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wil-dearest · 6 months

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Anonymous asked: HeyI wwas wondering if you could do a Wolf! Wilbur x fem!reader? Like Wilbur gets into heat and begs reader to let him fuck them, humping at their leg until reader let's them and then Wilbur fucks Reader endless and then eventually knots them?

yeah why not. here.

trigger warning: dubcon because its a heat and not previously discussed. oblivious reader is left in the dark about wilbur's wolfishness and heats and shit. so. yeah. 18+

(Room)Mates

It's always a simple thing, come home, greet your roommate with lots of hugs and promises of conversations and things would go as smooth as butter. You didn't mind the arrangement, especially with the way he explained it. (Growing up, he had probably the most loving, physically affectionate family in the area. And you didn't mind a pretty boy asking for physical contact all the time. You're probably touch-starved but we won't delve too deep into it.) So this particular night, you had been out a little later, distracted by the dogs outside of your work, they wouldn't move even if you had extra treats in your bag. Not even for your cold lunch.

You admire the dedication but it still set your schedule back by an hour, not to mention, this would be the first time in a week you'd see Wilbur. He had called it a family emergency but his car hasn't let and you could hear noises in his room. Banging on the walls and heavy stuff dropping onto the floor. You'd be concerned if it continued when you were home. It was only ever when you were close to sleeping.

So, as the touch-starved human you are, you were excited to see your roommate, excited to see his fluffy brown hair fall into his eyes and excited to him laugh at your day. He was going to love this cheesy joke you overheard, you bite down on your smile, fishing for your keys in your bag.

Sliding the key into the door and jiggling it within the metal, you push your weight into it with your shoulder. It opens with a creak of resistance, swinging only a little bit as you stumble.

His car had been in the same spot as it had been but you could see that bedroom door was open. "Ah, sorry I'm late Wilbur, you should've seen it, the strays at work are getting bad again. And they're stubborn, wouldn't even move for the wrap I had. And you know where I get my wraps, from that little place next door so you know they were feeling spiteful from last spring." You speak in rambles, setting down your things by the coffee table and cracking your spine as you relax. You talk into the air, as if you weren't about to talk to him for the first time in a week. You hear padded footsteps and you can feel the heat radiating off of him as he gets closer and closer to you in the kitchen. You paid him no mind, already aware of how clingy he can get but when you reach into the cabinet above your head, you feel his body slide against yours, his crotch grounding against your ass as you lean onto your heels. It's an entire body reaction— from the curse words that fall from your mouth, you pushing him away and him whining.

"Fucking hell, what the fuck is going on, Wilbur?" The words fall from your mouth faster than you can think and he's just too much— too warm, too close, and too sweaty, what the fuck— the lower part of your back meets the counter and he slots his leg in between yours, rocking his hips and- fuck, he's so hard, he's fucking hard and he's fucking humping your leg. Clearing your head of the panic, you can hear him babbling, see the drool falling from the corners of his lips. "Need- need you so bad, heart, need t'be inside you, s'hot right now, you're so hot." And of course, he kept repeating about how he needed to knot you, how he just needed to breed you and make you so full of his pups. "Smell- you smell so good-" he moans into the air as he digs his nose into your hair.

How is this shit— whatever the fuck is going on with Wilbur, how is it so hot?

"Wilbur, look at me." You say, pinching his cheeks together where his lips purse and the drool spills onto your wrist, you can't even hold back the grimace, "what's going on with you?"

"S'sooooo warm, need- hah, need to fuck you full with my pups, please I'll be so good for you," his hips start rocking against your leg again and you can only shudder as his words slip under your skin and warm your insides. "Please let me fuck you, please please, just the tip, just the tip and I'll leave you alone, please baby, please, I need you- need you so bad, fuck you're so so-fffttttttt, fuck, please-" you slap a hand onto his mouth, your face burning except it doesn't do much, his moan vibrates through your hand and he starts to lick the salt off of your palm and in between the crevices in your fingers.

"God, Wilbur, you're a fucking- mess." You say as you push his head away and it just rolls on his neck, tears bubbling in his eyes as his mouth is still dropped open. He sinks to his knees, still grinding his crotch against your leg and it's so different to the Wilbur you know. (Well, he's still clingy and touchy as ever but he's so fucking horny right now, like- shit.) You wonder if somebody did something, like poison him with a sex thing or if he's sick or if he just... really missed you. Yeah, hard pass on the last bit.

His head leans against your thigh, inhaling so deeply and you realize a little too late that his nose is close to where your own pelvis is, close to your crotch. And before you can stop him, he starts licking at your cunt through your pants. Your mouth drops open into a gasp, sparks of pleasure running through your spine as you accidentally widen your stance, his hands coming to grip your sides, your thighs and squeezing, feeling your skin as he pushes your top up. His touch burns hot.

His tongue is all you can focus on for the next minute as he continues to lick, your hands burying themselves in his hair. And when you clench a chunk of hair in your fists, your hips twitching as they rock against his mouth, you can only let out a sharp whine yourself, his own moans vibrating against the fabric. The pants get so wet, you're almost concerned if he hadn't already started pulling them down. Your thighs are hit with the apartment's air conditioner breeze and you push his face back, even as he whimpers, pressing his cheek to your naked leg. ("Soft.. so fucking soft." You can barely hear him mutter.)

"Wilbur," you say, and he looks up at you with those big eyes, his mouth dropped open with his tongue dragging itself up your thigh, coating your skin with a wet warmth. "Wilbur, promise me this won't change anything." His fingers tighten themselves over your skin and he nods fast, words dripping from his lips with promises to be good, good for you and to you.

"Love you so much, god, you're so perfect, you're so warm. So, so warm." He repeats himself, hips rocking again.

You swallow the dread and you tell yourself, things will be okay. Things will go back to normal. Things will be simple again. Wilbur will go back to being your overly affectionate roommate and none of this will mean anything.

Which means you definitely can't fuck him in your bed.

"C'mon then. Your room." He stands up so quick, pulling on your hands and guiding you to the room at the end of the apartment. Even when you start tripping from the pants still around your knees, though he just pulls them down so you can step out of them... where he picks you up with strength you don't know where the fuck it came from just how he presses you against the wall next to the door and moans into your mouth, kissing you and licking your teeth and pressing himself closer and closer.

It's a blur of wet and burning and hot and fuck- but you know the second he's inside you, you feel the stars in your blood, you feel something that's much bigger than you or him, bigger than this apartment or the complex. Maybe that's just how sex is. (How sex is when your bed-mate is someone completely, insanely hot and probably has the sex version of rabies.) He covers your skin in marks, biting them and pistoning his cock inside of your cunt, listening to your needs. Moving as fast as you needed him and and as slow as you needed.

Time continued, and you had to estimate it'd been an hour or so after you let him first test the waters; let him stroke the tip of his cock between your lips and watching as he cried into your hands, kissing his tears away, you did. Because he's a big sap and you're nothing but a good for nothing roommate (-that's in love with him.)

He's not any softer than before, he's still so- so hard. Despite coming twice on your stomach twice (and cleaning his mess every time) he's still so fucking hard it makes it hard to think with how far his cock sinks inside of you.

You know at some point, after it hits the second hour and he's still brutally pounding your cunt to shreds, you feel something twitch the base of his dick. You can hardly speak though, with how you screamed his name into his pillow... soaking the pillowcase with your own spit and gripping it hard as he fucks you again and again. You notice the twitch and it's only when he picks the pace up again, moaning into your shoulder and biting so hard you think the skin breaks, you can feel a stretch happening, something big itching to bury itself into your cunt. You gasp, the sound a scratchy thing as it pops inside, tears falling fast down your cheeks as he is locked inside of you, with his chest against your back and he's mumbling sweet things, promises to fill you up and promises to make you feel good again, promises and more promises.

You can hardly focus as it quickly became too much, your sobbing buries itself into his hand as you lean into his touch, trying to count down from any number but nothing is fucking working.

"Wilbur- what- what the fuck is happening, Wilbur?"

Something between a sob and a moan escapes his own mouth as he leans closer to your ear, "I just- fuck. I just knotted you. It'll- it'll go down in a second. Try not to ah, ah- move." His hand pins your hip down, despite being the only one trying to move. "So, so beautiful." He murmurs and you just let it soak, let the attention and the harsh fucking sink into your skin. There is so much to process. So much to sift through.

That's a tomorrow's problem... and you should probably call in tomorrow.

#spencer writes #wilbur soot smut #dark content #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #werewolves #tw knotting #tw dubcon #tw dark content

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espinosaurusrexex · 6 months

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Refuge - a small town crime/love story

BuckyBarnes/WinterSoldier x Detective!Female!Reader

summary: You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?

a/n: yeah I've been a sad bitch these days...

word count: 7k

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, killing and dying (as well as vague descriptions), probable misuse of police ranks (I don’t know how it works), little use of “Y/N” (like two times), language, a lot of angst and fluff, soft!Bucky, a hint of touch starved!Bucky, no happy ending, smut (unprotected p in v, soft!smut) !MINORS DNI!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

I recommend playing the songs linked in the text - I listened to them a lot while writing 🧡

Long streaks of crimson soaked the innocent snow beneath your feet.

Whatever happened, it had done so quick. The streaks turned into clumsy blotches and soon there would be evidence of a tired body dragging itself through the inches of snow in vain.

It was too late. You were too late yet again.

Sam threw his hat in the snow with a frustrated groan, his fist clenching so tight you actually heard it pop.

“He’s doing it again,” the officer pressed past his stiff lip, “he’s messing with us.”

“Maybe this time he’s actually gotten sloppy.” Your eyes trained on the dark red contrasting the white.

Something was different about this one. But The Winter Soldier never left his victims capable of running away more than 10ft - it wasn’t his style. So why did this one make it past the tree line?

“Don’t try to sweet talk it, Y/L/N, he knows that we’re on his tracks. And he’s doing this to prevent us from finding him out once and for all.”

Sam’s pessimism could really annoy you sometimes, but it did help solve most of your cases in the past - it turned out that considering the worst-case scenario almost always brought you to the truth. Nevertheless, there was still something off. And you were determined to find out what it was this time.

You turned around and made your way back to the car where blue and red lights silently snook through the woods before you finally turned them off.

“I’m tired of this shit. What are we going to tell Sheriff Rogers? I’m pretty sure he’s about to kick us off the case anyway.” Sam gruffly entered the passenger seat with a frown. He was pissed, and you couldn’t blame him.

“We’re not telling him anything.”

“And how would that work?”

“Just let me talk.” The tires screeched on the tar before you sped out of the woods.

❁ ❁ ❁

Cold. So, so fucking cold.

Bucky’s teeth were cluttering. He didn't know where he was. Nor did he know how he had gotten there. There was barely anything he remembered, really. The past two hours were how far his memory reached and after that? Everything blank. Not blank entirely though. There was fear and darkness but no images, no faces, just unease.

He stumbled past the trees and over roots hiding beneath the thick layer of snow that had accumulated even in the forest. His surroundings looked familiar, but he didn’t know why. His feet, however, seemed to guide him exactly where he needed to be. He didn’t think, just let them be. His hands were aching from the cold, he couldn’t feel them anymore, and his lungs hurt with every icy cold breath. Dusk was already breaking past the horizon, and when the darkness would take over completely, Bucky would be done for.

After another ten or twenty minutes - he really couldn’t tell - Bucky could make out a house sitting at the edge of the woods. There was smoke coming out of the chimney and rising past the threes. The sight alone warmed him a little bit, but his legs were quick to remind him how frozen he really was. He stumbled the distance until he landed on the doorstep.

This was a really bad idea. But then again: he was going to die out here.

His knuckles jammed against the wooden door, and it made pain shoot up his entire arm. But his left one was hurting even more. His whole body was - well... the parts he could still feel.

❁ ❁ ❁

You opened the door, but nothing could have prepared you for what you found. There was a man kneeling on your doorstep. His fingertips peeking out of cut cloves trembling from the cold, his lips broken with blood by the harsh winter wind now nipping on your bare toes as well. The warm light from inside your house illuminated his face and what you saw could have only been described as distress. Eyes laced with fear and helplessness, the man looked up at you. There were snowflakes clinging to his lashes, face pale and lifeless.

“Please,” was the only thing he whispered, but his voice was weak and it made your heart plummet.

“What... what happened?” You stood frozen at the door, bewilderment seeping through your body.

“I-“ But his teeth were cluttering so much you could barely make out his words. You looked past him into the woods and then down the lonely street leading to your house. Nobody there. Another look to the little table by the door, where your gun was hidden. He seemed to be unarmed, too weak to fight, anyways.

God, you hated how your instincts made you check through the whole situation, making the poor man die in the cold outside. But when you were done, and your eyes swayed back to his frame, you exhaled slowly and opened the door a little wider.

“Come in.”

“Th- Thank you- u.” He dragged his tired body over the threshold and crawled to the fireplace crackling in the living room.

You just stood still, closing the door after swiping the woods and the road one more time, and watched him tremble by the fire. After a while - he had stopped shaking - you approached him and he looked at you like a deer in headlights. When he noticed you weren’t doing anything but standing there, he faced the fire again and - that’s when you saw it: dark red staining the back of his head and sticking to his shoulder-long hair. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but he had definitely gotten a good hit.

“Sir, you need a doctor.” Your hand reached for the phone but he was quick to stop it. His ice-cold touch made you shiver.

“No, no doctor.” His eyes looked at you intently, switching left and right. “Please... I just need to warm up. And then I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

You were staring again. Shocked, confused? Something like that. This man wouldn’t be leaving soon, there was a blizzard already hitting the state lines, and it would be here by midnight.

“Please... no doctor.” His voice was only a whisper now but it pushed through to you more than before.

“...no doctor.” He nodded slowly, relaxing a bit. “But... you are bleeding.”

“I’m okay.” He wasn’t. This man was anything but. Though, somehow, he had this weird aura about him that made you want to stay close to him. You weren’t scared or creeped out - you were... intrigued.

Your head dipped to the side. “Who are you?”

He hesitated. “Bucky.”

“What’s your last name?”

“I... I don’t know.” He looked defeated - stressed - but you deserved answers.

“What happened?”

“I-” he looked up again, pain evident in his stare before he closed his eyes. “…don’t know.”

A nod of your head in understanding. He must be tired, exhausted. You’d leave it for now.

“Would you at least let me clean your wounds?” If they were really as bad as they looked you wanted to get him to a hospital before the blizzard hit. Bucky nodded hesitantly but he didn’t move when you inched closer to take a look at his head.

The wounds weren’t that bad. All the blood in his hair made it look a lot worse, but he still needed stitches. He sat quietly as you carefully threaded the needle through his scalp. It wasn’t perfect but it would do.

Bucky didn’t make a sound, not even when you accidentally slipped and poked him, he was quiet.

“You can take a shower if you like - get all that blood off and warm up completely,” you finally whispered when you cut the last thread. All the other cuts on his face merely needed cleaning and the bruises were already forming, so there was really nothing you could do.

“It’s okay. I won’t be staying any longer.”

But when he moved to get up, it was your turn to stop him. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’ll die. Blizzard’s already hit north.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

“You can.” Your hand sank when you noticed he wasn’t making a run for it. “At least until the storm passes.” He just nodded again but a hint of relief flushed through his orbs.

“Clean up, change. I have some clothes that will fit you. The bathroom is the first door on the left.”

Bucky followed your orders and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. You headed to your dresser to get the sweatpants and Hoodie Steve had always stored in there. He wouldn’t miss them, he didn’t stay the night anymore. But now it would serve another purpose.

You made your way back to the bathroom and gave Bucky the clothes, though the door wasn’t closed all the way and you could see the sliver of skin peeking through the crack. His back was littered with red streaks, most likely whip marks, and his left shoulder was scattered in bumpy scarring. He had a metal arm and that was about all you could see before willing your eyes away.

Your gaze wandered to his jacket hanging over the chair and your fingers itched to know more. He was a stranger in your house, after all. A stranger you had chosen to trust, though. But your hands were searching through the pockets before that thought was finished. They were all empty. No wallet, nothing. All you found was a black mask and several compartments for weapons - all empty as well, though.

You exhaled. Who are you, Bucky?

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky let the hot water run down his body. He looked at his left arm, the water hitting with drumming sounds and then repelling from its surface. Despite his lack of memory, he didn’t think it strange that an entire limb of his was missing, well kind of. It was okay - as if he had already coped with it somewhere in the past. The scars didn’t scare him either, or the red lines on his back. They were just there - accepted or not - unbothered.

He closed his eyes and let the water fall on his face. Flashes of a fight lighting before his eyes. Torn between intrigue and horror, it was as if he had opened them.

Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!

He was back. And the shampoo washed from his face in white bubbles. It smelled good. Like you.

Bucky spent another minute under the water before stepping out and looking into the mirror again. What was he even doing? Dragging an innocent woman into this mess - whatever it was.

His hand ran down his face and the towel hung low on his hips when he reached for the clothes you gave him. They were soft and fit him perfectly.

It wasn’t long until he stepped out into your warm living room again. There was a pillow and blanket on the sofa now, and it looked more inviting than Bucky had seen in a while - at least it felt that way. He didn’t say much when he sat down carefully, feeling the soft comforter under his skin, and watched as you handed him a glass of water.

“I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

He just nodded.

“Will you be okay?”

He nodded again. But Bucky didn’t know if he was going to be okay. He was confused and scared and surprised you offered him shelter even though you knew nothing but his name. What a kind woman you were.

You smiled sadly as you shut off the light, leaving Bucky to sink his head into the fluffy pillow. The flickers of flames in the fireplace danced on his skin when he closed his eyes, falling into a well-needed and dreamless slumber.

❁ ❁ ❁

He woke to the sound of dishes clinking the next morning, stretching and catching a new fire with his eyes before he peeked over the backrest of your sofa to your kitchen. He was more rested than he’d felt in a long time. And he didn’t know if it was the sheer exhaustion that had him fall asleep so quickly yesterday, or if, maybe, it had been the faint smell of lavender your sheets hosted. Either way, he smiled when he got up, and it felt a little strange to do so.

“Good morning, Bucky.” You beamed over the stove where some eggs were sizzling, making his stomach grumble.

“Good morning,...” He still didn’t know your name. But it was strange to ask now that he had already slept in your home.

You chuckled as your name passed your lips and Bucky’s lips lifted into another small smile.

You ate in silence then. There wasn’t much Bucky had to say and you didn’t seem to be chatty. Bucky didn’t mind. This, your house, had a certain serenity to it. The faint crackling of the fireplace, the homey smell of breakfast in the air, and the rioting storm pouring in soft flakes around it. It felt peaceful and calm and safe - even if he didn’t know who you were... even if he didn’t know who he was.

The day went by peacefully. At one point, Bucky explored your house. It wasn’t big, but full of memories, he could tell. There were pictures everywhere - some of people, some of places. Souvenirs, crafted things. Smiling faces stared at him as he carefully inspected the mantel pieces and something akin to sadness pulled on his heart. Bucky wished he had memories - ones like you did. Ones with happy people and gifted bookmarks. He was sure he did... somewhere. He was someone, right? He just didn't know how to pull that someone back.

It was strange because he had memories. Faint ones. Some that didn’t feel right. His childhood was completely blocked out. He had tried to remember, and things came back to him in tiny pieces. This night he remembered his last name. Barnes. But then his mind associated it with strange callings of his name - urgent, demanding, unfriendly. It didn’t feel nice - none of his memories did.

His finger drove over the small picture of a dog and then he smiled.

❁ ❁ ❁

You sensed Bucky standing at the door as your head hung low above the desk scattered with pictures and leads. You didn’t bother hiding it from him though. Your house was small - it was almost impossible to hide things properly, especially if the days you spent snowed in kept being as quiet and boring as this one. Bucky was curious. He didn’t show it much but you notice the way his eyes scanned the room, how his brows twitched upon your frame above the files. He would catch a glimpse sooner or later.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky wrung his hands. “Am I interrupting?”

He watched as you shook your head, tracing the rim of your empty beer bottle. Careful steps approached you and then he stood behind you, a tense breath resealing when he most certainly took read through the reports. Except, he didn’t. When you turned, you watched him scan the decor on the walls.

And he didn’t stop until you called his name.

“Yes?” His eyes were piercing even in the dim lamplight - they were pretty.

“Is there something you need?”

He looked a little started at your question, his hands still kneading beneath him. It was hard to believe someone as tall and built as him could be shy - but here he was.

“I just wanted to... uh...” He avoided your eyes. “I remembered my last name.”

You smiled, a small jump in your heartbeat sneaking past you. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Yeah.”

“So what is it?”

“What?”

“Your name.”

“Oh, Barnes, Bucky Barnes.” He smiled. “And I also wanted to thank you... for being so kind.” He got shy again.

But you stood and smoothed your hands over his shoulder, feeling him relax a little. “I’m just glad you are okay.”

“Still, it’s not a given and I won’t take it for granted. So, thank you.”

There was a short silence in which he just looked at you and you wondered what else there was to discover about this extraordinary man before you. You could tell there was so much history and depth behind the ocean blue orbs focusing on you, so much more not even Bucky Barnes could access yet, and that made it all the more intriguing.

Bucky shifted again, and then suddenly yet carefully, leaned in to encase you in an awkward hug. It warmed your heart from the inside out, but It didn’t last long before you could feel the tension return to his back.

He pulled back, disturbed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes were everywhere but on you. “I’ll let you work.” And then he stumbled past you and out the door as you stood and watched him leave, turning back to your desk to see the array of crime-scene photographs littered on its surface.

❁ ❁ ❁

The hallway was spinning when Bucky made his way back to the living room.

A heavy body fell to the snow, hands shielding features, scrambling backward on the harsh white ground.

“Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!”

Bucky’s metal hand collided with a face, releasing a loud cracking sound. There was so much blood. So much fucking blood.

The room seemed to cave in. His chest rapidly rising and falling, Bucky made his way to the kitchen where he fell through the backdoor into feet of snow. The cool on his face calmed him down immediately, hitting him like the memory of it had done. He stayed there for a while, just enjoying the silence of the storm and letting the weather tie him to the ground.

That’s what he needed. A reminder, something to ground him, tell him how vulnerable he was, that there was still something human left in him.

His jaw clenched when he scrambled up again, skin burning from the ice piercing through the air. He was okay, he told himself, he was fine.

He shook his head and made his way to the little hut in the backyard, where he took your axe and began chopping firewood. A little distraction would do him good.

❁ ❁ ❁

After a simple dinner, you retreated to the sofa. Bucky hadn’t talked to you a lot and he felt a little bad you were stuck with him for another day due to the storm. But you never lost a word about it. In fact, you acted so naturally about it, as if he were a frequent visitor in your cozy retreat, one he had grown to associate with comfort and warmth in the short time being.

“What’s your favorite movie?” You crossed your legs next to him.

“I don’t know.” Bucky didn’t even remember watching movies ever. And it made him sad.

“Favorite genre?” You tried again. But Bucky just shrugged with a tight-lipped smile.

“I like rom-coms.” You smiled and Bucky noticed yet again how easy it was to spend time with you.

The TV began to play a generic song, but Bucky was too occupied looking at you. He couldn’t remember but he felt as though he had not experienced this sort of kindness in a long time, and it warmed his heart. But in the back of his mind, there was always that feeling of betrayal lurking in the dark. Because he began to remember things - things that lay not too far in the past and that were horrible, unspeakable really.

He had not pieced them together just yet. Just snippets of memories, pieces of conversations rushing through his mind when he was triggered. And it scared him a little bit. But he didn’t want to lay his burden on you.

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you tired? We can stop the movie if you-“

Bucky shook his head. “No.” He smiled, not wanting you to leave yet.

“Okay.” You whispered before turning to the TV with a smile. As did Bucky.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky woke with an unusual amount of peace. He felt warm and comfortable - well-rested too. The fire was lazily puffing in the chimney and the TV was off. But there was something, or rather someone else he noticed. He looked down, his eyes landing on your frame, tightly tugged to his body. You weren’t cold, even though the room had cooled significantly since last night, and your face looked so peaceful - unbothered. The sight did weird things to his heart. But his response to it was to sling his arms around you tighter, and for the first time in a while, Bucky felt as though he was protecting something rather than threatening it.

A smile snuck on his lips unawares. You stirred, but neither of you loosened their grip.

“Good morning.” Your head disappeared into his chest again.

“Mornin’” he could feel your frown through his shirt.

For some reason, it just felt natural to stay like this. Neither Bucky nor you moved for a while. You just lay there - not talking, not sleeping - enjoying the calm morning, even though Bucky could see the snowflakes rioting outside the living room window.

His hand dragged up and down your back and you sighed.

“What are you doing today?”

You pulled back a little, watching him, contemplating something - he could see it.

“I...” You trailed off, but Bucky stayed silent.

“You know what?” His eyebrows raised as you scrambled off the sofa and extended your hand toward him. “Come with me.”

And he did. You lead him to your office and Bucky was reluctant at first. The last time he was here he had a panic attack. But your hand was still in his, and it calmed him.

“I’ve been working on a case for some time now... but I’m stuck.” You moved to the desk and Bucky followed. “There’s been a murderer tormenting the town for weeks, driving the whole department crazy. I’ve been looking at these files for days. Maybe a fresh set of eyes can help.”

“You... you want me to help you?” This was new.

“Bucky,” your hand landed on his arm and his eyes were glued to the interaction, “we’re stuck in here for at least another day. Why not be productive? And who knows? Maybe you’re able to help me solve this case.” You smiled.

But he was still hesitant.

“That guy killed my partner’s sister. Anyone that can help us even in the slightest is welcome”

He gulped. “Okay, alright...”

You sat down at the desk, spreading out pictures, handing him files, and explaining what you had gathered so far. Bucky listened attentively. And even though he was a little scared to look at the pictures again, he warmed up to the process you guided him through. Everything was labeled and put to memos.

The process and the document brought him a weirdly familiar feeling but Bucky shoved it off to the side - after a while, even enjoying the puzzle you laid before him.

“This one is unusual... why did this victim get so far?” He mumbled.

“Maybe he’s messing with us...”

“Or he was interrupted,” he stated plainly as he grabbed another picture.

You were silent then, and Bucky looked up at you to find you smiling across the files littered on the floor. “You must have some sort of experience, those are some good observations.”

Bucky shrugged. Whoever he had been in the past was yet to be revealed to him, but he did admit that tactical thinking came easy to him.

“Also this,” he pointed at the latest crime scene photo, “these tracks are inconsistent. Normally, he attacks from the left. But here it’s all over the place. Something must have happened to make him stop and change tactics.”

“Something like...?”

“Maybe he got a hit himself. You said the forensic scientist approximated quick deaths. The Winter soldier always kills precisely.”

You nodded. “One hit and they're done for.”

“That takes a high amount of skill. There are not a lot of things that can interrupt these tactics. Except, if he wasn’t capable anymore.”

“There were no indications of the victims defending themselves. They never had a chance.”

“Were there no indications or was it just not tested anymore?”

“The blood.” Bucky watched as you sprung up. “There was too much blood. Some of it must be his!”

Attagirl. Bucky couldn’t help it, a proud smile painted his features. He watched as you pressed the telephone to your ear, a faint beeping caught by his ears, and then you frowned.

“The lines are dead,” you sighed.

“What are we gonna do now?”

“We have to wait out the storm... There’s no way we’re getting anywhere out there.”

His eyes swayed to the window, where a wall of white soft snow fell unrelenting. He nodded.

❁ ❁ ❁

You were on the sofa again, there was nothing to do. The fire was crackling, and you sat next to Bucky with a cup of tea in hand.

The case didn’t stop swarming your mind though. You finally had a new lead, a small hint that could lead to a suspect and you had no way of contacting Sam or the Sheriff’s department. There was likely nobody working, anyway. Maybe Steve, he was crazy like that - he’d gone out in unholy weather when you had a fight once, just to give you space.

Your eyes wandered around the room as your mind went through the case files again, and then, when they landed on Bucky again, a little shiver ran over your skin.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Have you... Do you think it’s possible you were the thing interrupting the Winter Soldier?”

He looked at you blankly.

“You were pretty banged up when you found me.” You didn’t try to insinuate anything, you were just a little worried... and curious.

“There were no other tracks in the snow, though.” His shoulders slumped.

“Oh, I don’t know. I just want to-“

His hand found your knee. “I understand.”

And your eyes locked. “Do you not want to know what happened to you?”

“I’ll remember it eventually,” he smiled reluctantly, “right now, I’m actually glad not having to worry about it too much.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don't know... I just prefer your company instead.”

You nodded and bit your lip to stop your smile from spreading. “I’m glad I’m not alone here, too.”

Bucky looked down, hiding his smile in vain.

❁ ❁ ❁

Icy wind whipped around Bucky when he noticed the man lying in the snow in front of him. He was begging, crying, screaming words he couldn’t make out in the storming winds.

And that’s when Bucky realized he was bleeding. Not Bucky, no, the man. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, drawing a growing circle in the snow - growing darker with every drop seeping deeper into the thick white.

So much blood.

Bucky was confused, and worried, and scared. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, and when he moved to help the man, he scrambled away towards the treeline.

Bucky didn’t follow him. The look of utter fear had shaken him to the bone. What had the man been so scared of? Bucky looked down his body, past the heavy vest to a sleek silver knife wedged between gloved fingers.

He stumbled backward. Almost losing his balance as he sped in the other direction. Away from the man, the blood, the sheer horror of the scene in front of him. What had he done? What was going on?

“You need to wake up!” Bucky’s shoulder shook with your touch.

Suddenly he shot up, shrugging you off until you landed on your butt next to the sofa.

He was sweating, heaving, eyes searching the room until he realized that there was no danger and gore around anymore. Just your cozy living room and you. You.

“You’re okay, Bucky. It was just a bad dream.” Your hands were on him again, his covering yours.

“I’m okay,” he reiterated.

“We’re safe here.” You weren’t. Because Bucky was the Winter Soldier.

The realization hit him like a truck, his hands immediately retracting from your skin. His heart began to pick up its pace again. The memories flooding his brain overwhelmed him to the point of dizziness. But he couldn’t be close to you. Not after he had done the unspeakable. Not after he had killed your partner’s sister. This had become too personal.

“I need to leave.” He stood up too quickly, swaying dangerously before scrambling past you.

“You can’t leave yet. It’s horrible outside.” You reached out to him again.

But he shook you off again. “I can’t stay either.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

Bucky halted, his shoulders sagging. There was no point in keeping it from you. You would find out anyway. And he would leave either way. It was just fair, you deserved the truth, to know you had sheltered an assassin for days.

He turned to you with afflicted eyes. “It’s me,” he whispered shamefully, feeling his eyes fill with tears.

You didn’t ask - just looked at him and swallowed hard. It was crazy how well you had gotten to know each other in the three days you were snowed in. But what was even more unfathomable to Bucky was that you understood. That you knew and didn’t flinch, or scream, or threaten him.

“I... the... my weapons, they’re buried in the woods. It was me, I did it. They made me do it. They–“ A sob broke through his speech.

You stood up to touch him but Bucky stepped back with the shake of his head.

“They can control me,” he uttered and the statement heard out loud made him shiver all over.

You reached out a third time and this time, Bucky didn’t move. He let it happen when your hands encased his cheeks and your lips laid a soft kiss on his jaw. “It’s fine.” Another kiss. “You’re fine.”

“I’m a monster.”

You shook your head with a teary smile.

“They’ll kill me when they find out.” There was no panic in his tone, he had already accepted his fate. The hard part was saying goodbye to you.

“I won't let that happen.” Your forehead pressed to his.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not him anymore. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s heart picked up its pace. Somehow, hearing his name from your lips meant so much more than anything else ever could. And with a taste of hope on his tongue, his hands grabbed your face and pressed your lips to his eagerly.

❁ ❁ ❁

You stumbled back but Bucky held you firmly in his grasp. He sighed into the kiss when you began to move your lips in sync with his, a lonely tear rolling over his cheek and stopping at your thumb.

He was warm and soft, rough around the edges but so sweet. His chapped lips left your mouth; his arms wandered around your body as he held you tightly, face disappearing in the crook of your neck.

Bucky was so full of affection, and passion, you could feel it in every touch he gifted you. You didn’t know how long he had gone without a kind word, without a reassuring smile, but you knew that you would give it all to him in this moment.

“Come here.” His puppy eyes squeezed between your hands, he let you guide his face back to yours where you stole another deep kiss from him.

But you wanted more. Needed to feel him all over - wanted to step into his skin if you could, just to be closer to him.

You guided him back to the sofa until he fell backward with you pressed against his chest. There was not an inch of space between your bodies as your legs tangled slowly. Bucky groaned when his hand tangled in your hair, a soft nudge pushing you to the side until he was almost hovering over you.

“You’re cold,” he stated upon feeling over your goosebumps. And then he, somehow elegantly, rolled the both of you off the sofa and to the carpet in front of the fire.

Your skin was burning deliciously when he removed your shirt carefully, a cool metal hand soothing over the side facing the fire. His hard bulge nudged against your core when his mouth placed soft kisses over your clavicle. Little did he know you weren’t shivering from the temperature in the room, but you wouldn’t protest.

Your heartbeat quickened with every piece of clothing left discarded around you. Bucky was all over you. Lips, hands, legs - a wild entanglement of limbs surrounded every content moan he gifted you and you loved it.

Soft warm kisses placed a firm trail down his body as you worked your way to the hemline of his boxers. You removed them with ease, his hands not once leaving your body no matter how grand your movements. He seemed assured when he could feel you beneath his fingertips.

“Will you stay?” You kissed his hip, hooded eyes looking at him through lashes.

“Anything for you.” His breath was shaky. You moved to kiss his tip, but as soon as your lips touched his red flesh, “But-“ he pulled you up again. “I need you closer.” He smiled.

“Okay.” And then your lips were back on his. His fingers danced around your body until they pulled your underwear off as well.

You parted just to watch as your warm hands guided his tip along your slick folds, his cock witching when he touched your wetness, another shaky exhale escaping his chest.

His eyes held yours when you lowered yourself until he was fully sheathed by you, a heavenly feeling consuming you with the delicious stretch he gave you.

You moaned in unison when you rolled your hips for the first time. Then another, and another. Until you found a comfortable rhythm that had Bucky bury his strong fingers in your hips, guiding you to meet every thrust of his own.

Your name rolled over his tongue as his eyes closed and it never sounded as good as this. He stuttered when you squeezed his cock with your walls, chasing your own high as Bucky fought to hold on.

There was so little talking in this passionate moment but so much felt said at the same time. Every touch of Bucky’s held stories in its wake, every kiss of his lips whispered soft promises to your body. You never wanted to let go again.

Your hand guided his eyes to yours when you felt your insides squeeze unrelenting. Moans being swallowed by another heated kiss, you rode each other through ecstasy. The overwhelming heat of his body and the fire seemed to swallow you whole when your sticky body collided with his only to have Bucky sling his arms around you again.

He kissed your head, whispering sweet nothing to your ear before the aftershocks of pleasure fully subsided.

❁ ❁ ❁

Harsh knocks on the front door ripped you from your desk. You stumbled down the hallway as you tried to get to the intruder faster.

“Y/L/N open the damn door!” You stopped. It was Sam. What was Sam doing here? The storm had begun to soften, but it was still not totally safe out.

A look to your left showed Bucky standing in the living room looking at you with unease written all over him. He scrambled to the wall on the floor when your hand moved to the doorknob. Sam didn’t know. Nobody knew that there had been a man hiding in your house for three days and it would stay that way... for now.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too.” Sam tried to step forward but you blocked his way. He frowned. “The lines went dead and I needed to show you this.”

Sam pulled a crumbled piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the silver star shining in the white landscape around him. It had stopped snowing this morning, and his truck was probably the only one making it through the streets.

Suddenly, Bucky’s face stared back at you between creased paper. He was wearing an army uniform, a proud smile decorating his features as he held his hat in his hands. “What’s that?” You swallowed hard.

“It’s him.” Sam showed the picture further. “His blood sample DNA is all over the victim.”

“The blood,” you whispered upon stealing a glance at your living room. “What... what are you gonna do?”

“That motherfucker killed my sister. And I am not going to rest until I’ve ended his life just as he did Sarah’s.” Sam tried to hide the raspiness in his voice at his sister’s name, but he failed.

You couldn’t blame him. Sarah had been a wonderful person. Her death had come unexpectedly for everyone. Nobody could fathom that anybody wished her harm.

I have his last known location. So are you coming or not?”

“It’s dangerous. The roads are closed off.”

“I don’t care.” You snuck another look to Bucky who was just blankly staring ahead now. He looked tense - frightened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Sam-”

“Don’t even try. This is ending, now.” He stepped back. “So are you coming?” His eyes were piercing. “...or not?”

You nodded with tight lips, gifting one last reassuring smile to Bucky as you reached around the door to grab your jacket and gun. Sam was already starting the car.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” you whispered only to watch Bucky’s chest heave with panic. “I’m so sorry. I won’t let him hurt you.”

The car honked before you could hear Bucky’s answer, shoulders jerking as your head pulled from behind the door.

“I’m coming!”

❁ ❁ ❁

“I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna kill him.” Sam was gripping the steering wheel so tight, you thought it would break. “I’m gonna shoot him in the head, and I’ll watch him die just like he did–“

“Wilson.”

His head snapped to you with fiery eyes. But you were just as upset. The thought of Bucky being killed made you want to throw up. You obviously wouldn’t let that happen. Killing Bucky would do nothing when the actual bad guys were still out there, possibly manipulating a dozen other people into doing their dirty work. Bucky had told you the details he remembered, and it was enough to know that none of it was his fault - and most importantly - that there was a much bigger fish to catch.

Sam clenched his jaw before looking back to the road. The mist had cleared slightly now.

“I don’t think killing the Winter Soldier will solve the problem.” You instantly regretted saying that, because Sam slammed the brakes, making the truck slide on the icy road until it came to a stop. He was looking at you again.

“He killed Sarah. He’s a criminal. A ruthless, cold-hearted serial killer.” There was so much betrayal in his eyes but he averted them again. “Even if I did not have personal reasons... he belongs behind bars at least. But the world would be so much better off if he was just gone.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, really? Then please enlighten me. Because I would really like to know what made you change your morals.”

“You know, you’re not the only one that found out some things while snowed in,” you snapped and watched your partner look down contritely.

“It’s not just him. And it’s not him we need to stop.” You were careful about your next words - you needed to say them but you had no idea how to explain them. “There’s a whole criminal organization behind- ...behind the Winter Soldier program.”

“How?” His teeth were grinding. “How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you that” yet, you added in thought. Though you weren’t sure Sam would ever understand why you sheltered his sister's murderer in your home.

The car fell silent for a moment. But you swore you could hear Sam’s mind working overtime to decide how he would go about this. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached for the ignition.

“You’re lucky I trust you,” He muttered before starting the car again, shoulders still tense, and an ever-growing frown on his face.

❁ ❁ ❁

It had taken a good portion of your energy to explain the situation to Sam without revealing your secret. It was hard and tiring, but you had planned a new strategy to approach the case with your partner. And now, several coffees and hours later, when the sun had already set beyond the woods behind your house, you found yourself on your doorstep with a smile. Because you knew that all of it would be forgotten as soon as you had Bucky back in your arms.

“Bucky, I’m home!” You called out before the door fell shut behind you. But there was something different about the place.

Your eyes scanned the living room - no fire, lights out, and Bucky’s makeshift Bed was neatly stacked by the end of the Sofa.

You smiled, still, he had probably finally decided to accept your offer to sleep in your bed.

“Bucky?” You pushed past the bedroom door just to find the room empty as well.

You frowned. You could have sworn he’d be lying there, waiting for you. But the domestic haze your fantasy cooked up in the few days of isolation the storm had brought you seemed to have clouded your brain.

You tried the hut in the yard last - without luck. But it wasn’t until you came back into your house, sitting on the neatly made sofa that hosted a journey of emotions through the past days that the revelation hit you like a truck.

A tear rolled down your cheek as your hands folded in your lap.

Bucky had come into your life like tragedy - sudden and with the force of an avalanche. He had brought you joy, and confusion, and pleasure, and warmth. Bucky had packed a lifetime of experiences and emotions in the span of three days, and then - just like he had appeared - and much like your initial excitement about coming back to him, he had vanished without a trace.

wow... here we are. I've had this in the drafts for a long time and tinkered on it throughout until it turned out this way. I hope you liked it. Please consider showing this post some love (reblog or comment) if you did - it really helps creators on this plattform! Love ya loads ~ℳ❁

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decaying-church · 1 year

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Slashers: First Time Headcanons

Slashers x male!reader

Requested by anonymous: “Billy lenz, Stu Macher, Billy loomis (+whoeer else you want) first time with m!reader?????No pressure thank you in advance <33”

Summary: Slashers firsts time with the reader.

(A/n: I’m sick and it’s sucks :))

Warning: smut, overstimulation, cumming untouched, dacryphilia, cumming dry.

Characters (in order of appearance): Billy Lenz, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Brahms Heelshire, Herbert West.

Billy, in spite of his vulgar and lewd words, was a virgin. There’s not many opportunities for sex when you’ve been hiding in a attic for your entire life. Despite his lack of experience he can go for hours. Probably due to how much he jerks off- you were almost surprised at how long he held out- round after round, cumming on his own chest over and over again until he physically couldn’t anymore. Once he finally came dry, you knew it was time to stop, even though he wanted to keep going. He felt the effects of it the next morning. Feeling a bit lightheaded whenever he stood on his overly sore legs, whimpering whenever he sat down. He clung to you for a few days after, for safety reasons.

With Stu, it’s definitely not his first time having sex. Man’s a hoe. He’s been with many people, he’s topped and bottomed, he’s done it with complete strangers. Stu has been around the block, okay. But it was different with you, because you were actually dating and he actually loved you. That being said, he nearly lost his mind the first time you fucked. He’s been with many people, but none had him biting down on his pillow, cumming untouched with tears running down his face the way you did. Despite being a sobbing, overstimulated mess, he constantly begged for more. When you're done and you’re taking care of him afterwards he’s going to go be a little out of it, a dopey smile on his face as you tried to get him to drink some water.

Another hoe, just like his best friend, Billy has been with many people, but before you he's only ever topped, because he's a stubborn bastard who'll never admit what he wants. And what he wants is to be topped. Even if it takes many, many weeks for him to admit that. When he finally does, he's a natural. Truly and honestly. From his experience as a top, he knows which positions will feel good for you and even better for him. Definitely, the type to shoo you away after. He does want to be comforted and held but he won't let you do it because he's a fucking masochist.

A surprise to no one, Brahms is a virgin. Again, there aren’t many opportunities for sex when living in the walls of your parents house. He’s nervous, but his excitement overrides it. I’ve said this before, he’s touch starved, overly sensitive, and quite loud. All things that became obvious during his first time. His thighs twitched and tried to slam shut around your waist, clawing at your back as he let out a long moan. You’d hardly even done anything yet, just barely pushing inside him and he was already panting and whimpering. He doesn’t really know what sex is supposed to feel like so he keeps asking you to try different paces and positions with him. He ended up cumming before you, and he wanted to hold out until you finished but it quickly became too much and he had to tap out. He felt a little guilty about it but you reassured him that it was okay, he was able to enjoy that post-sex feeling a little more after that.

Herbert isn’t a virgin. He’s had sex before, but only as a form of manipulation. It’s fucked up but honestly you found it kinda cute. He’s never had sex for pleasures sake, so you decided to give him as much pleasure as he could handle. It happened in his lab, bent over the only clear surface. In a weird way, he's kinda used to sex. Well, normal, primarily straight, 10-20 minute quickies. So going into having sex with you he expected it to be just as dissmisable as the other times had been. But it wasn't, it was passionate, and loving, and probably rougher than it should have been. But above all else it was good. Something Herbert hadn't thought about sex…ever. In the end he's laying on the table, trying to think of something slick to say, but nothing comes to mind. The two of you do eventually have to sneak upstairs, but not before Dan makes a comment from his room about the noise.

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dollwritesarchive · 1 year

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𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 — 𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, hungry!itto, oral sex ( f!receiving ), overstimulation, dub con, multiple orgasms, he’s rough, mentions of mindbreak, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ requested by anonymous and it took me way too long to get to it. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

there was something there.

a glimmer of base instinct in his hellfire eyes that you’d never seen before when you grabbed hold of the horns protruding from his unruly, silver tendrils, as if you’d just awaken a beast that long lay in hibernation. he’d been looking up at you, grinning ear to ear as he inhaled deep, smelling the arousal dripping from your hungry netherlips — teasing you ( and himself ) by breathing hot air against your cunt. “Been waiting for this,” he growled, by that damn, playful grin was still there. he was still himself, beaming from ear to ear. “Finally, a chance to be alone so I can eat you up.”

you hadn’t expected he meant it quite so literally.

however, the second you gripped his horns, there was an impatient rumble in his throat, and he smashes his open mouth against your core.

“Itto!”

it was a gasp of pure surprise when you felt the scrape of his teeth, before he swirled his tongue around your entrance, that clenches in response before dragging upwards, slotting your folds around it. he gathered your juices on his tongue before latching on to your clit, that puffs and pulsates excitedly between his teeth. “E—easy—“

but that was a word that’d lost its meaning to the oni, who dug his nails into your thighs, pressing them flat against the ground, spreading you open as wide as you could go so that he may feast rolling your clit between his sharp teeth, your hips tremor and you whine for him to be gentler.

he’d never been this rough with you, and you mewl in response, pulling on his horns, but it only spurred him to suckle on your button until your eyes crossed; you saw double the assault on your poor sex.

“F—fuck, I need… I need… you to slow down…”

Itto shook his head, crimson hues flickered up to watch your face contort in pleasure. you expected him to be smiling— elated that he could make you beg for mercy so he could grant it, but instead, his eyes are wild with lust. darker than usual. he didn’t have to pry his mouth from your cunt ( and, don’t worry, he didn’t ) for you to get his message loud and clear. grabbing his horns sealed your fate.

he wasn’t going to give you up until he was satisfied.

arching your back up off the ground, you wriggle to attempt to ease him back, but he scrambled closer, refusing to give you even an inch of space. oh no, Itto had found his new home, face buried between your thighs as they clamp around his head, slurping on each lip before dipping down to tease your hole again. you could tell, by the way his shoulders knitted back and forth, he was working his hands closer to your core. he wanted to free them from your legs, where’d he’d left nicks in your otherwise flawless skin, so he could play with your clit, giving his tongue the perfect opportunity to force itself inside you. but you were trying to keep him from giving you anymore sensation, shuddering and pushing at his horns.

it felt good, and that was exactly the problem.

it felt too good.

Itto finally slips one hand free, and pins your lower belly to the ground with all of his weight on his palm, ensuring that you can’t rock your hips to try and push him away anymore. with a starving snort through his flared nostrils, and a rumbling demand of, “You’re not going anywhere, not while I’m still hungry.” the pad of his thumb slid over your mound to scrub at your swollen clit, savoring the way you twitched and whimpered his name when he did so roughly.

then, when his tongue curls and flicks at your hole, it spasms in greeting. he rubs harder, making mental notes of your reactions. the harder he pressed on your nerve bud, the more the subtle claw on his digit grazed you, the louder you moaned, and the tighter your pussy clenched around air. one of your hands gripped his wrist as he toyed with the pressure, and he could tell that you were using all of your strength to try to pull his hand from you.

too bad he was stronger.

“Soft— soft, please—“ you were whimpering, but your body betrayed that sentiment, trembling for his abuse. “Be soft with me, Itto. L—like you always are…”

“If I would’ve known you get so wet, I wouldn’t have been so delicate with you to begin with. Tell me the truth, you like it rough.” he uttered a husky, blunt response before shoving his tongue into your canal. his eyes roll back the second your walls flutter to welcome him in, and he pushes his teeth flush against you. he wanted to reach as deep as he could, rolling his tongue in furious circles, gurgling, with his thumb and forefinger pinching your clit hard.

but he wasn’t wrong. you might’ve been begging him to go slower, to be gentle, but your body wanted the exact opposite. you cry out his name, throwing your head back to allow it to roll against the ground, pushing ferverishly against one horn whilst the other tugs at his wrist. but you were dripping lust on his chin, your stomach was tying itself in knots and pulling tight, your toes were curling in your boots and your breath was hitching.

“I— I like it—“ you were sheepish to admit it, and concerned that doing so would mean setting him to a point of ravenous that you would never be able to bring him down from, but you couldn’t rightly deny your precious Itto the truth. “It’s just— I can’t… I can’t take it—“

your hazy gaze drifts along the visage before you, hardly noticing minuscule rubies raising to the surface of your thighs where his nails bit at your flesh. it didn’t hurt, at least not right now. right now, the most intense sensation was the barrage he inflicted on your core, bashing his tongue against your walls, gripping and tugging on your clit before rolling it between his fingers. he didn’t seem to realize that you were teetering on the edge of an abyss of lost sanity and overloaded euphoria, because his strength overwhelmed your own, grasping your hand with his free one, he jerks it down by your side and pulls it tight, using it as a reel to pull you as close against his hungry mouth as you could go without him swallowing you whole, altogether.

grasping a handful of dirt and rocks at your side, you convulse helplessly, begging him, and having him completely disregard it in favor of his own insatiable hunger. you could see stars when you closed your eyes, or when they rolled back on their own, and feel every nerve in your body on the brink of going haywire.

but Itto didn’t stop, not even to catch his breath, not even to utter something sarcastic or playful. he grunted and growled and devoured you relentlessly. sending you sky high and crashing down over and over.

“I’m… gonna go crazy…” you whimpered, voice shaking, tears in your eyes. “You’re gonna… make me go…” you couldn’t finish it, because yet another orgasm was pulling at your thoughts, discarding them.

Itto was going to tongue fuck you into a state of insanity— please you until it became torture. all because he couldn’t get enough.

#itto #itto x reader #itto x you #itto smut #itto arataki #itto arataki x reader #itto arataki x you #Itto arataki smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact #genshin itto #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x you

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submalevolentgrace · 1 year

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(yesterday i received an ask, which prompted me to write the following response. the asker has apologised for sending it and i took it down to prevent anyone from laying into them, but present is anonymously below because i like my response and want you to see it)

"Based on the fun new revelation that the world is ending before I graduate, is it even worth it to try prepping or should we all just get ready to jump into traffic come 2025?"

okay, there is, A LOT to unpack here. i'm gonna do my best to respond to this helpfully, the way i am facing it: confronting it, emotionally processing it, pragmatically preparing, and holding on to a sort of grim, dark hope.

we're talking about climate collapse and the latest IPCC report here right? first off, it's not a new revelation. maybe it is for you personally, but for humanity as a whole, we've known about the inevitable outcomes of emissions damaging the climate since like the 70's. i found out about it myself in primary school in the mid 90's, when it was still called the greenhouse effect, and i then spent 20 years on and off in various roles of support for climate activism, when i had the spoons. if you're young and just finding out about it now i know it's probably overwhelming, and especially sucks the later you've been born into this mess… but i'm pointing out that it's not new, to underline the point that it's also not sudden. yeah it's getting worse, but it's been getting worse for generations, and will keep getting worse for generations.

it's not a meteor, or a volcano. it's a creeping steady decline of habitability with sputters and bursts of natural disaster; there is no timeline or event or threshold at which the world ends here.

that 2025 "deadline" from this year's IPCC synthesis report, for instance; it's not a date that the world ends. honestly, in some ways, it's kinda meaningless. what it is, as i understand it, is that all the data says that if we want to limit global average temperature rises to 1.5C by end of century - which we do, because even 2C would be catastrophic - we need emissions to peak by 2025 and then rapidly decline. it's a vastly oversimplified agregate of incredibly complex data reduced down to the point of absurdity in a desperate attempt by scientists to get corporations to allow governments to take action to limit corporations. it's a deadline for government action to limit effects by 2100. the year will come, and pass, and the world will go on. probably with emissions still going up, probably with targets shifted again and 2C accepted as the next half hearted goal that will also be missed, but life will go on.

no end of the world. life will go on. into the 2030's, into the 2040's, into the 2100's, life will go on. it'll be hotter and colder, wetter and drier, more storms and bushfires, less food and fertile land, but life will go on. populations will starve, land will become uninhabitable, life will go on. when you hear about "the end of the world" from climate collapse, it's not a hard apocalypse that kills us all off or whatever. it's the slow creep of nature getting more harsh, and the way we do things much harder.

if you look at the serious reports from scientists and militaries, the language you see isn't "end of the world", it's "end of modern societies". that's what's really at risk: the fragile infrastructure that holds up the ruling classes of rich nations and has us all scurrying around to make it work. mass scale power grids, international supply chains and just in time logistics, silicon wafer production, year-round plastic wrapped preserved passionfruit chunks grown in thailand, packed in argentina, sold in france, profits to america, money stored on a computer in the cayman islands. i can't sugarcoat it and say that's all that's at stake; people are definitely going to starve and drown and die of exposure; but that already happens every day in most of the world, right now. there are a million rohingya at the border of bangladesh, locals fleeing khartoum as the west airlifts out is nationals, people whose civilisations were crushed under the boots of empires and land destroyed to create the farmland and factories that are killing the planet. life for them goes on.

i mean, i get it. seeing the impending collapse of your society, everything you've known for your whole life being willfully destroyed, it's fucking devastating. we want to keep sitting here on comfortable couches with our gold and cobalt plated supercomputers sharing cat gifs on the hellsite. we don't want to have our civilisation taken away from us and be forced into brutal struggle to survive. it's going to fucking suck, it will be awful, and it will be (and already is) most destructive to the people who are already the worst off, which just sucks even more… and maybe your life is already bad enough that you don't think you can handle it getting worse. i mean, i've been suicidal since i was 14 and i've been through trauma and medical torture you wouldn't believe since then. i get it. you're scared, terrified even. existentially threatened. you don't know what you can handle and maybe you donn't wanna find out.

but here's the thing: the ONLY sensible thing you can do, now and going forwards, is prepare for it.

you wanna kill yourself when it gets hard? let's say sure, i agree with that. what's the threshold then, what's the limit? when will you kill yourself? the power grid going down? sewerage backing up? supply chains failing and being unable to buy food? from the comfort of the developed world, those all feel like exit points i can imagine many people taking as their out… but how long does it have to last before you know it's carbon-monoxide-party time? a month of no power, no flush, no food? a week, a few months, or a year? because it won't start that way.

it's not a meteor or volcano, it's a slow slide. some powerlines sagged so there's rolling blackouts every now and then, a few hours or a day at a time. pipes backed up a bit so pressure is reduced for a week until repairs are done. fires and plague have closed roads so shelves are bare and stores are limiting purchases on essentials this month. there will be bumps along the road before there will be any sort of definitive cliff where you can say "this is it, now is the time to kill myself". these bumps are already happening.

i really hope you can agree, it'd be absurd to be such a fatalistic doomer that you kill yourself instantly at the first blackout, dry tap, or closed grocery store; when you can't know if it'll be back up in a few hours or tomorrow or next week. these small disruptions are already happening right now, directly as a result of climate collapse, but we're still here, still living. if we're going to talk about suicide as a pragmatic option, you need a threshold, and wherever you set it, you'll have to get through what comes before. "i'll kill myself after a month with no grid" still means you gotta be ready for a week without it. you gotta prepare, even if you plan to not survive.

and i know it's overwhelming, i know. to look around and think about what is essential to keep you going, what you can sacrifice, how you can make it through. but you're not going to be doing it alone, everyone around you is going to be doing it with you. we're all going to be struggling through it, and based on how communities have responded in the last few years to a string of once-in-a-lifetime disasters here in my home of climate-fucked australia, i am certain that when the climate collapses around a group of people, they will form a community and help each other, no matter how selfish and mean of a country bogan (translation: redneck) they are. people will help each other; people already are helping each other.

because yeah, climate collapse will probably destroy modern civilisation… but so what? it's a neoliberal capitalist hellscape quickly plunging us into technologically enforced eternal authoritarianism… and like, not to be an accelerationist or anything, but here's that dark hope i mentioned: i'm kinda relieved by the thought that the infrastructure that enables it won't last this century. that climate collapse will force us out of these horrors, and back into real, interdependent community.

so do what you can to prepare, how you can, to make the little disruptions more bearable and comfortable. there's plenty of resources still available for off grid life, camping, home agriculture, and general self sufficiency out there on the still-existant internet, and more people are getting into it all the time - not just what you imagine when you hear "prepper". any skill you can develop, anything you can do to prepare, even if it's as simple as keeping extra shelf stable food and a jug of clean water around, anything you can do will help you materially and more importantly, mentally.

having some jerry cans of water and a small solar setup has been amazing for my mental health and anxiety! and as much as i'm putting material and energy into preperations, i'm also putting them into comfort, maybe even hedonism. collecting some cool lego, got some fancy synths i didn't need, making fucked up noise music with them. enjoying the sound of the neighbours' chickens, looking forward to the day "the world ends" and i can free-range my own on the council's nature strip and share the eggs with the pottery lady down the street. once you're prepared to survive a week of grid down, maybe you'll realise a month, a year, isn't so unbearable. maybe it starts to feel nice?

because i've been there, the suicidal grief. 2018 was absolutely the worst year of my life and i was sure i'd die being tortured in hospital, and coming out of that, in 2019, both the IPCC and ADF released incredibly bleak reports on climate collapse outcomes, and it all sank in. all the spare spoons i'd sunk into helping when i could, all the decades of scientists desperately warning, it all failed. the final warnings have been coming for years, with no change in course, it's happening. and i faced the realisation that my decades were limited, my time of comfort short, and i started despairing and grieving. i turned to what support systems i had, and they failed me. when my psych asked what i was so anxious about and i started explaining the climate reports, he tensed up and started asking diagnostic questions for dilusional psychosis. i went home and cried, i was sleeping on the couch in the junk storage room of my sharehouse because i'd let my own room fill up with so much trash that there was a distinctly organic smell of growth choking the whole place out. i was fucking done, my heart and body broken, there didn't seem to be any point in anything, not without a future. it's the closest i've been to killing myself since leaving home…

so i said, fuck it. i've got a tiny pool of cash from welfare backpay, and i bought a synth i wanted. it fucking rocked, and brought me so much joy, so i bought another, and another. no future to save for, anyway. i made some cool music, i never saw that psych again, i gave up on my drive for revenge on doctors and finding answers about my fucked up nervous system, why bother when the world is ending? and i made music. i can kill myself later maybe. i started loving myself more, because what's the point starving to death hating myself? i made music and got confident and cleaned my fucking room, bought a new mattress. i met a girl and took a chance and we fucked real good and i fell in love again. i moved out somewhere new and quieter and left a home of over a decade behind me, left parts of my identity behind me, moving forward and growing for the better. i have a family now, the first family that has ever loved me without expecting anything in return, and i love them with all my heart. i listen to the chickens, and watch leaves float down the storm water drain, and make cool music. yesterday i listened to a 14 minute track i made 6 months ago and almost cried, because nobody can make music that is so perfect for my tastes except me, and i brought it into existence. on the weekend i'm gonna set up the solar panel to keep the backup battery topped up, i use it to charge my phone and laptop, which the kids would call solarpunk and i'd call cool as fuck to have a solar powered laptop.

in 2019 i stared into the void and realised there is no real future for me, for human civilisation as we know it, and i grieved and processed… i almost killed myself, but i didn't, and the years since have been the best of my life, no question.

so, no. don't kill yourself, now or in 2025 or at any point until you can't handle the torture anymore. "graduation" sounds young, real young, even if it's tertiary. i'm creeping towards 40, and the age that "graduation" conjures makes me think that you've got a hell of a lot of potential left in you, for fun and stupidity, and growing up, and finding love and heartbreak, and your version of wierd-arse synth music.

so go out there, prepare, and enjoy.

…

…..and for the love of all the false goddesses of the void, never, NEVER EVER again contact a random fucking blog on tumblr and ask if you should kill yourself. holy fuck buddy. the amount of pressure you put me under to deliver an emmaculately worded response that somehow talks you down from the ledge without lying, is way, way too much fucking pressure. i really hope you were being stupidly hyperbolic, but even then, Eris Fucking Kallisti Herself In Absurdist Pagan Blasphemy, so incredibly unacceptable to say to a stranger. i think you need a therapist, even if they do think you're catastrophising, because like. shit dude. this is abso-fucking-lutely not okay!

now go. prepare and enjoy.

(reminder that asker apologised and i have no hard feelings for a midnight despair ask)

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threadsun · 8 months

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Anonymous Asks: "Even when they don’t try, vampires have so much sex appeal it’s unfair lol could I request either headcanons or short scenarios for these two characters in separate situations by themselves?

Since Ian and Joseph are the newest vampires they probably haven’t gotten a control on their new bloodlust yet and therefore can’t control their feeding habits right?

What if reader were to accidentally cut themselves while they were starving and they go in complete predatory sadist mode and pounce on them?

One terrifying but very hot feeding session later and Shaun and the other guys have to yank them off of reader only to see it’s too late and they’re knocking at deaths door.

The only way to save them is to turn them."

Oh... oh this is good!! You're a genius!!

Content: blood, biting, sewing needle, vague horniness, aphrodisiac saliva

Ian:

"Shit."

You barely hiss out the word, fingers clamped tight around the base of your thumb to try to staunch the bleeding a little. It's surprising, how much one sharp needle can do. You'd never expected sewing up one of Ian's shirts to be so dangerous.

I mean, normally a little prick of the thumb wouldn't be dangerous. But...

"H-hey, are you...?" Ian's voice is already breathy, hands cradling yours as he brings your thumb up to his lips. "Y-you're... bleeding..."

"Ian." You try to pull your hand away, shuddering as his tongue laves over his fangs.

"You smell so good. Please, just a small taste..."

He doesn't wait for an answer, lapping at the pad of your thumb and moaning. It sends tingles up your arm, heat spreading through your veins. It's always like this when they feed. Something about their saliva, you think. It gets your blood pumping in the most delightful way.

It hasn't been that long since Ian fed. He'd struck out for the nearby village to find some unsuspecting victim and then come home to wallow in his guilt. But he's insatiable. Something about being newly turned, perhaps. Or perhaps just the way he is. Regardless, he's starving. And you taste like heaven.

His lips are on your neck before either of you can stop him. His fangs sink deep into you, drinking your blood like it's the only thing keeping him alive. The more he drinks, the more lightheaded you get. That pleasure, that tingling, fills your body. You're hot all over. You're desperate. And you're losing blood at a concerning rate.

By the time Shaun finds you two, you're barely awake. The flush of life has drained from your face, leaving a concerning grey tint in its wake. Ian is still feeding, grinding his hips against your thigh as he does and moaning against your neck. Shaun wastes no time in pulling him from you.

It's days before you wake, starving and with an odd ache in your neck. Not to mention the painfully sharp fangs poking at your lips.

Joseph:

It's a thorn that gets you. Reaching into the tangled mess of roses to pick the perfect one for your centrepiece, a sharp thorn catches your neck. It's barely a sting, and the blood is minimal. As careful as you are with your blood around the house, you're not quite so worried outside.

Perhaps you should be.

Joseph, poor Joseph. Too scared to feed. Too guilty to take even your offered blood. Starving, desperate Joseph. He's tried so hard to be good. To keep away from you when he can hear your blood more loudly than your voice. To keep from sinking his fangs into that soft neck he so longs for...

But your blood is such a shade of crimson. The vase in his hands slips. Water, leaves, flowers scatter across the garden path. There's no sound from his lips other than a whine, like he's being forced against his will to bite deep into your neck and drink like his life depends on it.

And with how starved he is, you can't bring yourself to stop him. You've offered yourself willingly to him so many times. How can you deny him now? When his starvation has finally gotten the better of him? You'd be cruel to stop him, even as you go weak in the knees. After all, it feels good for you too. The warmth, the thrill, the electricity in your veins.

He holds you to his chest. Your dizzy body collapses into him, only hoping he can drink his fill before you're drained dry. You want to give him all he needs, but you only have so much blood in you. And he's been starving himself for... well, you don't even know how long.

Nick is the one who finds you two. Joseph kneeling on the ground with you cradled to his chest. He's still licking the blood from your neck, even as he sobs over your limp body. He can't help himself. He's finally getting a taste of life again. You wouldn't want him to stop.

When you wake from death, Joseph is by your side. No apology will ever be enough for him to forgive himself, no matter how many times you forgive him. And nothing will ever soothe the regret that he'll never taste your sweet blood again.

#swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #sdj ian #sdj joseph #ian duff x reader #joseph haberdae x reader #gn!reader #18+ only #sunshine #this is obviously non-canon to the broader AU but >:3c

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y-so-hungry · 3 months

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Hungry Boy: Chapter 1

Summary: Joseph and Adam have had a mutual crush on each other for months now, though neither knows the other's feelings. Today, Adam goes to the diner that Joseph works at, hungry for dinner, and finds out that Joseph hasn't actually eaten all day... neither of their stomachs will stop rumbling either.

Notes: Hey everyone! This is a RP I did with someone, who wishes to remain anonymous, but was happy to share with you all our story! There will be 6 chapters, which I'm going to try and post one each day. They're all part of a single rp and I had to break it into chapters to avoid the story being WAY too long for one post. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Tags (for the whole story, not just this chapter): hunger, stuffing, starved to stuffed, stomach growling, belly rubs, light bondage, masturbation, cooking, friends to lovers, M/M

Read on AO3

Adam walked into the diner after a long day at work, shivering from the cold wind and snow outside. He stomped off the snow on his shoes at the doormat, and his stomach gurgles at the smell of food permeating the small diner. There were a few other people inside, apparently also tired and cold from the day. He looked up at the bar and saw his favorite waiter, Joseph, standing there filling another customer's coffee. He smiled, and called out to him.

"Oi, Joey, ya got an open spot for me?"

The cup fills to the top, and Joseph immediately springs his head toward the entrance to see Adam grinning widely at him. Joseph smiles back, happy to see a familiar face.

"Adam! Come in, come in!" he calls back, leaving his first customer to enjoy his coffee. "We got a few empty tables, how many in your party?”

"Just one today. Just need to fill up before I go home," he says, patting his stomach underneath his maroon turtleneck sweater.

"Busy day today?" Joseph chats, picking up a stray glass and casually wiping it down with a cloth. "I know how that feels. Right now's the only time it hasn't been busy today, I haven't had much of a chance to eat anything since breakfast."

Adam frowns.

"You haven't? Jeez, love, you must be starving!" he says. A very faint blush colors his cheeks as he realizes he accidentally said 'love' to the waiter he'd had a crush on for months now, and also at the fact that Joseph admitted he was hungry. Something about hunger had always been... interesting to Adam, say the least.

Thinking the pet name as just a friendly gesture, Joseph bobs his shoulders in a little laugh. "You get used to it. Seeing so many people eating can kind of fill the gap, you know?"

Fill ...Joseph's eye catches another waiter walk to a table with a tray full of freshly cooked food; a few burgers and chicken tender sides, even a bowl of onion rings. The smell carries over to his nose, and he has to swallow before he starts drooling.

"Um- I'll be with you in a second!" he says in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "I just- need to clean these glasses."

Adam raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure that watching people eat would actually “fill in the gap”, but didn't argue.

"No worries, take your time," he said with a laugh. He sat in his usual booth and considered the menu. His stomach rumbled at the sight of the food on it, and he couldn't help palming his belly again, rubbing it a little. He'd even eaten lunch, he could imagine poor Joseph's belly was practically howling with hunger... Part of him hoped he would be able to hear it when he came by for his order.

Placing the final polished glass with the others, Joseph turned toward Adam's table ready to take his order. Upon closer inspection, he can see Adam has placed his hand on top of his stomach, rubbing slow circles into it. He isn't sure if it's the hunger getting to him or something else, but the sight is enough to make his cheeks feel ever so slightly warm. It's probably just Adam, right? Joseph's been holding feelings for him for a little while now, it must be that. But it's specifically when he sees the attention on his stomach that...

Joseph shakes the thought from his head and takes out a notebook and pen once he reaches Adam's table. "Good day, sir. May I take your order?" he playfully asks in a faux-fancy voice.

Adam laughed.

"Mmh, I think the only thing that's been on my mind since I left work is getting the biggest burger on the menu," he says, sounding almost dreamy as he talks about it. "Side of fries, chocolate milkshake. Ooh and chicken strips. Carbs and meat are the goal right now."

His stomach gurgles quietly again and he rubs his belly more, licking his lips.

Joseph's breath catches upon hearing Adam's stomach. He can't deny that his listing of the food makes his own stomach cramp with hunger, his mind filling with images of all the items being cooked in the kitchen.

"Your stomach sounds like it agrees," he says, attempting to be teasing but unable to hide the small voice crack.

Adam's face blushed further and he pressed his fingers sharply into his stomach as he laughed.

"I'm starving, honestly. It was rumbling the whole drive here!"

Oh, geez. Joseph feels his heart skip a beat as Adam says that, the image of him sitting in the car with a rumbling, gurgling stomach during the entire drive filling his head. He doesn't need this now, especially when he's still got other customers to serve once this order is done.

"Hope it wasn't too distracting," he nervously chuckles, then takes a second look at the notebook. "Right, so- Number 3 burger, side of fries, chocolate milkshake and some chicken strips. Is that everything?"

"That should be it!” Adam answers. “Thanks so much, Joe, you're the best."

Joseph grins, his chest feeling warm. "Aw, shucks. I'll see if I can make the order come quickly, just for you."

He turns to leave, peeling off the order from the notebook, but is stopped by his stomach letting out a deep, hollow rumble, one that's not quiet either. He gasps, free hand flying straight for his belly in an attempt to cover up the sound. Damn dress shirt, it's not gonna hide anything.

Adam immediately feels his heart begin to pound, his breath catching harshly as he hears poor Joseph's belly growl. It was loud, loud enough that there's no way Adam could pretend he hadn't heard.

"Jeez, Joseph, was that your stomach?" he says, his voice sounding surprised but gentle, and also strangely intrigued. His eyes were trained on Joseph's belly, and the hand pressing into the area under his ribs.

Joseph feels every inch of his face cringe, his cheeks surely flushing bright red in embarrassment. Though he turns back around to face Adam, he can't bring himself to look him in the eye. He can only keep his eyes focused on his own empty gut, hoping it doesn't protest again.

"Uh...yeah. It was. Guess I'm hungrier than I thought, huh? H-heh..."

"Aw you poor thing. You really haven't eaten anything since breakfast have you?" Adam says.

Poor thing. Joseph's chest flutters as the words float around in his mind. Why does he feel like this? Why is he afraid of Adam finding out something he has no idea about? Why does this have to be happening in the middle of his shift?

"N-no, not really. Busy shift," he sputters as his eyes dart back and forth. "I'll go get your order ready- won't be long!"

He's quick to escape, hugging his arms tightly around his middle so as to not give anything else away.

Adam opens his mouth but Joseph has already sped away, off to hand the order to the chefs. Adam's stomach gurgles again, but he finds he's wondering more about how hungry Joseph feels right now, rather than himself. Poor guy has been running around all day on an empty stomach...

Suddenly Adam wonders if that was the first time his belly had rumbled in front of a customer, or if it had happened already today. That brought an odd feeling, wondering how flustered Adam got in front of other customers, wondering if his belly had been just as loud then. He could imagine him going off to rub his poor empty belly in private somewhere in the back, trying to get it to calm down before going out for the next order...

Jesus, Adam, quit thinking about that, getting riled up in a public restaurant is the last thing we want right now, he thinks to himself.

In the kitchen, Joseph hands off the piece of paper to a chef and makes his way back into the diner, wiping his forehead and taking a moment to breathe. What the hell was that?! he angrily thinks to himself. Getting turned on in the middle of the diner right in front of your crush- you're gonna make a fool of yourself! You got other people to serve, you moron!

Just then, he catches sight of another table glancing at him hopefully, waiting for their order to be taken. He clears his mind of any remaining dirty thoughts and makes his way over, notepad ready.

Adam watched as Joseph took a table's order, then came out a few minutes later holding a tray full of food for another table that had ordered earlier. Joseph gave a small smile to Adam before training his eyes back on the table, but as he came nearer, Adam could hear his stomach practically moaning with hunger. It wasn't as loud as before, but it was constant, grumbling all the way as he passed Adam's table. Immediately he felt his face flush and suddenly all he wanted to do was push his hands into Joseph's stomach and rub his poor belly, feeling it growl under his fingers.

The more Joseph works, the more his hunger grows, and the more his hunger grows the more he wishes he could be alone and take care of it, but he knows that that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Occasionally he’ll see Adam glancing at him, and his heart beats faster every time. Stop it, he tries telling himself. Focus on your work. You can eat later. Just keep going.

Not only that, he hopes that Adam’s order will be done soon so he doesn’t have to be hungry any longer. Even if the sounds are…kind of nice.

He really does look hungry, Adam thinks to himself as he watches Joseph continue on with his job. He can see the way his eyes catch on certain dishes, the way his hand absentmindedly settles on his middle when he's talking to a customer. Not to mention each time he passes Adam can hear small, telltale gurgles coming from his middle.

He supposed he could tell so easily in part because he was quite hungry too. His stomach would not stop rumbling, especially since the table next to him had been served a few minutes ago. The burger on that table looked so good, it made his mouth water, and his stomach gave another violent growl.

Eventually, most of the orders are taken and Adam’s order is finally ready. Joseph sighs as he picks up the tray with his food on top of it. So much for making it quick, he says to himself.

Back in the diner, he speed walks to Adam’s table, placing the tray down as quick as possible. “Hey, I’m sorry it took so long. There were a lot of big orders today. Is this everything?”

Adam's stomach gives a long, desperate moan at the sight of the food. It's so loud he can feel it shaking his ribcage, and he can feel blood rushing in his ears immediately. Both hands touch to his stomach but there's no use trying to cover the noise.

"Oh man, heh, sorry, yes I think this is everything, jesus..."

If he were a cartoon, Joseph swears that steam would be coming out of his ears at the sound of Adam’s stomach. He’s known him for years, he’s heard his stomach before…and yet it’s never been this ravenous before. He swallows to moisten his throat.

“Are you sure you ate enough for lunch? You sound starving…” he says. genuinely concerned but also a little intrigued.

"I thought I did, though I guess my job is fairly labor intensive, I'm on my feet all day helping customers, hauling around books, shelving them, but I didn't think I'd be this hungry after a day at the bookstore." He laughed and rubbed his belly as he popped a fry in his mouth. "MMMF, gods Joey, this is so good. Thank you, I swear I could kiss you."

Joseph felt his heart leap into his throat. Surely Adam didn't...mean that, right? Obviously not, they're just friends, he wouldn't actually want to kiss him...surely.

"O-oh, well, I'm- I'm glad you like it!" he stutters. "I'll make sure to send compliments to the chef, he'll-"

The smell of Adam's food wafts past Joseph's nose, and his stomach rumbles again. It's been consistently rumbling for the past hour, but Joseph's starting to reach his wit's end. Scowling, he gently smacks his notebook against his belly, as if punishing it.

"You're the one who sounds starved honestly, Joey," Adam says, sounding sincere, and yet his eyes were staring directly at Joseph's belly. "You haven't eaten all day, you must be damn near desperate now."

At this point, Joseph decides to give up on the attempt– no one in this diner believes he’s cool and collected about this– and takes a deep breath.

“God, yeah, I’m dying,” he exaggerates, gripping onto his belly. “Being around all this food is difficult on the easiest days but when you’ve barely eaten anything yourself? It’s like torture.”

His stomach lets out another long, rumbling groan. It’s enough to where he can feel it buzz against his palm. Despite his own words, his heart flutters at the feeling.

"I'm sure it is," Adam says. When Joseph's stomach rumbles again Adam's hand suddenly jumps up, Joseph's belly is so close Adam could touch it, but he quickly disguises the movement by tucking a hair behind his ear, unsure of how graceful it actually looked. "It really does sound empty, the poor hungry thing. Your shift ends in what, one, two hours?"

If he calls me a poor thing one more time– Joseph pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, attempting to hide the squirming in his legs. He feels like he’s going weak. “A-actually, I don’t have much left. I think I end in about half an hour? I’m tempted to order something myself if this keeps screaming at me.”

He gently prods his belly, which gives a small, agitated grruuu in response.

Jesus fuck it's like he's TRYING to make me lose my mind, Adam thinks as his face flushes thoroughly again at the sound. When Joseph mentioned buying something to eat however, Adam got an idea. A stupid idea, that Joseph would 100% turn down and would definitely think is weird but it's way too late Adam has already opened his mouth--

"Actually... I was wondering if maybe you would like to spend the evening at my place? You can eat there, we could talk... Maybe I could feed you?"

Thank you for reading! Chapter 2 will be posted soon!

#hunger #hunger kink #belly kink #tummy kink #stomach growling #hunger growls #hungry tummy #stuffing #inflated belly #empty belly #belly expansion #stuffed belly #belly rubs #hunger fic #hunger roleplay #stomach kink

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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Anonymous: Hey Cody! Hope all is well. I’m a sucker for Mama Donna (because she would be such a sweet and supportive Mama) so I would like to request a newborn Y/N after quite a hard and complex birth. Y/N is struggling a bit and obv Mama Donna is super worried (and tired) and her fierce Italian side shows (maybe as protectiveness even towards Mother Miranda or Alcina?). It would be cute if it could end with Mama Donna breastfeeding Y/N and being emotional and relieved because this is all she's ever wanted. I can imagine that writing a newborn Y/N can be quite complex but I'm sure you'll do great as I love your writing! Thank you so much

So cute! Let’s get into it!

Donna was so ecstatic when she found out she was going to have you. She had always wanted to be a mom. You were her dream come true.

Donna read tons of books for new moms. She learns lots of things, but her first takeaway is that babies can start to recognize voices before they’re born. So, she begins talking to you almost nonstop as she goes about her daily routine. She just loves you so much and wants to convey that.

Later on into her pregnancy, Donna’s blood pressure is always high which puts Miranda on alert.

Miranda all but moves into Beneviento Manor to take care of her daughter. (She probably actually would have if Alcina didn’t insist on visiting Donna so much too).

Donna goes into labor very early with you. She is completely terrified that something bad is going to happen to her little baby.

Miranda speeds over as soon as Donna calls her. At first everything seems to be going fine, but… She quickly enlists Alcina’s help when the situation becomes rather serious.

It feels like Donna has been in labor for days, but eventually, you are born.

Donna cries happy tears as she holds you for the first time. You are very little, but just as precious as Donna had imagined.

Miranda and Alcina weep when they see you as well.

Miranda can’t believe she has a grandchild now.

However, you are very fussy. Miranda suspects that you might have colic. You refuse to eat or fall asleep for the next few hours after you are born… Which means Donna also doesn’t sleep. You cry so hard, it’s heartbreaking for your Mama.

Miranda and Alcina try to take turns staying up with you so that Donna can take a nap, but she always declines their offers. She will simply not sleep if you are upset or sick. That is not an option for her.

After multiple attempts to persuade Donna to get some rest, she snaps at the two women in her exhaustion. “Y/N is MY baby! Not yours! I’m their mother, I know what’s best!” She hisses.

Miranda knows Donna is just tired, so she suggests that Alcina and her leave and give the two of you some privacy. She wants Donna to feel safe.

Donna feels horrible for the way she just spoke to Miranda and Alcina after all they’ve done for her, but she silently nods her head at Miranda’s offer. You and her need to decompress.

After you and Donna are left by yourselves, she gently talks to you as she rocks you softly. “Hello, tesoro.” She says with a smile. You’re so adorable.

The quiet atmosphere is calming. There are no overlapping conversations anymore. Something is familiar about this voice, but you’re not quite sure why. Who is this woman? Your crying lessens as the gentle person holding you speaks once again.

“You’re so sweet, Y/N.” She whispers and kisses your head.

Wow. Whoever this is, she’s good. Your little eyes pop open to try and find out more about the owner of this lovely voice. You are quite surprised by what you see. She’s… Beautiful. She is both recognizable and a stranger.

Donna gasps as she sees you looking at her. “Hi there, sweetheart.” She coos at you and kisses you once more.

This is nice, but… Hmm… You need more information. What will she do if you start crying again? You begin to fuss and she softly pats your back as she continues to rock you steadily. She smiles at you.

“You must be starving, tesoro.” Donna says. She carefully repositions you so that she can breastfeed you.

What’s happening now? Something new? She is completely magnetic. She has your full attention.

“There we are.” Donna sighs in relief as she frees her aching breasts from her dress. She is so excited to try and feed you again. You were not having it earlier when she first attempted it. She easily places her nipple into your mouth and coaxes you to drink by running her soft finger against your cheek.

Your eyes become wide. This was totally unexpected, but… Maybe this will help the hunger pangs in your belly? You feel a need to latch on and suckle so you give it a try… Oh yeah. This feels good. It’s very soothing. Not long after you begin, though… Something really tasty hits your tongue. Milk? This is great! It’s just what you need!

Donna softly cries as you suckle and begin to drink. She’s finally feeding you. This is all she’s ever wanted.

You suckle harder as you realize what you’re supposed to do. Alright, here are your findings so far on the person holding you: She’s very pretty, she’s kind… And she can make food. She’s perfect. 10/10 would recommend.

Donna begins gingerly singing to you as she watches you eat. She can’t believe you’re finally here. She loves you so much.

You, on the other hand, are once again blown away by this lovely woman. She can sing too?! In the span of only a couple moments, she has become the center of your universe.

“Mama loves you, Y/N.” She tells you.

Oh… Mama. That’s what you should call her. It suits her very well, in your opinion. You love her too. More than anything.

Donna gently offers her finger for you to grab.

You eagerly reach out with your tiny hand and squeeze it. You hope she can tell that you’re trying to say you love her back.

The tickled laugh that leaves her mouth lets you know you’ve succeeded. You feel your eyes growing heavy and you begin to fall asleep as she holds you.

Mama… She’s everything.

Masterlist

#donna beneviento #re8 #re8 village #donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento x y/n #resident evil village #resident evil imagines #resident evil 8 #resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #mother miranda

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plantinghobbies · 7 months

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Growing Pains

One: On the Day That I Met You

Long time reader, first time poster. This is my first time writing, well almost anything, especially a chaptered fic. The biggest thanks to @solipsisticno1 for being the best beta this newbie could ask for. Would love to hear what you think, thanks for reading!

He clocks her when he first walks in, partially because she’s sat reading a book - in a bar, who does that - but mainly because of what she’s eating – a caprese salad. The menu here has basically been sustaining him since he flew in, which is how he is certain that what she’s eating is not on it. Up until now, the proximity to the studio has largely made up for the lackluster food options. But the sight of fresh produce in this mecca of fried food has him gravitating toward the open stool next to her like a water-starved man to a desert mirage.

While Matty had initially given Jack shit for relocating to a place he’d never heard of – one that seemed diametrically opposed to the big cities that had soundtracked and marked their friendship up until now - he was starting to see Asheville’s appeal. It definitely didn’t have the physical anonymity that London or New York had, that feeling that you could live there your whole life and never even come close to seeing all it had to offer. On the other hand, Matty is pretty sure that he’s covered every inch of this town, walking to clear his head in between writing sessions and dicking around in the studio. He can navigate from his rental to the studio downtown already without Google Maps. Where this kind of familiarity used to bore him, he now finds comfort in it instead. It might be the only thing around him these days that feels impervious to change.

He settles on the bar stool and glances around, still not quite used to the visual onslaught that greets him, even after three weeks. The walls of the otherwise brightly lit bar are absolutely littered from floor to ceiling with signs. And not the street and beer signs that he’s come to associate with American pubs. Instead, aggressively inspirational sayings and pseudo-biblical quotes scream at him from every direction in a variety of sizes and fonts. He can’t tell if it’s ironic or not. He hasn’t wanted to ask for fear of offending someone, an instinct he pats himself on the back for as a sign of significant maturity.

After the bartender leaves with his order, he glances over at her and her mystery salad, drumming his hands on the table as he takes her in. Short, dark hair frames her face and she brings her hand up to bite at her nail, a habit that he can tell from her hand she does often. She looks to be slightly younger than him and for a second, Matty wonders if she’s a fan. That may just be a tiny bit of wishful thinking on his part – he hasn’t been recognized once since he got here and if he’d never admit it but it’s starting to grate on him. He tries to tell himself it’s because he loves the connection he has with his fans, has missed it during their hiatus. But if he’s honest, it’s picking at a worry that he has in the back of his mind, that it’s the first indication of a slide into irrelevance that he’s been bracing himself for since he first heard a crowd roaring for him and his band. And each day that goes by without an impassioned interaction on the sidewalk or request for a selfie in the grocery store, the worry grows bigger.

When her gaze shifts from her book to the clock on the wall, he realizes he’s been staring and averts his eyes quickly in a way that he hopes is not obvious. He briefly considers getting his food to go, shuffling back to the studio or his house to find something to distract from his current thoughts. But he forces “for here” out when he orders his food, knowing that all that awaits him at home is Internet rabbit holes and more wanking than is probably healthy.

He’s starting to envy the book and her foresight to bring it as the noise around him is overtaken by the noise in his head. He’s trying to get better at being alone with his own thoughts, which is fucking hard when your mind resembles the inside of a tornado, disconnected thoughts spiraling around each other like debris, forever circling the calm of the eye but never reaching it. Jesus, he’s so sick of his own thoughts at this point. He makes it a heroic - by his standards - amount of time before the thoughts in his mind force their way out of his mouth.

“Bloody hell, what is with these signs?!” He mutters.

Tess hadn’t really been paying attention to the guy next to her, appearing intentionally focused on the thriller she was reading to ward off conversation from anyone she might know. It’d been a tough day at work and she needed time to decompress before her chit-chatty brother realized she was there. When she hears his comment though, she can’t help the snort that escapes her. Real ladylike Tess. Turning to her right, she can tell from the way he sits up straighter as their gaze's meet that he relishes getting a reaction, even if it’s from a complete stranger.

“You know, my brother owns this place and he might not take kindly to that question” she says, expecting embarrassment from him but getting only a smirk back.

“Aaah well that explains your access to off-menu items” he says, nodding to her salad. “I’ve been coming here for weeks and wasn’t sure if they even had a vegetable in the place.”

“Exclusive for VIPs only.”

“Good to know, had a hunch you were special” he says with a wink, enjoying the slight tinge of pink it brings to her cheeks. “Anyway, I’ve been dying to ask someone about these” he gestures up at the wall “for ages but didn’t want to put my foot in it. Which I obviously just did anyway.” Brown eyes stare back at her, wide-eyed with curiosity and childlike impatience that would be unattractive on another man his age - she’s guessing mid-thirties, maybe forty - but on him seems almost endearing.

When she doesn’t respond, he prods her. “Well? What’s the story? Is it a gag? I know you Americans love to live, laugh, love and all that but even you have to admit this is a bit much.”

The words are tumbling out of her mouth before she has a chance to consider the ramifications of prolonging the conversation, which she had been actively avoiding in the first place. “Wait, nobody’s told you?”

He shakes his head slowly, warily. She’s got him, can’t help herself. “Oook, well..” she hesitates, glancing down at her own food “you know what, another time, don’t want to ruin your dinner.”

“No, no go ahead, it hasn’t even arrived yet” large hands hovering over the empty place setting in front of him.

Looking over her shoulder and leaning into him for dramatic effect, she whispers “Well, it’s not something we like to talk about, been one too many true crime junkies coming through asking questions,” she pauses, eyes trailing over his upper body “but you don’t seem like the type. You seem trustworthy.” He looks thrilled with this absolutely unfounded vote of confidence in his character.

“So, the previous owner, Marge, she was this real battle ax. Didn’t take shit from anyone. Her husband – I forget his name - had run out years before with the next-door neighbor, leaving her alone with their daughter and this bar. When he left, people said he took the last shred of love that she had left. Except when it came to her little girl. You know that saying they use on the news when someone dies tragically, that they ‘lit up a room’? Well, that was Lauren. She was a sweetheart, her and my brother actually dated for years. Until…” the shudder is a little over the top but Tess has always fashioned herself a great story teller.

Her silence is punctuated only by the slight skid of wood across the floor, his body unconsciously leaning forward and taking the bar stool under him with it as he almost whispers “Until what?”

“Until she was murdered…here” Glancing away, she hears him take in a stilted breath.

“Here? Here as in Asheville?” He blurts out, voice thick with shock.

“Here as in at this bar” Her knuckles rap agains the wood with every word and he jumps back as if it’s on fire.

“Anyway, Lauren – the daughter - she loved these things” Tess gestures to the walls around them “so every year on the anniversary of her death, Marge bought a new one and put it on the wall. When she died last year and my brother bought the place, it felt wrong to take it down. Like removing a shrine or a cemetery or something, you know?”

He nods slowly, still stuck on what she had said before. “Holy shit, that’s mad!” His eyes gravitate toward the worn wood even as the rest of his body instinctually leans away from it - as if the misfortune that occurred on it was contagious.

“Did they ever catch who did it?” he’s aware of how breathy his voice sounds, that he’s just being nosy now.

“No, but the police think whoever it is was likely a regular. Maybe still is, honestly” her eyes flit around them, sizing up the bodies as if they’ll give themselves away.

“Jesus, really?!”

Tess’s gaze comes back to him, assessing him more closely than she had before. She couldn’t ignore his conventional good looks, with a lithe frame that hinted at toned muscles just below and a riotous mop of untamed dark curls on his head. The words cute and sexy float to the front of her mind. Six packs and success didn’t do much for Tess, though she wouldn’t hold it against a guy. But funny, nerdy, personable? Those were like kryptonite for her, a combination that made her weak in ways that were concerning to feminism. And this guy seemed to have them in spades, she thought. Add in the accent and woof… She shook her head subtly to refocus, remembering she had left him in suspense.

For his part, her story is the most interesting thing he’s heard in a while. He’s already thinking about how to mine this for lyrics, the tragic story hidden in the walls of this charming dive bar. They’re staring at each other, and he watches with confusion as a slow, mischievous smirk replaces the grim look on her face.

“No, not really ” there’s a hint of a laugh in her voice “but that would be way cooler than the actual story.” After a quick sip of her Diet Coke, she launches into the truth about the signs, which are her sister-in-law’s doing. Well, sort of. When Sadie and Ben moved into their first house, Sadie’s mother started giving them to her for near every holiday. There was no way they were going in their home, but they didn’t want to offend Becky either. At first, they buried them in the bathroom and the garage but quickly ran out of wall space. Fed up, Sadie threw them in a box and shipped them off to the bar. It’s become a running joke among the regulars to see who can add the “best” one to the collection.

“So that whole story about Marge and Lauren and the murder, that’s all made up?” The pink in her cheeks accentuates her already enticing features as she nods. “Wow, that’s like, proper fucked up - and that’s saying something coming from me” His harsh words are softened by the hint of playfulness in his voice. She clearly enjoyed taking the piss out of him, he kinda digs it. “Is that what you all do for fun in small towns? Just lie around and think up grim tall tales to sell to handsome strangers?”

“Small town?! Come on new guy! Asheville is a city thank you very much” Tess is indignant - she’s not this town’s biggest fan but she’s from here, she’s earned the right to make fun of it. Asheville is like her fourth sibling – she mocks it mercilessly, but if someone else talks shit about it, the gloves are off.

“Please. London, where I live, is a city. Manchester, where I’m from, has 500,000 people in it. That’s a city. This….” He shrugs and trails off, gesturing around him as if it was obvious.

Exasperation is evident on her face. It’s adorable, he thinks, surprising himself with the thought.

“You clearly just haven’t availed yourself of all this city” she emphasizes the word “has to offer.”

“Is that an invitation to show me around?” The comment is punctuated by a flit of his eyes across her frame that she should find skeezy but is somehow hot. Tess’s friends often remind her that her flirtation index is not the best on a good day – girl, you wouldn’t register a guy was flirting with you if he tattooed it on his naked chest, Fern often said - and especially not when it’s been this long. Well, fuck you Fern, even I picked up on this.

But just because she knows it’s happening doesn’t mean she knows how to respond to it. His comment jolts through her, sparking excitement and then almost immediate anxiety as she struggles with what to do next. Playing it cool isn’t Tess’s list of strengths – understatement of the century, she thinks - and she’s painfully aware of the time passing by where she’s failed to cobble together even a simple response. Matty senses the shift in her mood, goes to change the subject but gets interrupted by his food being delivered.

In the end, faced with flirt or flee, Tess choose’s flee. She takes advantage of the momentary distraction his dinner provides to extricate herself, gathering her book and sliding off the stool. The abruptness of her departure doesn’t sit right with him, it’s not a reaction he’s used to these days – and yes, he’s aware of how much of an absolute wanker that makes him sound like. He doesn’t think it’s something he said but he can’t seem to be too careful these days. With a polish he typically reserves for his professional persona, he tests the waters with a final comment.

“Nice talking to you,” he says to her back as she puts on her jacket.

“Yea, you too, have a good night,” she throws over her shoulder without even a glance back. Ok, based on that he’s at least 75% sure she’s not rushing off to shit talk him on Instagram for daring to wink at her without her consent. He thought she’d been into their conversation? He misses the days when his knee jerk response to interactions wasn’t to play out how it could be perceived online. Plus, she wouldn’t have wished him a good night if she was pissed off, right?

This last thought gives him some comfort, but he’s still left with a feeling he can’t put his finger on. It follows him home and fucks with his sleep. George would tell him he was obsessing, take the piss with the rest of the guys – but they weren’t here. And that was the problem, wasn’t it. It’s then - as he’s staring at the shadows the moon casts on the ceiling of his expansive bedroom – that he’s able to put a label to the dull itch that’s plagued him since he watched her leave. Loneliness. He hadn’t been alone this long for at least twenty years, since the start of the band. And Jack helped, but their time together was spent mining his feelings – pain, happiness, uncertainty, self-loathing – for lyrics, which was his passion but also really fucking draining. His conversation with her – god, he was such a simp, he didn’t even know her name – had felt fun, carefree, familiar. Easy. He hadn’t had that since he arrived here, probably since he hugged the boys goodbye backstage after the final show. And, unsurprisingly – addict, after all – he craved the feeling again.

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x oc #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic

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