle and put your arm around Jamie’s shoulders, pulling him to your side. “Looks like you’re two against one, Scott.”

“Well, looks like you’re 15 to zero, L/n.”

“What’re you gonna do about it, hm?” You raise your brow.

Lucas looks you up and down, chewing on his bottom lip. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

You two don’t break eye contact until Jamie stands in between you two.

“Can we go home? I’m tired,” he states. “Sure,” you nod. “It’s getting dark, anyways.”

“Are you hungry?” Lucas asks you two. “Starving,” you admit.

“Yes. I need food or I’m going to die!” Jamie exclaims.

Lucas chuckles and stands up from the bench. “Why don’t we order some pizza then, yeah?”

“I don’t want pizza,” Jamie frowns. “What do you want, buddy?” Lucas questions.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you have to decide.”

“Why don’t I don’t make something? I can see what Haley has in the fridge,” you suggest.

“You don’t have to do anything. You’ve been playing basketball for a few hours. I bet you’re tired,” Lucas shakes his head.

You shrug, “I barely ran any. I’m okay to cook.”

“Yeah! Please, Aunt Y/n? Lucas can’t cook anything,” Jamie grins.

You can’t help but laugh. Lucas playfully glares at the kid. “Hey, watch your mouth. That’s rude.”

Jamie shrugs, “it’s true.”

Lucas sighs with a smile and looks back at you. “Can I help you then?”

“I would like that a lot,” you grin.

————

You and Lucas are sitting on the couch. Jamie is in bed and you two are sharing a box of beers, waiting for Nathan and Haley to show.

“You think they ditched their kid?” You smirk. Lucas chuckles and takes a sip beer. “Nah, they love that kid. They wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

You smile, “mm, I can see why.” You stare down at your fingers, playing with the drawstring of your shorts. Lucas focuses on you, admiring how pretty you look in the dim living room lights. How soft your lips look, and how sweet you smell. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to just sit and enjoy you. He wasn’t going to waste any time in taking you in.

“How’s thag second book going?” You ask.

“Honestly, not as well as the other one,” he sighs. You face him, giving him a sorry smile. “Oh, why not?”

“Just all the drama work Peyton and Lindsey. People thinking it’s a science fiction book.”

“Wow. I’m sorry, Luke. For what it’s worth, I think it’s an awesome book,” you say.

His brows raise. “You read it?”

“Yep,” you grin. “How did you know about it?” He asks. “Haley told me. You know, I do talk to our friends,” you snort.

“Yet you don't talk to me?" He questions. You sigh, "I'm sorry. You just seemed so busy. I didn't want to bother you."

"I'm ever too busy for you, Y/n. You're my best friends. Never think that," he shakes his head. He rests his hand on yours, causing you to keep staring at him.

"Thank you. It means a lot," you say. He nods, "of course. So, where are you staying?" "Here? Oh, well, I found an apartment complex about an hour away," you answer. Lucas furrows his brows. "Really? What happened to your house?"

"My parents sold it as soon as I graduated. They moved to Florida," you explain. "Ah. That sucks. I'm sorry," he sighs.

You shrug, "it's no problem."

"If you want to stay in Tree Hill, you can live with me for the time being," he suggests.

Your eyes widen in surprise. Heat crawls up your neck as you think about living with him. Having breakfast together, watching movies late at night and cuddling, maybe accidentally running into each other when one of you gets out of the shower. It all seemed like a dream. Something you had been wanting for so long. But now that it seemed to be real, you didn't know if you should take the offer or not.

"Or not." Lucas's hand slides off of yours and the warmth is gone. You perk up, scooting closer to him and shaking you head fervently. "No, no, I'm sorry. I was just thinking about it."

"Mind clueing me in?" He asks.

"Well, I haven't had a roommate since sophomore year of college. It would be a little weird sharing a space again, but it could also be fun."

"I think it would be fun, too. Like old times," he smiles. "Old times?" You cock your head to the side.

"I just mean being close again."

"Ah, right. Yeah, it would be like old times then."

The air between you two is thick with uncertainty. You catch his eyes slipping down to your lips and butterflies shoot down between your thighs. He moves closer to you, putting his arm on your knee. Your eyes flicker from his placement then to his lips then to his eyes. Your heart skips a few beats and you feel a little lightheaded.

"So what do you say? Move in with me?" He leans forward and you can feel his breath on your lips.

"I… I… I'm going back in another couple weeks, though," you say.

"Stay forever. Everyone else is here, Y/n. We all miss you and would love it if you came back. I would," he says.

"Luke, I don't think —"

"I know life here was not easy for you when you were younger, but we're all grown up now. You can make new memories."

You swallow hard. "It's not that, Luke."

"Then what is it?" He asks. "Personal stuff," you say just above a whisper.

HIs lips quirk up and your heart flutters. "Like what?"

You search his eyes, feeling yourself lean into him. "Like you." You say before your lips meet his. He goes still for a few moments and you begin to pull away, but his hand gently grabs your neck and pulls you flush against him. You let out a soft moan as he kisses you back, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He pulls away after a few moments, keeping his hand around you. "What do you mean?"

"You… You were my personal stuff. The reason why my fiancé and I broke up," you breathe out.

"W-What?"

"Yeah," you admit sheepishly. "Why didn't you just tell me that?" He asks.

"Seriously?" You scoff. "What?" He frowns. "You know what I mean. You were always with Peyton, then Brooke, then Peyton, then Lindsey. I mean, I never thought I would catch a break!" You chuckle sourly.

"You've liked me all this time?"

"Yeah. And before you say anything, I know you never have. You were always obsessed with Peyton —"

Lucas shuts you up with another kiss. Your eyes widen, but you melt into him nonetheless. He cups your cheek as he pulls away, pecking your nose. "What makes you think I never liked you?"

"I just said you were always obsessed with Peyton!"

"Okay one, I was never "obsessed". Two, I've always liked you, Y/n. I remember thinking you were the most beautiful girl in the world at the winter formal."

You stare at him, absolutely stunned. "You're lying."

He shakes his head. "I'm not."

"Then… Then why did you never say something? And what about Peyton? You didn't go through all that drama for nothing, did you?"

"I really did love Peyton. But before that, it was you. And there were so many times where I was about to tell you. I thought you liked me, too, but then you started to distance yourself from me. And then you started dating Jackson. And I was so hurt that I decided moving on was for the best."

"Lucas, I… I didn't realize. I honestly thought you never liked me more than friend."

"It's alright. We both didn't know a lot."

You nod, "yeah, no kidding." You sigh and place your beer onto the table. Just as you were about to sit back down, the front door opens.

"Hey! Sorry we're so late. Dinner was just so fun," Haley greets you two.

You and Luke get up, walking over to the couple.

"No problem. Stay out as long as you want. You guys know I love Jamie," Lucas smiles.

"Thanks. How about you, Y/n?" Haley asks. "He is a cute kid. You guys are great parents," you grin.

"Thanks, Y/n," Nathan smiles. "Thank you both again for watching him."

"Anytime!" You exclaim. "We'll make sure to take advantage of you in the couple weeks you're here," Haley chuckles.

"Um, maybe you can take advantage of it for more than that." You reach over and slip your hand into Lucas's. A blush crawls up Lucas's cheeks and he smiles at you.

"Looks like we missed a lot," Nathan chuckles.

Lucas grins. "Maybe just a little."

————

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#lucas scott fluff #lucas scott #lucas scott x reader #lucas scott imagine #lucas scott x reader fluff #one tree hill #oth #lucas scott fluff imagine

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dreamkidddream · 3 years

Note

Those Doll!anon fics were really amazing! I really wanna do something like it if you don’t mind. Could I maybe get a Yorkie!MC? Like, a really short, really friendly MC until they feel like they or one of the brothers/undateables are being threatened or insulted, then they try to pick a fight they’d obviously lose? I’m just laughing at the mental imagine of this short, unthreatening human yelling at and trying to square up against a demon lol.

Awww tysm!! 💙I missed writing for Obey Me (and we also hit 666 followers at this point 😈💜) and since this was so interesting I decided that I’m gonna do the Undateables first and then do the brothers cause I feel like I don’t show them enough love 😔 reader is gender neutral!

The Undateables with Yorkie!MC

Diavolo

He is LOVING your energy

Your happiness is so contagious, it just adds onto his already cheery demeanor. He honestly feels his cheeks hurting from smiling even more when you’re around (and he doesn’t even care!)

He’s gonna buy Lucifer so much Demonus as a thank you for picking you for the exchange program. Seriously, you’re PERFECT (for him)

As the President of Student Council and future King, he loves seeing you interact with the other students, and he’s glad that they’re reacting positive to you. At least some of them do

Now, no one is to foolish (or powerful) enough to threaten Diavolo or do anything to you that can bring you harm. They can try, but they won’t be getting the results that they hope for

But he can’t help it but find it amusing when you try to “defend his honor” when someone bad mouths him. He makes sure to not let it show (gotta be professional after all) but he does tease you about it later. You’re so small and seeing you just yelling square up to this demon is hilarious. He has no idea what geometry has to do with this, but he’s learned some new slang thanks to you!

He’s finally found someone who’ll go along with his antics and more. Whereas other people may complain about him wanting to do fun activities that seem basic, you just flash a big smile, grab his hand and tell him to lead the way

(You even made matching friendship bracelets and he refuses to take it off, ever)

You really make him happy MC. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever felt this lighthearted, and he doesn’t feel the sense of loneliness that he felt himself getting used too

Also Lucifer gets twice the headache now, but the Demonus helps it go away (temporarily)

Barbatos

Ah, so another Luke, except older and that you take your threats of violence very serious, if what he sees (both in the present and the future) holds true (which it does)

You’re still harmless in his eyes though

Your friendly personality makes it easy for you to be forgiven for a lot of things…even if your actions make him give you the side eye at times

Despite how energetic you are (which is something that he’ll never grow tired of) your presence has a relaxing effect on him. Even if he has to warn you sometimes to be careful with the way that you bounce around so much, especially when he’s in the kitchen

He unfortunately can’t be by your side as he is Lord Diavolo’s butler, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t keep watch on you, even without the use of his powers

With how outgoing you are, you’re bound to attract trouble, in which you do at a constant rate. What was comical however, is that it seemed like the trouble you attracted was on his behalf

“MC, what seems to be the issue here?”

“BARB! You won’t believe this! This jerk has the nerve to call you stuck up- well I can show you stuck up! After I stick my foot up your- Huh? Hey, why am I the one being dragged away?! W- count yourself lucky that Barb is saving you right now demon! But this isn’t over- MPH!”

“I hate to spoil you before our tea party, but you were already late and I have been meaning to have you try my new recipe that I’ve been working on…”

You were too busy trying to savor the delicious flavor to focus on what just happen, which was his plan all along. You get to try more of his delicious treats and he gets to enjoy your touch and company. Crisis averted!

He’s crafty enough to have plans to evade you “fighting” and you haven’t caught on yet (or maybe you did and just feign ignorance? Either way works for him)

It doesn’t bother him what people say about him, he doesn’t care in the slightest (and they’re not bold enough to say it to his face). What he cares about is making sure that you keep your carefree energy, and that he keeps to see you with your radiating smile on your face

Simeon

You remind him so much of Luke. Are you sure you’re not from the Celestial Realm too?

Don’t worry he’s only teasing you (kinda) but you do have just as much energy if not MORE than Luke

And you don’t mind helping him either, no matter how “silly” his requests may be

“You’re doing great Si! See, you didn’t even need my help!”

“MC, I couldn’t have gotten to this point without you. My pictures are still coming out a little blurry, but that could be because you wouldn’t stand still- but it does add special kind of charm to them…”

He’s keeping them btw

He was shook when he saw you go off the first time, like he really wasn’t expecting it (Solomon did try to warn him, he was laughing but he did try to warn him)

“Don’t think just because he’s an angel means I’m bout to act like one! I will end you!”

MC please don’t make this demon “catch these hands” violence isn’t necessary

He doesn’t know what that means but he’s scared that he’s gonna find out if he doesn’t hold you back

He has reprimanded you each time when you try to fight others. He knows that demons see him as weak and talk behind his back, but he chooses to ignore them, to turn the other cheek. But just because he does, doesn’t mean that you do, and he sees that now

Simeon really doesn’t want you to fight, and it’s not even because it’s against his nature (it’s part of the reason, just not the whole reason). Fighting leads to injury, and injury leads to distress, and that’s the last thing that he wants to happen to you. And he’s not going to let anything happen to you!

He truly believes it’s a waste of time and energy, and you could find better things to do. For example, by spending time with him!

Simeon may not be your guardian angel officially, but he’s your guardian angel. Always

Has definitely written a character based on you

Luke

Is immediately upset that you don’t stay in Purgatory Hall with him, and even more upset that you don’t live in the Celestial Realm

You’re like the best older sibling he’s never had! And you don’t treat him like a baby either!

Or he’s just admiring you too much to notice

You never hesitate to help him with anything; baking, homework, pretty much anything and everything. He may try to make it seem like you need his assistance, but we all know it’s the other way around (with the exception of Luke himself)

We all know that Luke gets teased by the brothers and even his roommates sometimes (looking at you Solomon), but it’s just harmless teasing (for the most part). It’s when he hears what the other students say about him that gets to him- he tries to show that it doesn’t bother him and he tries to stand up for himself but- their words really hurt him

And no one hurts Luke and gets away with it

You already get onto the brothers for their teasing when it starts to bother him, and now the brothers have to jump in to stop you from trying to rip this demon horns’ off

You can’t really reach them and they’re pretty sure you won’t do any damage, but they rather not take the chance of you getting hurt

It’s not the first or last time that you do this either, and it just makes him feel horrible. He’s the angel here, the one that’s suppose to protect you, not the other way around!

You help him out so much, either without defending him you do so much for him already. How can he ever repay you? He feels like whatever he does won’t be enough…WAIT- he figured out what he can do!

He can get stronger and protect you! He can go to Beel so that you don’t have to fight for him anymore, or maybe have Solomon make some potions that’s like demon repellent but only for those jerks. If those mean demons see how serious and strong he is, then they’re bound to leave you guys alone! Maybe he can show you some tricks too once he’s done. He has to hurry up and tell you the plan then, you guys can’t wait any longer!

Their words do hurt, but so does seeing you putting yourself in harms way to protect him. You can’t do all the protecting MC, he needs to watch out for you too, no if ands or buts about it!

You and Luke are the duo we never knew we needed

Solomon

Ah, it’s about time he found a human as interesting and adorable as you. Where having you been hiding all his lifetime?!

He has wayyyy more fun teasing you than Luke. Your pout just makes things x100 better and cuter

Congrats on becoming his new victim MC

Another one to find you very amusing when you try to fight and won’t stop you either

He will dead serious be recording you trying to fight on his DDD. He’ll make sure that it doesn’t escalate but who is he to stop such entertainment?

He has become tempted to cast a superhuman strength spell on you, and he ends up doing it “on accident” (which has happened more than once)

Lucifer has done the “I’m watching you” thing to him every time he has lmao

But no seriously, he won’t let you get hurt; he won’t even let the chance arise. He’s already pulling you away before you can get yourself worked up fully, dragging you to the library or his room to test some new spells (one that he tempts you can use on these demons). It’s enough to get your attention back on him

You’re a daily source of his amusement and someone that he wants MC, but that doesn’t mean he can afford his favorite human getting hurt on his watch!

He’s no stranger to the gossip about him, nor is he clueless. It’s just all talk anyway, he doesn’t care and neither should you. But it is touching to know that you care this much about him and how he feels…

But he doesn’t want you to do this for him. He’s a powerful sorcerer, he can easily solve this without breaking a sweat if he wanted to, but he doesn’t deem it worthy to even waste a drop of potions on. But since you’re so concerned, maybe a quick kiss would make him feel better?

He thought you were a little gullible, but that’s not the case. You just have a very open and bright personality, one that he finds himself getting attached to more and more as each day passes

If he’s not careful, he might get more enamored with you than he already is-

#obey me #obey me reader insert #obey me x reader #obey me swd #obey me diavolo x reader #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #simeon x reader #obey me simeon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #obey me luke #luke is baby

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ptergwen · 3 years

Note

I think your requests are open (I didn’t see anything that said otherwise but I suck at this app lol) but I was wondering if you could write a peter x reader (likely college-age) where they have an academic rivalry and just tease each other a lot and lots of fluff and shit? It can be an established relationship or like a friends/rivals to lovers or really whatever you want. Sorry if this is super specific! Anyways, I love your writing, it always cheers me up :)

friends close, enemies closer

ik this is cherry BUT i had to

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and hints of suggestiveness

a/n: thank you my love ! i’m actually obsessed with this concept so i’m super super happy with how it came out n i hope you are too :,)

you wipe sweat from your upper lip, peeking at peter’s laptop screen. he’s more than halfway through the paper your english professor tasked your class to write. he looks to have not a worry in the world as he continues to type away. growling at this, you dive right back into work.

you’ve been at each other’s throats since the beginning of classes when you both wanted the same spot. first row, middle seat. peter had officially claimed it in the end. you’d flopped down next to him and his irritating smirk.

the dude is smart, you’ll give him that. his knowledge of literature is almost as impressive as yours. almost. he raises his hand any chance he gets, effectively stealing your thunder if you dare to participate.

peter is also a bit of a people pleaser. he’ll chat up your professor at office hours, fascinate her with his hot takes on things or stupid anecdotes. you often get so annoyed that you bail before you even attempt to woo her yourself. the sight of you storming off is something peter thoroughly enjoys.

bottom line is, golden boy peter parker never loses. underneath the sweet, innocent persona he hides behind is a ruthless fighter. you’re determined to end his winning streak, thus sparking your ongoing competition to be better than the other in every way possible.

this time, your goal is to meet your ten page paper requirements the fastest. they aren’t due for weeks, but you and peter are banging them out in one sitting.

you’re hauled up in the campus library, sat side by side despite your wishes for peter to get his own table. he’d insisted on sharing with you. why, you haven’t a clue. you can’t stand him, and he isn’t the fondest of you either.

that’s what you tell yourselves, at least.

“progress report?” peter requests from you. “page three. you?” you grunt back. he props his feet up on the table, arms flexed behind his head. “finishing up page seven. you already knew that, though... creeper.”

god, you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

you glance over at peter, doing your best to ignore how his biceps bulge under his hoodie. nerdy little parker is ripped.

“worry about yours, i’ll worry about mine. thanks.” you reread the sentence you wrote prior to peter’s chiseled body distracting you. “oh, the irony,” he sighs and nudges the edge of your laptop with his sneaker. scowling, you shift the screen away from him.

about a minute of silence goes by until it’s unfortunately filled by peter. he stretches his arms out, finally removing his dirty shoes from the table.

“i’m gonna take five. maybe, you could use it as an opportunity to catch up to me,” peter cockily suggests. “spare me your charity, peter. i’m doing just fine without it,” you retort, letting out a scoff. peter raises his hands in defense. “if you say so, princess.”

here you were, naively thinking peter couldn’t become any more insufferable than he already is.

you slam your laptop shut and jab a finger at his chest. “jesus christ, how many times do i have to ask you not to call me that?” a patronizing pout adorns peter’s lips. “aw, i love it when you get all bossy on me. so cute.”

he grabs your hand still on his chest, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. you’re quick to wipe it off on his hoodie. nevertheless, there’s an undeniable heat rushing to your cheeks.

“well, i hate it when you call me princess,” you deadpan. peter tilts his head to the side. “do you?”

of course not. deep down, you live for the fuzzy feeling you get whenever the nickname slips from his tongue. oh, his tongue and the things it can do. poking out as he focuses hard on a question, running across his pink lips…

you have to reel it in. this is peter parker you’re fantasizing about, your mortal enemy.

“yes. i hate it, and i hate you,” you unsuccessfully convince the both of you. “no, you don’t,” peter rasps, darkened eyes scanning over your features. his stare is intense and intimidating. he grasps your chin between his thumb and index finger, slowly leaning in closer.

he’s not going to stop until you make him. you don’t want to, but you will.

you shove his shoulder, dragging your laptop towards you again. “on second thought, i could use that catch up. you’re not gonna throw me off my game, parker.”

your rejection seems to disappoint peter. his expression matches that of a kicked puppy, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“we’ll see,” he murmurs and swings a leg over his chair. “alright, i’m gonna run to the caf. you want anything?”

he’s offering to buy you food now? what’s his angle here?

“i’d say yes, but i’m afraid you’ll poison it somehow,” you half joke. peter hops to his feet. “don’t give me any ideas,” he warns, snatching his backpack off the floor. “i’ll just surprise you.”

although you’re curious what his mystery snack choice for you would be, you can’t accept. you’d be going against your entire dynamic.

would that be so terrible?

absolutely.

you wave him off towards the double doors. “i’m good, peter. really. i’m not that hungry, anyway.” shaking his head, peter throws a backpack strap onto one shoulder. “y/n, your stomach’s been grumbling for the last hour. you gotta eat.”

he’s not wrong. you’re starving, but you’ve been too preoccupied by your essay to break for dinner.

“fine, surprise me,” you concede. peter flashes you a smile, this one void of its usual condescendence. “i’ll be back. try not to miss me too much,” he calls as he walks backwards to the library doors. “i won’t. shoo already,” you dismiss him, a laugh falling from your lips.

peter winks at you, then disappears into the night. you’re left with a serious case of butterflies and a certain freckle faced know-it-all on your mind.

that’s a problem.

you’ve managed to get another page done when peter reappears. he sits back down and slides a bag across the table, you closing your laptop. you dig into it to figure out what he picked for you. you’re not too pleased with his selection, however.

“oh, yummy. vomit in a cup,” you announce as you hold a green smoothie in your hand. peter reaches over and pats your thigh. “it’s good for you. drink up, princess.” you slap him away. “hard pass. i’d rather you have gotten me nothing.”

narrowing his eyes, peter pulls two cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. “i’m guessing you don’t want these either? more for me, then.”

they’re chocolate chip and m&m, your favorite in the cafeteria. they just came out of the oven, so they’re still warm.

“how… how did you know i…” you trail off, peter setting the cookies in front of you. he offers you a lopsided grin. “i know a lot about you, believe it or not. i pay attention.” you surprise yourself by returning his smile. “thank you, peter. how much do i owe you?”

“nah, it’s on me,” peter assures you. “enjoy.” pushing aside your unappealing drink, you seize the cookies instead. “you have to eat, too. let me at least split these with you.” there’s a beat before peter nods. “fair enough.”

that results in you two munching on your cookies while pretending to write your papers. you’re sneaking glances at each other whenever the other isn’t looking, in reality.

once it’s about time for the library to close, you’re on the verge of passing out. peter is concluding his essay until he hears a thump from your side of the table.

he finds you with your cheek smushed against your keyboard and hitting random letters, snores escaping you.

chuckling to himself, peter places a hand on your shoulder. “hey, y/n?” he speaks in a hushed tone. you awake with a gasp, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. “easy there, princess. it’s only me.” he rubs circles on your back, and it’s oddly comforting.

“keep doing that,” you purr, momentarily forgetting how much you’re supposed to despise peter. he lets his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your lower back. “we should probably head out. it’s kinda late,” peter decides.

you sit up, bones aching and eyes forced open. “not yet. have to beat you first.” you start to delete the gibberish you accidentally typed. peter cups your cheek to turn your head towards him, your movements halting. “this one’s a tie. you did good, y/n/n,” he coos. “finish the rest another day.”

“why’re you being so nice to me?” you nearly whisper. peter uses his thumb to swipe the drool from your lips. “‘cuz i care about you. i might not show it, but i do,” he admits with the hint of a smile. “besides, i need you… for the, uh, the healthy competition.”

laughing softly, you twist his hoodie strings around your fingers and tug. “your intentions are pure as always. sure that’s all you need me for?” peter’s gaze darts to your lips, then your eyes. “we’ll see,” he repeats.

rivalry be damned.

“mm. i care about you too, parker. thanks again for tonight,” you hum. a blush coats peter’s cheeks, even in the dim library lighting. his sweet and innocent side might truly exist. “no problem.” peter links your pinkie with his, the gesture giving you that fuzzy feeling. “i’ll walk you back to your dorm?”

you lean over and kiss his pinkie intertwined in yours.

“lead the way.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker au #peter parker smut #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, it’s not going to be so easy to get rid of him.

A/N: I could write a term paper on all of Dabi’s pathologies in this fic...I forgot how much I love writing smutty angst. Good shit 👌

I was planning on making this a ficlet so it’s kinda structured like that even though it ended up a full-length piece. Also, Dabi says some bullshit about sex work that I absolutely do not agree with or condone so please keep that in mind.

➠ see also: [homeowners association]

Tags/warnings: Dabi victimizes you, noncon/dubcon, light yandere, threats, cheating, NTR kinda?, mentions of past sex work, degradation, rough sex (breath play, impact play, crying), mild violence, very brief mentions of past child abuse in the Todoroki household, sad stuff/angst idk lol, *Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood plays in the background*

Dabi would know you anywhere.

You’re different now, which makes sense. It’s been years. Your old uniform of raggedy denim and hand-me-down leather has been replaced with a prim linen dress, designer label at the collar. You used to dye your hair religiously (it was neon pink when he saw you last) but now it’s styled back to your natural shade, a color he only saw back then when your roots grew out. You smell good, expensive. It does take him a second to recognize you without smudged pencil eyeliner drawn under your eyes like in the old days, but once he catches your gaze the realization is immediate.

It’s you. You. You.

You recognize him too, but your reaction is different—shock, then panic; you tug the arm of the man at your side, urging him to walk faster so you can pass Dabi on the sidewalk. The rejection stings for a second, but he isn’t too surprised. You did abandon him, after all.

Dabi doesn’t let it bother him. You’re not going to get away that easy. He pulls you into conversation, grinning when you reluctantly introduce him to your companion (who is, apparently, your husband) as an old friend from school. You didn’t go to school—Dabi knows that, and you know that, but your husband doesn’t. Which means your husband isn’t aware of your sordid past as a runaway.

This is going to be fun.

Once he knows you’re in town, he doesn’t have much trouble finding you. Your husband is a very wealthy man, well-known in this city now that he’s moved here. So this is what you’ve been up to all these years? Shacking up with some ugly motherfucker who’s at least 20 years your senior because he can afford to dress you up in pretty things and take you on overseas vacations? Dabi has to admit, he wouldn’t have thought it of you. Back when he knew you, you were so sincere, such an idealist, even in your darkest nights.

Then again…you always were willing to get your hands dirty in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you think.

Dabi comes to your house in the middle of the day when your husband’s at work and you’re stuck at home because that’s what you are now, a housewife. From a cocksucking whore to a pretty housewife with a dirty little secret. He’s getting hard just thinking about it as he watches your internal debate on whether to let him in or not. Eventually guilt wins out and you usher him inside, hoping the neighbors didn’t see a known villain lurking on your doorstep.

You make Dabi coffee (and aww, you remember exactly how he likes it). He gets you to talking, and you don’t seen surprised to learn about his current line of work; when he presses you, you admit that you’ve been following him in the news. Your life, in comparison, has been wholly uninteresting: you met a man, he proposed, and you married him. Very little has happened to you since. After a long silence you timidly apologize to Dabi for leaving him behind when you two were teenagers, and he tells you he understands.

He doesn’t forgive you.

Overall, things are good, he tells you. But you know, sometimes he misses the old days. Being on the run with you, stealing food from gas stations, breaking into fancy summer homes and pretending the two of you lived there. Stitching up each other’s cuts, because one of you had always gotten in a fight in the past few days. Sometimes he still has dreams about the smell of the balm you used on his fresh burns…and your cool hands, smoothing gently across the tender skin on his face, but he doesn’t say that.

You look down into your monogrammed coffee mug and tell him you know what he means.

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then you offered to let him do yours. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did. You were older and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and heard your voice saying you trusted him, it was the first time he ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He chose twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It hadn’t been long since he got the worst burns on his face (the ones under his eyes, wrapping around his chin and down his neck) and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the ugly, wrinkled scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

…But the longer he reminisces, the more nostalgia’s going to distract him. He came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to have coffee with you and talk about the good old days. What he’s about to take from you—what he’s about to make you give—is long overdue.

You’ve still got a little fight in you. Dabi likes that. But you’ve gone soft, filling out and losing muscle in places where you used to be lean and hard from the constant running and fighting of your old lifestyle. Besides, even if you were as strong as you’d been back then, he’d still be stronger than you—he’s a man now, and it’s incredible how small and weak you seem now that he can look at you as a man.

Were your punches always this light? No way…and your wrists couldn’t have always been this delicate. It’s really no trouble at all for him to wrestle you down to the couch and pin you there so he can tear off your stupid little housewife dress and tug your panties down past your ankles.

Once he’s got you fully naked, though, you pretty much give up trying to fight him off. It’s sad, really—like you’re remembering the past, remembering all the times you let other men hold you and fuck you just so you could have enough money to take yourself and Dabi to McDonalds for a few days. And now look, you’re plenty well-fed, but Dabi’s the one holding you down against your will. Funny how things change like that.

He does appreciate your submission, since it gives him the chance to get a decent look at you. The years have been kind—you look so much healthier than you used to. No more visible ribcage stretching out your skin; no more unhealthy pallor from going outside only at night. Your hands are as soft and manicured as if you’ve never done a day’s work in your life, a far cry from the bitten nails and bloody knuckles of your youth. It’s good to see you like this, and he lingers for a second, drinking in the sight of you and committing you to memory.

Dabi’s pictured this moment for years. He used to think he’d savor it, be sweet with you, slow and gentle to show you what you were missing with the trashy guys you used to hang out with. But now, hey—he’s the trashy one, he’s the one who wants to hurt you and own you and ruin you. May as well act like it.

Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?

You’re unbelievably tight for a former whore. Dabi can barely hold out when he first pushes into you, licking the tears off your cheeks when apparently it hurts too much for you to keep up a brave face. It takes real effort to fuck himself all the way into you, pushing past the tense squeeze of your muscles while you…well, you’re not exactly wet, but he’ll get you there. As soon as his hips are grinding up against yours, he’s hitching your legs up on his shoulders and pounding you into your stuffy antique couch so deeply that he thinks it might splinter into pieces underneath the two of you.

God, you’re so, so, tight. Dabi feels like a virgin with his cock buried inside you, biting his lip so he doesn’t cum in thirty seconds and thrusting into you with a rhythm that comes from nothing less than pure animal instinct. And you’re getting into it too. Can you tell that your pleading and begging him to get off you is turning into moaning? Can you feel your hips bucking weakly back against his, reverting to the position of the submissive bitch your body remembers even if your mind has tried to forget?

It’s perfect, right and good and perfect, everything Dabi’s been waiting for since he first knew what it was to want someone—no, not just someone. You. It’s always been you. A person never forgets their first love, right? It’s perfect, except—except you won’t look at him, you keep looking off to the side and sniffling, and that’s not going to cut it. So he slows down and wrenches your head back to center and makes you kiss him, sliding his tongue over yours and trying to see if he can feel the place where you used to have a piercing there, too. It’s kind of thrilling, actually—wondering whenever his face dips into yours if you’re going to bite him, if he’ll come back from you with blood in his mouth.

He’s only got to thumb over your clit a couple times before you’re clamping down on him, your body begging to be used and abused. Your husband hasn’t been treating you right, though Dabi doubts the old bastard can even get it up without a blue pill. Sure, you look like a sweet little doll, so darling and delicate and breakable, but Dabi knows you better than that. You’re strong, you can take it. He knows you want it rough, so that’s how he’ll give it to you—and hey, hey, he can feel your cunt quivering around him—you’re cumming, aren’t you? So you like it. You like it.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long before, but when you cum and tighten and squeal so high he thinks you could lose your voice, the tension in his abdomen rises up and he digs his fingers into your hips and—shit, you’re saying something, what are you saying? You’re pleading, begging him not to cum inside—but, ohhhhhh fuck he can’t help it, he can’t, he can’t, he’s cumming all the way deep into your tight little snatch, cockhead jutting up at your cervix, fucking his semen all the way through you until your slit is smeared white from top to bottom.

Stop crying. Dabi’s sick of hearing you cry.

You’re still pretty nimble, even though your current exercise regimen probably doesn’t extend beyond periodic jogs around your neighborhood and weekly pilates with all the other bored trophy wives. He’s kind of surprised when as soon as he lifts himself off of you, you have the strength to roll off the couch and scramble around on the floor for your clothing.

You don’t say anything, which he wasn’t expecting. You don’t scream at him, demand that he leave, or ask him how he could do this to you after everything the two of you went through together. You probably still think of yourself as an older sister when it comes to him.

When you’d first met the scarred kid trying and failing to live off the streets, you knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He’d known pain before, plenty of pain (icy-blue fire roasting the skin off his face—spiral fracture from callused hands twisting his arm behind his back—cold, aching muscles after what he thinks is the fifth hour spent locked in a closet), but he’d never known hunger. Hunger was a different kind of beast, one that would chew the kid up and spit him out and leave him broken if you didn’t take him under your wing, so you did.

It wasn’t like you had much of anything to spare, but you made it work. For a few years. He didn’t talk at first, but he took what you gave him, so you gave him what you could: food, if you had it; a place to sleep at night; the knowledge you’d gathered in your own years as a runaway on how he was supposed to survive in a world that didn’t care whether he lived or rotted away in a gutter. You cared.

Until you didn’t.

‘Going to be traveling alone for a while. Don’t wait for me. I’m sorry,’ your note had read. You left it in his backpack along with $43 in cash—not much, but he knew it was more than you could afford. It was all you had.

And now you have all of this! Don’t you feel lucky? You have the rich husband who barely looks at you, the big house with so many empty unused rooms it makes him sick, more food than you could possibly eat in one lifetime. All of that, and you also have Dabi’s semen leaking out of your cunt. It’s a real rags-to-riches story, he thinks.

Dabi picks a cigarette out of his jacket and you stop fixing up the buttons on your dress to ask him not to light it inside. How will you explain the smell to your husband? Every move you make, every syllable that comes out of your mouth, is weighed down by despair. You look like you’ve been beaten.

He lights the cigarette anyway.

///

Before he had you the first time, Dabi thought once would be enough. Pretty naive, huh?

He makes it his mission to fuck you in every room of your husband’s gluttonously enormous mansion (what with your history Dabi has a hard time thinking of the house as yours, and considering the way you tiptoe around and seem like you’re afraid to move so much as a vase, he suspects you feel the same). There’s a lot of rooms.

When he shows up at your door again you don’t even bother to hear him out, instead just trying to shut it on him, but he forces his way in. You wouldn’t want to make him mad, would you? Not when he’s got such a filthy secret hanging over your head? Will your husband keep paying for your designer shopping trips when he knows you’re a street rat who used to steal everything she wore? Will he still kiss you goodnight when Dabi tells him you used to wrap those pretty lips around strangers’ cocks for money?

If you want Dabi to keep quiet, you’re going to have to convince him the best way you know how. A cockwhore is a cockwhore. That’s not the kind of stain you get to wipe away with time and distance and expensive clothing.

In the kitchen: standing up, your back to his front and your hands barely holding you up on the counter, so hard and rough and deep that the dishes are rattling in the pantry. One of your teacups falls out of the glass china cabinet and shatters into a million fragments in a four foot radius over the tiled floor. Neither of you notice until after. Blunt red lines press themselves into the tops of your thighs where he’s shoving your body into the edge of the counter and there are bruises on your tits from how hard he’s groping you.

In the dining room: sitting on the edge of the table, one of your legs hiked up beside you and the other on a chair while Dabi kneels on the ground in front of you, his head between your thighs and his tongue flicking over your pussy. You start off thinking that you’re going to have to sanitize the entire mahogany surface before you can eat off it again and then he licks his lips and sucks on your throbbing clit and you don’t really think about anything else after that.

In your husband’s study: doggy-style on the floor in front of the fireplace, facedown, his body folded over yours, pressing you so deep into the tacky lion-skin rug that you can taste it. He sighs in your ear—actually, you’re not sure if it’s a sigh or a growl—and his hand comes up to cover yours. You feel the metal stitches and the rough burned skin scraping on your own and it reminds you that it’s him. It’s Dabi.

(A few days after his 13th birthday, the Dabi you used to know told you that he was going to dye his hair—he wanted to be unrecognizable, and you understood, so you found some old scissors and stole hair dye from the pharmacy and you spent three long hours chopping his hair into rough spikes and painting it black. When you washed the dye out of his hair in the sink, your hands were stained inky black too. When he saw, he looked worried and weaved his fingers in with yours and asked if the dye would hurt your skin if it stayed on too long.

And you looked back at this kid—small for his age then, burned by his own quirk, trying so hard to look older and tougher than any 13-year-old should have to be, and you thought to yourself, I would die for you.)

Now you hear Dabi growling out your name and squeezing your hand as he reaches his climax and you think, I would kill you if I could.

///

Dabi saves the master bedroom for last.

Your husband is hosting a party at your house. Dabi knows because you begged him not to come today, looking up at him with those doe-like eyes, offering things you never would have offered if it weren’t important to you that he stay away on this particular evening. But he still comes to crash it. He arrives just minutes before your husband does, and you have barely enough time to tuck him away on the dark bedroom balcony and pull the curtains closed before your husband is opening the door and greeting you.

Dabi settles himself into one of the tasteful Adirondack chairs on the balcony and listens to your voice, or at least what he can hear of it through the sliding glass door. You’re sweeter with your husband than you are with Dabi, and he should’ve known you’d be, but it still makes him hate your husband more than he already did.

On the other hand, there’s something strained and high and nervous in the way you’re speaking. Probably because your husband is standing about twenty feet away from the man you’re cheating on him with.

It takes a while for the two of you to dress for the party, but finally Dabi hears you tell your husband that you’d like to take a little longer to get ready and bid him goodbye. “Love you,” you say to the old man as he leaves the room, so casually Dabi might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening.

Then you’re opening the door and ushering him inside and telling him anxiously that he has to get out before anyone sees him. But, oh, you look nice like this, dolled up in your evening gown and makeup and diamonds, trying to pull him to the door even though you must know by now that he’s not going to leave it there. Instead of following, he backs you up onto the bed and peels down the straps of your dress and slides his hands up under the skirt, and all the while he can’t stop thinking about what you said to your husband.

You used to say that to Dabi.

The first time it was an accident—you’d mentioned it off-hand during a night when it was snowing and his unnaturally high body temperature was the only thing keeping the two of you alive. “God, I love you,” you’d said, draping your arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close to share his heat.

It had stunned him and you could probably tell. Maybe the next few times were just you taking pity on a kid who had never been told so casually and so simply that he was loved. But eventually you meant it, the little love you’s before you went to sleep or when one of you went off to do something alone for a few days—a familial love borne of mutual reliance. For the years Dabi was a runaway with you, you were the only person he could trust, and he knows the feeling was mutual.

Now he wants you to tell him you love him again.

It would be hot, wouldn’t it? You telling Dabi you love him while he forces you into a mating press on the bed you share with your husband. Isn’t that hot? You’re never going to be able to sleep on these sheets again without remembering his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, his cock filling you in ways you haven’t been filled since you were 19.

How are you gonna lay next to your husband in this sad cold bed? ‘Cause that old fuck isn’t touching you, Dabi knows that much—if he was, he’d’ve noticed by now that you’re always covered in bite marks and hickeys that he didn’t give you. How are you gonna sleep at night knowing what a nasty slut you are, telling another man you love him?

So say it. Say you love him.

Oh, you’re going to be like that, aren’t you? What did he tell you about being a fucking brat when he’s talking to you? See if you’re still so defiant when he’s got his hand stroking the length of that pretty throat and then sealing down on it, squeezing gently on the veins running up the sides of your neck, not too hard, but enough that you’re probably getting a little dizzy while he continues to fuck into you. Does it hurt? Your face is turning pink. Uh-uh-uh, don’t try to pull his hand off, or he’ll show you just how good he is with his quirk these days.

You’re trying to choke out the words but you can’t quite make them make sense. There’s something endearing about the way your whimpers vibrate through the skin of Dabi’s palm, how he can hear you as well as feeling you. Oh—could you say his name too? He knows you’re feeling all fucked-out and wet and sloppy, every moan rising and falling in time with his cock stretching your pussy open, but can’t you give it a little more effort? He’s sure you can get his name out if you really try.

And if you’re not going to cooperate, Dabi may as well just dig the heel of his knuckle into your windpipe, because you really do tighten up so deliciously when you cough and sputter like that. Fuck, if you keep doing that, he’s going to cum, gonna cum right here in your syrupy pussy and spill it all over your marriage bed—but no, he wants to hear you say it first, so when you’re gagging and turning red and your eyes are watering he finally stops choking you, loosening his grip just enough that his hand is resting on your neck in a lover’s touch. It takes you a second and your voice is so hoarse he can barely hear it, but then you’re speaking and something jumps in his chest—

“I…I love—love y-you, Touya!” you sob. “I love you! I—love you, Touya—Touya—Touya—!”

And ah fuck it’s almost exactly right, your voice saying you love him, saying his real name, a name he hasn’t heard for years because you’re the only one who really knows it anymore—but you’re crying, real heavy sobs while you gulp in frantic lungfuls of oxygen. Your ribcage is heaving underneath him and—god, fuck—your guts are clenching, sucking down on every inch of his cock, every vein—

—oh shit fuck fuck he’s cumming, and he presses his face into your neck, into your hair, kissing you and thinking I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

—please stay, forever.

///

When he’s done, he goes for another round just to make sure you’re going to have cum dripping down your thighs when you go back to the party. No panties, unless you want him to walk through the grand foyer with all the other guests on his way out.

You don’t look at him as you fix your dress and your hair and wipe at your smeared makeup. With your eyeliner rubbed down to the bottom of your eyes, Dabi’s reminded a little of how you used to look—and the reminder is doubled when you slide your legs across the side of the bed and limp over to your vanity, walking hesitantly, your hips rocking from side to side. Damn, did he fuck you that hard?

Reminds him of the old days, you shuffling back to the hideout with that same awkward pain in your gait, purple marks around your neck, and a dim smile decorating your face—for his sake. Oh, and cash in your pockets. You’d tell him that the two of you were going out to eat that night and refuse to let him look at the injuries. God, it made him angry, it still makes him angry just thinking about it—angry at the men who bought you for treating you like that, angry at you for letting them. Angry at himself for not being old enough or strong enough or rich enough to stop them.

Anger, yes…and other things too. There had been a sick, insidious part of him that wanted to be in their position. He’d hated himself for it back then, until you left and the desire to punish you for abandoning him got twisted up with the desire to own you and keep you his. Maybe if he let himself think about it, he’d still hate himself for what he’s doing to you.

By now, you’re too good at covering up the bruises. A sweep of foundation and powder passes over each hickey he left on your throat and it’s like he never touched you. You have to push him off the bed so you can strip the sheets and replace them. When you’re done, you tell him to wait a few minutes after you leave to sneak out the back and he makes another half-joke about joining the party and introducing himself to your old man—

—and you shove him up against the wall with all the strength left in you, wrap your hand around his neck, and dig your fingernails under the line of piercings in his cheek. If he even looks at your husband, if he even thinks about it, you’ll rip his goddamn face open, you tell him in a low snarl.

It’s an empty threat (you and he both know who would win in a physical altercation) but there’s real hatred behind it. Dabi hasn’t seen that kind of fire in your eyes since he found out you became a trophy wife. It makes him want to have you again so he does, pulling your arms away from his face, standing and holding you up against the door to your bedroom, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him to keep from falling.

He’s lubed up by his own cum, and the wet squelching of your pussy just reminds him what a mess you’re going to be when you return to high society tonight. Maybe your husband will be able to smell it on you—the cum, the sex, the other man who’s been keeping his darling wife warm while he’s at work.

Well, probably not. If that stupid fucking cuckold hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s not much of a chance he’ll get it on his own. As Dabi sinks into your tight, gummy cunt again, he decides that he might just have to help the process along. A man deserves to know if his wife is being unfaithful, right?

///

Your husband’s office phone number is written on a post-it note that’s tacked to the desk of his study. It takes Dabi 40 minutes and $30 to buy a burner cell phone, leave a message on the man’s voicemail, and toss the burner in the kitchen trash at your house while you’re in the shower.

The message is short and straightforward. Dabi introduces himself as ‘the man who’s sleeping with your wife’, describes the floor plan of your husband’s house and what position he fucked you in for each room, and finally finishes it off with the evidence—the precise size and location of every hickey he’s left on your body that will still be visible by the time your husband returns from work.

Dabi almost wishes your husband had picked up the call—he’d’ve had a good time explaining in pornographic detail the way your tits look under those too-formal dresses, the way you moan when you cum in his mouth, the way you told him you loved him while he choked you out—with your husband in the house, no less. But this is fine too.

Besides, it’ll be so fucking funny if someone else at your husband’s company hears the message before he does.

///

Whore. Your husband called you a whore.

You’ve been called a whore a lot, actually. More than most people. You should be used to it by now. But it’s different when your husband says it. Your husband, the man who rescued you from a life of poverty and starvation, the man who has given you everything you own, the man who slid a ring onto your finger under a wedding arch and promised to love you in good times and in bad. The man you’ve almost convinced yourself you love back.

He called you a whore and slapped you when you tried to explain yourself and shoved you out the door and locked it. You can still hear his voice telling you the only place he wants to see your face again is in a casket.

So that’s why when Dabi comes to collect you, you’re hugging your knees to your chest on your front porch in your shiny lace-edged slip nightdress, hair in a mess around your head and your lip bleeding onto your chin. Your feet are so cold—your husband didn’t even give you time to put shoes on before he threw you out.

The night is cool and dark but the porch light buzzes on for half a minute when Dabi climbs up the steps to come crouch next to you on the doorstep. You try not to look at him, but he tilts your face toward his, electric-blue eyes skimming over the red mark and blue-black discoloration blossoming across your cheekbone; the blood drying on your split lip.

Dabi asks calmly if your husband hit you, and you nod.

Good, he tells you, and his body lights up blue in a roiling cloud of flames. He’s been waiting for an excuse to kill that old fuck.

The fire is like lightning, bright and ghostly in the darkness. The crackling of the flame eats away at the heavy silence of the night and you crawl back from the dry heat of it, sure you can feel your eyebrows singeing from being near. Dabi looks different backed by the inferno—bigger, crueler. Frightening. He reaches at the door but you shout at him to stop.

Why? Don’t you think he should suffer, after what he did to you?

But your fists clench by your sides and you set your teeth and you tell Dabi that if he’s going to kill your husband, he may as well set himself on fire too, because it’s his fault in the first place. And he’s done a lot worse to you than one slap.

Dabi waits a moment, searching your alarmed expression for something, but whatever he’s hoping for you don’t give him and the flames go out. The air smells like smoke and his hands are hot—not burning, but uncomfortably hot—when he kneels in front of you and rubs a thumb over your bruised cheek.

“(Y/N)—” Dabi starts, and then he can’t find a way to finish. So he just gathers you up in his arms and carries you bridal-style down into the lawn and to the driveway, where he’s got a car waiting to take you guys back to his place. You don’t resist, which surprises him again. He thought you’d push away at him, scream, get angry—he thought he’d have to convince you. Or force you, like he usually does. But you just let him deposit you in the seat next to the driver’s.

Before he gets in, he asks you if you need anything from your house. He can go get it for you. See if any balding motherfucker in his forties can stop him. But you just shake your head.

“There’s nothing,” you say blankly. “I have nothing. I…have nothing.”

Just like back then.

“Not nothing,” Dabi tells you, turning forward to the road so you can’t see the look on his face. “You have me.”

///

In the end, he does understand. He understood it the second he held that goodbye note in his hands and knew you were lost to him.

You were 17 when you met him and 19 when you left—hardly older than a child yourself. You barely had enough to provide for your own needs, much less a teenage boy’s. By the time you left, Dabi was more than capable of surviving on his own and already falling into ugly crowds, gangs and syndicates who saw money in his quirk, people you’d sacrificed a lot to keep him away from. He no longer needed you, and it was time for you two to go your separate ways. Dabi understands that.

But now you need him. Just like you needed him when you were fucking strangers for food money; like you needed him when you ran away; like you needed him when you got trapped in this mundane, sparkling-clean life, a life that was never going to fit you. Only this time—this time, Dabi’s old enough for you. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man. He’s got an apartment and a good job (well, kind of) and he’s got money. He can provide for you the way you’ve always needed him to.

Dabi’s going to take care of you, and you’re never, ever going to leave.

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spencersawkward · 3 years

Note

hi babe! i love your blog sm. could u write or recommend a lil blurb abt spence and reader having sex for the first time as newlyweds🥺 like soft dom spence maybe?

summary: honeymooning in Paris, Spencer and Fem!Reader spend their first time together as newlyweds.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talk, use of the term “sir,” soft dom!Spence, breeding kink.

A/N: sorry this was longer than a short blurb lol i got excited! i’ve been dying to write a smut blurb lol. one of my like go-to fantasies for like newlywed Spence is that you two are still kind of in a happy daze from the wedding.

you’ve just gotten to Paris, and you’re standing by the bed with a brochure of places to visit. there are a few museums you wanna see, but you know Spencer also has a whole list of bookstores to hit-- and then there’s walking along the Seine, basking in the Parisian sun with your husband.

“I’ve set aside the Louvre for tomorrow, but I’m assuming we’re gonna need at least two days--” you start to say, but Spencer comes up behind you and presses his lips to your shoulder. you sigh. “Spence.”

“what?” he breathes over your skin.

“don’t you wanna do something before dinner?” you hold the brochure up in your hands, but he deftly plucks it away and sets it on the bedside table.

“I wanna do lots of things before dinner, sweetheart.” he smirks. you want to point out the missed opportunities, but his lips pressing soft, sensual kisses to your neck and across your shoulders are making you forget everything.

Spencer’s fingers wrap around your waist and he spins you to face him.

“I haven’t been inside you for too long.” his eyes are darkened with lust. he’s got his stubble and the way his pink button-up sits on his body does things to you. you’ve been craving him since your wedding, but things have been so hectic that you haven’t had a chance to give in.

“change that, then.” you raise an eyebrow.

moving like animals, you tear off each other’s clothes and meet every few moments to kiss and feel each other. he’s right: it’s been too long.

Spencer runs his hands over your naked body and pushes you onto the bed, climbing on top without a word and starting to suck at your neck. he sinks his teeth slightly into your jugular, moaning at the way you arch your back.

“you’re all mine, now.” he slips his fingers between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with ease. you moan and squirm at the way he understands your needs.

“mhmm.” you nod.

“look how wet.” he shows you his fingers, which are glistening with your essence before he slides them into your mouth. you suck at them, moaning. Spencer wraps his hand around his cock and starts to pump it, rubs it against your pussy. he removes his hand and dips down to kiss you deeply, then slowly pushes into you.

your mouth drops open, always taken aback by the way he fits inside your body. Spencer groans loudly, drops his head down on your shoulder.

“always so fucking tight,” he grunts. you gasp when he pushes your legs further apart so he can get deeper. “you like that, pretty girl?”

you nod. he threads his fingers through yours to push them into the pillow, panting into the crook of your neck while he starts to thrust inside.

“S-Spence, oh my god.” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist. he loves the sound of his name off your tongue, picks up the pace.

“I’m gonna make you cum so many times tonight.” he gets excited and begins to rock the bed slightly. you reach up and touch his jawline, turn his attention to your face while you watch. you love to see the pleasure in his eyes, the building of his adoration. the memory of how he looks between your legs, those eyes staring intently into yours while he spells your name with his tongue, always brings you closer to the edge.

“thank you, sir.” you’re grateful for him, and he smirks.

“and then I’m gonna use that pretty mouth.”

you nod vigorously.

“you excited to suck my cock, baby?” he asks.

“yes, sir.”

he thrusts particularly hard, the headboard slamming the wall. “good.”

“it feels so good, sir.” you start to shift your hips up to meet his rhythm, writhing while he holds your hands down into the pillow. he loves imposing on your body, loves hovering over you.

“so... fucking tight, princess--” he gasps, sweat causing some of his curls to stick to his forehead. “can’t wait to fill you with my cum.”

“please.” you beg.

“gonna get you pregnant as soon as I can.” he’s getting closer, ruthless with your body. you’re struggling to hold back the moans in your chest, barely able to respond.

“mhmm.”

“you want my kids, baby? gonna let me fill you over and over till it’s dripping?” he kisses you quickly.

“fuck-- yes, sir, please!” you arch your back again. “I’m gonna cum, Spence--”

he takes away one hand to go down and aggressively circle your clit. it doesn’t take much before you’re crumbling before him, squirming and clenching repeatedly around his cock. it’s enough to push him over, too, and he lets out a guttural, low moan as he shoves in to the hilt and releases.

“right there-- oh, fuck.” he whimpers and spills inside, the warmth spreading through your body. his pace slows as he rides out the high, and you cling to each other tightly. he doesn’t release the other hand until you’re both ready to collapse.

he rolls over next to you, laying on the bed.

“how are we always so good?” you grin. he chuckles, turns his head to look at you with a truly happy smile.

“emotional connections have been proven to cause stronger, longer-lasting orgasms.”

you can’t wait for tonight.

#spencer reid smut blurb #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.�� Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

#mythology au #greek mythology au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #nexsgreekmythchallenge #IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE JESUS #bucky barnes x you #orpheus! bucky #my fics #god i am so sorry this is trash

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lonely-teddy-bear · 3 years

Text

Church | H.S.

Requested

Song by: Chase Atlantic

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: mention of religion/church, smut, mention of masterbation, sexualizing y/n, sexualization of innocence [y/n is over 18 and I do not romanticize the innocent look of a church girl. It’s all for the story line], oral [m receiving], rough play, minors DNI, daddy kink, pet names.

A/N: I will have to go ask for forgiveness. I would say for you all to listen to church while reading it, if y’all want. Also I’m religious so yea it was hard to write this but I liked writing it???? It was fun lol.

———————————————————

Y/n had always been religious. Growing up in a religious home where they were strict to her made her believe in God and couldn’t go a day without praying. Every Sunday she was at church, the seven in the morning mass. It was something that she had come to be used to. After she moved out to go to college, church was the only place that made her feel at home. She was the girl that was known as the good girl, she didn’t go to parties, didn’t drink unless it was from the church, didn’t do drugs and she was saving herself until marriage. Many judged her based on what her roommate would tell her.

She wasn’t oblivious to the stares she got from boys at her college, she in fact was used to them. Ever since she was small she would get complimented on her appearance, on the way she dressed and the way she looked. It was always innocent until she hit puberty. Boys would be drilling over her and calling her pretty and most of the times she would get called hot. She ignored them, many didn’t understand why she wasn’t all over the boys, the girls at least couldn’t comprehend. Y/n only dedicated herself to school and God, or at least she thought. Going into high school she had gotten a boyfriend, the golden boy. He was the star of the school who everyone loved even Y/N until one night they both explored their body.

In Y/N head she was sinning; getting fingered in her boyfriend’s room meant sinning for her. After that first night she couldn’t help but to pray every night, asking for forgiveness. She would start getting thoughts that she knew she shouldn’t be thinking about but couldn’t help, causing herself to explore her own body.

She ended up going to confession every Saturday.

Now in her third year of college, completely clean, as she would say, a boy comes around. It was all thanks to her roommate, Claudia.

Claudia had been out partying as she usually did on Saturdays, while Y/N was in her room studying for the upcoming test on Monday. Because Y/N had earphones with music playing out loud, she didn’t hear the door to the apartment open and close shut. Laughter was heard throughout the apartment, a couple of groans from bumping into furniture and yet Y/N didn’t hear a thing.

Claudia had come home drunk, this time her friend, Harry, had to bring her all the way into the apartment and to her room, helping her get to bed without hurting herself.

After getting her to bed and taking her shoes off, he left her room, closing the door behind him. He was gonna leave and head home but heard rustling deeper in the hall. Looking into the semi lit up hallway he saw how there was another door which was slightly open, letting light out into the hall, making it light up. He couldn’t help but to walk towards the door, wondering who Claudia's roommate was. He found it weird how he had known her for a while and had come to the apartment several times but never knew who the roommate was. Getting to the door, he couldn’t help but to knock, the door opening wider than it was. He slowly poked his head in and saw a girl sitting on her bed, a book on her lap and papers around her legs.

Y/N couldn’t help but to feel as if she was being watched and as an instinct, she looked up, jumping slightly and tearing the earphones out of her ears.

“Who the hell are you!” She got up on her knees, still on her bed, causing the book to fall into the mattress and for the papers to move around. Harry’s eyes widened, putting his hands in front of himself shaking them in defense.

“I’m Claudia’s friend. Dropped her off just now. Didn’t know anyone was home. Sorry.” Y/N didn’t relax because one, a hot guy was standing at the door of her room and two, she was in only a t-shirt and undies. She could feel her face heat up, praying that he wouldn’t notice the lack of bottoms.

While staring at each other, not saying anything, a smirk slowly broke into his lips.

“I know you.” Y/N glanced sideways, slightly confused but looked back at him finding him looking down at her body.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that.” She crossed her arms over her chest feeling the need to cover herself.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t seen already,” he said, not helping to let out a chuckle at the look Y/n had on her face.

“You’re that religious chick aren’t you?” Y/n didn’t have to ask who he meant because she knew what he was talking about. She simply nodded, a smile breaking on Harry’s

face.

“I’m Harry by the way.” She noticed a familiar feeling in between her legs when he said his name, the accent causing her to clench her legs in reflex. Harry noticed but didn’t say anything, not knowing what was appropriate to say to her knowing she was really religious.

“Alright kitty, I’m gonna go. See you around,” He sent her a wink before he left her room and closed the door behind him.

Y/n felt the blush and the tingling in her core but couldn’t help to look down at her hips where her underwear was, just to see that she in fact was wearing her hello kitty underwear.

—————————-

After the walk-in on Saturday, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about the way Harry looked. Not at her but how he looked physically. She hadn’t known who he was until that night, didn’t even see him around campus, that is if he even went to school.

He just looked like pure trouble. The long hair, the black clothes, the tattoos that were very much visible with the short sleeve he was wearing, even the way he smelled. He was a walking time bomb of trouble.

When Monday rolled around she couldn’t help but notice him. She had never seen him but maybe it was because she always walked with earphones in her ears and avoided talking to anyone. Now, it's like he is everywhere, even in two of her classes.

‘How could I miss that?’ She thought.

Not only was it on Monday that she would see him but it was every day. She could see the devious look on his eyes and the teasing smile he would throw his way. People were notice, or at least that's what she thought.

On the other hand, Harry had other thoughts. He wanted to know how she could be so innocent when she looked like that. The body, the face, gosh the hair. He couldn’t help but to have thoughts, thoughts that would land himself in church confessing about the horrible thoughts he had. He knew there was no way he had a chance with the girl who didn’t bother batting an eye at any guy, but he seemed to like that no guy caught her attention. In fact he noticed how she looked at him for the first time, as if she just noticed he existed.

Harry had already known who she was, he was infatuated with her, it was almost as if he was obsessed with her and the thoughts didn’t help at all.

Sunday rolled by, Y/N was already at church, listening to the readings and the stories about sinning. Something in her made her feel bad about thinking, hell, looking at Harry.

Through the week she couldn’t help but to glance at him knowing that he would be looking at her. He made her feel things, butterflies in her stomach, even in her core, her head was full of thoughts about him, about his eyes, his very green eyes. The tattoos drove her crazy, the thought of being with someone that she knew her parents would disapprove of made her feel alive. She knew she couldn’t be with him but she wanted to. The need to sin was eating her up, that’s what made her pray extra hard during mass. Many Hail Marys and our fathers, she had lost count.

She had been the last one to leave but not before she glanced at the center of the church where the cross was placed.

‘Forgive me father for I will sin. At some point I will.’

Stepping out of church, squinting her eyes due to the bright sun hitting her eyes, she stepped down the steps while looking down in order to avoid tripping on some stubborn step.

“Done praying?”

Y/N looked up, not being able to see properly but knowing who the voice belonged to. There weren't many people with British accents around after all so she knew who it was, except she didn’t know where he was.

“Are you following me around?” She had been wanting to ask him but who would go up to some guy and ask that? Harry denied it by shaking his head, he couldn’t help but to smile at the way she was squinting, trying to avoid the sun hiding her eyes.

Deciding to answer her instead since she probably didn’t see him shake his head, “of course not kitten. Why would I be following you around?”

Oh but he was following her around, he wanted to know her daily routine, or at least on Sundays.

Something about seeing her come out of church looking all innocent made his cock twitch, but knowing she was praying, on her knees, made him want to go into church and pray.

“Let’s hang out some time alright?” He didn’t bother waiting for her response, knowing she would say no or try to make an excuse to not be around him.

——————————-

They somehow got closer the more they saw each other, Y/n tried to avoid him but Harry made it hard for her. He would wait for her outside of her class, the ones he didn’t have with her while he walked out next to Y/N from the classes they shared together.

Claudia, along with everyone else in the campus started noticing how they would be hanging out most of the time. There was never a day they were apart, but they both liked it. Harry would just crave her innocence while Y/N craved his touch, his attention. She wanted to be around him all the time and the times Harry would touch her in her arm or wrap his arms around her, butterflies would rupture. They both wanted more, they craved each other.

Until one Sunday Harry decided to tag along, after denying the other Sunday’s.

Y/N Had woken up that Sunday feeling different, as if in need to spice up her life. She felt like dressing differently , except she didn’t have much of a rebellious wardrobe. Harry picked her up, seeing how she wore her hair down, a couple of small braids on her hair as a decor, all while she wore a white dress that made her look like an angel. The Mary Janes she wore with socks didn’t help the erection on Harry’s pants. While she walked out of the apartment she shared with Claudia, Harry could help but close his eyes and take a deep breath. Before following her to the elevator he adjusted his pants, groaning at the erection that he prayed would be gone but the time he’s at the elevator.

Throughout the mass Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N, he was infatuated with how beautiful she looked and even swore that maybe he died and she was an angel. Which was funny to him since they were both in church, talking about the sins one should not commit.

For Harry, the mass was rather boring, he had drifted off into his thoughts which mostly consisted of y/n. What caught his attention was when she got down to her knees to pray. He didn’t know what to pray about since he wasn’t religious but while she prayed, he stared at her. Harry didn’t care about being seen by others because why would they cared, its not like he’s fucking her or something.

By the time the mass ended Harry was frustrated, he felt tired in a way? Didn’t make sense to him at all.

Once the church dismissed everyone, Harry didn’t think twice and got up and left, leaving Y/n behind. It’s not that he was being an asshole, it’s just that he felt weird being horny while in church. It all felt wrong to him, but while Harry was going mental, Y/N was enjoying him suffering. The idea of bringing him to church was to tease him in an innocent way, she at first thought it was evil but after some talking to herself she decided that she must do it. She wanted to get rid of that tension that was between them, the tension that she was pretty sure everyone around her felt. ‘I wonder if anyone in the church felt the tension between us two,’ she thought while she walked out through the church doors. She was in a daze, felt as if she was I wonderland; the feelings she felt going through her body made her blind to how Harry was feeling.

While Y/n was walking on cloud nine, Harry was in the car, jaw clenched. He knew what she was doing but he noticed too late. He felt for her trick, playing innocent to tease him? As if he wouldn’t notice? There was this anger running through his body, not one where he would want to hurt or scream at someone, but the anger he would want to blow off by fucking someone. More specifically the girl that looked like she was on cloud nine.

When Y/n got into the car her daze fated away. The minute she opened the door she felt the heat coming off from Harry’s body. Looking at him while she sat down and closed the door, not wanting to move so much, in case he would go off on her.

“Are you okay?”

She placed her hands on her thighs, smoothing out the dress, she placed both her hands, palms to each other, and tugged them between her thighs.

“I know what you are doing.” Y/n couldn’t help but to gulp. She was scared but didn’t want to show him that she was scared of him.

“What do you mean?” Harry slowly turned his body, facing her and sending her a glare. His jaw looked sharper and his hair looked as if he had been running his hands through them. He indeed knew what she was up to and she knew that he knew. There was no way of getting out of it, even if she tried to explain.

“You think you can go to church looking and acting all innocent? You did this on purpose, your little movements, your postures? I’m not stupid, gotta admit, for a church girl you sure know how to mess with a guys head.”

Y/n felt something, she liked the praise she was getting from him? He said she didn good messing with him, which made her feel proud, even happy. A smile broke on her face, making Harry look at her confused.

“What are you fucking smile about?”

“You really think I did a good job messing with your head?” Harry looked at her for a second, an eyebrow raised in confusion, until the light bulb on his head turned on.

“Ah so you have a praise kink, don’t ya?”

Y/n didn’t know what to say because she didn’t know what it meant, so she shrugged.

“Do you even know what that means?”

She shook her head, confirming that she in fact didn’t know what having a praise kink meant.

“It means that you like being told that you have been doing a good job at stuff, being praised. For example, you did great messing with me, which I told you, but I could also just say what a good girl you were today.”

The butterflies in her core were back, she felt her face eat up, and she couldn’t help but to tighten her legs together. She pulled her hands from between her legs and placed them face down on her thighs.

“You see, you do have a praise kink, which will be really useful for me,” he sent y/n a wink, causing her to look down at her legs.

“When we get to your place I want you to go to your room and get on your knees, I don't care where but on the floor, got it?” The look Harry was giving Y/n made her feel hot, but also made her nod, not wanting to mess with him any further. With a nod he turned back to look forward and placed the stick shift on drive, driving away with a flustered angel by his side.

——————————-

Arriving to Y/N’s apartment, y/n ran out of Harry’s car before he could even turn off the car. HArry just chuckled, finding it funny and cute how desperate she looked when running towards the apartment building.

The drive from the church to the apartments felt long for both Harry and Y/n, but for y/n it felt like internaty. She had wanted to jump out of the car halfway through the drive just because she couldn’t help the sexual tension that she was feeling. Her thighs were shifting most of the drive, trying to get rid of the feeling that she felt on her pussy. Harry tried to act as if he didn’t see her tighten her legs most of the drive, but he would glance at her when she was looking out the window. He could see the red cheeks and the way she was clenching her jaw, probably biting her cheek or tongue.

Harry knew she was a virgin, everyone that knew her, knew. He wasn’t going to fuck her even when he wanted to, but he respected her decision. All he wanted to do was to have some fun with her, didn’t want to be flirting or teasing her anymore, he wanted to do more.

Harry took his time getting out of the car, wanting to give y/n time to mentally and physically prepare herself. While Harry took his sweet time, Y/N was freaking out. She had walked past Claudia, flinching when she called out to her, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Shit,” Y/N mumbled stopping and looking at her roommate who was in the couch watching the television.

“Nothing, just want to go to sleep,” she nodded as if trying to convince not only Candice but herself. Y/n’s roommate slowly noted, looking at her as if she was hiding something but waved her hand at her, dismissing her. Y/n let out a sigh and ran to her room, closing the door behind her. She looked around her room trying to figure out if to clean her room or to just do what Harry said to do. Instead she just went with the ladder and did that Harry said to do. So many thoughts were going through her head, hair up or hair down, clothes or no clothes, so many things that were going through her ahead that she had spaced out. She was so in her mind that she didn’t notice Harry walking into her room and closing the door, along with locking it.

Harry stood in front of the door, his back leaning on it, watching her. She was not looking at him but was looking at the floor in front of her, figuring out that maybe she was thinking this through.

Clearing his throat to catch her attention, which it did, he spoke. “I’m not going to touch you until you give me your consent.”

She somehow found him hotter, no guy has ever asked her for consent first.

She nodded.

“No I need your word, need you to say them so we can be on the same page here.”

Understanding she spoke, giving Harry consent, “Yes, you can touch me.”

Harry gave her a nod, letting her know that he heard her response.

“You will tell me when to stop, if you aren’t comfortable with what I am doing just tell me to stop, okay?”

“Yes.” Harry walked closer to her, looking down at her the closer he got. “I will also not fuck you, I know you are waiting for that special someone, so I won’t be taking your virginity, alright?” Y/n nodded, feeling relieved. She didn’t care what he did to her, she just wasn’t ready to lose her virginity, it was the one thing that was still hers.

Looking up at Harry who was looking down at him, she noticed how he wasn’t wearing his jacket, the one he wore to church.

A hand reached down to touch her cheek, fingers slipping into her loose hair while his thumb stroked her cheek.

“You looked like an angel today, did you know that?”

Y/n shook her head.

“Shouldn’t have worn that dress kitty.” Heat started running through her skin, remembering how he had seen her in her hello kitty underwear. “Made daddy really hard, before, during and after church.”

Y/n gulped, she was looking at him as if she was a deer that had been caught on the road, her heart was beating through her chest. She was feeling things that she had never felt, straightening up with her arms to the side, she moved her head to the side. The doe eyes she was giving him were driving Harry crazy.

He moved his hand lower, down to her jaw, and grabbed her rather harshly.

“Don’t look at me like that, not if you want me to just fuck you right here on the floor til your knees and face have carpet burns.”

She looked away from him quickly, not wanting to provoke him, but knowing he wouldn’t do anything because of what he had said before.

“Now, why don’t you be a good girl and unbuckle daddy’s belt?” Looking back up at Harry, to find him looking down at her with his head to the side. She didn’t know how to feel, the way that he was talking to her made her feel some sort of way. The nerves were getting to her but the way Harry was looking at her, she wanted to do it.

She moved her hands slowly from her lap to Harry’s, moving them up closer to his waist. The way she was taking her time made Harry feel inpatient but also turned on more than he already was.

Finally reaching to the belt, she made sure to not look anywhere but the belt. She could feel Harry’s eyes on her, causing her hands to slightly shake. Harry’s hands appeared over her hands, stopping her.

“Are you okay? We can stop if you want.”

Y/N looked at Harry, kind of taken back.

“I want this.” Harry raised his brows at her, trying to figure out if she was being honest.

“Okay, but remember, you can stop whenever you want. Doesn’t matter how far we are into it. Just say the word and I will stop.”

After a nod and a small yes, Harry let go of her hands and let her keep going. The tension between them didn't simmer down, they could still feel the attraction, the need for each other.

Once done unbuckling the belt, y/n didn’t stoop there, she instead kept going and unbuttoned his jeans. Harry didn’t stop her, he was going to let her do whatever she was comfortable with.

Wrapping her hands over the hem of his jeans and boxers, she pulled them down his legs, slowly but also somehow quick. She didn’t want to make Harry more impatient than he was.

Her eyes widened when looking at his cock that was near her face, it was standing there, looking at her in the eyes. She slowly went to touch it, but looked up at Harry first, as if asking for permission. The look that she gave him made harry groan, the way he felt when she looked at him for permission really made him rethink about whether he should just fuck her instead; but then remembered his promise.

“Go ahead. Grab it.” With a nod, y/n looked back down and wrapped her hand around his length. It wasn’t the first time she had given a blowjob to someone but it has been a long while. Moving her right hand slowly, pumping his dick on her hand, she looked up at him, eyes closed. Leaning close to his cock, she opened her mouth and closed it around him, moving her hand from his shaft. Harry let out a groan at the different feelings around his dick. She started sucking, pushing her head down, taking more of him in her mouth. While a hand was on Harry’s tight, the other one was on the end of his cock, the part that didn’t fit on her mouth. She started going faster, causing Harry to moan from the change of pace. One of his hands appeared on her head, pushing on her head slowly, guiding her. She stopped and took it out of her mouth, looked up at Harry to find him looking at her already, then while still looking at him she licked the tip of his cock. He hissed.

He grabbed a chunk of her hair and pushed her back, taking the hint she opened her mouth and took him back.

“Good girl.” She groaned, not only at the tight hold on her head but at the praise he was giving her. She could already feel herself getting wet, positioning herself to where she could relieve some pressure from her cunt. Harry saw and pulled her hair, making her let go of his cock. She looked up to look him in the eyes and saw the change in them.

Shaking his head, he placed a hand on her chin, “now you won’t be doing that kitten. You will only focus on me, until I get to you. Got it? Now you’re going to stay on the ground until your knees hurt.”

She didn’t get to say anything before she was forced back to having his dick on her mouth. This time she wasn’t in control, but Harry was. He was gripping the back of her head, shoving her head until she couldn’t breath from how deep he was. He couldn’t hear her gag, causing him to look down to look at her. Her hands were on his tights, holding herself from them. He adjusted his hands on her hair, pulling all her hair from her face to see her eyes watering. Seeing the way she was, on her knees, throat deep and in tears, made him fuck her face.

“Fuck that feels so good. My personal angel.”

The grunts and moans that were being heard from both of them made them both hornier. Y/n could feel herself drip through her thin underwear while Harry felt himself just get harder, pushing himself more into y/n throat. He slowed down for a moment wanting to give her time to breath and recover but she just grabbed him with her hand and started licking him and taking him back into her mouth. One of her hands slid up from Harry’s thigh to his abdomen, feeling his muscles tense.

“God Y/N,” Harry grunted, feeling himself come already. “I’m coming.”

Y/n pumped his length while she still sucked him off, looking up to see how he was reacting.

Before she could admire him deeply she felt him twitch, emptying himself in her mouth. Without any thinking she swallowed, licking him clean.

She leaned herself back, still on her knees, and looked at Harry who was trying to catch his breath.

Looking down at her he couldn’t help but to see how her hair was all over her head and how her eye makeup was ruined.

Leaning down to her, he placed his palm on her face, looking her in the eyes.

“You are an angel sent from heaven baby.”

Heat rushed up to her face, the feeling of achievement run through her veins.

Looking at Harry with puppy eyes she asked, “can I now get up? My knees are hurting.”

A smirk appeared on Harry’s face, giving her a mischievous look. “Oh kitty. We are just starting.”

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