#like getting scraped and scratched up! having bruises here n there! being DIRTY!

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x Fem! reader

master list

the conversation of the century finally happens, grab your tissues.

**edited to add as a content warning— the major character death I talked about in chapter 12— happens within this chapter, if we remember, Tooty experienced heavy trauma to her abdomen……… this story has never and will never be a pregnancy fix all trope. — sorry it wasn’t labeled correctly the first time. **

no minors 🔞, talk of trauma, another traumatic event, miscarriage

a/n: this is a shorter chapter the next one will be longer and not out as soon. Thank you again to @sweetsweetjellybean for beta reading for me and helped me tweak this chapter @blueywrites who helped me months ago come up with this plot. And @jo-harrington who helped also. This story would be nothing without all the people liking and reblogging it— so T H A N K Y O U for continuing to read it even when it got dark, when weeks went by and there wasn’t an update in sight, I appreciate each and every single one of you. Here’s to our two dumbasses, finally figuring it out 🥂

“Eddie.”

  Your throat was bruised and weak. The slow painful flick open of your swollen eyes have you paralyzed with doubt. 

  Deceiving sight of a beaten man sitting in front of you with a hard cast covering his right hand, the fingers are deeply swollen and bruised, the nails tinged with dried blood.

  This wasn’t a version of Eddie you had seen before.

  His normal pale skin is purpling and raised around his cheek and left eye. His top lip is split and agitatedly red against black stitches, probably from him picking at it. 

  He was handsome, even with his face twisting into relief and sorrow. Tears flow down the colorful sunset painting of healing and broken skin on Eddie’s face. He stands quickly, leaning over you carefully.

  Quivering, timid hands reach for your cheeks, realizing the cast would probably scratch or scrape you, he settles for one hand laid dainty on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin like a ghost.

  The dark pools of his eyes pull you in as his tears fall freely, and your heart begins to sew itself whole again. As his lips meet your hairline he whispers a cut off sob of his worries. Your tears flow with his. Merriment of grief and comfort as you cry into his shirt. Wishing you could live in this moment forever. 

  A dark wave full of emotions crash down on you  all at once. The joy of seeing Eddie mixing with shame and guilt over what he must have braved while defending you. Finally, confusion on what exactly had happened and how you both ended up here and alive? 

  “You’re here,” you choke, a tubing clustered hand strokes Eddie’s face, “I was so scared,” you mumble weakly, “I thought we were d—” your throat tightens on the word and won’t release it, lost on a sobbing gasp that is muffled into his shirt as he pulls you into him. 

  The soft cotton of his shirt envelops you in a calming light state, the same smoky essence of Eddie washes over you, settling your hiccuping cries. His hand is stroking your hair, careful around the stitches. And if you listened close you could hear his heart breaking. 

  Eddie would find a way to melt the galaxies for you if you asked, hearing you crumble about the thought of him being dead is almost too much for him to handle. 

  “You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he says, strongly, firm toned to get his point across in as few words as possible, no need to go into detail about how it was done, you and the baby were safe and that’s what mattered, “he’s gone.” 

  Gone? Did he get away? 

  “Wh—-” you try your best to make any sort of sense register and click in your brain, but it’s not connecting, “Eddie?” 

  He took a deep weighty breath, the final swing of the wooden bat playing behind his eyes like a film in class, he watched Chad’s lifeless body slump to the floor, the dirty and blood riddled nails wedged into his temple like a knife through soft butter. The horrified expression Mr. Derry gave as blood splattered on the walls, and coated Eddie’s face. 

  He lowered his head and shook the image from his mind, “I took care of it,” he whispered gravely, “he won’t be bothering you again.” 

  The muddied storm in his eyes thunders as you comprehend his words. Would you be afraid of him? The same hands that held you so tenderly were also capable of murdering a man who nearly took your life. The thought of you being terrified of him tingles his spine and makes his knees weak, he turns away from you before you can see him cry again.  

  Chad is dead. And you want to scream at yourself when you feel remorse. He was terrifying. A real life in the flesh monster. Quite literally tried to kill you. All he brought to you was pain. And he was dead at Eddie’s hand. The nightmare finally over.

  He tried to hide the distressed pain burrowed deep in his face. He was everything the town always said about him. Satanic. Future convict. White trash, just needed to stitch  ‘murderer’ to the long list of insults he’d worn his entire life, like a cloak to shield others away from him. 

  With your head held high you wipe the tears from your eyes and pull Eddie’s chin to face you, and you’re surprised when he jerks away slowly. 

  You forget the time spent away. Finding it easy to fall into sync with him again, your Eddie. Would he ever be yours again? He’s been left out in the cold, sick from the frigid heart you peacocked off to him, boundaries up and lies in your head. 

  He was the most important person in your life. And it was time you told him so. 

  “Look at me, Eddie,” you coax, trying to make your voice seem velvety instead of the scratchy crack of desperation you currently are pleading to him, “you saved my life.” 

  The brooding deepens and he presses his lips tight together before looking at you, guilt and shame riddle his features, “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, closing his eyes, “I’m so fucking sorry,” the tears fall freely down his face, and he wipes them away hastily with the back of his leather covered arm, “I should have been there.” 

  The words stab like a knife into your soul. Everything happened because of your actions, your apprehensive heart. Eddie almost got himself killed and in turn had to kill your abuser, yet he was the one apologizing for not being there. 

  “It’s my fault,” you say weakly, reaching up to brush a tear away from his wet eyelashes, “I’m the one that pushed you away, and then… I’m sorry Eddie…I couldn’t..” 

  He pulls you into him, his lips skirting your hair line, kissing sweetly and soft like butterfly wings. He shushes you, and whispers that everything will be okay, and in that moment you realize you didn’t have to stroll the pearly gates to be his. 

  His eyes drop slightly to the blanket cozied up around you, flitting over your stomach. When his eyes find yours again, there are fresh tears, and a sad smile. It takes a nano second for the realization to hit you like a ton of bricks in the chest. A gasp breeches your lungs and guilt forms in the shape of tears in your eyes.  

  He knows. 

  Regret is billowing from your body and you try to cover your eyes, terrified of Eddie’s reaction to not only you being pregnant with his baby, but keeping it from him for months. 

  Outside of telling Eddie to leave and trying to convince him that you didn’t love him—- this was the hardest thing you’d ever done. But you told yourself he wouldn’t want to be a part of you with a baby in the mix. A baby that would ruin plans and put a halt to dreams. He didn’t need to be tethered to you because of one night. 

  One single night that you had been lying to yourself about— trying to ease away the pain of loving Eddie and pushing him away for his own good. People had been distancing themselves from you your whole life.. you were guarded and as hard as it was to let the barrier fall around your heart, it was just as easy to put it back up, barricaded in yellow caution tape of lies. 

  Unworthy 

  Before you can drift into a full fledged spiral Eddie’s warm hands find your cheeks and tilt your head upwards to look at him. 

  “I’m here,” his eyes search yours, and they flood with the warmth of the sun behind the black storm, “I’m not going anywhere,Tooty.” 

  The drop of an aluminum can and spray of carbonated soda fills the room behind a loud shriek, making Eddie jump and stand up, instinctively placing his body around yours, his back covering you in a leather shield, and you grab his hand between your fingers, an instant comfort to your panic.

  “STEVE!” Robin screams, her hands fly to her face like that little punk Kevin McCallister in Home Alone, mouth hung open in shock.

  Steve enters the room with a fancy company cell phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. A package of Oreos in his hands, “No, Jack— I don’t care how long it takes just fucking f—“ his eyes go wide in disbelief, and he slams the presses a button to end the call when you smile weakly and wave your fingers between Eddie’s at him.

  The next half hour is full of tears and hugs, calls to the Wheeler’s and the rest of your friends, letting them know you were awake. 

  The nurses flood in like a gaggle of cadets. Checking monitors and adjusting tubing. Letting you have your moment with your friends, explaining you were still going to be weak and the doctor would be by in a while to go over things with you.  

  Steve hasn’t stopped crying since seeing your eyes opened, blowing his nose every few mins. Robin talks enough for everyone, your throat still rubbing raw whenever you tried to say anything so you work with nodding along when asked questions. Eddie is unusually quiet, sniffing loud every now and then, offering you ice chips the nurses brought to you, a plastic spoon to your lips.

  “So what hap—” Robin starts and Eddie immediately glares at her, shaking his head and a firm “no” falls from his lips, and nobody tries to bring it up again. 

  Eddie didn’t want you getting upset, he’d protect you for the rest of his life if that’s what it would take. Fuck, he’d even be happy to sit in jail for a life sentence for killing that mother fucker. Pride swelling his chest knowing Chad was dead at his hand. Finally making his mother proud for protecting someone when he couldn’t do the same for her… and now there was someone else to protect. A tiny little someone. 

  The days you had been sedated he was beside himself. When he wasn’t in your room holding your hand and humming songs to you, he would be down in the gift shop. Thumbing through baby books, familiarizing himself with the favorite nursery rhymes of Mother Goose. His fingers traced the lace on a pair of tiny little white socks. Blue plastic baby toys that he found were called a rattle and made a clunky noise when shook. 

  He looked out of place. Torn jeans and chains hanging from his waist amongst the delicate pastels of the baby section, but he didn’t care. He made himself a promise. That when this was fall said and done and you were healed—he  would move you all into a new house. Out of Hawkins, away from this shithole of despair that only held bad memories. 

  And he intended to keep his word. 

  “Umm, I know it’s a little soon to figure this all out— but none of us want you staying… there, Tooty,” Steve says, blowing his nose one more time, hands on his hips in his typical mother hen style, “we didn’t know when you would… but eh…Leighanne already has the spare bedroom set up for you… and you can stay as long as you want.” 

  You hadn’t even thought about the house. But the thought of possibly having to go back there had you trembling. The smell of your own blood dripping onto the carpet filled your nose, Chad’s maniacal laugh…

  “Later,” Eddie says, shutting the conversation down by clearing his throat, his eyebrows pulled in and he tries to hide his worry again by wiping his hand down his face. 

  You’re thankful when visiting hours are through, your body aches and the bruises lining your stomach are tender, each movement making sharp bolts of pain shoot all over. Everyone says their goodbyes, you squeeze Eddie’s hand, a panic set lightning strikes in your eyes. You didn’t want to be alone. Not now. Not anytime soon. 

  He doesn’t pause, doesn't recoil. He stands tall, squeezing your hand, his eyes finding yours, a silent comfort washing over you as he whispers so only you could hear, “I’m here, always.” 

  He needed you to know how serious he was taking this. You, the baby, everything. He wanted to be there for it all. 

  Small waves from your friends and powerful hugs with murmured conversations between Eddie and Steve, leaving them both nodding and agreeing on something out of earshot. 

  The room feels small without them there. The elephant in the room hovering over you and weighing heavy on your chest, bigger by the second and you can’t wait anymore.

  “Eddie?” you croak, barely audible, vocal cords rubbing raw trying to speak. 

  The tears are already brimming in his eyes, he looks up at the ceiling, his thumb rubbing small patterns on the back of your hand, “when?” 

  You remember the exact day and time you felt something off in your body. Tired and achy all the time you couldn’t catch believe the amount of hours you could sleep uninterrupted. 

  The same calendar that once held your schedule for you and Eddie also held when your period was supposed to begin, but since Nancy had crossed Eddie’s name off you hadn’t even thought about possibly being late. Flipping through the pages you realized you were 3 weeks late. And blamed it on the stress. When February came and you still hadn’t gotten your period, you made an appointment with the clinic, and on the black monitor the doctor pointed out the tiniest baby growing in your belly, almost eight weeks along. 

  “When what?” You answered feebly, throat aching with each word. 

  Taking a deep ragged breath, Eddie looks at you, concern shadowing his face, he looks haunted, and depleted, “when did you find out you were pregnant?” 

  “Last month,” you clear your throat and reach for the ice chips, but Eddie helps you spoon them into your mouth. The ice melting on your tongue, pooling slowly and sliding down your throat to ease the ache. 

  “Eddie, I—” tears fall as you look into the hurt man’s whiskey colored eyes, “I was scared to tell you.” 

  He's blinking back tears, dropping your hand to walk around the room, landing at the window and pretending to look at the sky, “Did you think I wouldn’t care?” 

  A long pause between you is more than enough of an answer for him, and he sniffs loudly, “I’m not my dad y’know?” His voice hurt and wavering the delivery , “If you thought for a second that I wouldn’t give a shit about you or the baby, you’re wrong.” 

  Words you never thought would be said flow so easily from him, and you’re embarrassed you ever doubted him, “We aren’t together, Eddie,” you explain, letting the tears free fall, “I didn’t want to hold you back.”  

  Eddie scoffs and pushes off from the window, pouring his heart into his words as he explains his hurt,  “hold me back? From what the band? Tooty, I’ve been trying to prove to you for months that all I’ve ever wanted was you,” he moves across the room, sitting next to your legs on the bed, reaching for your closed fist to thread his fingers with yours.

  “Every part sweetheart, the good and the bad. Don’t you see that?” 

  Of course you did, but it was never that easy. 

  “I just— ” you couldn’t find the words, even though he deserved them, it was too much,  “I can’t even say that…how could I tell you that I’m pregnant after what I did and how I treated you?” 

  That night with Eddie blurred in your mind. He was gentle and sweet, you had never experienced such passion in all your life. It was everything you could have hoped for and more, but your scared heart ruined it. 

  “I’m a bitch, Eddie. Look at what happened to you because of me!” yoj gesture to his bruised beautiful face, and the tears flow quick down your cheeks, “you deserve someone who doesn’t hurt you,” you mumble, tearing your eyes away from him and looking at the ceiling tiles. 

  “Goddamnit Tooty, you are possibly the most stubborn person, biggest pain in my ass… but I have cared about you since you were 14. And I have loved you since the minute you opened up that front door and yelled at me.”

  You both laugh through the tears and he brings your chin to face him, his dark brown eyes swim with the glitter of fallen happiness, and he quickly blinks, “let me take care of you, sweetheart, both of you.” 

  It could be that simple. He loved you and you loved him. It wasn’t rocket science or poor willed fate. This was two people who cared about each other enough to look past all the ugly shit the world had to offer and chose to stick together. The epiphany sewed your heart closed and locked it tight, a branded “EM” on the lock and Eddie held the key.

  You grab him with more force than either of you were expecting and collide your lips with his. Tears and stitches fill the gaps where your tongue danced the last time these lips touched yours. But it was somehow sweeter than any kiss before. 

  “I love you, Eddie Munson…” you breathe, “but I swear I will cut that hair of yours down to the scalp if you try to name this baby ‘Ronnie Dio’, or ‘dragon slayer 86’ or whatever the hell you used to call yourself in your demon club in high school.” 

  For the first time in days, Eddie belly laughs, and kisses each of your cheeks, “ohh princess, don’t tell me your still jealous because Eyeball wouldn’t let you join?” 

  You cross your arms in a pout and Eddie laughs again, “there she is, that’s my girl.” 

  Pushing him away with a playful shove he comes back and kisses you again, both of you smiling and giggling, two idiots in love. With a wince, you scoot over in the bed and make room for him to sit with you, adjusting the wires and tubing around you both you snuggle into him, placing his hand on your belly where you assume the baby to be. 

  He snuggled into your neck and sniffs quietly. Content. 

  “Promise me something?” you whisper as your fingers thread through his curls, he nods into you, kissing your neck sweetly and humming a yes. It’s a big ask, and you’re new to this feeling, “please don’t ever stop loving me.” 

  Eddie’s grin is warm on your cheek as he sits up, looking so far into your eyes your souls reach out and hold hands, “I couldn’t even if I wanted too, baby.” 

  A knock on the door interrupts the moment and you both turn to see a doctor in a long white coat, and green scrubs. His face is jolly and caring, an instant comfort.

  “Ah yes, the nurses told me you were awake,” he says with a big smile, “it was pretty touch and go for awhile there but you look good considering what happened, how are you feeling?” 

  “Sore,” you answer, “everywhere.” 

  “That’ll be expected with the hellish ordeal you went through. Mr. Munson here gave us a brief rundown on what happened, and your injuries coincide that statement. We will be helping you both set up counseling appointments, usually with instances such as these, there will be panic and trauma that will develop from it. I urge you both to take them seriously.” 

  Eddie nods and answers for you, “yes sir.” 

  “Good. Now this soreness, is it generally all over or more localized in one spot?” 

  “I mean my head and face feel pretty awful, but mainly it’s my stomach.” 

  A small look of panic settles on the doctors face but is quickly replaced with a gentle smile, “we will schedule from scans for later today to make sure everything is okay, if you don’t mind— while I’m here,” he says, removing his stethoscope from his neck, “I’ll have a little check, alright?” 

  Eddie moves from the bed and settles by your shoulder,  briefly pressing his lips to your hairline, his warm hand rubbing your arm slowly. 

  “Just routine,” the doctor says, lifting your hospital gown to the top of your stomach, pulling the blankets down to the stop of your knees, “nothing to worr—” his broad smile fades and Eddie lets out a loud gasp. 

  The inside of your thighs and the sheet beneath you are soaked in claret colored blood. You don’t have time to register what is happening before the doctor crosses the room and begins yelling orders through the phone, “this is Dr. Newby, prep OR 2 for a D&E…possible c-section, I’ll need everyone available.” He hangs up with a loud click and turns to address you and Eddie. 

  “What’s going on?!” Eddie demands, fear stricken eyes almost onyx in color, his fingers gripping yours tight. 

  “She needs to be prepped for surgery,” he answers Eddie curtly but still politely. 

  You balk, “Surgery?! Why?!” 

  The doctor looks into your eyes with a sympathetic expression, “you’re having a miscarriage.” 

——

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things

[lipglossanon]

Out Here All Night

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A Little Savory tier commission for @iloveyousomuch1989

Word count: 1993

Thanks so much for the request! 💜 💜 😘

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, kissing, tipsy reader, biting/hickeys, dirty talk, degradation, objectification, spitting, unprotected sex, creampie

proofread! But apologies for any mistakes I may have missed 😅

Title from Out Here All Night by Damone

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You tug down the hem of your dress after you climb up the porch steps. Never more thankful than now that your parents are gone since you stayed out with your friends a little later than intended… and maybe coming home a little more tipsy than intended, too. You giggle to yourself as you unlock the front door and step inside. You kick off your shoes and slide the lock back into place. 

You pad into the living room and see Leon lounging on the couch, looking bored as he channel surfs. Oh he’s so pretty you think, a giggle slipping past your lips. His attention moves over to you and you see him tense as he rakes his eyes down your body. You feel a thrill of satisfaction as he takes in your red mini dress, hugging your curves and shimmering in the lowlight from the tv. 

You walk over to him, a bubbly smile spreading over your face, “Hi, big brother.”

With an oomph, you plop down next to him, side to side as you look up into his face. 

“Where have you been?”

His low voice gives you goosebumps making you shiver. 

“Out with some friends,” you giggle, “missed you, shoulda come with.”

He grins down at you, “Sounds like you had fun. Had a few drinks, huh?”

“Just a few,” you stifle a laugh with your palm making his grin widen. 

His hand smooths across your neck, teasingly running through your hair before grazing your shoulders. You sigh and lean into the feeling. 

“I love your eyes, Leon,” you giggle again, staring up into his dark blue gaze, “my pretty big brother.”

He chuckles and drags his fingertips over the line of your throat, “Mmm yeah? Think I’m pretty, little sis?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, “really pretty.”

You boop his nose with a giggle making him laugh at you. 

“You’re being really sweet huh, princess?” he murmurs, thumb tracing along your bottom lip. 

You feel bold under his heated gaze shifting yourself to straddle his hips, glittery dress hiking up with the motion and showing off your thighs. 

You run your nails along his scalp making him groan which lights you up on the inside. 

“Love your hair too, ‘n you always smell so good,” you whisper, lowering your head to nibble at his jaw, “anytime I smell your cologne I get really, really wet.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, watching you with dilated eyes, “what else, little sis?”

“Y’know,” you bite your lip, rocking down onto his bulge, “you're so strong, love when you push me around and force me to do stuff.”

He grunts as your nails scratch through his hair and across his neck, “I like that too.”

You giggle and kiss his neck softly, “Love your big fat cock and how it always stretches me out,” your lips trail up to nip his earlobe, “I also like when you talk dirty to me, saying you’re g’nna make me take it.”

Leon groans as you kiss his jaw, teasingly bypassing his lips to kiss the other side of his face. His hands grip your ass tight enough to bruise, making you whine. He slaps his hands down on each cheek before groping until the fat dimples between his fingers driving you to press into him harder. 

“Want it, want big brother’s cock in my needy princess pussy,” you kiss his cheek sloppily, “wanna be big brother’s slut, just a hole for him to use anytime he needs to cum.” 

“Fuck me,” he murmurs, pulling you back by the hair, “such a dirty little sister, huh? Need big brother that bad?”

“Uh huh,” you moan, rocking down on his chubbed cock, “‘m all yours, my pussy is made for your cock.”

He kisses you messily, tongue licking past your lips to taste you. Scraping his teeth against your bottom lip, he sucks it into his mouth before letting go with a pop. A low whine escapes you as he pushes closer, slanting his mouth to deepen your kiss. His tongue flutters into your mouth.

You moan and suck on his tongue eagerly, letting your hips roll down to grind against him. Leon’s fingers slip under your slinky dress to rub against your cunt, lacy panties completely soaked. He moans into your mouth as he lets himself feel all across your panty clad slit, wetness coating his fingers. 

“Take it off,” he growls, yanking the spaghetti straps off of your arms and shoving the neckline below your breasts. 

With a pained groan, he watches as your breasts bounce in his face as he tries to work your dress down your body. 

“God damn,” he mutters before latching onto a hard nipple making you keen.  

“Big brother,” you mewl as he swaps to the other sensitive bud.

“Sexy fucking tits right in my face,” he spits out, nipping and sucking at the underside of each breast until they bruise. 

He yanks you by the hair again making you whimper before letting go to squeeze your tits in each hand. 

“Use me,” you gasp out, “use my pussy like a little fucktoy, big brother.”

He turns and shoves you down on the couch, kneeling in between your legs as he grips where your dress is bunched up and roughly pulls it all the way off. You whine at him, arching your hips up drawing his eyes to the pretty lace that’s practically transparent now from your slick. 

“Gonna eat this hot little cunt,” he rumbles, snagging the hem of your panties and pulling them off, tucking them in his pocket. 

“Noo,” you pout, foot coming up to press on his clavicle, “don’t want your mouth, want your cock.”

His eyes are so dark now they look black,  “You just want big brother to ream this pretty pussy?”

“Yes, yes, please, ‘m just your little cock hungry slut,” you toss your head back. 

Leon undresses then leans forward, pressing his cock against your slick cunt. His thumb comes up to pull your bottom lip down, dropping your mouth open. You loll your tongue out excitedly. He spits directly on your tongue making your clit pulse in hot arousal. You swallow, feeling his cock kick against your pussy lips. He growls and spits hard into your panting mouth.

“Beg me for it, baby sis,” he smacks his dick against your clit, “beg me to fuck this slutty hole.”

“Want it so bad, Leon,” you let your foot fall away, to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your slick folds against his thick cock. 

“Aww princess, it doesn’t sound like you want it,” he mockingly pouts, dragging his fat tip against the hood of your slippery clit. 

“Big brother, please,” your voice breaks as tears gather at your lash line, “want you to stretch me on your big cock, want you to use my hole til you cum.”

“Fucking hell, you’re so hot,” he groans, pressing the tip of his dick inside your pussy, slowly sinking into your fluttering walls until he’s balls deep inside of you. 

You gasp trying to swallow air as he bullies in and out of your spasming pussy. 

“Speechless?” he laughs at you, “nothing but a dumb little cockwhore.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m your cockwhore, big brother,” you moan, hands digging into his shoulders, thighs spasming as they wrap tightly around his waist. 

Leon groans and cages you in with his body, forearms bracketing your head as he slowly ruts his cock into your soaked hole. 

“Just my little slut, huh? Like your pretty big brother fucking you with his big cock?” he sucks a bruise into your neck, one of his hands coming up to tangle in your hair to tilt your head back. 

“S’good, love it so much, want it all the time,” you thrash underneath his weight.

He hums and keeps biting bruises into your skin in between words, “My own personal pocket pussy, just a wet little hole for my dick.”

You nod jerkily, dislodging Leon’s mouth from your neck and the collar of bruises he’s left across your throat. He moves up to messily lick past your lips, sucking on your tongue before filling your mouth with his own. Pulling away, he sloppily kisses down to your neck, teeth sinking into the bruised skin again making you whimper and squirm. 

“Big brother, please,” you mewl needily, nails scratching along his back making him buck harder into you. 

“Such a slutty sister,” his laugh ends on a groan as your cunt clenches around his dick, “mmm, that pussy loves the way I’m talking about her, just squeezin’ me so tight.”

He picks up the pace, cock thrusting into you harder and harder, grinding against your g-spot every time he presses into your cunt. One of his hands moves to grip your waist as the other slips down to rub your pudgy clit. 

“Leon,” you moan, pussy clenching down on his thick cock, eyes fluttering as the pleasure builds. 

“Yeah? Gonna cream big brother’s cock like a good cockdrunk whore, hmm?” he coos mockingly, “this pretty pussy’s been crying for a good fuck.”

His eyes watch your pussy greedily suck his cock back in with every thrust. 

“What’re you, baby sis?” the hand on your waist moves up to grip your chin, “tell me and I’ll make you cum.”

“‘m yours,” you choke out as he bullies your g-spot with the fat tip of his cock, “my pussy’s yours, big brother.”

“I know that, princess,” he simpers condescendingly, “aren’t you my little slut? Big brother’s own little cumdump?”

“Yes!” you whine, hips rocking down onto his thick cock, “I’m your slut, big brother. Nothing but a slutty hole for you to use whenever you want, c’n use my princess pussy any time.”

“Fuck me, little sis, such a dirty mouth,” he grins, “think it’s about time that hot little cunt creamed me, don’t you?”

“Please, Leon—big brother,” your nails score down his chest making him grunt, “w’nna cum for you, wanna cum for my brother.”

“Damn,” he hisses, roughly flicking his thumb on your clit as he grinds into your pussy. 

He bites your shoulder just as his fingers pinch your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your hips arch as pleasure washes over your body. Your walls pulse and flutter around his dick making Leon groan and snap his hips into you harder. 

“Feels so fucking good—god damn,” he groans, burying his cock deep inside your spasming cunt and cumming, hot jizz coating your walls. 

You sigh when he slowly pulls out, Leon hissing at the sensation. He lays down next to you, squeezing himself between the back of the couch and your body. 

“So fucking lucky to have you,” he murmurs into your hair, “you’re next level sometimes.”

You giggle and turn to kiss his jaw, “Just sometimes?”

Humming, he kisses your swollen lips, nipping the bottom one, “Don’t need you getting an ego.”

He laces your fingers together making your heartbeat pick up as he pulls you into his arms. 

“Think you’re the one with an ego,” you bite your lip stifling your grin.

“That goes without saying, princess. Gotta keep up with you,” he kisses your lips, a little softer and slower, “prettiest fucking girl,” another slow, wet kiss, “so smart,” another tongue teasing kiss, “and sexy.”

You sigh and let Leon pull you into slowly making out, all soft lips and hot tongues. Feeling your eyes start to droop, you pull away from his mouth. 

“Tired, Leon,” you mumble, pressing your face into his neck. 

“Mm, let’s get to bed then. C’mon, I’ll carry you,” he kisses the top of your head and helps you to your feet before swinging you up into a bridal carry. 

The next thing you know is Leon laying you out on his sheets. Pulling you into his chest to cuddle, you sigh happily and snuggle further into his arms, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep. 

#lipglossanon #paid requests #kofi commission #stepbro!leon s kennedy #stepbro leon s kennedy/you #stepbro!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #fem!reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy smut #lipglossmasterlist

[knifenymph]

unrelated but my desire and need and urge to roughhouse with someone is getting stronger and stronger and near unbearable .... i wanna get TOSSED AROUND! i wanna physical throw DOWN with someone! it's been SOOOOOO LONG oh my god!!!

#op #chatter #literally no one around me will roughhouse with me 😡😡😡 #this is going to be a bigger body of study n reflection but something i've noticed is that as i come deeper into alignment with the #energy here - the more i feel called to Roughness #like getting scraped and scratched up! having bruises here n there! being DIRTY! #i'm seeing the contrast between the western culture of everything being Sterile and Clean and Pristine #and then drawing connections to how this feels in the context of gender and my own expression of womanhood outside of whiteness #how white western womanhood is meant to be so Well Groomed and Pristine and how my own expression is much more indigenous #with my body hair and nudity and wild curls and machetes #my own expression feels like something that is growing more Earthy and Divine day by day

[mandospace]

Honey (Din Djarin x Reader Smut)

Summary: Din comes home from a long hunt tired and in need of his girl.

Word Count: 2,509

Warnings: SMUT! If you are under 18, DNI! Oral sex (f receiving), PinV sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), language, uhhh fluff? Two idiots that missed each other? Idk what else.

A/N: I know I haven’t written in a long time but then this popped into my head tonight so I had to write it. I hope you all enjoy :) 

MASTERLIST

Din was exhausted.

The type of exhaustion that is bone deep, the kind that aches with every step you take. He had been gone on a hunt for the past two weeks and was currently dragging the dead bounty behind him. Despite being tired and dirty, the only ache that was consuming his mind and body was the ache for you.

It never used to be like this; Din could go weeks away from his ship and never felt the weary need to sleep in his own bunk until he had met you. As soon as you had joined his crew, Din found himself rushing through his hunts to get back to you — and that was even before the two of you got together. 

Now, it was like there was this invisible string that connected the two of you, the tension of it pulling him back to you with every step he took. Once the Crest came into view his steps fell quicker and the body behind him seemed lighter. It was as if knowing that you were safely tucked away inside his ship had renewed his strength.

The ramp screeched as it descended, a telltale sign that his ship was older than the Empire. He would need to get that fixed, but that chore was pushed to the back of his mind. Din trudged into the softly lit hull and shoved his bounty into the carbonite chamber — he didn’t even check to make sure that the bounty was standing upright — before he took off his helmet and tossed it to the side. He could practically feel the sweat and grime that clung to his skin after being away on a hunt for the past two weeks. He was sure he did not smell the greatest but he didn’t care, he only wanted you. 

“Mesh’la?” Din called. “Where are you?”

“I’m in here,” your voice sounded from behind the metal door of his refresher. Din smiled at the sound of your voice and the steady rhythm of water. 

He began shedding his armor and flight suit while he made his way towards you. The refresher door slid open to reveal the small room and the even smaller refresher stall that was closed off, hiding you from him. Steam filled the room with the scent of your shampoo — the scent of home. 

Without a second thought Din slid open the ‘fresher door and stepped under the cascading water, crowding you into a corner. 

“Din!” you shrieked, trying to cover your chest. “I’m naked!”

He couldn’t help the lopsided smirk that graced his face. “That’s kind of the whole point, mesh’la.” Din reached for you and pulled you into his chest. His arm wrapped around your wet waist while his other hand slithered it’s way into your hair. He titled your face back until you met his eyes and he almost melted down the drain when he saw their beautiful color. 

Not wasting another moment, Din tugged your face closer and slotted his lips over yours, sighing into the kiss. Oh, how he had missed this feeling. Din lived for the feeling of your body pressed against his, the feeling of your plush lips mingling with his. He tasted the mint on your breath and tried to breathe you into his lungs — he wanted to be completely surrounded by you in any way possible.

“I missed you,” he sighed, mouthing at the corner of your mouth before traveling down your jaw. Din relished in the shaky stutter of your breathing at his ministrations — a sound reminder that he affected you as much as you did him. 

“Missed you too,” you sighed, scraping your nails up his wide back, pulling him into a hug. Din buried his face in your neck, gripping you tightly to him. The two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the water from the ‘fresher washing away the grime from his hunt. 

A comfortable silence filled the air while you massaged his own shampoo through his curly locks, fingers detangling the knots that had formed from wearing his helmet constantly. Din hummed at the feeling of your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp. He was always the one to take care of others, but it was nice to be on the receiving end of such pampering. He placed kisses to your forehead while you continued cleaning him, grateful for you and everything you did. 

Before long the water ran cold and the two of you had to end your relaxing bathing early. You each toweled yourself off and before you could reach for the pair of sleeping clothes you had set aside; Din had grabbed your hips and picked you up, his hands gripping the underside of your thighs. He hit the button to open the door and carried you out into the main hull of his ship and over to the nest of blankets that the two of you had made into a makeshift bed. After the two of you realized that his bunk space was way too small for both of you, you had made this makeshift bed in the corner of his ship.

Din dropped to his knees before carefully laying you down on the soft blankets. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist and Din hovered over you, hands on either side of your head. He leaned down and captured your lips.

“I missed you,” Din whispered against your mouth. 

“You already said that.” He could feel the smile on your lips mirroring his own.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” he pressed his lips to yours this time with more passion. A hunger settled deep within him, similar to the weariness he felt before but a hundred times stronger; fueled by every breathless sigh that passed your lips. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and moaned at the taste of mint. The combination of your shampoo and the taste of your breath was driving him insane. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you up and into his body in an attempt to imbed you deep into his being. 

“Din.” That breathless moan that had slipped accompanied with the feeling of your nails scraping into his shoulders unhinged him. He could feel the hot ache of his cock throbbing between his legs and the fire that roared deep in his stomach. 

“Need to taste you, sweet girl,” Din moaned into your skin, his lips trailing down your damp body. He bit and sucked on your neck until he was positive that there would be marks later. A thrill of excitement raced through him at the thought of you walking through a market the next day, purple bruises littering your neck and chest while onlookers stared at the marks — his marks — that claimed you as his own. 

Din traced his tongue over one of your nipples before sucking the hardened peak into his mouth. His free hand made its way to your neglected breast and his thumb teasingly traced circles around the pert bud. He relished in the feeling of your thighs tightening around his trim waist and the way your chest arched into him with a shuddery breath. 

He mapped out the expanse of your skin, worshipping it with kisses and marks left behind in his wake. When he got to just below your navel his broad shoulders pushed your legs apart, allowing him to sink lower on your body. He nipped and soothed the love bites he left on your inner thighs as he made his way closer to where you needed him the most. 

Din groaned at the sight of your puffy lips that were glistening with arousal. He pressed a quick kiss to them and buried his sharp nose in the soft curls at the base of your mound, breathing in your scent. Din couldn’t hold himself back any longer and relinquished his control to his most base instincts. His tongue darted through your folds, licking from your entrance to your clit while he tried to taste as much of you as he could. 

His name fell from your lips and your fingers curled into his hair at the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs. Din sucked on your clit and slowly worked a finger into your entrance before adding a second. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, sweet girl,” Din groaned into your pussy, licking at your clit while he curved his fingers up. Your hips raised off the blankets but he slung one strong arm over them to keep you still. “Hush, I have to get my girl ready for me. Be patient.”

You whimpered his name and bit on your fist at the immense pleasure. His fingers were slowly working you open and his tongue was relentless on your clit. Before long you could feel a building sensation deep in your stomach. 

“Din—,” you tried to warn him of your impending climax but the pleasure was too much.

“I know, sweet girl,” Din growled into your pussy, picking up the pace of his fingers and tongue. He could feel your orgasm approaching and he intended to deliver. “Come for me, sweetness. Come all over my face.”

As soon as those words left his mouth you were crashing into your orgasm, the insane pleasure brought to you by your lover coursing through your veins like tidal waves on a beach. Just when you thought you were about to get enough air, another wave of pleasure crashed down on you from Din’s continued movements. 

One of Din’s favorite things in the whole galaxy was making you come from his mouth alone. He loved the way your whole body shook from pleasure and how your thighs tightened around his ears from the intensity of your orgasm. Now was no different and Din drank your flowing juices straight from its source. 

“So sweet,” Din moaned and licked at your pussy while you came down from your high. Soon you were whimpering and shaking from overstimulation and Din decided to take mercy on you. He wasted no time and crawled back up your body so he could place his lips on yours. He pushed his tongue into your mouth and the two of you moaned at the taste of your essence on his tongue. “Sweeter than honey.”

“I need you inside me, Din,” you whined. The entire time he was going down on you all you could think about was his hard cock that kept brushing against your ankle. You were sure the tip was already leaking precum so you reached down and grasped his shaft, thumb brushing over the tip — you were right. He whimpered at the sensation of your small hand tightly gripping him. “Please.”

“Anything for you, mesh’la,” he pressed his lips to yours fervently and gripped his cock at the base to line his tip up with your entrance. Din shuddered at the feeling of his tip dragging through your wet folds before notching it at your entrance. He grabbed behind one of your knees and hitched your leg over his waist as he slid into you with one thrust, both of you moaning at the sensation of him bottoming out. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweetness,” Din dropped his head and bit at the junction of your neck and shoulder. He could feel your pussy squeezing around him and after being away from you for two weeks, he felt like he was about to come already. He pressed his nose to your neck and breathed in your scent as he tried to calm down. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

Your words were caught in your throat and all you could do to respond was card your fingers through his hair. He was so much larger than you and you basked in the feeling of his warm body pressed against yours. 

After a few moments Din was ready to move and he slowly dragged his cock out, shivers running down his back at the feeling of your walls trying to suck him back into your warmth. It took all of his strength to not pound into you and chase his own orgasm. After being away for so long, he wanted to make it memorable for the both of you. 

He set a slow rhythm and left you breathless with every drag of his cock. Both of you were a breathless, moaning mess at the feeling of the other. Din’s hands were firm on your hips and his forehead was pressed against yours in a keldabe kiss, leaning down every once in a while to slot his mouth against yours. One hand was buried in his curls while the other trailed down his back admiring the strong muscles that were pulled taut as he rutted into you. Your breaths mingled together and the air around you heated up a few degrees as your bodies moved together. 

Before long, Din could feel his balls tightening at his coming release. His grip on your hips tightened as he tugged them up towards him in time with his own, driving his cock deeper into you with every thrust. His name fell from your lips at the new angle and the grip you had on his locks tightened, pulling on the chocolate curls. 

“I’m not gonna last much longer, s-sweet girl,” Din stammered while he picked up the pace. He could tell that you wouldn’t last much longer either by the way your pussy was clenching around him.

“Come for me, baby,” you gasped against his mouth before pulling him into a heated kiss. It was sloppy and wet and extremely passionate and the use of his pet name sent him over the edge. 

Din groaned when he felt his balls pull tight and he spilled his seed into you. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you up and into his lap while he fucked his cum into you. His head was tilted back so he could reach your lips and his wide hands spread across the expanse of your back so that he could hold you to his chest. Your hips ground down on him as you rode him through his orgasm until it eventually brought on your own. Din’s eyes screwed tight at the feeling of your walls clenching down on his spent cock and he couldn’t help the animalistic growl that ripped through his body at the sensation of your pleasures combining. 

“I love you,” Din admitted, chest heaving against yours. He could feel the weariness from his hunt returning so he lowered you both back to your nest of blankets and pulled one over you. He grunted when he pulled his soft cock from your spent pussy — he would stay inside you forever if he could — before he settled down and pulled you into his arms. 

He felt you smile against his chest before you placed a sweet kiss on it. “I love you too.”

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin smut #din djarin one shot #din djarin oneshot #din djarin imagine #din djarin drabble #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x y/n #mando smut #mando oneshot #mando one shot #mando imagine #mando drabble #mando fanfic #mando fan fiction #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian oneshot #the mandalorian one shot #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian drabble

[wearywinchester]

Accidents

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Even on the simplest of hunts, accidents happen.

Requested by Anonymous: "Don't hurt yourself again..."

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, fluff, kissing

You let out a soft sigh as you slumped back against the seat of the Impala, quiet as you clutched your side. It ached and it burned across your ribs, wrapping around to your back in a way that made it hard to forget it was there. You were aware of the light splotches of a rosy red that stained through your shirt, something you covered with your jacket the moment you saw it. The less Dean knew, the better.

There was a lack of conversation as you drove down the road, one lined with plenty of trees for seemingly miles. The sun had since dipped down for the day, the sky a darkened shade of blues as the clouds started to roll in, the heightening breeze sifting through the half-open windows and it blew cool against your heated skin. There was a storm coming in, that was for sure. Queen played low on the radio, followed by Zeppelin, followed by Dean’s favorite song to sing when he gets the chance to, Cherry Pie.

He hadn’t sung it this time though, not really. You saw the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and the snort that sounded from his lips. You saw him turn the volume up a little and you heard him hum along to bits and pieces of the chorus, but he didn’t sing along just to see your eye roll and your inevitable smile. He didn’t do any of that this time, just hummed.

You didn’t know why, but you didn’t question it either as you wrapped your arms around yourself. You were too busy holding back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks in waves that came and went, the pressure behind your eyes remaining consistent. There wasn’t really anything to cry about, you knew that, but that didn’t stop your emotions from running in every direction and trying to get the best of you.

The hunt hadn’t gone terribly, having been cut and dry unlike most have been as of late, but you couldn’t help but think about the conversation you’d had right before it.

“Dean, why are you looking at me like that again?” You say, a huff leaving your lips as a knowing smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“You know why,” he says, brow raised as he shuts the car door and purses his lips over the roof of the car at you before you meet at the trunk. “Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. Sam’s got a broken ankle back at Jodie’s, so we’re down a guy.”

You tilt your head to the side, that familiar smile still very much there on your lips.

“We’ll get the job done, Dean. We always do.” He rolls his eyes and lets out a chuckle that was only half humorous, shaking his head before returning his gaze back to you. You shift on your feet, arms crossing over your chest as you look up at him. “What? It’s true and you know it, Winchester.”

“Yeah I know it’s true,” he starts, tucking his gun in his belt before tugging his shirt back over it. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is it?”

His expression softens for a moment as a flash of vulnerability splays across his face before it hardens just a fraction to try and hide it, watching as he takes a step closer. Your gaze turns more curious by the second as your brows furrow, tipping your head back just a little more.

“Don’t hurt yourself again,” he says, quieter than before.

The sight of your smile has his eyes rolling and his lips pursing once more, those dimples appearing that you loved oh so much despite the fact that they reflected the discontent behind them. But your smile remained, if not widened some, a glimmer in your eyes that eased the tension in his shoulders just a bit.

“Is this your way of caring about me, Dean?” You ask, voice only holding a mere drop of teasing in it as you gaze up at him.

“I’m serious, Y/n/n,” he huffs, but you don’t miss the way he bites the inside of his cheek and inevitably fails at hiding his grin at your words.

“I know you are,” you say, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze as you lean on your toes and press a kiss to his cheek. When you drop back down to your heels you see the way he relaxes just a fraction, your hand dropping from his as you spin on your heel and walk ahead of him as he stands in place for a moment more. “I’ll try and be careful.”

You don’t see the smile on his lips in that moment, or the way it drops in favor of furrowed brows and parted lips as soon as he realizes what you said.

“What do you mean you’ll try?”

To be fair, you did try to be careful. You always tried to be, but it just didn’t work in your favor this time and now here you are, sitting in the Impala with a scrape who knows how bad on your ribs because you’d yet to look at it. You’d yet to even tell Dean about it and you wanted to keep it that way.

He’d walked away from that hunt with an angry red and purple bruise on his cheekbone, and a minor cut in his eyebrow. He was relieved with how simple the hunt had gone without the extra help of Sam and you weren’t about to ruin it by making him worry over an injury you told him you wouldn’t get.

The pain in your side was numbing, it was nagging and persistent, worsening with each rub of your shirt over it. It brought you discomfort that made it all the more difficult to sit still like you wanted to. You knew it couldn’t have been a big deal, not something to panic over. Because with a sly glance downward you’d noticed that the stain on your shirt had yet to get bigger than it was half an hour ago when you first caught a glimpse of it.

Your goal was to slip into the bathroom once you got back to Jodie’s, it was a fair excuse to say you’d wanted to take a shower. You could clean yourself up and stuff your dirtied shirt in your duffel bag and hope to get the stains out later. It was fool proof when you thought about it.

But not this time.

“So sweetheart?” He asks, breaking the near silence.

“Hm?”

It’s quiet for a few moments as you let out a soft sigh, hearing him clear his throat.

“When were you planning on telling me you got yourself hurt back there?” He asks, the knowing tone in his voice having you biting the inside of your cheek, turning your head to look at him.

He can feel your gaze, turning his head to meet it as he raises his brow and quirks the corner of his mouth up ever so slightly. It was a hint of a smile that stayed on his lips as he looked ahead once more, a smile that only held half its humor just to try and lighten the mood, to try and help distract himself from the anger and worry bubbling away in the very pit of his stomach.

He wasn’t blind to the way you’d been holding your side ever since the hunt was over, on and off. He saw the you-shaped dent in the wall from where that werewolf must have thrown you before he was able to step in. He saw what it looked like and he knew you better than to think you’d just get up and brush it off, he knew better than to believe that after that, you’d just get up without a scratch from it. Not with the very way your face scrunches ever so slightly when you move.

He knows.

Your lips purse and you heave a sigh, knowing full well you’d been caught. He figured you out and you knew he would.

“You get all broody, protective, tough guy on me, Dean!” You defend, your need to hide it quickly dissolving in that moment.

“Broody, protective, tough guy? The hell does that mean?” He asks, faux offense weaving around his every word as he turns onto Jodie’s street. “What do I look like, Incredible Hulk?”

“Yes, Dean. That’s exactly who you are. You frown and you huff the moment I get even just a little scratch,” you say, glancing over to see his narrowed gaze and pursed lips.

“So you admit you’re hurt?” You huff softly, turning to face forward as you bite your upper lip. He knows your silence all too well, that feeling that’s bubbling in his stomach moving closer to boiling over as he watches the way you clench your jaw. “Dammit, Y/n.”

He parked the car in her driveway, turning the headlights off before cutting the engine. You’re quick to get out despite the jolt of pain shooting around your side at the action, quiet to close the door because it was far too late for her or Sam to be up.

You know he’s not happy with the way you’re brushing things off, you can see it in the tension in his own jaw from anger that’s not quite directed at you as much as it is at the situation. You can see it in the way he watches you walk, cautious and a bit stiff and it only tightens the clench of his teeth as he waits for you by the door.

You went ahead and snagged the keys at some point or another, and he knows just why it is you did that. He knows it’s because you wanted to walk ahead and disappear off to the spare bedroom you shared before he could keep you from doing so. He knows your stubbornness like the back of his hand. You’re not that hard to read.

The house is quiet when you walk in, dark save for the lamp she’d left in for the two of you to navigate given the hour. You heard him lock up behind you, and you could feel the way he’d been hot on your tail as you made your way to your room.

You could feel the way his hand enveloped yours, at how he tugged you into the bathroom before you could go any further.

A huff leaves your lips when he turns the light on and closes the door behind him, shrugging his jacket off and rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. “Dean, I can do it myself—”

“Yeah, and you hate it. So if you wanna argue and wake everybody up, by all means go right ahead. But I’m patchin’ you up regardless.”

His voice was quiet despite the frustration in his tone, opening the door of the small closet and grabbing the first aid kit on the top shelf. Your shoulders slump and you pull your jacket off, looking up at him with furrowed brows and he only shakes his head, the beginnings of a smile on his lips and your habit of being more stubborn than he is.

“Let me take a look at it, sweetheart,” he says, his words softer.

You make a face then, reluctant for him to see the damage that’d been done because you yourself hadn’t even seen it. But, after a moment you tug up on the hem of your shirt, the fabric peeling away from it uncomfortably leaving you to scrunch up your face ever so slightly. You observe his expression, seeing the way his eyes move right to it, at the way his teeth press tight together behind his cheek when he clenches his jaw.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s…” he starts, sighing as he brushes the pad of his thumb across it lightly. “It’s not bad, but I still don’t like it.”

You turn your body and catch sight of it in the mirror, at the scrape over your ribs that wrapped around your side curving front to back in an irritated scratch. It’d been an angry red color, what little blood there was having smeared across it.

You turn back to him with a quiet sigh, catching the softness taking hold of his expression now that he knew it wasn’t quite so bad. Enough to make worry radiate through him in waves but he knew that’d happen no matter what.

He was quiet as he took a dampened wash cloth and blotted it over your side, gaze flickering to yours ever so often. He recognizes that pout anywhere, the one that pulls at his heart, the one that you’re never aware you have when it sits on your lips.

“I should’ve punched fangs square in the jaw for this,” he mumbles, trying his best to clean it without hurting you too much more.

A smile tugs at your lips then, beaming and bright as the softness of your laughter puffs out through your nose. It has him raising his eyebrow in curiosity, amusement soon following because whenever you’ve got that grin on your lips he finds it hard not to do the very same.

“You put him six feet under, De. I think that’s much more than a famous Winchester punch in the face,” you said, watching the corners of his mouth curls upwards in a smile.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you say, looking up at him as he shakes his head at your words.

“I would say I can’t believe you tried to hide this from me, but I can,” he says, careful as he wipes around the edges.

“I would say you’re not much better,” you counter, pulling a narrower stare from him.

He knows you’re right, you always are, but that doesn’t mean he wants you to do it too. He wants better for you than he does himself and that’s how he’ll always want it to be. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t argue, because he knows he’s got nothing to argue on that. He couldn’t find it in himself to do it anyway with the smile you’ve got sitting pretty on your lips.

He brings the bandage up to his mouth, ripping the packaging open with his teeth before tossing the crinkled wrapper in the garbage. He’s gentle as he smooths it over your side, hands calloused and warm when they touch your skin. He tugs your shirt back down then, the crease between his brows something you reach up to swipe your thumb over tenderly.

He dips down to rest his forehead against yours, noses brushing softly as you share mingled breaths. “Do me a favor?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me next time,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours softly, pulling away before kissing you once more. “It doesn’t make you any less tough.”

His smile presses against your lips, yours soon to do the same and he knows exactly what that means.

You pull away and look up at him, his eyes bouncing between yours and to your lips before lifting to meet your gaze again in that moment. He can tell by the way you’ve got that grin on your lips that there’s something teasing on the tip of your tongue.

“For the record, you are a broody, protective tough guy,” you say.

There it is.

He rolls his eyes at your words, arms circling around your waist with caution of the wound you’ve got, pulling you in closer.

“Yeah, yeah. Stop pickin’ on me, sweetheart.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, soft as they hold just a little bit of offense as his laughter brushes warm and fleeting over them, just as quickly muffled by the kiss he presses to them.

He knows that’s what he is, and he knows that’s what he’ll always be.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you

[after-witch]

A Private Cell (Yandere FF7 Reno x Reader)

Title: A Private Cell (Yandere Reno x Reader)

Synopsis:  @damtoti​ said: Can I request FF7 Reno with reader as his prisoner? 

Word Count: 1600ish

notes: yandere, violence

The handcuffs bite into your wrists so tightly that you think you’re losing feeling in your hands. You can't tell if they lack circulation or if the tingling feeling is just a by-product of your hands being tightly kept behind your back for hours and hours. There's no mirror in whatever room he dragged you into, but you know there's a bruise blooming on your jaw. You can still move it, so it's not broken, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.

You've never been arrested before. You never even got in trouble at school. Though, you realize, you weren't exactly arrested. You weren't taken into custody during daylight hours by officials who escorted you into a precinct or tossed you in a jail cell stuffed with offenders. 

You were grabbed after you locked up the shop, after you stepped into the alley on the way home.  You struggled and screamed at your attacker, all flashes of red and white and black, but a good sucker punch and a bag over your head took care of things as your vision went fuzzy and finally black.

The next thing you remember, well: you're here. Sitting on a wobbly metal chair with your hands tightly cuffed behind your back. The room is dimly lit by overhead lights and the only thing remarkable about it are the occasional dots of rusty looking stains that make you shiver.

You don't contemplate these stains for much longer, because the metal door to the room screeches open and in saunters the man who punched you in the jaw. His vibrant red hair stands out even in the dim light of the room, but it's his clothing that stands out the most. It looks... expensive. Not flashy-expensive, not gold chains and black market furs, but tailored. Professional. It makes your stomach twist into knots. You've heard of... special forces, before, of groups that do the dirty work for Shinra and do it very well. You don't know if he's part of that, but he's part of something. What the hell does something like this want with you, of all people?

He grabs a chair from the corner and pulls it--the scraping of metal-on-concrete has never been so loud--until it's a few feet away from you. He flips it around and sits himself down, leaning his elbow casually on the back of the chair.

"Hope you're comfy." It's sarcasm, but the way he says it so conversationally makes you wish you could throw a punch. "Let's get this out of the way. You're... you. You're (Y/N). I'm Reno, and that's all you need to know for now."

You lick your lips, dry from the cold air, and start to ask a question--How do you know my name?--but he raises a partially gloved hand to silence you. 

"Up-up, I'll do the talkin' for now. Lemme be straight with you, (Y/N), because I don't have time for games and I can tell you’re a real honest person, right? Fess up, and I'll put in a good word for ya. Be stubborn and, well." He scratches his chin and shrugs, as if he really doesn't want to consider the idea of you being "stubborn," whatever that meant. “Best to be honest.”

He rests his chin back in his hands and stares at you. You don’t like his gaze.  You don’t like the way his gaze seems... familiar, like he’s seen you before and knows what you might say.

But he just keeps staring and it’s your turn to talk, you guess.

"I..." your voice is unavoidably scratchy, and you do your best to clear it before you continue. "I don't understand what's going on. I didn't do anything."

He stares at you. And then he yawns. Slow, deliberate and annoyingly condescending. 

"Yeah yeah, I've heard that one before." He shakes his head and the acting is so good that you might almost believe that he feels sorry for you. "I'm offerin' you a great deal here, (Y/N). We don't usually do that, y'know?"

You can feel tears beginning to well up. Your hands are buzzing in numb, brittle pain and even the slightest shift of your wrist sends bolts of sharp pain up to your elbows. You’re in way over your head, and you don’t even know why.

"Listen, Reno," you say his name, then wonder if you should have said it from the way his face seems to animate at your words. Whether or not he's mad or surprised is difficult to gauge, and you don't have the mental energy to try. "I swear I don't know what you think I did. I'm not... I'm not that type of person, I don't get into trouble like this."

He stands up and in a swift sudden movement, pivots the chair around. The noise makes you jerk and you can only stare as he pulls the chair closer, this time leaning in towards you. It's an uncomfortable mixture of intimate and intimidating, and he seems to know it. He has a soft smile on his face, almost friendly, almost kind. He wants you to trust him so badly. 

"The boss doesn't have me pick up randos for no reason. C'mon, just own up to it, and this'll be over soon." He opens his arms up, a placating gesture. You stare at his hands, palm-up, and wonder if he's killed people with them. If he'll kill you.

When you don't speak up--you can't, you reason, you really can't when you have nothing to confess--he sighs, languid and deceptively mundane. He pulls something out of his pocket and whips it to the side. It's a baton. You imagine him bashing it into your skull and your heart starts to race. He presses a button, and it sizzles. Ah, it's a taser, too. You don't have experience with being electrocuted but that doesn't stop your entire body from trembling. Pain shoots up your elbows as your wrists shake of their own volition.

He steps closer, and you wince instinctively and all you can think about is how much this is going to hurt. He presses that button again but before he can swing, you cry out: "Wait! Wait!"

He pauses. Mercifully. The crackling electricity is gone as he slings the baton, resting it on his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows. Well?

You feel your shoulders slump. You have to tell him something. Something that will make him think you're admitting... whatever it is they think you did. They must have the wrong person. You can sort that out later, though, when you're not being threatened with a weapon and an electrical current.

"I--I sometimes sell things." He stares. You continue. "I mean, I sometimes sell things... under the table? Things I shouldn't be selling?"

He slowly sits himself back down on the chair and it's all you can do not to cry in relief. He resumes a casual stance that would feel less intimidating if you weren’t tied up and fighting back tears. 

"Tell me more, (Y/N). Who do you sell to?"

You are a terrible liar. You know this, and he might be able to see it. So you half-close your eyes and glance to the side and try your best to look ashamed.

"They... said they work out of Wall Market."

"Ohh." Reno lifts his chin back a little, as if he's realized what type of person you are and what you do, and now you feel real shame heating your cheeks. You would never associate with Wall Market, not if you could help it. You were luckier than most to be able to avoid blackmail and seedy deals.

"So," he says, leaning forward with determination. "Tell me their name."

You freeze. You don't have a name to give. You can't give a fake name. And you can't give a real name, either, because then you'll be implicated and if it ever got back to the real person, you can bet they won't be merciful for you ratting them out. Especially ratting them out for a fake black market transaction that never happened.

"I..." You swallow. Your throat feels prickly. “I can’t say.” 

Wrong answer, you think. Wrong wrong answer. He shakes his head and tuts and slaps a hand on his thigh before standing up. He towers over you and you brace yourself for the baton and the electricity and wonder if you should just shout out a name before he can get a good whack at you.

Instead, he walks behind you and fiddles with your too-tight handcuffs. They fall off your wrists and their sudden loss returns the circulation with an agonizing rush. You cry out and he begins massaging your tortured wrists. The gesture feels strangely intimate and you can’t help but think of his baton and the taser and the bruise on your jaw.

"Yeah, that'll happen if they’re on too long." You don't have time to think of a reply before he continues, still softly massaging your aching wrists. "Tell you what. We'll continue our little... discussion tomorrow, yeah? And in the meantime.."

He tightens a different pair of cuffs around your wrists. They're snug and firm but lined with something that keeps them from making you wince, at least.

"I don't trust these other guys to be alone with a... pretty thing like you, y'know? I took you in, so I’m responsible for you until you ‘fess up everything."

He pushes you forward as the metal door is opened from the outside. You glance at the guards on either side of the door, but you know they wouldn’t help you. Especially when you’re flanked by someone who is probably their superior.

“Where… are we going?” You ask. Your voice echoes a little in the poorly lit hallway, muffled by two pairs of footsteps as you’re shuffled along, an unwilling prisoner. 

“Told ya,” he says, winding one of his arms around your bound elbows and tugging you closer to his back. “You’re in my custody now.”

#yandere #reno x reader #yandere final fantasy #ff7 reno #afterwitch writes #spoiler: the boss did not order this #double spoiler: you're screwed

[devilishsahbi]

Hello! I saw you're requests open and I was wondering if I could ask for an nsfw request with mammon? I'm a real sucker for soft sweet nsfw stuff so like maybe a confession scenario because Lucifer seems really interested in mc and mammon gets jealous? And sweet sentimental first time together, lots of I love yous lol Only if you want to of course! Thanks!

a/n: this is almost 5k words of like... angst and fluff and then smut. so, i hope you enioy! 💕

different sides of love. mammon x fem! reader

GREED. IT WAS HIS SAVING grace, his addiction, his curse⏤he desired all that the world could give him, wanted nothing more than to have his pockets full of grimm and still not have enough to satisfy his wants and needs. At least, that was what he told himself, until that greed, the pivotal part of his sin, became skewed towards something else.

      His greed now extended towards you. Your smiles, fond hugs even though he pushed you away, the sleepy jokes you'd text him at night, even the barest glance in his direction. All of it. He wanted all of it and more, more than you would ever give him, because he desired more than just kind words and sweet reassurances from you.

       He wanted your love.

       For him, the words would never come. He expressed it in other ways, as often as he could, even if you didn't notice or know it was him. A little extra grimm in your wallet; some food hidden from Beel during his kitchen raids; text messages late at night when you couldn't sleep through the devildom storms, even when he was dog tired and unable to keep his eyes open; and when you were awake writing essays, the faintest glow of your pact mark upon your hip even if you didn't see it.

    Mammon could feel it, sometimes, if he tried hard enough, when you traced it with your fingers. Felt your touch like a hot, iron brand, because while he had the ability to stop it, to not get feedback from the magic that bound you, he didn't want to. It both tortured him and pleased him to know that you acknowledged the mark at all, even if it was absentmindedly touching it out of habit.

      So when Lucifer stepped in and changed made his interest in you known, it pissed him off. All in the span of a week, the most powerful of them had shifted gears the moment he sensed competition and had made it a point to draw your attention to him, to engorge his pride as the eldest⏤and the eldest got everything he wanted. Power. Prestige. Fear.

        At dinner, when Mammon's boiling point reached a peak, Lucifer made his final move. It was as Asmodeus was lecturing Beel on getting oil in his pores and everyone else was listening to the conversation, laughing, that he spoke up. Mammon could make out the words, make out what was being said.

         Lucifer had offered you a night in his room.

       He didn't even wait to hear your answer. He was so wrapped up in trying not to snap⏤he had the most control out of all of them, damn it, and he wouldn't let his jealousy and greed stop that⏤that he got up out of his chair and left the house without even saying a word. Left his D.D.D, wallet, and keys on the belfry, and slammed the door behind him.

         He hadn't even stopped to listen to you say,"No."

       You waited for Mammon to return, even after everyone else retired to bed. You deliberately ignored the suggestive brow raise that Lucifer gave you as he big you goodnight, nervously clutching Mammon's D.D.D in your hands and watching the door nervously. You were too worried to even think about that now, not even what it meant.

       You tried desperately to contact him through your pact, but he was either ignoring you or had cut off the connection somehow. As far as you knew, he had never cut the connection before⏤Satan had told you that Mammon almost always kept his pact marks with the witches closed, but exclusively left yours open for use. And now it was closed or entirely useless.

       The clock hand ticked past eleven, twelve, and approached one without Mammon giving even the slightest sign of showing back up. You would normally text him by now, but he had left his D.D.D and wallet, and it was raining so hard outside that your gut clenched painfully at the thought of him walking in the rain without even a way to call for help.

        It wasn't like he would call you, though. He never did, even if it was clear he needed it; his brothers were cruel, even if it wasn't completely obvious to any of them that they were. They always thought the worst of him, even though he thought the best of them always. You saw it in his easy submissiveness, the carefully orchestrated plans to get them to interact with him even if it was in anger. You didn't understand why he would go to such lengths to earn even the slightest of attentions from his brothers; you had tried desperately to offer him that kind of affection, but he pushed you away every time, like it wasn't what he wanted.

        You had no clue what to do anymore.

      When it became clear that you were sitting up for nothing, you went upstairs to take a shower. A hot one, one that you would regret later when your nerves were screaming at you to stop and turn down the heat, but you needed something to take your mind off of Mammon and the insane need to go outside in the storm and find him. A shower was the best way to do that.

        As you got the water running and set out your favorite pajama set, you took the time to look at the pact mark sitting proudly on your hip⏤perhaps greedily, you second guessed. It devoured the expanse of your pelvic bone, diving down the curve of your hip to lick at the start of your thigh, curling into the valley between hip and leg. It was a startling golden yellow, more vibrant than a tattoo, and held more heat than the rest of your body. Your other pact marks never felt like Mammon's; they were cut off, blocked, and nearly transparent on your skin. You never asked them why.

       And, as odd as it sounded, you felt it was too personal to even try to.

     You stayed in the shower for a good while, waiting until your fingers pruned and all of the worry had seeped out of your body. But the moment you stepped out of the shower and pulled your nightclothes on, your thoughts went straight back to Mammon, worrying⏤what if he had gotten called by one of those witches? What if he had gotten trapped in town?

       On the way back to your room, you peeked inside Mammon's bedroom. It was dark, still, and not a thing had been moved, from what you could tell. So you shut it, gently, and padded down to your door and slipped inside before any of the other brothers could bother you. You didn't know if you could deal with Asmo's teasing or Lucifer's suggestions right now without blowing up and going to Purgatory Hall, or chasing after Mammon.

       Flicking the light on with an angry sigh, you tore the towel off of your head and looked towards your desk for your D.D.D⏤and froze.

        There, with his elbows propped on his knees and head bowed, was Mammon. Rain water dripped from his hair and landed in solid droplets on the carpet floor; his jacket had been abandoned, his white t-shirt nearly transparent and clinging to his lean frame; he was thoroughly soaked to the bone, and yet he wasn't even shivering like you would if you had stepped outside. Steam from his abnormal body temperature evaporating the water curled into the air; your room felt half like a sauna.

       "Mammon?" You breathed, rushing over to him in relief. He didn't move or acknowledge you as you gripped his shoulders and pushed him back to look at his face. "Oh, Mammon…"

       He looked like he had been sent through the wringer and back. A fresh bruise was blooming on his jaw, already fading rapidly with his healing. He had several scratches on his cheek and near his eye. His lip looked to have been busted open several times, the wound not quite healing completely. All of the scrapes and cuts were dirty, hindering his power to some extent⏤or he was holding back, as usual, because he felt he deserved it.

         Mammon had gone looking for a fight and, clearly, had found one. Several, by the looks of it.

      With shaking fingers, you tipped his head back and examined the scrapes more thoroughly by your lamp. Traced the skin with a pained grimace. "Mammon, what happened to you?"

        He didn't answer. You didn't know if you wanted to hear one.

       "Let's get these cleaned up, okay? But get out of those wet clothes, please. I'm sure you have a pair of sweatpants in here from that heatwave last week."

        When you moved away from him and turned your back to rifle through your closet to find the first aid kit⏤you had invested quite heavily in it after realizing how prone you were to "accidents" with the brothers⏤you heard the sound of wet clothes being peeled off and dropped to the floor. It took everything you had in you not to imagine the way the fabric parted from his skin, glistening in the light and beads of water tracking down his neck from his hair.

       You tore open a few packs of alcohol wipes and bandaids, listening to him shuffle from your chair to your bed. He let out a faint groan as he sat down, the springs shifting and popping underneath, and you winced at the thought of him hurting. He probably was in some pain, if he had gotten into as many fights as you thought he had.

      When you were sure he had made himself at least partially decent, you turned around and made a pointed effort not to let your eyes sink directly to the indentations of his hips or the faint dusting of pale hair that vanished into the sweatpants.

         With all of your supplies on the bed beside him, you nudged yourself between his legs and moved his face up where you could clean the wounds out properly. He didn't even fight you as you moved his head around, hands coming up to rest lightly on the sides of your legs when you were close enough that your body was a hair's breath away from touching his.

        Something was seriously up with him, but you didn't even know where to start.

       "These look awful," was all you could say as you picked up an alcohol wipe and began cleaning the outside of the wounds. Gravel and dirt came away on the cloth. His eyebrows furrowed at the sting, but that was all of the reaction you got. A normal Mammon would be milking it for all it was worth; but instead, he was completely, utterly silent. "I hope whoever did this is crying in a back alleyway, just so you know."

        His lip quirked. Just a bit.

       When you were done with the scratches and the deep gash near his eyebrow, you moved on to the gastly split in his lip. When you ran the alcohol wipe over it, it bled anew, aggravated by the sudden movement. You dabbed at it carefully after that, unaware as Mammon carefully began following the curls of his pact mark peeking out of your pajama shorts.

        "Ya didn't have to do that," he whispered when you were finished. His voice was completely hoarse, as if he had been yelling at the top of his lungs for the past three hours, when he spoke. "I could'a done it myself."

       "You could have, but you were already here." You tossed the bloody wipes in the trash can beside your bed, then settled your hands on his shoulders. The skin was cold from the rain, but underneath you felt the demonic heat surging just under the surface. You half expected him to stutter out an objection and shove you away. It didn't happen. "And… I wanted to make sure you were okay."

        "Wha' for?" Mammon sneered in reply. His lip cracked open and a thin line of blood ran down his chin. "Wasn't like anyone else was worried. Luci never is."

       "Lucifer?" You inquired, feeling his fingers tighten on your legs as you uttered the name. The controlled bunching of muscles against the pads of your fingers, moving as he stiffened up. "What does he have to do with this?"

      Mammon snorted. Whoever this was, you weren't familiar with them; the scummy second born had vanished. In his place was this raw, angry man who had no idea what to do with his anger except put it out on someone else.

        "When does he not?" He huffed. His breath ruffled the slowly drying strands of hair near your collarbone. "He's got everything ta do with this. I could've killed him, then. But I did'n. I had to leave. Do somethin'."

       "What…? What did he…?" Your thoughts drew back to dinner; at what Lucifer had asked you. Offered you, since it was your decision. You had told him no, but Mammon had stormed out before that. It had been odd, but Asmo had assured you it happened all the time… But now, you had a sinking feeling in your gut that told you it was for a good reason. "Oh."

        "Uh-huh." Mammon pushed you away then, gently, and got to his feet. His eyes were fixated on the door. "I'm gonna go ta bed. 'Night."

        "W-wait!" You grabbed his wrist and pulled him back; or tried to, anyways. He stopped, half turned his head to you to listen. "I didn't… You just… You left before I answered. I told him no."

        He laughed, sarcastic and sharp. "Sure you did."

       "I did. I mean, I really did tell him no." You watched the muscle in his jaw tic. "You really worried me, Mammon, leaving like that. I thought something bad had happened to you…"

       "Is tha' all that stopped ya?" His voice was painfully soft. "From tellin' him yes? Me leavin'?"

        Your stomach rolled. You hadn't intended on telling him like this, but there was no other option. You could let him leave, let him hate both you and Lucifer forever; or, you could tell him that you loved him, and erase that hard frown on his face.

        It was obvious what you chose.

        "Mammon." You approached him carefully, releasing his wrist the closer you got to him. You stood toe to toe with him, him a little taller than you were, and reached up to hold his face in your palms. His expression didn't change, but you felt him tensing, felt his entire body shift at the touch. He looked so sad, angry, and fatally jealous all at once that it made your heart hurt to even look at him. "I told Lucifer no because I don't love him. I love you⏤the great Mammon, avatar of greed, the scummy second born. Not him. Just you."

        And before he could register your words, you rose up on your toes and kissed him. You were gentle, mindful of his split lip, and felt the slow pull of his face turn into shock.

       You pulled away, just so you could meet his gaze, noses brushing. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and a faint blush had crept up his cheeks. He suddenly felt far too warm, the rain completely evaporating off of him in wispy curls. You watched him swallow, his throat working around a knot.

        "It's okay if you don't feel the same," you whispered, reluctance in your tone as you lowered yourself to your heels. Your hands dropped from his face to rest lightly on his chest. "I didn't know what I was⏤"

       Your breath left your lungs when you were scooped up, pressed so close to him that you felt every muscle against your body flex, his body heat sinking through the flimsy silk pajamas you wore. His lips pressed brutally against yours, hard and searching, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.

        You pulled away, desperate for air. He chased your lips before you could take a breath, claiming them once more, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth. You tasted blood, but it wasn't yours; it was oddly sweet, blooming from his split lip. He didn't seem to mind, tongue swiping against the part of your mouth deliciously.

       Mammon shifted your weight abruptly, bringing you up by your legs to position you higher. Your locked your ankles around his waist, fearful of falling on the floor, and his hands snuck up the backs of your thighs and under the silk of your pajama shorts, gripping the flesh in a bruising hold.

       "Mammon," you gasped when he released your lips, dragging his mouth down the side of your cheek to press kisses to the hollow of your throat. "I don't… Are you s-sure?"

        "Sure o' what?" His voice was rough, grainy with lust when he pulled back from your neck. You watched as his eyes, normally a brilliant cerulean blue, darkened when witnessing the flush of your face, the swell of your lips. He held your weight with an arm under your legs, the other coming up to brush your lips with his thumb.

         "Of… this." You swallowed deeply when he moved his hand down to cup the side of your neck, fingers hovering over the fluttering pulse of your artery. "Me. I'm just a human. You even said so yourself⏤"

       "I lied." He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. His entire body relaxed, as if that anger and tension and jealousy had been drained out of him on one fell swoop. "You ain't just any human. You're my human. Got it?"

       That was as close to a confession as you were going to get. The honesty in his eyes was overpowering; the scarlet flush of his cheeks hot underneath your questing fingers; even his heartbeat told you all that you needed to know.

       He meant it.

      "Got it," you whispered faintly. He grinned then, a flash of teeth, and began walking towards your bed. "What…?"

       Mammon dropped you on the bed like a dead weight. The back of your head hit one of your softest pillows and you squirmed to get comfortable as he parted your legs and moved himself between them, placing his hands on either side of your face.

       You stilled, a deer in headlights as you met his predatory gaze with your own. His pupils had shrunk into narrow slits, much like his demon form's when he was irritated. But then he seemed to calm down, his aggression softening, his pupils returning back to normal. His fists relaxed on either side of your head.

        "Sorry," he croaked, leaning down and burying his face in the curve of your shoulder. Your eyes fluttered closed as he placed kisses upon the skin there. "Almost lost it there. Figured ya didn't wanna deal with that right now."

        "You mean you almost shifted?" You inquired, humming pleasantly underneath his attentions. He was placing hickeys wherever he could reach, moving his hands to sneak up your shirt and take a firm hold of your hips. "Mammon?"

        "Mmf. Yeah." The pale haired demon shifted between your legs, but this time you clearly felt his arousal thigh, hot and pressing against the sweatpants he wore. He moved again, this time hissing right in your ear when he pressed firmly against your heat, the silk shorts and underwear already damp. "Shit, [Name]. Shit. I ain't gonna last long like this."

        You had half a mind to tell him, desperate for friction he wasn't giving you, to just go for it raw. But he seemed to have other plans in mind, shimmying down your body. You whimpered at the loss of contact, attempting to rub your thighs together, but his hands came down on your knees and spread them apart.

        "Uh-uh." Mammon hooked his fingers in the waistband of your pajama pants and panties, dragging them down and off of your body. You gasped at the feel of cool air  between your legs, automatically attempting to close them again, but Mammon nudged them back open and settled between them. "There. Look at ya, all wet and ready ready for me."

        "Mammon…" you whined. You fisted your hands in the pillow beneath your head.

       "Are ya still sure?" When you looked down between your legs, at his face, he looked hesitant. Unsure. His fingers ghosted around your knees but never went farther. Insecurity was creeping in and you cursed his brothers for making him this way; you were absolutely certain that, before they had fallen, he hadn't been like this. But then he wouldn't have been Mammon. "I, uh, don't wanna force ya into somethin' ya don't want."

       You smiled reassuringly and sat up, moving your hands to cradle his face once more. He leaned into the kiss you offered him, hands sinking into the bend of your hips. You pulled back, stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs. The scratches and gashes had already healed. "I'm sure, Mammon. I've wanted this for… a while now. If you're having second thoughts…"

        "No." It was a growl; but he almost immediately became a little embarassed by it. He ran his hands up your back and fiddled with the clasp of your bra. "No. I'm not havin' second thoughts. I'd be stupid if I did."

       You pulled your shirt off when he had managed to unhook your bra, tossing both items somewhere on the floor. You then reached for him again, smattering kisses all over his face. You felt his skin grow hotter under the affection, felt him press as close as he could in the position he was in. "Pants off. I feel way underdressed."

        He snickered, fully back to himself, and wormed out of the sweatpants, kicking them off on the floor. He didn't give you time to admire him in his full glory, lit with the gentle light of your lamp, and got on his knees, dragging you into his lap.

       You felt him⏤all of him⏤pressing against you, as close as a second skin, unnaturally warm and smooth. He didn't move to kiss you and instead let you thread your fingers through his hair, staring at your face with adoring eyes.

     If he had been anyone else, they would have told you they loved you. What came out of his mouth as he moved in to rest his forehead on your shoulder, kissing your collarbone, was far better than any simple 'I love you'.

       "My human," he breathed. He rolled his hips against you, devouring the sharp inhale you took at the sudden friction. "No one else's."

        "No one else's," you agreed, a cracked moan passing your lips when he rolled against you once more, following a deep, hard rhythm that you had no doubt he would be mimicking inside you in short order. "I love you, Mammon. I really, really do."

       He grunted into your shoulder, unwilling to give up the dry thrusts he was using to maintain his sanity. You felt his acknowledgement of the words in the gooseflesh rising all over his body. You smothered a loud cry into his neck when one particular upward roll of his hips had the head of his cock pressing sweetly into you. Just for an instant, and then it was gone, with him mumbling,"Shit. Up."

       You lifted your hips obediently, following the urging of his hand on your hip. He slipped his free fingers into you, groaning against your breasts when you unintentionally dug your fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.

        A few strokes and they were gone, leaving you nearly irate with need. You squirmed, close to reaching down and stimulating yourself, but he batted your hand away and positioned himself at your entrance.

        "Gonna be a tight squeeze," he whispered against your breast,"but I doubt ya have the patience for anythin' else."

       "You're not wrong," you whispered, words muffled by a moan as he finally sank inside you. It was most definitely a tight squeeze; the bare thrusts he had given you before weren't indicative of his size in the least. You gripped his shoulders, half in pain half in pleasure as you lowered yourself at your own pace, eyes watering dangerously⏤with happy tears, you noted, feeling the antsy flutter of your heart.

        He rubbed your back and let out sharp exhales the more of him you took in. When you finally hit the hilt, hips flush against his, he locked his arms around you and whispered, strained,"Don't. Move. Please."

       You froze in place. Listened to him breathe deep, not just because of the threat of him orgasming right then and there, but because you felt his body temperature skyrocket. Felt the bristling of his back as his wings threatened to tear through his human form. Felt heat against your cheek where his horns would be.

       "Mammon?" You asked quietly, concerned. "Are you alright?"

        Mammon took a few deep, calming breaths, before placing a kiss on your neck. "Yep. Just a minute. Gotta… shit, hold on."

        And you were falling onto your back, Mammon pushing past what you thought you had already taken, and sitting far more deeply within you than you had expected. Your mouth popped open at the sweet burn of being stretched, turning into a moan when he pulled out and sunk back inside.

       "Better," he mumbled to himself, reaching up and lacing his fingers with yours. Your fingers tightened against his as he repeated the motion, rolling his hips and teasing you relentlessly. "You alright?"

        "Perfect." You locked your ankles somewhere above his tailbone and leaned up, catching him in a deep kiss. He pressed you back down, unconcerned as his weight bore down, and ran his tongue over your bottom lip. You nipped at the sore scab on his bottom lip before allowing his tongue to move past your mouth, swiping against yours almost lovingly.

       Then, he began to move. Your legs clamped tight against his hips, moving with each thrust he gave you, deep and pointed and ramming against the sweet spot every time. Every rock of his hips was solid, measured, and had you to the brink of tears once more.

      He broke from the kiss and buried his face in your neck, panting hard. You could already feel the pressure behind your navel building, curling into a feeling that you couldn't ignore. You managed to bury your scream in your pillow just seconds before it came, teeth boring down on the fabric as your orgasm rocked through you like an earthquake.

        Mammon continued on, this time a little less controlled, chasing his own release as you rode out yours, chanting your name desperately. You felt yourself clamp down on him, arousal building once more at the desperation in his voice, and just as he reached his peak, you heard the whoosh of wings, felt the swelling inside you reach a head, and teeth sink down into your shoulder.

         He came hard, slamming himself back inside you with one final thrust, every muscle in his body as tight as a strung wire. His hands tightened against yours with enough force that you almost were sure he would break your fingers in half.

      All at once, he relaxed against you, wings stretched pleasantly into the air. You giggled tiredly and touched one, startled when he twitched inside you.

      Mammon leaned back and pushed up onto his hands, meeting your amused gaze with an almost horrified and bewildered look. "I couldn't stop it."

       "I know." You laughed and slung an arm around his neck, dragging him down into a sloppy kiss. "You bit me, though."

       "Yeah." He sounded sheepish now, but you detected a smug undercurrent as he reached up and traced the brand new mark on your shoulder. Take that, Lucifer. You'd notice it in the morning and, hopefully, not beat him into next week for it. "Sorry 'bout that."

       "Mm. It's fine." You sighed when he pulled out of you and tugged his sweatpants back on. His wings and horns vanished like they had never been there. "What are you doing?"

        "I was goin' back to my room." Mammon blinked at you as if it was obvious. "Why?"

       "I wanted you to stay." You rolled over and patted the open spot beside you. "Just for tonight, if you're uncomfortable with that⏤"

        "Hell no, move over for the great Mammon!"

fin.

#mammon #obey me x reader #obey me #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #swd mammon #mammon x mc #mammon x reader

[missgirlnoname]

ALL IT TAKES

Warnings: slight choking kink, kissing, rough necking, vulgarity, toxic relationship, possessiveness, not really smuttish?

-I’ll just leave this here 😳👉🏻🍿

3rd POV

______

"Tell me you want me."

"I don't need you"

"Please, you can't live without me"

I'd be fine if you died"

"Your breath has quickened. Do I make you nervous, pet?" He mocks her ever so wickedly.

"You suffocate me." She whispers, a harsh rasp in her voice.

"And you love it."

Slam!

(Y/n’s) back was forced up against the cabin door, pinned and held up by Scott's strong and slight built. His lips meshed with her's forcefully, surely scraping painfully along each other's teeth on impact. Tongues collided with such rage, both fighting for dominance. Hair being gripped and tugged on back and forth, here and there. Bodies grinding onto one another at a ferocious speed, as beads of sweat began to trickle down there skin.

Scott's lips assaulted (y/n’s) swollen and bruised ones for a few more seconds before moving downward to her exposed column. He sucked, nibbled, and kitty-licked her sweet and salty flesh. Animalistic Growls burrow through him at the delectable taste. She was all his. (Y/n) belonged to him. No one could have her, nor will ever have her in the ways that he has.

Gripping (Y/n's) throat, not to roughly as to leave a mark, but enough to elicit whiny whimpers and moans from her.

"Let's make something perfectly clear, shall we?"Scott says, as he drags his lips sloppily along

(y/n's) defined collarbone. Her nails digging into his toned biceps, pushing against him. In an attempt to break free? To intensify their pleasure? This is uncertain.

"I won't be getting out of this place anytime soon. There's no television, not much civilization in sight; no way out." Scott sneered, as he pulled back from (y/n) for a mere minute. Heavy, angry, and ragged breathing was all that could be heard within the four wooden cramped walls.

" So fucking like wild animals is your go to coping mechanism, hmm?" (Y/n) replied tauntingly, glaring daggers at the unstably attractive and disheveled boy in front of her. His golden hair tousled over his forehead, an unbuttoned blue flannel that exposed his tanned, glowing, and lightly chiseled figure. She hated, loathed at the idea of wanting, yearning for him so badly.

He gave her an oh so mischievous smirk. Eyes clouding over darkly with a haze of pure, dirty, passionate lust.

"Precisely."

One word. That one word was all it took to send her barreling towards the edge. (Y/n's) eyes darkened incredibly, just as Scott's did. Reaching outward, she gripped the tank top that lay underneath his flannel, and pulled him rather violently back to her.

Once again, their lips collided with a force so fierce. They had the wind knocked out of them. They went at it, like sex-crazed beasts, those that have been deprived of that sinful and needy hunger. Tearing off each other’s clothes; groping, scratching, sucking, biting.

Would they get caught? Yes. Would there parents be called for the inappropriate disturbance? Probably. Did they care? Not in the slightest.

-

\\ hi! I'm back 😈 so I'm sorry it's not too long. I've been busy with school and personal affairs that I haven't the time to come up with any new ✨steamy✨ scenarios for this book. I will be trying to update more though. I don't mean " I'll update soon" as in the next 3 months. I mean " I'll try to update" sometime this weekend or early next week. Until then, indulge yourself with this quick imagine and the other two I currently have. Although it's technically not Anakin, it's Hayden nonetheless. Stay tuned! 😉

P.s this was posted on my wattpad @missgirlnoname

Also credits to @amazinghaydenchristensen for this beautifully made edit ✨

Tags 🏷 💖

@haydens-moles @please-buckme @padawanlost @horizonsmerrick @highergroundconfessions @psychettaxo @anakinswhore @anakinshooker @princessxkenobi @dracos-ani @lily-paddd @sithmyass @silvereddaye

#hayden christensen #scott barringer #higher ground #possessive #rough play #kinkyshit #kissing #toxic traits #toxic relationship #foryou #foryoupage #fyp #wattpad #hot boy #scott x reader #3rd pov #hot af #fanfiction #smut?

[anika-ann]

Attached: Words Lost in Translation Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 5910

Summary: Steve is most definitely not impressed with what happened and had been happening in the class... the question is: what does it mean for you?

A/N: Attached: Words Lost in Translation is a 3-part addition to the Attached series.

A/N: for @donutloverxo, because she mentioned a request which I couldn’t fulfil (because I’m really bad at those)… so I hope this makes up for it :-* (Even if it’s nowhere close to the good stuff you and others produce) Happy kinktober and early happy birthday, sweet! ♥

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, 3.5k worth of smut, fingering, PIV, possessive Steve, (in)appropriate use of a mirror, cumplay (if you squint), feelings… and swearing (always)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

‘Let’s get out of this damn room before I lose my mind and do something I’ll regret later,’ he had said and the words echoed in your ears whenever you found the courage to glance at his profile, the city a blur behind the window.

He didn’t say nothing more – and neither did you.

The whole ride back to the apartment was scarily silent. In the long months you had been with Steve – the amazing, sweet months with only few bumps on the road – you had never seen his face so emotionless. So unreadable.

His fingers were gripping the wheel with enough vigour to turn his knuckles white, shoulders squared and tense, breathing clearly too deep for you to believe he was alright.

The big question was whether he was more upset or angry.

You couldn’t decide which would be worse – but you didn’t dare to ask which one it was anyway, even if all you wanted was to do exactly that.

Or perhaps you’d be keen on just begging, anything to fill the silence. Please, don’t be mad at me. I can explain, you yearned to say, but you couldn’t make yourself to reach out when Steve was driving, worried you’d break his concentration.

So you accepted the silence as a punishment, your hands clenching and unclenching in a desperate need to do something with yourself besides either talking or impatiently tapping your foot.

Rationally, you knew you had a perfectly good explanation for why you had acted the way you had with Daniel and you knew you had acted according to your best conscience, because you hadn’t really had a choice. But not telling Steve was another matter entirely, no matter your good intentions.

There was a saying about good intentions after all, wasn’t there? The road to hell…

The pair of you entered the apartment and lost your shoes still without uttering a word – but you counted the fact that Steve took your heavy backpack for you when leaving the car as a good sign.

He walked to the bedroom, shrugging off his suit jacket and discarding it carelessly on his way. Seeing his back, cladded a cream shirt, receding and leaving you standing in the narrow hallway, the lump forming in your throat for the past half an hour grew suffocating.

You were this close to losing it, an uncomfortable tug pulling at your stomach, bile rising to your mouth.

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away with a sigh as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink – possibly something stronger than water.

“Come here, babygirl,” sounded lowly but resolutely from the bedroom, causing you to freeze mid-step, your heart skipping a one painful beat before kicking in with a furious pace.

At the same time, a terrible weight went plummeting from your chest, finally allowing you to breathe in freely.

At least Steve was saying something, adding a petname no less, so hopefully, the crisis was averted – or at least wasn’t as disastrous as it had seemed.

Not intending to let him wait even a second longer than necessary, you followed his footsteps instead, finding him seated on the foot of the bed. He looked up at you as you wavered in the doorway, his eyes a silent plea – or an order, you couldn’t seem to decide – for you to come closer.

Other than from his eyes, always so expressive, you couldn’t read a single emotion on his face; you figured that hearing out his request was the simplest way to learn where his head was at. You took the last reluctant steps, finding yourself standing between his legs, his gaze trailing up to your face.

His broad palms went to rest at your hips, thumbs caressing above the top of your skirt and you shivered, his touch and the intense unreadable gaze making your head spin and yet causing the wheels in your head turn madly in attempt to figure out what was about to happen.

So far, it seemed like a calm before the storm; however, you could already feel the electricity of lightning crackle in the air, a presage of great force brewing, preparing to strike.

Maintaining eye-contact, bright blue irises darkening in front of you in a hypnotic show, Steve pressed a light kiss to your abdomen. Your breath hitched in your throat, unlike the strangled startled sound that somehow found its way out.

What was he doing? Why was he looking at you like that? Why did it seem that he was about to worship every damn part of your body instead of being mad at you? …or disappointed or upset with you, anything dammit-

“S-Steve,” you stuttered, just a breath of his name and his mouth brushed your clothed stomach again, fingers pressing once against your hipbones before relaxing again.

His presence was immense – you might have been the one standing, towering above him, but Steve was the one who was pulling the strings, igniting fire in your belly just by barely-there touches and by his eyes never leaving yours… until now.

“Sh-shh,” he whispered, gaze intent as it skimmed all over your figure, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips, hungry eyes as if seeing you for the first time.

Your heart nearly gave out at the would-be soothing sound, reminding you of times when he drove you crazy enough to scream his name, his soothing ‘shh’ echoing in your ears. The shushing however did erase your previous worrying, pushing it away as dampness already started pooling in your panties instead. Whatever was happening now, it wasn’t a fight for certain.

You wanted to run your fingers through Steve’s hair, to do something with your hands rather than having them hanging uselessly by your sides, but his actions not only rendered you speechless, but were effectively turning your whole brain to mush. You couldn’t make yourself move an inch.

“Good girl. I’ll do the talking… god, look at you,” he whispered, his hands moving to your ass, warm palms sprawled over your cheeks, greedy, appreciative. “Look at this…” He squeezed and the only thing you could do was to focus on the room so it would stop spinning as your breathing picked up.

Hyperaware of his hands trailing down your legs, a shudder of anticipation tickled your spine, heating up when Steve dropped a kiss to the front of your thighs, a light touch as if burning a brand.

“And this…”

You yelped when his grip tightened and he spun you around, suddenly making you all too mindful of the fact that you could face a mirror like this; you hadn’t even thought of that when you bought the closet together, simply following the need for more storage compartment, the reflective surface only a bonus, as you had moved in.

Now, the mirror was all you could think of and you couldn’t but watch Steve’s fingers disappear under the hem of your skirt, stroking the skin just above your knees.

“So beautiful, such a pretty girl…” he mused, pulling you down without a warning or resistance on your part as he positioned you between his wide-spread legs. His nimble fingers pushed away the hair from your shoulder, exposing skin for his mouth to taste.

The scrape of his beard and his hands finding their way to your belly had your eyes flutter shut, only for a nip of his teeth causing them to snap open in surprise.

You glanced at him in the reflexion, instantly trapped by his irises, their magnetic shade putting you in a place you couldn’t escape even if you tried.

“I said look, babygirl,” he reprimanded you hoarsely, still holding your gaze as he deliberately led his hands higher, cupping your breasts. You shivered, unable to look away from the two of you when Steve kissed the crook of your neck, a sweet torturous move.

His daring fingers, his hot soft lips, the scratch of his beard, the warmth his body radiated as he seemed to engulf you--- all the sensation combined had you fist the sheets, a blissful sigh falling from your lips, as you watched them part in the mirror.  

“Look what a pretty picture you make, can’t blame the guy for having an eye on you.”

You gulped at the mention of another man – Daniel who? – genuinely forgetting about his existence when Steve was turning you putty in his hands, deciding to suck a bruise on a sensitive spot above your collarbone just because.

“Oh god-“

The surge of arousal to your veins was almost painful, causing your core to clench around nothing.

“Shh… I got you,” Steve cooed, kissing the incriminated spot tenderly, one of his hands leaving your breast in favour of running the pad of his thumb up your cleavage, over the hollow of your throat, landing on your bottom lip, caressing it before lightly tugging it down. “So tempting… but you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you breathed out automatically, catching a flash of Steve’s smirk in the mirror, his content hum vibrating against your back as he pressed you against his chest, scooting you closer, letting you feel his growing hard-on. The heat in your abdomen seared with the feeling what effect was taking this on him.

One hand reached for your jaw, manipulating your head to catch your lips with his, finally allowing your eyelids to slid shut. There was nothing sweet about the kiss – open-mouthed, demanding and dirty, Steve’s teeth tugged at your lower lip, stealing breath from your lungs, hogging all your attention – you barely registered his free hand loosening the zipper of your skirt and sneaking under the fabric, the shock of his palm suddenly cupping your sex over the wet panties blending into pleasure.

You whimpered into his mouth, pawing to cradle his jaw in the difficult position and he indulged you, impossibly deepening the kiss as his fingers traced your slit over the thin material of your underwear.

Oh heaven and hell-

“So ready for me,” Steve whispered a praise to your mouth, adding more pressure with his next movement, your hips automatically bucking forward to increase friction. “So wet, so sweet for me, such a good girl…“

You couldn’t help the mewl that left your lips – Steve knew all too well what that praise did to you. You grabbed on his thigh to ground yourself, but all of sudden his mouth was gone and you were led to turn your head away from him, facing the mirror again.

His fingers easily slipped under your panties, circling your clit and making your toes curl, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Look in the mirror, sweetheart,” he coaxed you, a low growl escaping him when you did, but your eyes fluttered shut at the pleasure he was giving you. His motions stilled and you whined, rocking your hips against his hand only to have him still your movements. “Ah-ah… you watch, babygirl, you watch who’s making you feel this good…”

In that moment, heart hammering in your chest, low ringing in your ears, core aching for more friction and the pressure in your belly building up, you were certain that Steve’s voice, an octave lower than usual, existed only to torment you.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, met with a filthy picture of a woman with pupils blown wide, lips bruised from kissing parted in bliss, body pressed against a gorgeous man’s front, one of his hands gripping her hip to steady her, the other hidden under her skirt. You looked positively sinful, but you had nothing on Steve, perfectly red lips pressed to your ear, deep blue observing the reflexion as well, lustful gaze fixated on the flush on your face.

“Good girl, so obedient,” he complimented, one finger teasing your entrance and finally going in, an action followed by your breathy voice saying his name, a prayer and a blasphemy at the same time.

“Don’t we look good together, babygirl?”

“Yes.”

He added another finger, stretching your walls to both his and your liking. And by God, did you like it…

“Look at that, you must really want me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, unable to stay still with the coil in your abdomen just about ready to snap. Your hand unwittingly moved to rest over his, urging him to push deeper. His lips curled wickedly before he left a trail of butterfly-light kisses on your collarbone. Despite your better judgement, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the filthy picture.

The image of him would be burned into your brain like a brand, an image of a man with a face of an angel and leading you to sin like the devil himself, but in an oh so delicious ways…

“Christ, look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers,” Steve revelled, his gaze boring into yours with intensity you couldn’t bear anymore, causing your cunt to clench around his fingers like a vice. “Say my name, babygirl, tell me who’s gonna make you come.”

The heel of his hand pushed against your clit and the whisper of his name turned into a moan.

“Steve-“

“That’s right, babygirl. Look at me.”

You did, a skilful stroke deep into your heat drawing another whine of Steve’s name. His movements barely ceased as he added the third finger and went straight to the spot he knew would make you see stars.

“Again,” he grunted to your ear and you obeyed, your vision nearly blurring with your high so close, almost at your fingertips.

His lips found a sensitive spot of your neck just below your ear and you were done for.

“Steve!”

You came with a cry of his name on your lips, thighs quivering, head thrown back, eyes fluttering close in bliss.

His talented fingers worked you through your orgasm with almost lazy but very much intentional motions, while his lips kept whispering filthy praises right into your ear, placing a tender kiss here and there.

“My girl, so good, so needy… taking it so well… my precious girl letting me fuck her with my fingers… so gorgeous and all mine… all mine.”

A pleasant shiver ran down your spine at every word, leaving you craving more, even as you just came down from your climax.

Steve’s fingers disappeared from your tight channel with a muffled smack, bringing you back to reality, chasing heat to your cheeks when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, utterly wrecked. You turned your head to find Steve’s lips instead, before you could decide you actually enjoyed seeing what he could do to you.

Your wordless plea remained unheard; his fingers spread some of your juices to your lips before wiping the rest on the skin of your cleavage and your blouse and only then he kissed you, tasting you, drinking your arousal from your lips as a man deprived water for hours, his hands roaming your figure, touching everywhere he could possibly reach.

You managed to roll over in his arms, kneeling between his legs on the bed, his hands pulling your blouse from your skirt so his fingers could slide under it, exploring more of your heated skin.

“Strip for me, sweetheart,” he breathed out, lightly pushing you away to stand on your shaky legs, watching you with interest as you obliged, unbuttoning one button after another for his lustful eyes.

He licked his lips, heated glare never leaving you as he blindly undid his own shirt; with a tell-tale of a clang of his belt, he lost his dress pants too, not at all ashamed at stripping his boxers and freeing his rock-hard cock standing to attention.

Your breath caught in your chest – you’d never stop marvelling at his body, thanking heavens and cursing at the same time. As if his stupidly handsome face wasn’t enough to drive you crazy-

Steve took offence at your bra still shielding you from his view, personally removing it as you stepped out of your sufficiently ruined underwear. You stood in front of the other naked as the day you were born, for a hundredth time and yet as if you were seeing each other for the first time.

You didn’t think you were shy under his gaze though – not after you were just forced to witness him fingering you. The corners of his lips rose minutely, fingertips running down your body, taking special care to stroke your hardened nipples, to cup your ass again.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he commented heartedly, voice husky as if he was the one screaming your name a minute before and not the other way around. You felt your thighs squeeze on instinct, remembering the feeling, recalling every sweet and filthy word he had just whispered in your ear.

And fuck, you loved it when Steve lost it and cussed on you, always making you feel wanted. Cherished even, despite his not always gentlemanly ways, ones you so thoroughly enjoyed.

But mirror? Now mirror was new and for a brief moment, before all remnants of rational thought vaporized, you wondered if you should be ashamed at having been so aroused and having come so fast.

Retracing its original path, one of his hands settled on your jaw to bring your mouths together, the faint taste of you still bittersweet on your tongue as it met with his, engaging in a filthy dance. You shut off your brain.

A gentle twist to your nipple caused you to moan in pleasure, the sound swallowed by Steve’s mouth. You nearly missed him walking you back, your feet following his lead on instinct; it wasn’t until your back hit the cold surface when you realized you were pressed against the mirror, the discovery warming your belly in excitement.

Steve’s lips moved to your throat to nip at your sensitive skin, hand snaking around your waist to save you from at least some of the coolness of the glass – a useless effort, really, seeing as your body felt like on fire.

“Gonna show you why you belong with me, babygirl, yeah,” he stated rather than asked, voice sultry, uncompromising.

A yelp erupted from your chest as he spun you around, fingers circling your wrists to pin them next to the reflective surface, ordering you to leave them there as his own hands played with your breasts, skimmed over any patch of skin they could find and shower with attention. Caressing, admiring, squeezing, cherishing.

“Don’t you look away, babygirl. Watch me as I take you apart.”

And you did as you were told, like the proclaimed good girl you were, the insecurity and excitement blending in one when seeing your irises widen in pleasure as he entered your channel from behind, hand possessively sprawled over your belly as if he could feel himself there. The glass kept fogging with your hot wet breath, long relieved and yet needy exhales as he slowly penetrated you over and over, letting you feel every inch, then short sharp ones as he drove home in a wickedly quick and shallow thrusts which had you begging for more, nails scrapping at the skin of your palms as you had to keep them in place.

The one time you couldn’t but try clamping at his hands on your hips, pleading and guiding him to give some attention to your aching clit, he pulled out altogether, leaving you painfully empty. Pushing his fingers past the seam of your lips, he incited you to watch yourself suck on them; your gaze kept flickering to his other hand massaging his sac as he was certainly not denying himself any pleasure while he left you aching for him.

“Naughty, dirty girl… taking anything I give you… so pretty with my fingers in your mouth- you want more?” he queried with a wicked smile, hypnotic gaze, expectant expression turning into a grin when you muttered a ‘please’ and he lined his cock with your entrance again, pushing all the way in.

“Look how we fit, babygirl… look at you, begging for my cock, needy little thing…. Tell me. Aren’t I. Fucking. Lucky?” he emphasized his point, each word accompanied with a rough thrust of his hips, following with a punishing pace and thankfully some loving to your clit at last. He soon tipped you over the edge, caging you in his body, trapping you in his eyes.

But it wasn’t even that you got to watch yourself that was making the experience so divine – no, it was Steve’s attentive gaze, alluring, indulging, smug even, until he got lost himself in the pleasure as well. His own eyes fluttered shut, red lips parting in needy moans rather than spilling praises for your body and readiness and guiding you to watch both yourself and him, ‘the only man who could give you this, who could fuck you this good, whom you’re always asking for more’.

He took your breath away, his beauty enough to outweigh the light burden of insecurity – the utter adoration in his lust-blown pupils, the satisfaction of being able to take you like this, to make you see stars he himself would hang for you… you had lost yourself in the maze of him and when you reached your climax, his movements faltering soon after, you saw galaxies in his irises, and felt a supernova explode in every cell of your body.

You thanked god that Steve had enough wit to press you further into the mirror when your knees gave out and saved you both from some no doubt painful injuries… well, mainly himself, seeing as you both learned to love the moments of staying the closest possible even after reaching your climaxes, bodies still merged into one.

He chuckled breathlessly at your state, loving arms engulfing you despite the sweat running down your back, despite how sticky your bodies were. You couldn’t find yourself grossed out by that, your head still spinning from the heights you were coming down from.

“I love you,” he panted into your ear, nose nuzzling in the mess of your hair. Once again, it could be disgusting, hell, probably was… but the intimacy and the way he lost himself in you, just like you did in him… was there a feeling that could compare?

Your hands finally slid down the wood, one staying for balance, the other finding Steve’s, fingers interlacing and squeezing.

“I love you too, Stevie,” you whispered, out of breath and barely audible, but loud enough if his embrace tightening was anything to go by.

Your furiously pounding heart skipped a beat when the pressure didn’t relent, Steve’s arms still holding you impossibly close, if not closer.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,“ he pleaded lowly, all humour and authority leaving his voice and your blissful bubble was slowly intruded by the reminder of what led to this mind-blowing experience. His mouth busied itself with dropping kisses anywhere he could find, beard tickling, lips tender. “Please, babygirl, tell me you’re mine.”

The crack in his voice was enough to make your heart ache for him, for the insecurity eating at his amazing soul.

You supposed it was expected; he was, like you, a master at overthinking and his insecurities caused by the threat of another guy, your classmate, probably started with age (which was ridiculous, it wasn’t like Steve was old enough to be your dad even, not that it mattered to you), continued with supposedly attractive accent of that asshole and ended with god knew what.

Still, there was no mistaking the uncomfortable tug at your heart when you heard Steve doubting himself, questioning if he was enough to keep you his. As if.

You resigned on attempting to balance yourself, your free hand finding its way to Steve’s damp locks, holding his head close, guiding him to meet your lips in a short but meaningful peck.

“I’m yours, Steve.”

A sharp intake of breath and you kissed him again, slow and deep, pouring in all love you could fit into one encounter of lips, withdrawing just enough to rest your mouth against his so he could feel your words. “I’m yours and I’m not going anywhere…. Aren’t you mine?”

“God, sweetheart,” he muttered, slipping out without grace and spinning your around, fingers plunging into your hair as he dived for your mouth, drinking all air from your lungs – sensation so pleasant and powerful you almost forgot about the trickle of thick liquid running down your thigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m yours.”

You smiled into the kiss and let your fingers travel to the half of the pendant he had given you, resting between his collarbones, usually hidden under his shirt.

“Because we fit perfectly.”

The curl of his lips and his slow nod was a blessing and a promise, a dawn of a new, brighter day. “Because we complete each other.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

After a completely innocent shower together – because saving water – you practically dragged Steve to a bed to lazy for the rest of the day in your pyjamas.

He wasn’t too opposed to that, sensing that for one, he wouldn’t defeat you even if he tried and for two, you two desperately needed to chill together and talk. And what was better than cuddling, your head nestled against his chest with a drumroll of his heart in your ear, his chest in a thin t-shirt in reach for your lips, his arm around you, his fingers toying with your hair, knuckles brushing your cheek?

Now you could talk; you felt loved, you felt safe and you felt a tiny bit of guilt for keeping details about your new temporary classmate for yourself.

“I just… I didn’t want to be rude to him, you know?” you muttered after spilling the beans, lips pouting and pulse faltering as you knew it was only half of the truth. Steve dropped a tender kiss to your forehead, humming in a manner by which you knew he was encouraging you to speak further. “And I was… afraid that if I did something, like… I dunno, slap his hand or anything-”

“You think we’re still on thin ice dating together,” he stated, clearly having a revelation, because he hugged you tighter.

“Well, yeah. I don’t want to cause any problems and he’s the type—I think he would throw hands and complained, took it to high places and- I couldn’t have him do that.”

“Oh, so instead you let him-“ Steve shot back, but stopped himself mid-sentence, taking a calming breath as he felt you stiffen in his arms. You didn’t like angry Steve; you hated when he raised his voice and he knew that. “Bucky could tell there was something wrong.”

“So he ratted me out. How kind of him,” you noted, unable to help the note of sarcasm in your tone.

“Hey. I’m glad he did. I got an amazing sex from it,” Steve joked lightly, making you snort and bury your face in his chest, your cheeks burning. He chuckled and caressed your hair before growing serious again. “But more importantly, I think that the guy won’t be bothering you again. Bucky’s only looking out for you, you know. He likes you too.”

You knew it was the truth and you were genuinely grateful for the fact that Steve’s best friend approved of you to begin with – the idea caused you smile into Steve’s sleepshirt.

“Yeah... I guess. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you-“ No, that wasn’t right. “I’m not actually. I am sorry though that you found out this way. I was just... you were so stressed about the article and I didn’t want to burden you with some smug jackass-“

You head rose and fell with Steve’s deep inhale and exhale, his thumb gently stroking your bare arm.

“I won’t say it’s okay… but I get it,” he admitted, fingers sliding under your chin so he could look at your face, meet your gaze. His eyes… they dimmed with worry and a sting in your heart warned you not to ever bring the same sadness into them again. “But please don’t do that again. If something troubles you... just tell me, alright?

You closed your eyes, unable to bear the intensity he spoke with, but hummed in agreement.

“Hey, I mean it, sweetheart. Look at me-“ And once again, for the hundredth time that day, always after being asked to, you did. “Please? Even if you think it will make me mad or sad... I’d rather knew than found out I was so focused on something else that I almost missed us growing apart.”

Warmth spread in your chest at his admission, as painful as heartfelt. Your hand cradled his cheek, enjoying the gentle scrape of his whiskers against your palm. “That’s not gonna happen, Steve. Never. You’re mine and I’m yours. I love you and some Italian jerk calling me a princess won’t change that.”

“How would you feel if the roles were reversed? If I was keeping something that makes me feel bad from you? If I was scared maybe?”

Okay, ouch, that was a low blow, because it was obvious that you’d hate it—but it was also hypocrisy of the highest order.

“You didn’t tell me about the hate mail right away either. Had you waited another day, I would have learned from Professor Danvers,” you deadpanned, bringing a grimace to Steve’s face.

“Okay, that’s fair. But I learned my lesson. So please?” he pleaded again and really – how could you say no to his puppy eyes? Who gave the right to look so cute to such handsome, no, to fucking sexy man?

“Okay. Fine. Consider this me learning mine.”

“Just try,” Steve whispered, a content smile spreading on his lips, eyes softening. “It’s all I ask.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thank you.”

After that, comfortable silence fell on your pair and you nuzzled further into Steve’s warmth, a content sigh leaving your lips. This was your definition of heaven.

Of course Steve had to crash the party with the dumbest question ever.

“So… you don’t like him, right?”

Your eyes snaped open, a loud groan erupting from your chest as you tried to twist from Steve’s hold – one that turned into a deadly grip, not allowing you to move an inch.

“Steve, he turned out to be the smuggest asshole I’ve ever met and that says something coming from me, because I met you, Bucky and Tony Stark in passing. So no, I don’t like him,” you spitted out, purposely jabbing at both Steve and the company he kept. And digging your elbow to his ribs, drawing a surprised, wounded, very manly yelp from him and having him release you. “If that makes you feel better, Da-ni-el might be speaking fluent Italian and English, but as far as I’m concerned, he sounds like a dick in both of those.”

Steve snorted a laugh, hands instantly taking a hold of you again, pulling you close. “Okay, okay, message received. Now come back here.”

You sputtered a curse as he had managed to rattle you, but you let him embrace you fully, because frankly, you had spent about five seconds out of his arms and already missed him. Even if he was amused by your antics.

“I love when you get all worked up. My feisty girl-“

“Shut up, Steven.”

“Oh, so it’s Steven now-“

You shot him a look, forcing yourself to keep a straight face when you saw the happy twinkle in his eye. Gorgeous bastard. So hard to be mad at him.

“Two words, Rogers: Smug. Asshole. My point stands,” you grumbled, his grin widening at your pretended grumpiness. “Oh, screw you-”

Faster than you could comprehend, you found yourself rolled over to your back; caged between Steve’s arms, his body lined with yours, legs interweaved, chest to chest, nose to nose and then his lips brushed your cheek, whispering into your ear.

“You did. And I think you liked it.”

You giggled despite yourself, your heart fluttering in delight; Steve’s giddiness was like a shot of ecstasy to your veins as he kissed you with a grin on his lips. After seeing him so worried for the past few days… you melted into him, committing every second of this to your memory.

“What’s got you so happy, Professor Rogers?” you questioned, watching him as he retreated, the twinkle in his irises taking away good five ten years from his handsome features.

“Well, you see, sweetheart,” he started, dropping a kiss to your nose, drawing another giggle from your lips. “Today, I told some hormonal brat who was making moves on my girlfriend to back off…”

“Uh-huh…”

“…I made crazy love to the said girlfriend-“

“Said girlfriend? You have more of those?” you muttered teasingly, earning a playful pinch to your side.

“I get to spend the rest of the day in bed with the woman I love, postponing the boys’ night-“

“You are?!”

Screw it, Penny would understand if you ditched her for one night-

Steve grinned boyishly, brushing his nose with yours tenderly. “Uh-huh. And I got an email this morning, saying that my article is getting published, so-“

You squealed in joy, grabbing his face and crushing your mouth to his, evidently surprising him, but once he regained his balance, he chuckled and responded in kind, lips following you eagerly when you suddenly withdrew.

“STEVE, THAT’S AMAZING!!”

“Shh, keep it down,“ he scolded you, half-heartedly muffling your voice with his palm, but his body was shaking with laughter at your excitement. You pushed the offending hand away.

“NO WAY I’M GONNA BE QUIET! YOU’RE SO AMAZING! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!”

He shut you up with a kiss – and who were you to refuse that, your hands caressing him everywhere you could reach instead, in a desperate attempt to show him how happy you were for him.

Apparently, seeing you so giddy worked for Steve’s appetite too, because you could feel him growing hard again against your thigh, his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to taste the euphoria on your tongue.

Despite your undeniable arousal, you refused to give in, retreating, and continued gushing much to his displeasure.  

“Steve, that’s wonderful news! Congratulations! We have to celebrate-“

“I’m pretty sure we already have,“ he mumbled, searching for your mouth again, his lips persuasive as they sank into yours, tempting, whispering: “We could again.”

You hummed in agreement, your resolve slowly thinning, but then you mentally stomped your foot. “Not with sex, you filthy maniac! Really celebrate! Champagne and stuff!”

Steve’s brows furrowed, lips pouty as he discontentedly observed you making plans to celebrate his success differently from his ideas.

“You’re so wonderful, Stevie, so smart!” you kept babbling, searching in his brilliant irises for any shadow of disagreement you would dismantle by any means necessary. Speaking of Steve’s super-intelligent brain… “How are you with me again?”

“Hey!” he opposed to your words instantly, his expression darkening. “Shush it! You’re brilliant and you know it.”

“Meh,” you scoffed dismissively, earning a dangerous glint in Steve’s eye.

“Stop it or I’ll make you.”

Oh, you’d like that. So would he, judging by one particularly hard part of his body poking your stomach.

“You deserve the world and I love you, because you are incredibly smart and talented,” Steve exclaimed pointedly.

Then, he made a pregnant pause, leaning in to brush the shell of your ear with his sinful lips, a little scrape of his teeth breaking the last remnants of your conviction about leaving this bed to celebrate your boyfriend’s brilliance.

“And let’s not forget, pretty girl… you’re my principessa.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

Words We Don’t Mean (and Those We Do) (next in timeline)

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Ah, look at them, knowing sex isn’t a solution to everything and actually choosing to talk about the issue too :D

By the way, I’m probably going to hell. Again.

Also, I admit I got inspired for the line about languages and sounding like a dick from The Flash episode (go to 3:15)

Sideway note: Not gonna lie, that infamous ‘shhh’ advice helped me through some tough time and hearing Chris talking about anxiety and stuff just makes me go like… good for him, being such a wonderful human being. But dammit, imagining hearing that ‘shhh’ in certain situation… my fucking death.

#fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers x reader #professor steve rogers #LEMONS #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america au #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #college au #professor au #modern au #mcu #avengers #attached #attached: words lost in translation #anika ann

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Half-awake and goofy Reader, Daddy Kink, Soft Sex, Unprotected Sex, Language, Fluffff

Word Count: 2.5K+

Summary: After many sleepless nights (and one missed text), Bucky is finally home.

A/N: Reposting because Tumblr hates meeeeee. I know I’ve been IA off and on here but I promise I’m working on my series as much as I can. It’s been one hell of an year, huh? My inbox is always open for you lovelies. Love you all.

***

The bed feels too big without him.

It’s normal to feel this way on most lonely nights, when Bucky has to be away on a mission—not like he isn’t saving the world or anything, but after two years of sleeping next to his heavy but familiar weight, it’s hard to fall asleep without it. What’s worse is that you can’t rest your head over his heartbeat or crawl into his warm, open arms, or kiss that little pout on his lips.

You even begin to miss the array of clothes spread out on a pile in the corner of the room that he always claims he’ll get to when they start to smell—as much as you want to kill him for it, you sincerely miss it now.

The blocky red numbers glare at you from where it sits on your nightstand, reminding you for the hundredth time that this is the fifth night in a row of tossing and turning and it’s four in the morning. Your body is fatigued but your mind anxious and relentless; he hasn’t texted like he promised he would, like how it’s been on nearly every mission, and maybe it’s because of the fact that he’ll be home tomorrow, not because he’s—

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a deep sigh and flop onto your back—the ceiling still has the same color and the small crack that keeps you fixated for a decent amount of time. Not even the running box fan or the low volume of your tv is doing anything to appease your unsettling thoughts. At this point, you don’t want to get up at all, not even to pee… no, you really need to go.

The bathroom is just as cold as the bedroom feels and it makes you want to cry; you won’t, but it’s close. The slight chilly air stings your bare feet as they paddle across the floor, sitting up this time on your bed and snatching the remote with a huff. You flip through the channels mindlessly, barely paying attention to the titles—titles that you’ve already seen a thousand times—while slumping against the pillows with the hope that SpongeBob SquarePants will be the final solution to your sleeping problem.

You become so engrossed in the cartoon that you don’t notice the creak of your house door, or the soft plop of a bag on the floor, nor the light steps making their towards your room until the handle jiggles rather loudly for someone who’s trying to sneak around; Bucky still underestimates his own strength on some days, like this one.

When the door starts to slowly open you curse yourself for not being more attentive, and try to remember with stiff muscles where that stupid knife Bucky gave you is…

“Shit,” the intruder curses. “Sorry, doll. Did I wake ya?”

The gruff whisper—twinged with a light Brooklyn accent—echoes across the room and straight to your chest, your heart stuttering a beat at the realization; the ocean gray eyes meets yours with a tired but exciting glint that equally matches the one in yours and that beautiful, beautiful full smile greets you like home.

“Bucky!” You squeal quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace, opening your arms out wide for him. “You’re home.”

He chuckles and closes the door behind him, slipping his gloves off, the two or maybe three shirts (armor, padding, whatever it is) he easily shrugs off, then his socks and pants, leaving him in a tank top and boxers. You wait patiently, all the while checking for any new scrapes and bruises or any signs of injury in his expression; so far so good.

The mattress dips under his fists as he leans over to give you a kiss; it’s short, just a quick peck that leaves you whining for more. Instead, he smiles again and rubs the tip of his nose affectionately against yours.

“I missed you,” his breath ghosts over your lips.

You cup his face, his light stubble scratching your skin, and pull him towards a longer, deeper kiss. He moans faintly into the kiss and dips the rest of his weight on the bed, curling into you instinctively; he fits against you like your puzzle piece, and when you lie down he follows fluently, careful of not laying all of his weight on you—as much you really want him to squish you.

“I missed you more,” you say in between kisses, wrapping your legs around his waist. “So—” the loud smack of your lips against his cheek raises a lovely chorus of giggles from the both of you. “—so much! But how?”

Bucky understands. “Caught the guy earlier than expected. Got back at the compound, took a shower—”

“And you didn’t text me, asshole!”

“Aw,” he drawls in a pitch, teasing your ribs with feather-like caresses. “I’m sorry baby. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He seals his promise with a kiss, not wasting any time in slipping his tongue along the seams of your lips; you grant him access, swirling his tongue with yours. You moan and, without even realizing what you’re doing, slant your hips up, arching yourself into his touch. His hands slide down your body, memorizing every detail of your curves while continuing the dirty, sensual kiss; you then feel the half-hard bulge grinding steadily against your core, but you nor Bucky comment on it.  

He’s the first one to pull back. Bucky doesn’t say a word, and so neither do you, just taking in each breath that leaves his lungs through an exhale, every inch of muscle that rests and moves against yours, and suddenly it feels like you can actually sleep now.  

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, using the tip of his pointer finger to trace the circles under your eye. “Having trouble sleeping again?”

“I always do when you’re gone,” you mumble back, closing your eyes since he mentioned it.

He starts to move but you latch onto him before he can fully sit himself up, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying his face in your neck.

“Baby,” he giggles, moving his hands to your hips.

“I still have to welcome you home, soldier,” you purr and run your fingers through his soft, short hair.

You grind back at his still hips, grinning goofily at the sigh that escapes his lips. “C’mon, I want to.” Another slow grind, harder than before. “I wanna feel that thick cock fill me up so good, been too long, daddy.”

The breath hitches audibly in his throat, his eyes growing dark and glazed. “You sure?” He asks, because he’s the perfect gentleman as always. “It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

“Not uh.” To prove your point, you open your eyes as wide as they can go. Bucky laughs with a shake of his head that tells you, ‘I love you, you fucking goofball’.

You lean up to catch his slightly chapped lips, and reach down to pull your shorts and panties off; Bucky breaks the kiss to look, groaning at the sight of your glistening pussy. You palm him through the thin fabric of his boxers, giving him a light squeeze.

He buckles against your hand. “Fuck,” he hisses, then chuckles. “It really has been too long.”

“So,” you quickly slip your shirt over your head, reveling in the way his eyes immediately latch on your breasts. “Fuck me.”

Bucky finally gives in with a moan, bumping his forehead against yours for a rushed but heated kiss that leaves goosebumps on your skin. You waste no time in pulling his boxers down, licking your lips at the sight of his twitching cock.

“Oof!”

His entire weight topples on you in his haste to pull his shirt off, crushing the air out of your lungs; he mumbles an unintelligent apology against your open mouth.

Metal rests against the slope of your ass as the other lines himself at your entrance, looking in your eyes for your approval. You nod, too excited and trembling with anticipation. His lips are once again back on yours, the bulbous tip of him nudging through your folds and circling your clit, teasing you with a knowing smirk as you kiss.

Before you can scold him he pushes in, stretching you slowly to the brim until his balls rest at the slope of your backside; it’s a little painful, but the burn is a bonus to the increasing pleasure you feel by him just being inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp through gritted teeth, clutching his biceps with a tight grip. He answers with a nip to your breast, circling his tongue around the perk nipple before completely latching his mouth onto the sensitive mold; his teeth lightly scrapes you, making your body jolt and pussy flutter around him—shit, it really has been too long for the both of you.    

You tighten your legs around him, enveloping yourself in his heat, not wanting to bear the coldness that plagued you in his absence.

“Good?” He croaks from your chest, already sounding breathless.

“Please.”

He settles himself more comfortably between your legs and pulls back until only the tip is inside, plunging back in with a hard, punctuated thrust that heaves your body upwards. A choked sigh scrapes your throat, your hands splayed out on his back, feeling every muscle continue to move and slither; chaste kisses litter your neck with every thrust, hard and steady and deep.

“Buck.”

“I know,” he says. His metal hand cups your cheek, holding your gaze—you’re doing your best to keep your eyes open, but you don’t know how much longer that’ll last. “You feel so good, princess. So good, so fucking good.”

You lift your hips to meet his, feeling the coil in your lower stomach building and tightening and getting hotter and hotter—

“Fuck Bucky right there!” You moan wantonly, shifting your body so he can hit your sweet spot again.

“I got ya,” he rubs your back before pushing your lower half up so he can keep you exactly where he wants you, not once breaking the rhythm you can now so easily create.

His cock continues to bring you undeniable euphoria, scratching against every little itch you have and angling his pelvis so that it grinds against your aching clit, giving you the extra stimulation you need. He kisses you until you have no more air to give, nips and bites at you until there’s marks, caresses your body with a touch only a lover can understand, fucks you so right and smooth that you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock; thank fuck he’s home.

His hips move a little faster, no doubt starting to feel the edge of his climax. As if to prove your point, his hand—the one that was one your cheek—reaches up to grip the top of the headboard, using the pull to push himself somehow deeper into you; like he’s trying to crawl into your body and take shelter where he knows he’s safe.

“Y-yeah, shit B-Buck keep going!” You stammer in between thrusts. Your pussy flutters harder around him, making him squeeze his eyes tightly shut and curse under his breath.

“Me too, pretty girl,” he growls, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen, and in his eyes you are. “Gonna cum with me?” Your cunt clenches around him. “Goddamn baby—” (holyfuckingshit the way he just whimpered has your entire back arching and more juices gushing from your core). “—forgot how tight you are.”

It’s too much now, the friction heating your entire core until it feels like your whole body is on fire, about to implode at any second. Your moans and whimpers spur him on even more, now slamming his hips until the sound of skin against skin—and the sloshes of his dick pounding into you—echoes loudly in the room.

“Bucky I’m gonna come.”

“I feel you,” he grunts. “Come around my cock, babygirl. C’mon, I wanna feel it, sweet girl.”

Your legs tremble and shake as your orgasm approaches you, clouding your mind with a fog and filling your vision with white; you’re so lost in the spasm of your pussy, the thumb now rubbing your clit in tight circles, and the growls and whimpers that he’s doing nothing to hide, that when your cunt squeezes him like a vice, the scream that follows does no shame to the gruff grunts and groans lapping with your vocals.  

Bucky fucks you through your orgasm, your sensitive pussy continuing to flutter around him. It’s like you’re being shocked by bolts with the way your body spasms beneath him, taking everything he’s giving you and more until you’re nothing but a puddle at his bidding; every nerve feels shot and abused, but it’s not complete until he fills you up.

“Christ doll I’m coming,” he growls from his chest, sending shivers through you. You clench your pussy around him and… and he gasps like you just punched him in the gut and suddenly hot spurts of cum fill your pussy in thick, hot ropes.

With one final, hard thrust he collapses on top of you. The air is thick and slick with the air of sex, skin glistening in the soft light of the tv that’s still playing the same cartoon. His chest rises and falls with yours as you catch your breaths, holding each other.

Bucky is usually the first to recover. He raises his head and gives you a tired, goofy smile before kissing you; he uses the distraction to carefully pull out of you, the chill of the air brushing against the combined juices covering your pussy and inner thighs. You grumble with a scrunch to your eyebrows that makes him giggle.

“Hang on.”

He gets out of the bed with a heavy sigh that comes with age—you like to tease him about it every now and then—and flicks the light to the bathroom on, leaving the door ajar. The sound of running water is faint to your ears, the exhaustion of the week settling in on you heavily. The rattles from the bathroom fade with the stress, into comfortable white noise...

The cold, wet cloth makes you jump with a whine (did you actually fall asleep for a minute there?). Bucky shushes you gently from where he sits, gently cleaning you up before throwing the washcloth towards the corner of the room—yes, his corner.

Your arms blindly reach for him, your eyes still closed. You hear him turn the tv off and shuffle around until the covers are being pulled back and he slides in, making sure you’re both completely covered. He crawls into your embrace, laying his head in the crook of your neck and tangling his legs with yours.

“I love you,” you whisper groggily.

“I love you, too,” he says back with ease.

A few moments of silence pass, and just before you reach the land of dreams, one silly little thought brings you back.

“Bucky?”

A minute.

“What?”

“Welcome home.” 

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagines #fanfic

[thetorturerwrites]

Eos

Summary: Unblinking, unfocused, you stared at the metronome, losing track of what you were supposed to do. She liked the metronome, Dr. Howard, because it kept her patients calm when reliving their trauma. At least that’s what she told you.

It was your name that drew you back. Not your actual name — the one he’d given you. Your legal name. The one in all the papers.

A/N: This is not for the faint of heart. And do not come for me over this. Non-con/dub-con is a valid fantasy.

That being said, this should be considered a prequel to Get It Right and is for @findyourdarkness​, who wanted more.

C/N:  DEAD DOVE; graphic depictions of violence; Non-con/dub-con; Torture; Stockholm Syndrome; Kidnapping; References to Emesis/Vom; References to forced addiction; Blood and bits; Med/surg; LOOK YOU KNOW WHO I AM OK

All the way behind the cut....

Tick tock tick Tick tock tick

Unblinking, unfocused, you stared at the metronome, losing track of what you were supposed to do. She liked the metronome, Dr. Howard, because it kept her patients calm when reliving their trauma. At least that’s what she told you.

It was your name that drew you back. Not your actual name — the one he’d given you. Your legal name. The one in all the papers.

“He held you captive for three years,” she said, as though you didn’t know, down to the hour, how long he had you. “Are you ready to talk about what he did to you?”

The detective said they needed to know so they could make an accurate accounting in the file.

But how could you answer?

“The... the first year…”

... was all pain.

You didn’t come to his life willingly; he stole you from a happy home and a family that loved you. In the dead of night, he crept into your house, punched you so hard he fractured your jaw and broke your nose, and carried your limp body out with no one the wiser for it.

Your jaw was wired shut for weeks, which lent itself well to his design. The first few days, you shouted yourself dizzy, but all that came out was a muffled wheeze; and when you cried too hard, you choked on your own spit. The blockage at your broken nose kept you from breathing normally.  Inside a week, you learned to not scream lest you asphyxiate from the effort.

Everything made you wretch — the smell of him, the smell of yourself, the water, the air, the plump head of his cock as it rubbed against your puffy, useless mouth.

Thinking you’d suicide your way out of this hell and deny him his newfound plaything, you plastered yourself to the corner of the dismal room, refusing food and water. Undeterred, he shoved an NG tube into your battered nose to scratch along the back of your throat. Force feeding you was something he thoroughly enjoyed, as was the waterboarding that inevitably followed to ensure hydration made it down your gullet.

That was the first time he fucked you.  Drenched and bent over the very table he drowned you on, he wracked open your body and growled possessively at your pitiable screams. Your muted sobs only made him pound at you, claw at you, that much harder. On autopilot, your body made space for him, clenched tight around each violent shove of his dick, and fell headlong into something you tried to tell yourself was just a physical response.

Mangled as your face was, bruised and locked up tight, you could do nothing but swallow the bile, the half processed liquid diet, the snotty water your body tried to expel as you jerked and quaked through the unwelcome orgasm.

You told yourself it meant nothing.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!?”

You screamed when he caught you trying to escape, having scraped your fingers bloody, trying to gouge the lock from the door. He dragged you down into the bowels of his house, throwing you into a pitch black cellar. He forced pins beneath your nails so you couldn’t use your fingers and set them with super glue.

“To keep you from pulling them loose,” he chided.

It was a gruesome manicure, and it set your teeth to grinding. Your fingers throbbed, and you could feel each individual pin. It drove you mad until you finally did rip one set of pins free, along with the entire nail. Your echoing screams only drove you further into a rage; and soon, there were no more pins. No more glue. No more nails.

Exhausted, you collapsed into a dirty heap in the corner.

Under his feet, beneath his very floor, you continually wailed and pleaded, shouted and begged, but he ignored you. For days, possibly weeks. He only came to see you nourished, which no longer included the NG tube, but instead a handful of supplements he forced you to swallow, washed down by a gallon of water and his sticky seed.

You were too filthy to be fucked, he told you.

Angered by his judgment, you spat at him.  You rallied and railed that you were filthy because of him. He kept you in that hole with only a goddamn bucket and a worn mattress on the floor like a fucking animal.

Your outburst cost you the bucket and gained you a regular rotation of ORS, accompanied by his thick fingers buried in your cunt and his weighty palm pressing on your abdomen until you could no longer control your bladder. You wept each time he coaxed the golden liquid from you and fumed when he told you how much better he liked you when you behaved.

That became the first rule.

You asked his permission to urinate.

When you disobeyed and relieved yourself without asking, he shoved you face first into your own waste and belted you bloody. When you followed the rule, when you waited for him to arrive and told him of your need, you often got his fingers in your pussy, pumping and curling, sending you into a subdued, subtle orgasm until you pissed in his hand.

The alleviation of your discomfort was always so palpable.  Punctuated with breathy, grateful moans, it stole your dignity. You hated that he wanted this ritual, but you hated more than you came to crave it. Each time, he pressed his lips to your temple and bore your sagging weight. He clucked and crooned that you could be such a good girl if you wanted.

He only had to slap you once before you licked his dirtied hand clean.

Complying with his demand earned you food, water you didn’t have to fear, and a clean mattress, but your basement cell was still frigid, and your bare legs and feet still froze. It was only when his harsh treatment and inhospitable accommodations made you ill that he relented. He carried you and your pneumonia up into the house proper and helped you through the first bath you could remember in what felt like months.

Too feverish to enjoy it properly, you cried into his shoulder, clinging to him as he washed your back. And though you knew it was madness, knew it was the sickness, you murmured thanks and fell asleep against his broad chest.

Tock tick tock Tock tick tock

Dr. Howard stared at you, mouth agape, for an uncomfortably long time. Unable to remain stoic, her face telegraphed every thought. She was horrified, plainly terrified, and, at the same time, amazed that you sat here in her office, telling her such awful things as though you made pleasant conversation.

“Do you, ah…” Her brow furrowed, and she fidgeted. “Do you need to take a break? Get a snack? Use the…”

You chewed the inside of your lip subtly as her thought trailed off. Use the facilities, your mind furnished. She couldn’t bring herself to ask you if you needed to pee, given what she’d learned. You debated telling her you couldn’t force yourself, no matter how hard you tried. Instead, you had to wait until need won out over volition.

“No, thank you.” You brushed an imaginary fuzzball off of your skirt hem and looked away, a flush creeping into your cheeks at the memory of his fingers inside you. “I’d rather do this all today, if possible.”

“Ah.” She nodded and scribbled something down. “Please, go on.”

Your gaze crawled over the books lining the wall behind her desk, reminding you of his library and the mountain of books he made you read to him. Your shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, the intake of breath no longer steadying as it had been then. It was simply function now.

“The second year was transformation. That’s what he called it.”

Satisfied that he broke you of any desire to flee, he started with your teeth. Uncommon, you made it to adulthood with all of your wisdom teeth, which he had removed to make more room in your mouth for his cock, to ensure they wouldn’t scrape at him when he forced himself into your throat, which he did every morning.

No longer banished to the basement, you slept tied to the foot of his bed. First, it was with heavy, scratchy coconut rope, and your mornings started with a roughshod swallow when he awoke. You knew better than to outright fight him, but you still leaned away, still shook your head no, and he punished you for it with a face fucking so brutal your lips split.

When you accepted his cock with no derision, no argument, you earned medication, a sedative for your night terrors or a pain pill for your discomfort. When you sucked his dick of your own will, without him holding you in place and rutting into your mouth like a savage, you earned a less coarse rope and a pillow upon which to sleep.

That became the second rule.

Knelt at the side of his bed, you worshiped his cock every morning, gulping down whatever he saw fit to give you that day, be it his cum, his piss, or a blend of both.

Next, it was your eyes. Nearsighted on the left and farsighted on the right, your prescription was so strong, he had been a blurry demon for a year without your glasses. And now that he no longer had to beat you senseless every day, that would not do.

“The devil is in the details,” he said, wanting you to remember every moment in vivid color.

You cried when you saw him clearly for the first time. Great, untamable sobs erupted from your chest because you didn’t understand how someone so beautiful could be so inhumane. Even without perfect vision, you knew he was tall, wide, and muscular. You knew his hair was dark and wavy. But you didn’t know the line of his nose was so poetic. Nor did you know that his lips quivered as he pondered.

It was only when you saw the details, just as he wanted, that you realized you knew him. You’d seen him. You remembered smiling at him in the shop every day. Putting together the puzzle, you realized he planned for this, for you.

Halfway through the year, when you were compliant, quiet, and addicted to the steady stream of pharmaceuticals he plied you with, there came a tracker in your throat and laryngeal chondroplasty to make the pitch of your voice more pleasing. You had a pretty voice, he told you, but your screams weren’t high enough. Your whimpers didn’t have that special something.

He tested it by withholding the medication he’d allowed you to become dependent upon. You scratched at the walls, shuddering and whining. You jerked against the iron collar keeping you within a foot of his bed. You pleaded with him for just one pill, just one of anything to make you feel better. You bartered with nothing and promised to do anything if he would chase away these tremors, these shakes and hallucinations.

Only when he wanted, no sooner, did he give you what you sought. Two little pills were all it took for you to brace yourself on hands and knees and whore yourself for him. That night, he fucked you hoarse.  On the floor like a beast, he slapped and choked you while shoving his massive length all the way into your guts and prodding you to say what he wanted again and again and again.

And you did.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

That became the third rule.

You thanked him every time he fucked you, more so if he allowed you to orgasm.

You couldn’t remember when your breasts changed. You’d simply awoken one morning from a medicated fog to burning chest muscles and tits that sat higher, perkier than before. He liked to palm them as he made plans, to pluck and tug and roll the nipples until your ragged breathing lured him away from his blueprints.

He never allowed you any clothing, even when he set you to working in his home. He wanted to feel your hips, to dip his fingers into your sex when he caught you bent over to clean, to fuck you whenever the fancy struck him. He often kept you in his lap, either curled into his chest upon it or bent over it and strapped to his chair.

Finally, you underwent tubal ligation. He debated the pros and cons — though not actually with you — of it versus an outright hysterectomy for weeks.  He didn’t trust the vasectomy he had and wanted to be sure.  Children, he reminded you, were not part of his plan; and thus, they were no longer a possibility for your future.

After the last surgery, he put you through a detox program. Less harsh than the abrupt first round, he combated your withdrawals and illness by wringing a long string of orgasms from your overheated body. You slept through half of it; and when you weren't sleeping, he sent you into orbit with his lips, his fingers, his cock.

From then forward, he allowed you human food, even teaching you how to cook his favorite dishes, but he controlled your portions, your supplements, your hydration.  And your exercise to stave off atrophy.

At the close of the year, after the false color had grown out and your long hair hung its natural hue, he told you that your transformation was complete. Your body was stronger, having run the gauntlet in his name, and you were healthier than you’d ever been.

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you looked away from Dr. Howard, diving into the memory as though it would warm you.

His fourth rule was that you ride his dick every night, slowly, languidly. He didn’t always cum when you did it, a fact that somehow sorely disappointed you, but he wanted to watch you stretch and writhe. He wanted to run his hands over the body he molded, to appreciate the effects of your metamorphosis.

At midnight of the third year, he gave you a new name.

You cried when he said it, when he repeated it again and again. Head tipped back, his hands everywhere, filled to the brim with his thick cock, fat tears spilled from the corners of your eyes because he said it with such tenderness, such possessiveness you felt branded by it.

He wasn’t wrong. You were a wholly different person — whether or not you wanted it.

“What was it? The new name?”

She asked on bated breath. She even leaned forward in her chair, engrossed as though your life, your ordeal, was a suspenseful movie or salacious novel. The look you gave her was charged with ire, a clap back on your features that needed no words.

Realizing she’d been caught, Dr. Howard slipped back into clinical professionalism and rifled through the file on her lap. She made a few notes, which you believed were little more than doodles and simply a way to regain some ground she’d lost.

“When did you learn he was hurting people?”

“June of the 3rd year.”

She looked at you incredulously, taking off her glasses to huff slightly. “He’d killed 6 people by then. What were you doing?”

“Training.”

Your education into his extra-curricular activities began the day he called your new name, and you looked up automatically. It took time. You rarely realized he was even speaking to you until he threw a book at your head or kicked the chair out from beneath you. To punctuate the conditioning, he buried his face between your thighs at least twice a day, but he wouldn’t let you cum until you repeated it to his satisfaction.

“My name is… my name is… my name is…”

Much the way sheltered children are bought private educations, he arranged for you to have tutors in subjects he deemed fit.  You studied anatomy, infrastructure, and chemistry. You learned to speak Italian, Dutch, Farsi, and a handful of other languages. Some more than others, but all to the point you could get by. He demanded you slog through massive texts on physiology, engineering, even rudimentary architecture.

For a month, he hired a dominatrix to teach you about knots, rope, and bondage. You tied yourself to chairs and columns, learned how to wiggle out of what most people thought were secure bindings, and made quick-and-dirty cuffs and gags from a single length of clothesline rope. Every lesson ended with you in a hogtie and him balls deep inside you some way or another.

Masseurs came to teach you about pressure points and fascia. Nurses gave you lessons on starting an IV, administering fluids, and creating an arterial tap. You learned jiu jitsu and how best to break bones, how to perform a choke hold properly, and the quickest way to subdue someone twice your size.

He hosted dinner parties at which his guests, doctors and lawyers, discussed Mozart, politics, and hypothetical ways to disarticulate a human body, to eliminate evidence of a crime, to elude the supposed authorities just by being patient. Don’t make rash decisions, they said. Stay calm; don’t deviate from your plan.

“Why did you not try to escape?” One red brow piqued over Dr. Howard’s eye, and she continued. “It is arguable that you were well qualified to fight your way to freedom. Why didn’t you?”

You looked towards the window. This was the thing she wanted to know more than anything. Yes, she wanted the gory details of his crimes for the records, and she wanted to know how you made it through all that time alive. But she really wanted to know why you weren’t chained to a radiator, emaciated, or addicted to heroin. The way she expected. She especially wanted to know why you didn’t run.

“If I had a suitable answer for that, I doubt I’d be here, Dr. Howard.”

Two and a half years into your captivity, his ownership was complete. You not only obeyed without hesitation; you often anticipated his demands, and you routinely left his home for errands without the compulsion to flee. Now when he beat you, it was because he wanted to see you suffer rather than needing to re-educate or punish you. When he took away your food or your bed, it was to sate his sadism. Instead of waterboarding you in the basement like a hostage, he plunged your face into ice-cold bath water while he fucked you from behind in ornate hotel rooms around the world.

It wasn’t that you were too afraid to escape. He eviscerated everything that made you you. To where you knew you’d never fit into the life, the family, you had before. It was this revelation, this acceptance that planted the seed that would become his trust.

He believed you would never leave. To say you didn’t believe the same would be a lie.

His seventh victim instituted your fifth rule.

Your information, your input, was accurate; or you paid the consequence.

He nearly lost her because the information you gave him on the tunnel system was outdated. The city filled in some tunnels with concrete to keep the streets above from collapsing, but that information hadn’t made it onto the schematics you found online. You didn’t know he needed the information to kidnap someone, but that was the night you learned it was him leaving women stitched up and bloody in abandoned churches.

The only kindness he showed you was that he did not carve at your sides the way he did with them. But he used the same coarse black thread. He sliced off chunks of your skin and rubbed the same jagged salt into your wounds. And he sewed your flesh to itself to pay back the trouble you’d caused.

All before he dragged you to the edge of his bench, yanked your head back to hang over it, and forced his cock directly into your throat. He gripped your neck as he watched himself slide in and out; and right before he climaxed, he tore at the dreadful stitches with his bare hands so he could cut off your screams with the throb of his dick and gag you on his cum.

After that, your research was tireless, your intel unshakable.

“Did you ever help him kidnap or hurt someone?”

You met her assessing stare, certain that the true reason you were here was because the law, the victim families, needed someone to blame.  Everyone knew it was him, but some rookie hotshot was too excited to get his load off, and the guy they came to arrest ended up in the morgue. You were the only link to him, the only potential prosecutable person. Despite the fact you were, in the most basic sense of the word, a victim, too.

“I gave him the information he asked me for.” You nodded, giving her this admission because it was true. What you told him directly led to the suffering of others. “But I did not take part in any of his crimes beyond that.”

She must have believed you because the interview wrapped up within 30 minutes of that confession. It isn’t uncommon, she told you, for victims to develop Stockholm Syndrome, but your case was particularly severe, and the bond was particularly strong because of it. She would give her report to the detectives, and she scheduled you for another appointment in a few days.

“It will take a lot of work, but you can come back from this.”

Feigning a brief smile, you left, threw the appointment card into the street, and ducked into the nearest taxi. This life, this ‘real’ life, felt foreign, muddled. The car felt too small; the hotel felt too empty. Everything you knew from the last three years was ripped violently from you, and the rest of the world expected that you would pick right up where you left off and carry on.

Inside your room, you dropped your things to the floor. The key clattered, and your bag tipped over haphazardly. Trivial things. Without turning on the light, you dramatically tore off your clothes and, blessedly free from all of that fucking fabric, pondered all the things you didn’t tell Dr. Howard.

You didn’t tell her you hadn’t seen your family since they had found you, or that you didn’t want to.  You didn’t tell her you couldn’t stand to wear clothes when you were in whatever semblance of home you had. He kept you naked for so long, always ready for him, that it felt sacrilegious to hide behind them.

Passing by the full-length mirror, you gazed at your reflection, tracing your outline in the glass.  When she asked why you refused a rape kit, you hadn’t shared how he’d cemented his ownership of you with tattoos, the kind nobody else knew about.  Tattoos he could see in the dark.  Absently, you ran your fingers along the UV ink marking your sternum, admiring the soft glow it lent you. His molded clay. His masterpiece.

You barely heard it, your name whispered. 

It was so soft; you didn’t think it was real. Sobs jumped up into your throat, and you covered your mouth to keep them quiet. You pressed your forehead against the mirror, trying desperately to keep your mourning on the inside of your skin.

Again it came, louder, surer.

Your tears, your breath, your heart stopped.  You whipped your head around to look over one shoulder to the black mass occupying the darkest corner of the pre-fab room. The little desk light switched on, casting that corner, and its person, into a soft glow.

You flew to him, leaping over the bed and shoving the ottoman out of the way. You vibrated, barely managing to not throw yourself into his arms. You only touched him when he allowed it, but the effort to obey in this moment was colossal and brutal.

“You…” Your voice wavered. You lifted bewildered eyes to his, pushing your hands into your hair to keep from reaching for him. “You’re here.”

“On your knees, pet.” The barest hint of a smile tugged the corner of his mouth up.

It was all the permission you needed. You hit the floor with a thud and pressed your face between his thick thighs. You ran your hands up his sides and fought the urge to tear his clothes to pieces. You slid loose the expensive belt with its silver buckle and tugged pants and underwear out of the way. Your heart rate kicked up higher and higher. Your mouth watered.

When his growing girth sprang free, you kissed the little dip where it met his body, nuzzling your mouth and cheeks there elatedly. Frantic for the velvet feel of his skin, you enveloped his dick with your mouth on a soft whimper. You mouthed and licked and nipped until he was fully erect, straining red and purple.

His ragged breathing drew your focus, searing this minute, and the way he looked, into your mind forever. Flushed, dotted with beads of sweat, lips parted and panting, he was everything you dreamed about these desolate weeks and more. Beyond that, he missed you. You saw it in his face.

Wasting no time, you curled your tongue around the head of his dick and slid onto it, humming at the weight on your tongue. Slicking up his length, you vaulted into a quick pace, bobbing up and down hurriedly. You needed to taste him, to feel the twitch right before he poured into your mouth. His soft groan at your tight, insistent lips had your eyes upon him, which earned you another heavenly purr of approval. He allowed you to worship, to lathe him with your tongue and bathe him with your spit.

But then, he didn’t.

Wide hands wrapped entirely around your skull, and broad hips surged forward to lodge his cock as far into your face, and down into your throat, as physically possible. Where you’d have fought him before, you now groaned. Your body tightened, lengthened, moistened.

Your desire for his meanness was grotesque, carefully curated and expertly executed.

“Did you tell them? Hm?”

He pulled you off of his dick so fast you sputtered. Sticky ropes of spit connected you to him, and you struggled to think. He didn’t give you any time to answer before he bucked forward and sunk back in. You gagged around him. Your tongue jumped and tried to curl up, but he occupied every centimeter of your stretched mouth.

“Did you fucking tell them?”

At the next reprieve, as you sucked down air miserably, you shook your head as best you could against the tangle of his fingers at the back of your skull. You blinked hard to make the two of him combine to one.

“Th-they didn’t ask me that.” You fought to steady your heaving chest, to calm the thunderous beat of your heart. “They think you’re dead.” You bit at your swelling lower lip and tried to hide the falter of your voice. “I thought you died.”

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Every muscle clenched. You wanted to obey, but you also needed something in this moment. You couldn’t put words to it, but you crumpled, both hands slamming against the floor. You keened, louder than you expected, because the war inside you was too great.

“Please.” You wept, reaching out to clutch at the toe of his shoe. “It’s… it’s been weeks. I need…”

Your dick. Your hands. Your belt. Make me see stars. Make me bleed and scream and burn. Drown me. Bite me. Hit me. Crush me underfoot. Anything so you’ll see me.

The me you made.

“Stand up.” His fingers dug bruises into the soft flesh under your arm and hoisted you up. “Fast.”

He spun you and lifted you onto your toes. You clawed at your own thighs for a bit of leverage, but he held you exactly where he wanted with his incredible strength. With not even a hint of caring, he lined the fat head of his dick up with your opening and slammed all the way home in one vicious thrust.

Valiantly, you didn’t scream. You shook and swallowed hot tears, but you didn’t scream. You remembered the rule, though, and the words tumbled from your mouth louder than you intended.

“Thank you. Fucking Christ, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

He gripped half of your face in his right hand, shutting you up with a growl and making himself an effective handle. He dug fingers into your soft belly and rammed into you, painfully filling you, driving you mindless. The flutter of his breath at your ear, the sexy grunt against your shoulder, the bite at your throat, all of it coalesced to send you reeling.

“We have fucking work to do.” He groaned into the side of your neck, his thrusts unrelenting but stuttering. “And you’re begging to be fucked like a common whore.”

You squirmed at the lewd squelches coming from your flooded cunt and whined against his palm. You knew you’d pay for it later, for making him wait with your idiot feelings, but even the thought of that lit you up, fire under your flesh. Another gush of molten slick perfumed the air as you imagined him carving you up again or tying you to the bedpost and beating you to sleep.

Cursing, he wrapped both hands around your hips, and threw himself into you recklessly. You plastered both of your hands where his had been to dampen the shrieks you couldn’t possibly keep down. You knew better than to cum without his permission, but he hadn’t even given you leave to beg. Still, your body tightened, and your cunt contracted, dangerously close.

“Say it, pet.” His voice was choppy, split by labored breaths. He was going to spill into your sloppy pussy any second, and you flew, leaving your body until he gouged trenches into your back with his uneven nails. “Fucking say it.”

An otherworldly calm settled over you, slipping you further away from whatever the normal world was and into this mania with him. It was delirious, abhorrent, obscene.

He made you his own pet monster, blood hungry, wanton, and vulgar.

“My name is Eos.” Somehow, your breathy voice was stable. “And I belong to Kylo Ren.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT #not sorry

[ddarker-dreams]

Paradiso. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM] AU

a/n: au takes place in the early 1900s. tw for descriptions of cults, religious themes, and descriptions of violence. 

From the moment you read Elle’s first letter, you were skeptical. 

All of this high praise for a hidden community that accepted anyone regardless of their background. She speaks of the people, forgiving and helpful in every conceivable way. That even when she first arrived, not once did she feel like an outsider; everyone welcomed her with open and loving arms. It’s not that you don’t want to believe such a perfect place exists -- you wish it is, for her sake -- but it has to be too good to be true.

If there’s anything you know from firsthand experience, it’s people. Inherently selfish, always in pursuit of their own goals and agenda. There is undoubtedly a catch behind this, you know it in your gut. Elle’s descriptions are too biased, words written blindly behind rose-colored glasses. She isn’t able to see the truth anymore, too far into her own delusions of a flawlessly crafted world. 

For a time, you were able to grin and bear it despite the bitter taste it left in your mouth. Responding with forced enthusiasm over her supposed healing, expressing how happy for her you are. It was the letter from the end of her first month, that you felt unparalleled dread overwhelm your entire person. 

Words such as “blood” and “ritual” stuck out like a sore thumb, nausea overtaking you and concern soon after. The worst part of it all, is how she posed it as a wonderful thing! She spoke of how it brought healing and an abundance of crops, that it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever witnessed in her life. 

No longer could you enable this detrimental behavior. Your dearest friend is in the jaws of a predator, and you’ll do anything to pry her out; even if it requires force. This conviction is what you hold tightly to, fastening yourself against the oncoming horrors. 

“Is this it?” you yell over to your guide, loud purr of the motorboat’s engine deafening your ears. He nods his head in affirmation, attention remaining on steering in the right direction. Looking forward towards this utopia, doubts continue to cloud your mind. It didn’t help that the process to get here is beyond tedious, this fisherman the only one willing to take you out to this remote location.  

No alarm bells are ringing from your initial glance over, but looks can be deceiving. With each passing moment the secluded island grows closer, looming over you with dubious intent. White sandy beaches line it, the only hint of civilization being an old wooden dock. Thick and lush green trees encompass the island, engulfing it in nature. It’s larger than you initially thought it would be from Elle’s complimentary descriptions. 

For privacy, and to keep away suspicious eyes you imagine, the heart of the village is a trek from the beach. Elle justified it by a need to stay hidden, citing how many of the island’s inhabitants are reformed criminals or people who are rejected from society. All you can see in her reasoning are blatant excuses. Nothing good comes from having no accountability from others, it’s a wide open gate for madness and abuse of power.

Splashes of salt water sprinkle against your face, moistening your hair in the process. The peaceful experience does little to soothe you, your mind focused solely on how you’ll go about your investigation undetected. You’re arriving under the pretense of staying permanently, the only possible way to “earn” an invitation. It feels dirty to lie to your good friend, but this is all for the greater good. 

The motor sputters down as the fisherman stops next to the dock, a sign of the unknown journey ahead of you finally starting. He begins the process of tying a rope against the dock to steady it, leaving you to sit on the rocking boat. Bobbing up and down with the waves, you close your eyes to fend off a wave of nausea the ocean brings with it. 

“[First]!” A cheerful, nostalgic voice calls over to you; breaking you from your stupor. Elle waves eagerly from the shore, running against the sand with a wide grin. Once the rope has been tied successfully, you grab your bags and shakily step onto solid land. She’s wearing a simple white dress, that cuts off below her knees, adorned with sandals and a large straw hat. 

Her skin is tanner than when you saw her last, likely from the hours spent in the sun. Light brunette hair secured in her signature high ponytail, and amber eyes shining brightly. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen her so giddy, the sight bittersweet and conflicting you further. Raking over her figure for any signs of foul play, she doesn’t have a single bruise or scratch on her person.

If anything, you’d say she looks to be in perfect health. No longer does her skin cling tightly to her bones, face full and evident that she’s been eating well. It doesn’t deter you for long, as you’re certain there’s still underlying malice in this supposed community. 

Arms wrap around your waist in a suffocatingly tight hug, her face settles against your neck. Returning her affections to the best of your ability while holding your luggage, she carries on the embrace for a few more seconds. You can’t help but return her enthusiasm with a laugh of your own, recalling how she’s always been affectionate. Elle has an ability to make you melt within her hands. 

“It looks like somebody missed me.” you tease with a short snicker, earning a low hum of affirmation. 

“It just feels so good to finally see you again,” she admits with a dreamy sigh, hands moving down the skin of your arm to the handle of your bags. “I’ve missed you more than you could imagine. Here, hand me your bags. I’m sure you’re tired after all that travelling. But it’ll be well worth it, I promise!” 

Elle sets off towards the intimidating looking woodland, turning back to you inquisitively when you don't follow right after her. You still don’t see any obvious signs of problems, eyes scouring every crevice of the area before you. With a reluctant sigh, you follow after your good friend into the unknown.

She leads you through thickets of trees and shrubbery, skillfully weaving throughout nature with practiced precision. “I have so much to tell you. I don’t want to overwhelm you right away though, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” 

“Give me just a general overview of how things work around here,” you respond while ducking under an imposing branch. “Is it all this… uninhabited?” 

Waving off your poorly hidden concern, she shakes her head. “Not in the slightest. This is just to keep out anyone who’d do us harm. We’re getting closer to the central area, that’s where you’ll be staying with me. Don’t worry about chores or anything the first few days, I want you to focus on getting used to life here! It can take some adjusting.” 

So inundated by the information you’re currently taking in, you fail to notice a vine rising ever so slightly from the ground. Your foot snags against it, sending you tumbling onto the ground and warm pain radiating from your knees from the impact. Elle whips her head back to you at the sound, immediately coming to your side with potent concern. 

“A-are you okay? I forgot to mention how many things there are to trip on around here, I can’t even begin to recall how many times I’ve fallen…” she trails off, soothingly rubbing a hand against your shoulder while you catch your breath. You look down at your knees, the source of the stinging pain, to see they’re scraped up. Great, just great. 

Letting out a shaky sigh, you grimace through the ebbing ache while standing up. “It’s just a few scratches, nothing serious. I think I’ll live.” 

She inspects the wound further despite your insistence of being alright, you finding the circumstances of tripping like a klutz to be mildly embarrassing. The insignificant injury means little to you, you’ve experienced far worse in the past. It’s only an added nuisance since living here will require a lot of movement. That, and you’ve always wanted Elle to view you in a cool, “knows what she’s doing” type of way. 

“Still, it’d be best if you got it looked at and disinfected to be on the safe side. We have a healer here who will help you out, no questions asked.” 

This catches your attention. The word “healer” being used instead of a doctor or nurse is suspicious to say the least, but it will be a good opportunity to see firsthand what the practices are around here. Although you’re wary of accepting any medicine from these people, there’s no harm in letting this guy look at it.

“Alright, as long as it’s not too much trouble. It really is just a small scratch after all.” you respond nonchalantly while dusting dirt off your shorts. Ignoring the slight sting that reemerges with every step, Elle leads you in a slightly different direction than before. 

Even with your reservations, there’s no denying how beautiful the nature surrounding you is. Wild life scurries about at every corner, trees tall and hanging over to protect from the harsh rays of sunlight. Various plant life of almost every color dot along the ground, flowers you’ve never seen before in full bloom. 

After a few more minutes of walking, a small and wooden college appears before you. The first signs of this area actually being occupied, you note. There’s a large garden of herbs surrounding it, the structure impressively built with a few signs of weathering on the roof. Elle waves you over, knocking on the door.

“Giorno! Giorno, are you there?” she beckons with insistence, knocking increasing in volume from the lack of an immediate response. Before she can call out once more, the door opens to reveal a young man who looks to be around your age. 

You feel an unexplainable draw to him, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His skin is very fair, without a single imperfection or blemish present. Golden hair as fine as silk, placed into a unique style consisting of three large curls for bangs and a braid. His eyes are piercing yet not unfriendly, color reminiscent to that of luminous emeralds. There’s no denying his beauty. 

“You must be [First],” he greets with a welcoming smile, attention solely set upon you. “Your friend has spoken highly of you.” 

Your cheeks flush at this, Elle looking similarly flustered. She speaks up for you, much to your internal relief. “[First] hurt her knees a bit on the trek here. Would you mind taking a look at it, if you’re not too busy?” 

Giorno glances down at the aforementioned injury, placing a hand to his chin and narrowing his eyes in inspection. “I would treat it now, but I was about to deliver this medicine Fugo requested earlier.” 

“It’s fine, really, Ellie,” you reassure her with her favorite nickname, throwing your hands up in mock defense. “I’d hate to impose on my first day here, this seems important.” 

“Would you make the delivery for me, Elle? That way I can treat [First] right away.” Giorno proposes, lifting his hand up to reveal a small bag that must contain whatever this Fugo person needs. You snap your attention over to your friend who is thoughtfully considering Giorno’s request. Hoping she can get the hint from your tense body language that you’d rather not be left with a stranger from a weird reclusive village, you all but deflate as she gladly nods her head. 

She’s always been too nice for her own good. And yours. 

“Sure thing, anything to be of help! I’ll run this straight over to Fugo and be back in a jiffy.” Elle grabs the bag from Giorno’s hand, walking off without further thought. She gives you a wink and a wave, before scurrying off into the direction from before. You swallow thickly in her absence, feeling awkward as silence settles in over you and Giorno.

He steps aside from the door frame, waving you in with a single, graceful motion. You take the wordless invitation in stride, walking in and warily eyeing your surroundings. This area must double as Giorno’s living space and workplace, carefully arranged wooden furniture giving a sense of domesticity. Shelves line the walls, covered to the brim in a variety of small glass bottles full of things ranging from liquids to powders. It brings with it a nice, earthy scent. 

An assortment of flora make up for most of the decoration within, different leafy plants and flowers sitting atop every counter. Nothing incriminating so far, but you didn’t think Giorno would display anything potentially off putting that blatantly. It still isn’t enough to lull your thumping heartbeat, wishing that Elle hadn’t left your side. 

“Please, take a seat here.” Giorno nods to an empty chair in the furthest side of the room. You follow through with his request, grateful for the chance to rest your exhausted body. Hand hovering as he examines the bottles in front of him, he eventually gets the contents within. Mixing it together in a bowl with some other unidentified greenery, he walks over to you.

“So… should I be anticipating an amputation in the near future?” you attempt to joke to ease the stifling air, earning a small quirk of the lips. He looks nice when he’s smiling, you note.

“No, nothing like that,” Giorno calmly reassures, kneeling down and inspecting your knees closer. “May I?” 

You can appreciate how polite he is, nodding to offer permission for him to touch you. Giorno wastes no time, skillfully running the unknown combination against your scraped skin. Inhaling sharply in anticipation, you’re for a loop by the immediate dulling of pain. At the very least, you were expecting a sting from the initial application of this homemade remedy. 

Giorno reaches for a gauze from his pocket, wrapping it around the wounded area with perfect efficiency. The entire process was faster than any you’ve experienced, not that you’ve ever been able to afford a nice doctor. Maybe this Giorno character isn’t so bad after all? He has a soothing presence, being well mannered and not speaking more than necessary. 

Your cheeks redden once more, the subsiding of the pain allowing you to realize how close he is to you. Giorno gives your skin a final glance over, but doesn’t stand back up immediately. Clearing your throat, you attempt to initiate a conversation.

“So… Giorno, was it? Have you lived here your entire life?” you question, hoping it seems natural and without a hidden agenda. He doesn’t appear to interpret it in a negative light, going into deep thought at your prompting.

“In a way, yes,” he concludes aloud, standing from his kneeling position and cleaning off his hands. “It’s somewhat difficult to explain.”

At this, you decide to stop yourself from prying further. Having quite the past yourself, you can sympathize with not wanting to put it all on display. Still, there are further questions that refuse to leave your mind. Giorno speaks up before you get the opportunity to ask him anything else.

“You’ll need to reapply this remedy once a day until it shows further signs of healing. I’d give you it to do yourself, but it's less effective the longer it's been exposed to air. It’ll work best if being applied after I make it fresh.”

You have mixed feelings, lips pursing at the extra steps your little tumble gave you. Nodding your head in agreement, you carefully test the waters by extending your leg forward. “Thank you, Giorno. Elle really wasn’t exaggerating when she said everyone here is beyond helpful.” 

“You’re one of us now,” Giorno places the bottles he took down earlier back to their original position, then turns his head to you. “I’ll take care of anything you need. And remember to stop by tomorrow.” 

A nagging feeling pinches at your side, one comparable to guilt. It doesn’t make logical sense why you’d feel bad for deceiving Giorno, who you have just met. Due to his unabashed kindness and trustworthy visage, you find yourself feeling bad for your dishonesty. Looking away from his watchful gaze, you relent.

“Y-yeah, I will.” 

--- 

When you start to doubt yourself, it’s never a good sign.

Whether it’s because of the pride of admitting that you were wrong, or the shame for suspecting Elle’s testimony in the first place. For months you’ve stayed here, living out the simple yet satisfying life you once scrutinized. Nothing of questionable intent has caught your attention. What originally was meant to be a short visit became extended, each day carrying out with welcome familiarity. 

Life has been good. Better than it was before, in some regards. No longer do you have to worry about where your next meal will come from, what you’ll do if you’re unable to make rent by the end of the month. You still pull your weight, of course, but expectations that society bestowed upon you before are now nonexistent. 

“I think I forgot my bag at the beach. Dammit…” you trail off with a sigh, running a hand through your hair. Elle laughs at your misfortune, looking out the window of your shared cabin to see that the sun is long set.

“I’d say to leave it until morning, but who knows if the tides will come wash it away. Want me to walk with you to get it?” she offers with a smile, already standing up to come help. You shake your head, not wanting to trouble her. She’s never been a night person, always one to wake up bright and early. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.” 

Even when the path is only lit by moonlight, you’re able to maneuver through the area with ease. You often would find yourself spending time on this section of the shore, joined either by Elle or Giorno. Elle isn’t capable of sitting still for long, normally bringing you a snack before running off to find something new to do. Giorno’s a different story. He’ll sit next to you for hours at a time. The two of you having conversations ranging from light topics about plants, to deep philosophical musings over human nature.

The thought puts an extra spring in your step, beige bag thrown against the sand now being picked up. While walking back to your shared residence, you’re thrown off by a shrieking noise coming from your left.

It’s eerie, unquestionably a human scream. A variety of thoughts flood your mind, but you know you’ll need to investigate it. Before you can call out to see if anyone needs help, you overhear two male voices talking with one another.

“--Need to do something about this traitor now.” 

“Gag him.” 

Narrowing your eyes, you source the noise to one of the fishing cabins on the outskirts. Only a single light shines within, dull and flickering; yet undeniable. No one is out this late under normal conditions, much less a group of people. Holding your breath, you sneak alongside the building to get a better spot to listen.

A bag rustles within, a voice you recognize as Abbachio’s picking up with tangible displeasure. “Bucciarati, get a look at this. He didn’t just steal supplies, he wrote down firsthand accounts too.” 

“We’ll burn them later,” Bucciarati replies without hesitation. “For now, we need to learn if he was alone or working with others.” 

Abbacchio sighs at the extra workload, floorboards creaking as he walks along them. You hear a distinct noise of flesh being hit repeatedly, a body thumping across the floor with muffled screams. “Who do you think you are, making us do all this? What a pain…” 

More kicks. It feels like there’s a vice grip constricting your chest, breathing growing more strained. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, urging you to flee the scene and seek safety elsewhere. The more logical side of you prevents this, feeling a need to come up with a solid plan first. 

With all the sticks and rocks littered across the ground, it’s possible they might be alerted if you make any sudden movements. Creeping alongside the house slowly towards the back, you swallow thickly as your heart pounds violently. Never have you felt so warm, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of your face. 

Cautiously, you’re able to put some distance between yourself and the incriminating scene. It isn’t enough to lull you into a false sense of security, all your senses dialed to the max. You didn’t realize how harshly you’ve been gripping your bag, knuckles white and feeling numb. 

Questions flood your mind that you doubt you’ll ever find the answers to. What was it that this person did to earn such a cruel fate? Abbachio and Bucciarati are revered here, Bucciarati even more so. They spoke of firsthand accounts being written down... he must’ve seen something he shouldn’t have.

It’s too dangerous here. You need to get back to Elle, and you need to go the hell out of here. Creeping along in the night, you feel like something or someone is watching you. Looking around sporadically for any signs of this, you frown at the lack of confirmation. 

‘Is it just my imagination...?’

Your mental state is fragile now, having witnessed a gruesome scene unfolding. Shaking your head, you silently chastise yourself. There’s no time for this jittery, you need to get a hold of yourself to make it out of this alive. Lightly smacking your face in hopes it’ll bring you back to reality, you think of more hurdles that’ll need to be overcome. 

A daring idea pops into your mind. Telling Elle now what you just saw would be a recipe for disaster, she’ll be an anxious mess incapable of the resolve to escape. That leaves incapacitating her in some way, as much as it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It’s all for the greater good, you remind yourself. Once you’re in safety you’ll explain all the details to her.

She’s never been able to handle alcohol well. 

It might not be enough to keep her asleep. That’s when you realize Giorno will likely have some kind of medicine that makes you tired. The thought of him, and never seeing him again, twists your heart in a strange manner. Perhaps you can say your goodbyes to him, or even ask him to come with you. 

Similar to the way you first met him, you knock on the door to his home. 

‘Please be awake, please be awake...’

Great relief washes over you as he opens the door, eyes widening at the sight of you this late at night. Before he gets the opportunity to question you about it, you walk inside; closing the door and looking around for signs of anyone else. It’s only him, you realize. 

“[First]? Are you alright? You look terribly pale.” His concern is palpable, likely thinking that you’re injured in some way. 

“I-I’m fine. Giorno, do you have any medicine to help with sleeping by chance? Or anything similar?” you inquire frantically, to which he slowly nods his head; still trying to gauge the situation. Letting out a sigh of immense relief, you run your hands through your hair. 

He hands you a bottle full of unrecognizable herbs, not loosening his grip when you go to take it from him. Blinking in confusion at this, you realize he must have a few questions of his own over your disheveled appearance. It’d be rude not to offer some form of explanation, no matter how messy it may be.

“What is this really about? Please remember that you can always tell me anything.” he pries further, voice unwavering and eyes hopeful. His sympathy touches your heart. Licking your lips, you manage to rush out an explanation. 

“Listen, Giorno. It isn’t safe here. I-I saw something, something bad. I can’t stay here, we can’t stay here anymore. I think... they were torturing someone. Someone who saw something they shouldn’t have. I don’t even want to know,” you rush out, finally managing to grasp the bottle from his hands. “Please, for your own good, consider leaving.” 

At this influx of information he doesn’t seem shaken, only more curious. “I think you should sit down. You’re clearly not thinking straight. If you’ve been having trouble sleeping, that could--”

“No! It’s not that,” you cut off in frustration, furrowing your eyebrows and clenching your fists. “You’re not listening to me. Giorno, I know what I saw. I-I need to go. Now.” 

Not waiting for his response, you rush towards the door. Giorno grabs your wrist from behind, your heart sinking in the process. His grasp isn’t as tight as it could be, more for show than anything. He can feel your brisk pulse with his fingers, head lowering.  

“You’ll regret it. Don’t.” 

The words are whispered so lowly, you wonder if you even heard them in the first place. With a lackluster tug, you break free without further dilemma. His chin dips to his chest, letdown evident. It pulls at your heartstrings, still not being enough to deter you further. 

Holding your hands to your chest, you keep an eye on him as you back up towards the door. “I’m sorry.” 

When you feel the handle underneath your hand, no time is wasted rushing back to Elle. Giorno doesn’t stop you as you leave, and you don’t want to look back to see him now.

It doesn’t make any sense why he’d try to stop you, why he didn’t even flinch at the mention of a person being tortured. A cloud of dread hangs over your head, combination of negative emotions stirring within. His eyes, so melancholic and hurt--

No, it does nothing to think about it. All that matters is escape. 

Returning to your house, your shaky hands miraculously manage to pour a touch of herbal concoction into Elle’s drink. You’re grateful that she’s in bed, too preoccupied to see what it is you’re doing. Wiping the sweat from your brows and straightening out your posture, you enter her room with a facade of calm.

“I wanted to celebrate the three month mark of my stay.” you explain while opening the door with your back, then handing her a glass. She looks up from her book, grabbing it without another thought. The liquid within your cup rattles from your jittery hands.  

“Kinda outta nowhere, but it is a good cause to celebrate!” Elle lifts her glass into the air in a mock toast, which you mimic with less enthusiasm. You watch her throat move as she gulps down the liquid, wiping at her mouth. To avoid suspicion, you do the same, but taking in less. 

She stretches in a way that reminds you of a cat, making a loud noise and going to stand by your side sluggishly. With the scent of alcohol on her breath, she lazily brings you into a hug. Is the concoction working this fast? You weren’t able to ask Giorno what to expect, too rushed.

“I felt so lonely without you.” she begins to slur her words, eyelids growing heavier and leaning her weight against you. Your muscles go taut at the sudden declaration, steadying her against your shoulders as she begins to sway. Whatever that stuff is, it’s fast acting. Hopefully you didn’t pour too much. 

Her cheeks have a rosy tint, eyes growing further from this reality. She refuses to let go of you, wanting to be by your side. 

“So... so lonely... mn... don’t leave me alone again... okay?” 

Elle sniffles, burying her face in your neck. “Promise?” 

You press your lips against her forehead gently, her eyes fluttering shut in the process. Tightening your grip around her, you nod your head; though you doubt she’s coherent enough to understand the action. 

“I promise. Everything will be okay soon.” 

A few more moments pass, and she’s entirely slack against you. 

Testing the waters, you call her name calmly. No response. A nudge. Still nothing. Gentle breaths fan out against your flushed skin, Elle lulled into the depths of unassuming slumber. If it weren’t for the dire situation, you’d admire how her eyelashes look so pretty against her skin, how here brunette hair frames her face when it’s let down-- 

Shaking your head at the intrusive thoughts, you grunt while picking her up into your arms. There are some rowboats used for fishing alongside the coast, and that’s where you’ll make the final step of your escape. It isn’t the easiest task to haul her along, despite not being too heavy. 

It doesn’t matter. You’re close, so palpably close. You can hear the seagulls cawing in the air, the sound of the ocean crashing against the sand. Just a few more minutes, and then you’ll be free of this nightmare. Keeping her secured against your chest, you trudge along some tricky vines. 

‘Was this area always like this? It’s feels more like a jungle than a forest.’

Kicking yourself loose, your frustration grows as the vines seemingly begin to wrap around your ankles. Eyes widening at the unbelievable sight, you frantically begin to struggle against the restraints. It wouldn’t be too difficult, if not for the fact you were carrying a person in your arms. 

Your body feels weighed down from exhaustion, but you push down any complaints. Cursing underneath your breath, the vines finally are warded off by another tug. Beyond a few more trees, you’re welcomed by the inviting sight of the moonlit ocean. Its beauty takes your breath away.

The ground underneath your feet now feels soft, dirt replaced by sand. It makes it more tedious to walk. Your ticket to freedom is but a couple feet away, the rowboats bobbing up and down in time with the waves. Not the most ideal escape, yet it’ll still work. 

‘Please, just give me the strength to make it to land.’

Finally at the boat, you feel your shoulders and body growing weaker by the second. Your movement has grown considerably more sluggish since arriving at the beach, the sinking of the sand underneath you all but sapping the remainders of your strength. 

With utmost delicateness, you gingerly lay Elle down inside of the boat. Now all that’s left is untying it from the dock. The rope isn’t in too complicated a knot, a small amount of luck. Hurriedly working at it, you notice the texture of it changing before your very eyes.

It grows scaly instead of rough, color morphing into a dark green; beady eyes now peering at you. Jumping back in surprise, a snake in place of the rope hisses at you, tongue flickering out of its mouth. It slithers against your arm, causing you to yelp and tumble backwards. 

‘This place is fucking cursed!’

“Over here! We found them!” 

Looking back to the trees where you came from, you see a few shrouded figures emerging. It’s unfair, safety just tauntingly within your reach. There’s too many than you could hope to fend off, even if you were at your full strength. The snake coils around your forearm, stopping just short of biting you. 

‘Is there anyway out of this...?’

Elle’s peaceful face is blissfully ignorant to the chaotic events unfolding around her, and you can’t stop the tears that sting the corners of your eyes. Failing her hurt more than any physical pain this world could throw at you. Will this be the last time you’ll see her? 

A hand presses against your shoulder.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be.” 

Of course. 

That lamenting voice belongs to no one other than Giorno. He must’ve betrayed your trust by seeking you out and alerting the others. So this is what betrayal feels like. You wouldn’t have known until now, having always been too skittish to get close to others. It was Elle who broke your tough shell, inviting herself into your life like a ray of sunshine. 

‘God protect her in my stead.’

Adamantly refusing to give him the time of day, you swat away at the hand he extends towards you, stupid as it is. 

Giorno sighs in a mix of disappointment and minor frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose at your petty actions.

“She had nothing to do with this,” you struggle to get the words out, throat tightening with the threat of crying. “Do whatever you want with me... just don’t hurt her.” 

Giorno walks in front of you, kneeling without any signs of fear towards the snake who remains still against your arm. Placing his hands on it, it returns to its original form of a rope, falling off of you. 

He looks back at your drained, hunched over form. You must look pathetic, mustering up your best attempt at a glare. 

“Please don’t make this difficult. Come back with me willingly and she won’t be touched, you have my word.” 

There’s no reason to trust him, his request leading you to grit your teeth. For her sake, you’ll cease any signs of resistance. No other options present themselves to you, prayers remaining unanswered. Reality is cruel, twisting you at its own discretion. 

Resigning yourself to this fate, you get up and following after him without a word. Abbacchio and a few other men look at you, Giorno placing a hand up to stop them from approaching. Does that mean he’s their leader?

You recognize the path Giorno’s taken on, having gone to his home too many times to count. Tree branches move out of his way, the sight reminding you of a fairy tale. It still remains one of the least shocking events you’ve seen tonight, you humorlessly think to yourself. 

Biting your tongue has never been your forte, awe and dread too staggering to push back any longer. “What is all this? W-what are you? That snake... and these trees, was that you?” 

Giorno waits before entertaining you with a response, voice low and devoid of emotion as if he was speaking about the weather. “It’s my doing, yes.” 

“Is anyone here human?” you ask without further thought, before shutting your mouth. He remains quiet for a painful moment, giving you a response that makes you lightheaded.

“Everyone aside from me.” 

Not a single word in the dictionary could form a decent response to a confession like that. Elle had mentioned to you a divine being that blesses this island, watching over it and offering abundant blessings to those who were deemed worthy of it. This is how their harvests were so abundant, she explained, but you disregarded it as a hoax at first.

There’s no denying it any longer. How could you have been so foolish, to get yourself into this situation? The same tenacity that you arrived here with would’ve protected you, had you only continued to listen to it. 

Giorno comes to an abrupt stop, turning on his heel to get a good look at you. Not wanting to cause more trouble in the face of the supernatural, you stay firmly planted. He saunters towards you, leaves crunching underneath his feet. Raising a hand to your face, his thumb rubs small circles against your cheek. 

He’s close to you, too close for comfort. The skin of his hands are icy cold, eyes softening with unidentifiable flurries of emotion. Tenderness is unwelcome from him, yet you’re far too entranced to pull away. 

Giorno’s mystical eyes are all you can look at. 

“Under normal conditions, you’d be punished harshly,” Giorno presses his forehead against yours, considering you. “Yet I can’t bring myself to do it. I had hoped you’d turn around of your own will.”

Lips trembling and jaw agape, your tongue is incapable of forming words, mouth painfully dry. Whoever -- or whatever -- that’s in front of you has whisked away all forms of rational thought, leaving you a shivering mess. You’re at his mercy, if he has any to offer.

“I only want to be honest with you, now that there’s no reason to hide it any longer. From the moment you first stepped on my island, I finally knew what I wanted, for the first time in centuries.”

“I wanted to be your god. But now, I feel that’s far too impersonal to sate me,” he pauses his movements, eyes shut in deep thought. “What I want... is something far more. Will you give me that, [First]?” 

He poses the question as if it’s a choice for you to make. Patiently, he awaits your answer, already knowing what it’ll be by the gratification in his smile. Giorno’s serene, the battle already having been won.

“I will.” 

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #yandere giorno #giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba x reader #god au #my stuff #commissions #yandere giorno giovanna x reader #yandere giorno x reader

[pennylanefics]

Home - William Schofield

a/n: here it is!!!! my first george/will fic!!! i’m honestly so so proud of this and happy with how it turned out. it’s soft, sort of angsty, heartbreaking, and just wholesome. now excuse me while i go cry (or sleep) bc this made me so emotional (you’ll see why) 😢 let me know what you think!!

another a/n: @endlessly-vivid posted something about will coming home and planting a cherry blossom tree, so that was the inspiration for a moment in this fic :) thanks to you, that led me to creating the SOFTEST PART OF THE FIC OMG 🥺

•••

When Will told you he was leaving for the war, you were heartbroken. Not knowing if he would return safely to your arms, worried that he would see so much violence and darkness that would stick with him for the rest of his life. He was ready to go and fight for the country, but you weren’t ready to let him go.

The day he left was the worst day you’ve ever experienced. Watching him board the train, dressed in his uniform and holding his suitcases.

“WIlliam, please be careful out there,” you whimper, clinging onto his jacket. A small smile appears on his face at your worry for him.

“I promise, my love. But this is war, I am bound to see some sort of destruction.” You huff and pout sadly, when Will’s fingers hook under your chin to raise your face to his.

“Just take care of yourself and watch out for things, alright?” Will nods and leans down, pressing a long and passionate kiss to your lips. Your tears mixed in between your lips, making it taste salty as Will slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Scho!” A voice breaks you from your moment. Your boyfriend turns around to look towards his friend Tom Blake, whom he met in training. “Let’s go! You can kiss your girl when you get home!” You felt your heart flutter at the optimism of his words, suggesting that Will returns safely.

“I love you, William,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his one final time.

“I love you too, (Y/N). I promise to come back to you.” With that, Will picks his bags up and backs away, keeping his eyes on you as he approaches the train. Once he reaches the door, he winks at you and smiles, turning around and boarding the train. You feel more tears fall down your cheeks, realizing that there is a chance that this is the last time you will see him.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore, you turn away and run off, not being able to bear saying goodbye to him as he waves out of the window. So, you head back to your home, now empty and silent without the presence of your boyfriend.

Months pass and you finally receive your first letter from Will. He explains the journey they’ve been on so far, traveling to their main campsite and settling in, training to be in the trenches, and bonding with the many others.

You were so happy to finally hear from him, you couldn’t stop reading his letter over and over again. When you finally set it down after a couple hours, you immediately got to writing a letter for him. You wrote everything you had been up to these past months, telling him about a nice dress you bought for a cheap price, any family events or news that has happened, and even included a few pictures of yourself for him to remember you.

From that, you exchanged letters all the time. It seemed like every week, you were getting a new letter from him, with so much more detail about how the war was going and what was happening where Will’s division is at.

But, at one point, the letters suddenly stop. This of course raises your anxiety and concerns. Was Will fighting? Were they traveling, so they didn’t have time to stop and write? You wanted to know, you were terrified of the worst.

But, weeks later, you get one last letter from Will. In it, he explained that the past weeks have been absolute hell, but his division was being released in a few weeks, so he would be home soon. Relief washed over you as you read his scraggly handwriting, a sense of warmth settling in your chest at the thought of him returning to you.

The one problem was that he didn’t seem like himself. Sure, it was only writing, but this one felt different from past ones; he seemed broken, distant. It wasn’t as detailed as previous ones, and that hurt you to think about.

You had no idea what a war could do to a man, until Will finally arrived home two weeks later. When he stepped off the train, you were waiting for him in the dress you told him about months ago. He, however, looked exhausted, a bit malnourished, and almost dead, in a sense. He was very pale, had scratches, bruises, and cuts and gashes all over him.

When he made his way to you, he fell into your arms, holding you tightly against him and shaking a bit. You began to cry into his chest, gripping his jacket at the back. You two stood there for a short while, just holding each other to remember what it was like before.

“I missed you,” you whimper against his shoulder, wiping your tears unapologetically against his clothing. He nods and tightens his grip on you, if that was possible.

“Come on, let’s head back home, okay?” You finally pull away, dropping your hands down to hold his. Will doesn’t say anything, instead closes his eyes for a moment and proceeds to follow you back to the car you arrived in.

The ride was silent and awkward. Will spent the entire time looking out the window, a somber look on his face. You tried holding his hand, but he snatched it away as soon as you touched him. Just as you expected, he wasn’t the same Will Schofield you knew and loved; he was changed because of this war.

Upon arriving home, Will went straight to the bedroom, you guessed it was to have a well rested sleep in a comfortable bed instead of a bunk or on the cold ground, surrounded by grass. You stayed in the living room, looking through the vast amount of notes he wrote to you before the last one.

After about an hour or so, you decide to make some dinner. Collecting all of the ingredients for that and your famous homemade bread, you remember Will is back and still in your room. After everything is set and all that needs to be done is to wait for everything to finish, you quietly walk to your bedroom, pushing the cracked door open slightly.

Peeping in, you find Will sleeping on his stomach, face squished against your pillow, breathing evenly. A small smile appears on your lips at the sight, still not used to having him home just yet.

Although you didn’t want to wake him, you wanted him to eat since he didn’t look too healthy; you knew from other soldiers’ wives that they got small rations, and if they were lucky enough, they would sometimes steal some from other sites.

That was one thing that kept you sane the entire time Will was gone: a support group with other women. You all shared stories of what your boyfriends or husbands were like before being sent off, and trying to remain positive about the outcome of casualties. Unfortunately, a few of those women’s husbands died, and thankfully, you all had each other in that hard time.

“William, honey,” you whisper, shaking his shoulder gently. He groans and moves a bit closer to you. Still, you continue to try and wake him.

“Love, I’m making some dinner, if you want to come and eat.” Slowly but surely, Will sits up, rubbing his sunken eyes and running a hand through his dirty, greasy hair. Your expression softens at the sight, since he looks so innocent, compared to the things he saw on the battlefield.

“‘M not hungry,” he mumbles. Frowning a bit, you grab his hand and help him up, walking him to the kitchen with you.

“I don’t care if you aren’t, you need to eat. You don’t look too healthy and I'm sure that you never had enough rations. Please.” The hurt look in your eyes convinced him to cooperate, taking a seat at the kitchen table. You watch as he glances over the table, finding the pile of his letters that you set there.

For the first time that day, and in months, you saw Will smile. A huge one, at that.

“What?” You happily ask. He flips through the numerous pages running his fingers over the writing.

“You kept all my letters,” he says, a loving tone coating his voice. Your heart soars as you step over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning down onto him.

“I did. Why wouldn't I? They kept me hopeful and reminded me that you were okay.” Your words must have triggered him in some way because he tenses up and drops the letters, moving his hands to rub them against his pants. This worried you a little, but you knew it was going to happen. Deciding to drop the topic, you run back over to the stove to stir the contents of the soup, just as the timer for the oven rang. Will stayed put, watching you as you maneuvered the kitchen with ease, wondering how he got so lucky to still have you after everything.

Once the bread was cool enough and the soup wasn’t scalding, you plated everything up and brought a bowl over to Will, setting it in front of him. He quietly thanks you and picks the spoon up, stirring the broth around for a bit, not taking any bites.

“Will,” you call out. He glances up with an apologetic look on his face, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’ before grabbing a small spoonful. Watching him, he takes the bite and winces.

“Is it too hot? Or not good?” He gazes up and shakes his head in response.

“No. I guess I’m just not used to having good food.”

“Take all the time you need, darling.” So, you two sat there, eating dinner in almost complete silence, the only sound was slurps, the scrapes of the spoon in the bowl, and chewing. It was driving you crazy not being able to chat with him like normal, but you didn’t want to push him into talking when he obviously wasn’t okay.

Halfway through dinner, Will reached over and grabbed your hand in his, squeezing it tightly as if to say ‘I’m sorry and I love you’ in a silent way. You squeezed his hand back, knowing that everything would take time, that he would need time to heal.

After he finishes the entire bowl, thankfully, he announces that he was going to take a bath since he hadn’t had a proper one in a while. You begin to clean the dishes, packing up the leftover soup and bread for tomorrow night.

Twenty minutes go by and you have finished, but Will seems to still be in the bath. Remembering that he used to take really short baths or showers, you make your way to the bathroom, where you find Will sitting there, emotionless, staring at the wall in front of him. You can see the heartbreak and horror in his face, as you imagine he’s recounting everything that has happened.

Stepping inside, you walk over to him and kneel beside the tub, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“Will, are you alright?” It was a dumb question, sure, but you didn’t know what else to say. He shakes his head, letting go of the hard exterior he was trying so hard to put up.

“Do you want to talk about it yet?” Again, he shakes his head, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Do you want me to wash you?” You quietly ask. He pauses for a second before turning his head towards you and nodding lightly. Grinning, you pick up the rag that was hung on the edge of the tub and dip it into the hot water he was sitting in.

Tenderly, you scrub the dirt and grime away from his body, being mindful of all the wounds and healing scars he has. It hurt you to think of the pain he went through to get these, and the fact that you weren’t there to help him broke you even more.

Once his body was done, you left to go get a cup from the kitchen to wash his hair with. Returning quickly, you see that he was sat up, in a more chipper and lively way. You continue washing his hair when he suddenly speaks up.

“Everything went to hell on April Sixth,” he says. Pausing your actions, you lower your hands, eyes wide in shock. He was going to tell you what exactly happened, what was bothering him. His voice was rough and coarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“What?”

“Tom and I were sent on a mission to the Second Battalion of the Devonshire Regiment. We had to walk through no man’s land to get to the German’s trenches and bunkers. We made it through, but a trip wire was set off in the bunker. I was trapped in the rubble, almost didn’t make it if it wasn’t for Blake,” he chuckles lightly, in a grateful and appreciative way. Shaking his head, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. You continue washing his hair, trying to do so as quietly as possible to allow Will to speak.

“He saved me. He saved my life.” Tears pool in your eyes as you finish washing him off. Staying put for a moment, you grab his hand, the injured one, and examine it, running your fingertips over the scab lightly.

“How’d you get this then?” He glances down and nods.

“Crawling through no man’s land. Tried to move the barbed wire for Tom but it ended up snapping back and catching my hand.” Your face scrunches up at the detail, knowing that most definitely hurt like hell.

“Do you want to get out yet?” You wonder, pausing his story for a moment.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, going back to the way he was. Helping him stand, you unplug the drain and hand him a towel, once again helping him out after the tub drains. He follows you to the bedroom, where you hand him his pajamas that he used to wear.

He dresses quickly and falls onto the bed, opening his arms for you to lay in. You change into more comfier clothes before joining him, slipping under the covers and laying on your side next to him. You reach your hand up and cup his cheek, softly stroking his warm skin. He hums quietly, eyes falling shut as he relishes in the feeling of your touch again.

“So what else happened? If you’re okay with continuing?” Will nods and clears his throat before continuing his story.

“We kept going until we got to this f-farmhouse. And as we passed through rubbles of stone walls, there’s this beautiful cherry tree, and the petals were falling as the wind blew it. It was such a beautiful sight. Compared to what happened minutes later, it was…” Will chokes up, eyes filling with tears as he recounts the memory he wishes to forget.

“We come up to the barn and there’s suddenly a plane falling from the sky. It’s a German plane, but we still help the soldier who was trapped in the pilot seat. The plane was burning and he was still alive. On fire, but still alive. I turn for one second to...get water from the trough, and...the moment I did…the G-German stabbed Tom.” Will’s voice cracks and the tears finally fall, making contact with your thumb.

Upon hearing this new, heartbreaking information, your jaw drops and you tear up as well, watching your boyfriend break. Immediately, you pull him close to you, his face falling into your neck as he cries quietly. He wasn’t ready to fully break down yet, but that’s okay; the hard part is you knew that it was going to fully hit him in the upcoming days, and you were more than prepared for it.

After he calms down a little, he continues on with the story, explaining how he traveled with another unit, but they were unable to get across the bridge, resulting in him crossing alone. He told you of that night, coming in contact with not one, not two, but four German soldiers, not one of them successfully killing or injuring him; though he did hit his head, he claims he wasn’t too hurt.

Mentioning the cherry tree petals once more, he explains that as soon as he woke up in the river and saw that he was surrounded by the petals, he found out that he was in the right place to where he needed to deliver the message. A chill ran down your spine at the idea of Tom being there with him, helping guide him along the way.

He winds down much later, telling the news that he was able to call off the attack, but only in time for the second wave, after running across the battlefield right above the trenches. You could see and hear the lighter tone and expression in his voice and on his face as he realizes that he didn’t let Tom down.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that,” you whisper, leaning forward to kiss him passionately for the first time that day. He kisses back with the same amount of passion, his hands wrapping around your body and pulling him close to you.

“I’m back for good, my love. I’m back for good.”

—

A couple days have passed since Will returned home. Today, he was visiting his mother a couple hours away, so you were left alone for the time being. But, you had a plan in mind. Going into town, you surprisingly find exactly what you need in only half an hour, and return home with the mass amount of supplies and tools.

Will returns home as you are in the middle of your task, wondering what the hell you were doing. He walks into the large backyard, watching as you fill a dug-up hole with soil, pouring some water onto it and patting it gently.

“Love? Are you gardening?” Will jokes, a smile on his face as he watches your surprised reaction. Standing up, you remove your gloves and walk over to him, giving him a kiss and hug.

“So, what are you up to? Doing a bit of gardening, eh?” You chuckle and look down, grabbing his hands, then glancing back up at him.

“I have something special for you. Ever since you told me the story of what happened that fateful day, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I planted a cherry tree.” You watch as Will’s eyes widen and fill with tears, looking between you and the spot where you just planted the seeds. His jaw drops and closes as he tries to think of words, but all that happens is he suddenly collapses to the ground, grabbing onto you before he does.

You of course kneel in front of him to comfort him as he processes this, and that’s when he lets out a rather loud sob. That’s when you realize this was his breaking point. He continues to sob out and gasp for air, and you can’t help but feel awful for doing this.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, rubbing his back soothingly. He continues, until a few minutes later when his sobs finally subside and he is breathing regularly. Pulling back, you wipe his tears from his cheeks, cupping them as you do so.

“Did you apologize before?” Will wonders, sniffling a little.

“I did. I didn’t mean to upset you or-”

“No, you didn’t upset me at all love! I just, I honestly wasn’t expecting it. When I heard you say it, everything came back to me and just, hit me like a truck. I couldn't control it at all.”

“I knew it was coming,” you tell him. He gives you a confused look, wondering how you would know.

“When you were gone, I turned to this support group for women whose husbands or boyfriends were sent off. A couple of the women’s husbands came back earlier than you, and they warned us about things that were going to happen. Like you would be pretty silent for the first day or two, and you would eventually break down once you come to terms with what you saw.”

“Every soldier is different, you know. A few guys talked about their experiences on the front lines, going into detail of what they saw, while others kept to themselves, wanting to push that sort of image away.”

“I know. But that last letter you sent seemed off; I could tell you weren’t the same William I fell in love with. And that only increased when you got off the train and didn’t speak the entire ride home.” Will’s expression softens upon hearing your heartbreak over this as well.

“I love you, my dear. I’m still the same William you fell in love with, I may just be a little off now. You’re still my girl, I’m still your man. We have each other now, okay?” You crawl onto his lap and cuddle into his body. He holds you tightly against him, rubbing your back gently.

“Everything will be okay, love.”

—

And it was. About a year after Will returned home, the cherry tree was fully bloomed and a beautiful addition to your property. You are now six months pregnant and Will couldn’t be happier to be a dad. When you told him you were pregnant, he was ecstatic. Jumping up and down all over the room, eyes wide in shock, running his hands over his face and through his hair.

Today, since it was such a beautiful day, you and Will decided to spend some time outside, under the cherry blossom tree. Will was leant up against the truck, which was huge by now, and you had your head resting on his legs, staring up at him as he spoke down at you.

He had his left hand on your ever growing bump, gently rubbing his thumb over your shirt. His other hand was playing with your hair.

“Have you thought about names for them yet?” He asks, staring off into the distance, probably the sunset.

“I have. What about you?” He nods, gazing down at you with a small smile.

“I really want a girl. So I’ve come up with a few names myself.”

“Well, let’s hear them.” Will chuckles a little and nods, continuing to play with your hair.

“Elizabet, Marie, or Genevieve.”

“Those are really pretty, darling.”

“What names do you have?” He asks in return. Truth be told, you had only thought of one, and you were hoping on everything you could that you had a boy.

“I actually only have one, for a boy.” Will nods and waits for you to say it, but you don’t know how he’s going to react.

“What is it?”

“Thomas Blake Schofield,” you whisper, but Will manages to hear it. His eyes begin to water as he just stares at you in awe.

“You-you didn’t even know him. You would be willing to name our child after him?”

“Of course. I didn’t have to know him. He saved your life, you two were great friends, and he impacted you so much. The least we can do to continue the memory of him is this.” The air is quiet for a moment as Will takes in your words, stunned at how much he loves you at this moment, and wishes no more than to have a beautiful baby boy to name after his close friend.

“Thank you,” he whispers, bringing you to sit up and cuddle into him. His arms wrap around you and he nuzzles his face against your head. “I love you so so much.”

—

Two years later, your son is now two, and you and Will are happier than ever. The world was slowly starting to be put back together after the war ended a few years back, and everything was perfect.

You were doing chores around the house for the day while Will and Tom did whatever. When you finally finished cleaning every room and every dish, you noticed the house was still, meaning Will and Tom were not here.

But, as you walk into the kitchen, you find the two of them sat underneath the cherry tree, even larger than before. Grinning, you walk out the back door and over to them, taking a seat next to your now husband.

“And that’s when the little frog JUMPED from the pond and onto the log, to sit with his dear friend Mr Turtle,” Will reads from the children’s book that your mother got you a couple months ago for Tom’s birthday.

“How are my boys doing?” You wonder, running your hand through your son’s golden locks, just like his fathers.

“Just having a little storytime under our favorite tree, aren’t we bubs?” Will responds, bouncing Tom up and down on his leg. The little boy giggles and reaches back to grab his father’s face. Will scrunches his face up at the feeling of Tom’s little fingers pressed to his cheeks, a feeling he will never get tired of.

“I can’t wait to tell him all about Tom,” WIll whispers to you, his lips close to your ear. You smile softly and grab his hand bringing it up to press a kiss to the back of it.

“He’s going to be so happy to hear that he’s named after such a great man.”

“He is. I’m so thankful that you wanted to name him after him in the first place. I honestly can’t thank you enough, my love.” Leaning forward, you kiss Will’s lips passionately, showing him that it’s nothing at all, that you would do it again in a heartbeat.

Just as you pull away, the wind picks up and the petals start to fall around the three of you, landing on your lap and in your hair. Will’s laugh rings out as Tom gets up and twirls around in the falling petals. Scooting over, you cuddle up against Will’s body, watching your son dance around.

“I felt like that was Tom giving us a sign that he’s watching over us,” WIll whispers. Glancing up at him, you nod slightly, resting your head on his shoulder again.

“He’s definitely still here.”

“Just hope he knows how much I cared for him, and how I’m going to make sure his legacy and memory doesn’t die.”

“It won’t, love. He knows you cared for him.” THe breeze picks up once more and you hear Will sniffle, pulling away to find him crying a little.

“Shh, it’s okay, hun. He knows, trust me. If that breeze wasn’t just a sign, I don’t know what is.” Both of you laugh lightly as Tom comes to sit on top of Will’s lap again.

“I’ll never forget him. Thanks to you, he’ll be with me for the rest of my life in two ways.”

•••

taglist: @walking-stressed-mess @4lendow-norris @fandom--0verdose @writeyourownlifestory @spacegay-s​

#william schofield #will schofield #george mackay #will schofield imagines #will schofield x reader #george mackay imagines #george mackay x reader #1917 #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[bgyulix]

— just another edgy teen rom com

-> pairing: min yoongi x reader

-> genre: bad boy!au, high school!au, slightly inspired by the end of the f***ing world

-> tags/warnings: domestic abuse, child abuse, underage drinking, implications of drug use, also they smoke some weed but only a little, smut in future chapters, suicidal thoughts, despite all these its rather soft and yoongi is whipped

-> word count: 2,896

-> summary: min yoongi is typically someone you’d avoid, and definitely not someone you’d want to run away from home with. OR: having an existential crisis together on a bus stop bench in the middle of the night was not exactly the meet-cute you’d always dreamed of.

-> a/n: here it is!! i hope you guys like it, and if you want to be on the tag list just ask! im thinking there’ll be three parts, but there might end up being four, we’ll see lmao

-> chapter: 1 | 2 | 3

You’d been hit one too many times that night. It was inevitable that it would happen eventually; that a perfectly angled slap or shove against the wall would knock something loose, and you’d end up lying on a bus stop bench like a homeless person letting your wounds fester in traffic fumes.

The cold metal of the dirty bench bit into your thighs and the part of your shoulders where your jacket had ridden down. It registered somewhere in the back of your mind that you could just adjust your jacket and maybe shimmy your shorts down a bit, but you ignored it. You were perfectly happy lying here freezing to death.

Somebody had stuck some gum in the corner of the roof. Maybe you should take it and chew it and get a disease or something. That might be interesting.

Two buses came and went. The night grew longer, and colder. Less and less cars went past. Your shitty little neighbourhood had never been the busiest, and eventually the streets fell quiet and empty, with only the sounds of traffic in the distance and a moth buzzing around a streetlight to keep you company.

The pain of the cut on your lip and your black eye dulled down to a steady throb. It almost felt separate from you, the part of you that cared and the part of you that didn’t two different people arguing with each other while you listened in.

You heard footsteps, trudging up the street through sludgy puddles. They reached the bus stop and hesitated, like everybody else had when they saw your depressed beat up ass suntanning in the dinky fluorescent light. The part of you that didn’t care won out yet again and you didn’t even bother to look up.

They came and sat at the other end of the bench, by your head. You could see a tuft of shaggy bleach blonde hair in your peripheral vision. They shifted and grunted, their voice surprisingly deep. A sigh, and then they simply sat next to you in silence, and you absently wondered if they were waiting for a bus, or if they were going to mug you, or if they were having as bad of a day as you were.

“Rough night?”

You finally managed to move, arching your neck and looking at them upside down. It was a guy, maybe your age, with a nasty scrape on his cheekbone, in a camo jacket smirking around a split lip. He looked vaguely familiar, like you’d seen him around before.

Stranger danger! the little voice in your head that was still sane yelled at you. You ignored it.

“Yep,” you said.

“Yeah,” the guy muttered, “me too.”

He thumbed at his lip. It was bleeding a little.

“What happened to your face?” he asked.

“I got punched, I guess. What happened to yours?”

He snorted. “I got punched, I guess.”

“Welcome to the club, then.”

You settled back down, staring at the roof again. Your butt hurt.

“So, what brings you to my bus stop?” he said, his voice smug. You prickled at his tone.

“Your bus stop? This is my bus stop.”

“Nope, sorry. Definitely mine.”

“I was here first!”

“I’ve been having mental breakdowns here long before you have, sweetheart.”

You scoffed, sitting up to glare at him, your cold, tired bones groaning in protest. You noticed now the bruises on his knuckles, and the dirt stains - or what you hoped were dirt stains - on his shirt. His eyes were dark and catlike, watching you intently with something like amusement.

“I am not…” you grumbled, feeling suddenly pinned down by his gaze, “I am not having a mental breakdown.”

He quirked a brow.

“You’re lying in a bus stop in the middle of the night.”

“And you’re sitting in a bus stop in the middle of the night. You can’t talk.”

He chuckled, pointing at you. “Touché.”

A car went past. You sat side by side, hyper aware of his presence and the way his choppy blond bangs fell across his face and the way he was twisting the ring on his finger in his lap.

“You come here often then?” you said, casually.

“Occasionally,” he replied, casually. Just like you were talking about the weather. “Yourself?”

“Nah. I was just walking past, thought I might go somewhere.”

“But… you didn’t?”

“Don’t have the guts, I guess.”

“I get it,” he rasped, nodding sagely, “I always come here thinking I’ll get on the bus, and then I don’t.”

He pursed his lips, looking away from your face and to the road, glistening with dew and oil slick and hazy streetlights.

“Where would you go?” you murmured.

He shrugged.

“Haven’t really thought about it. Just…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the street. “Away.”

Away. The dream of away was a fantasy, had always been a fantasy. One you consistently came back to after every fight, every hit, every curse. You rub at your eye, wincing when it stung. You wonder who hit him.

“Yeah,” you said. “Away.”

He sniffed, scratched his nose. Suddenly he shifted, straightening his back and his shoulders and puffing out his chest a little, any hint of vulnerability gone and replaced with smug cockiness.

“So you gonna tell me your name?” he smirked. You rolled your eyes at his obvious display.

“___,” you told him.

“Yoongi.”

Your eyes widened. So that’s how you recognised him. “Like Min Yoongi? The drug dealer?”

He scoffed. “I am not a drug dealer.”

You raised your brow the same way he had at you.

“I am not a drug dealer… during school hours,” he clarified. You snorted.

“Anyway, how would you know unless you’ve bought off me, huh?”

“We go to the same school. You’re a consistent source of locker room gossip. Everyone's scared of you.”

Min Yoongi rode a motorcycle and smoked under the bleachers and once told a teacher to fuck off. Min Yoongi could set you up with anything if you were willing to pay. Min Yoongi ran with gangs. Min Yoongi had fucked his way through practically the entire school. You either hated him, wanted him, or were scared of him. The rumours and chatter surrounding him was endless, and he did nothing to discourage it, getting into fights and into detention, showing up to every house party with arms full of weed and leaving one too many hickies on a girl’s neck.

And here he was in front of you, staring at his boots and shaking his head almost bashfully, you dare say.

“You don’t look so scared,” he huffed. You shrugged.

“I’m having a bad day.”

“Yeah, no shit. You look terrible.”

“Hey!” you cried indignantly, “speak for yourself, asshole!”

He laughed then, a deep, carefree rumble from deep in his chest. Your lips rose on their own accord, and you had to fight to keep the smile down.

He didn’t seem so scary. Apart from the blood, of course.

“You wanna get a milkshake?” he asked abruptly.

“A milkshake?”

“Yeah. I know a place that stays open late, not far from here.”

“Oh. Uh… yeah, okay. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

The place he led you to was a small, rundown building next to a service station, trash littering the footpath out in front, with a guy leaning against the wall puking on his shoes.

JO’S DINER, screamed the flickering neon sign. OPEN LATE!

You screwed up your nose and hesitated, eyeing the guy warily.

“That’s just Heegun,” Yoongi said, nudging you, “‘sup, Heegun!”

Heegun raised a hand, before he doubled over and continued to hack his guts up.

Yoongi barrelled through the door, gesturing for you to follow. You hurried in after him, giving Heegun a wide berth.

The inside of the diner was vintage 50’s style, with a checkered floor and red vinyl chairs, and records and pictures of old cars hanging on the walls. It smelt of motor oil and fries, and scratchy music was playing through the speakers. One of the lightbulbs above the counter was out, leaving a weird dark spot, and there was a puddle of… something collecting in a spot where the floor dipped. The waitress at the counter was chewing gum and scrolling through her phone, her classic white apron covered in grease stains.

“Jisoo,” Yoongi drawled, sidling up to the counter. Jisoo, an older woman with extremely thin, overdrawn eyebrows, sighed heavily.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. She had lipstick on her teeth.

“It’s me! How’s it going?”

Jisoo raised one of her fake eyebrows, very, very slowly.

“You two look like shit.”

“Yes, we know. Thank you. Could we get two milkshakes, if you please? ___, what flavour you want?”

You started. “Oh, uh, just chocolate.”

“Two chocolate milkshakes. And a large curly fries, I’m fucking hungry.”

Jisoo marked it down on a little notepad, and somehow even made that sarcastic.

“Sir, yes sir,” she grumbled, and pulled out her gum and stuck it behind her ear, “take a seat.”

Yoongi sat you down in a little booth by the window and slid in opposite you. The table was covered in crumbs and the vinyl stuck to your bare legs.

“You‘re a regular?” you asked.

“Well, they know me by name,” Yoongi replied. He leant back and rested his arm up on the top of his seat, a dark blot against the garishly bright diner, somehow more intimidating in decent lighting than he had been in the dark. It finally hit you; you were in a shitty restaurant with Min Yoongi. You were having milkshakes and curly fries with Min Yoongi.

Why not, you supposed, it’s not like your life wasn’t already a disaster. You put your elbows on the table, the crumbs digging into your skin. You didn’t have the energy to be disgusted.

“So…” you began, and then came up blank.

“So…?” Yoongi urged.

“Uh… how much were the milkshakes? Because I have like…” you fished around in your pocket, “two dollars. And five cents.”

He chuckled again, rich and gruff, and you swear you felt it in your bones.

“Relax, it’s on me. Like you said, you’re having a bad day.”

“And you’re not?”

He shrugged. “Eh. I’m used to it.”

“That’s not a good thing,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. He smirked.

“That’s life, doll.”

Life, indeed.

“So…” you said again.

“So…?” Yoongi urged, again.

“Is this what you do for fun? Come to…” you lowered your voice, just so Jisoo wouldn’t hear, “come to shitty diners in the middle of the night?”

He seemed amused, his smirk growing a little wider and his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah. This is all I do. Just this, nothing else,” he teased.

“Well, what do you do then? Other than this. And drugs.”

He leaned forwards conspiratorially and cupped his hand around his mouth, like he was about to deliver a secret, and you found yourself leaning into him.

He opened his mouth and whispered, “sell drugs.”

You scoffed and sat back, brushing the crumbs off your elbow.

“Right, of course. Typical.”

Jisoo appeared, a cigarette hanging from her lips, balancing a tray with two milkshakes and a basket of curly fries on her hip. She brought it down on the table hard enough to make both milkshakes spill over the sides of the glass.

“There, you little shits,” she grated, her voice like sandpaper.

“Thanks, Jisoo,” said Yoongi, going straight for the fries. “Heegun’s throwing up out the front again, by the way.”

“WHAT?” Jisoo roared. You flinched. She stormed across the diner, her thunderous footsteps making the table rattle, and swung the door open with so much force it was a miracle it didn’t come flying off its hinges. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, HEEGUN, YOU DICK, THIS IS THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK!”

Yoongi chuckled at your shell shocked expression. “She’s a real piece of work, huh?”

You nodded mutely, and hid the way your hands shook by grasping your milkshake and bringing the straw to your lips. It was pretty good, all things considered.

The second the food hit your stomach, it rumbled audibly, and your head went light and frantic. You reached for the curly fries and shovelled the greasy things into your mouth like a starved man.

“When was the last time you ate?” Yoongi asked, eyeing you cautiously. You shrugged, which was a lie. You knew exactly when the last time you ate was; last night at 10:24 pm, sitting across from your father, listening to him rant about how much he hated his job. People yelling at mealtimes seemed to be a trend.

You both ate in silence for a moment, the sounds of Jisoo shooing Heegun away and an overhyped pop song in the background.

“We go to the same school, then?” Yoongi said, with a mouthful of food. You wrinkled your nose at him.

“We do. Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s gross.”

He snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”

You elected to ignore him. “We have literature together.”

“Literature, huh? I’ve never noticed you before.”

“I try not to be noticed.”

“You some kind of social recluse or something?” said Yoongi, raising a brow.

“No, I just don’t like making a scene, unlike some people,” you told him. “Beside, I sit up the back, and Mr. Ahn makes you sit up the front, so.”

“Huh,” he hummed, tapping his ring against his glass. Jisoo came back inside muttering under her breath, huffing cigarette smoke everywhere. “It seems like you know plenty about me, but I know nothing about you.”

“Not much to know. I’m not nearly as interesting as you.”

“Oh, you think I’m interesting?” he drawled, smirking.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re always up to something.”

“What are you up to?” he asked, jabbing a finger at you.

“Me? Not much.”

“Aw, c’mon. You got no friends, no hobbies? Nothing?”

He was watching you in that peculiar way again, like you’d just said something funny but he couldn’t quite understand the joke. He looked… interested.

“Why do you care?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

Yoongi put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Pardon me if I wanna know a bit more about the random chic I found at my bus stop,” he exclaimed indignantly, gazing dangerously at you from under his bangs. You faltered and your cheeks heated, and he gave an amused little huff.

“Um… well…” you stammered, and sipped your milkshake to compose yourself. “I, uh… I like music.”

“Music, huh? What kind?”

“Uh… any kind, if it’s good.”

“You’re really not giving me much to work with here.”

“I’m… I’m in a choir?” you offered.

“Oh, you’re a choir girl,” Yoongi said, “that’s cute.”

You scoffed. “Cute? Excuse me, that shit is hard. Do you know how to tone deaf 70-year-old people are? Extremely. Painfully. And they pinch your cheeks after they subject you to their dying cat noises! Choir takes a lot of effort, thank you!”

Yoongi laughed and grinned, so boyishly that for a moment he almost looked like a different person.

“I’m more into rap myself.”

“You rap?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you any good?”

“Well, that’s - that depends.”

You snorted.

“Huh. I didn’t know you rapped,” you said.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Yoongi told you, and wiggled his eyebrows at you. You choked on a fry with laughter.

“Ooh, mysterious. Let me guess, let me guess - you’re addicted to anime. No, no! You cry at cat videos.”

“I do not,” Yoongi grumbled, “I have not once - not once - cried at a cat video.”

“Bullshit, you have too. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jisoo, from her place back at the counter, coughed loudly and pointedly in your direction, and you realised you’d been raising your voice. You lowered yourself back into your seat sheepishly.

Yoongi was still smiling, shaking his head in amusement. He was handsome, you thought. You’d never quite understood why girls threw themselves at him despite knowing the extent of his shady business practices, but you understood now; his mouth was soft and his jaw was sharp and his aura, while commandeering and a little intimidating, was relaxed and calm and familiar. You were having the strangest urge to reach over the table and brush his hair from his face, or maybe tap his nose.

He was… oh, he was cute.

He was smirking at you again. You were staring. Fuck. You looked down at your milkshake.

“You’re cute,” he said, and the milkshake went down the wrong way.

“What?” you spluttered uselessly.

“You’re cute. I can’t believe we’ve never met before.”

“Well…” you began, pausing to collect yourself, “...we have now.”

He grinned. You grinned back.

Yoongi walked you back to the bus stop, and when he asked you if you wanted him to walk you home, too, you refused.

“You homeless?”

“Just for tonight.”

He didn’t push.

When the sun rose, and you finally slunk back home like a dog with its tail between its legs, your father rushed forwards and drew you into his arms and cried apologies into your shoulder, like he always did.

I’m so sorry, ___. I didn’t mean it. It’ll never happen again, I promise.

He even bought you pizza for dinner - but then he got drunk, and then he did it again. Like he always did.

#min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts smut #min yoongi #agust d #jaetrc

[anythingandeverything1d]

The tape (pt 6)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 

You rolled over in bed, expecting to look at the now familiar grey walls of Louis Tomlinson’s guest room. Instead, you found a snoring Harry. His curls were tangled, eyes shut, breathing slow, and a light snore falling from his mouth. Your head hurt from crying last night and the events came rushing forward in a cloud of pain. Niall had released the tape. He had caused this whole thing. No, Harry had been the one cheating. He had caused the whole thing. No...well...maybe. Your brain was a jumbled up mess and you didn’t even know how to sort through everything at the moment. Instead, you carefully and quietly crawled out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen. You were hungry. You and Harry hadn’t actually ended up eating the pizza last night, but both you and Harry did get the taste of something neither of you had clearly had since the breakup. Just thinking about the events that had occurred after Niall left, sent shivers down your spine and a left a blush of pink on your cheeks. 

You were standing at the stove, only wearing his shirt that lightly covered the rest of your body. The eggs were nearly done when Harry came rushing into the kitchen, out of breath and an anxious look on his face. He let out a sigh of relief when his eyes landed on yours and he let a smile appear on his face. “I-I thought...I thought you had....never mind.” He walked over and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek. “Morning.”

“Good morning..” you smiled. “Sorry....I just woke up and figured we might need some food after...well after everything last night. Figured food might be an important thing.” you laughed awkwardly and set your attention back on the stove, lifting the pan and scraping the eggs onto the two plates laid out. You scooted one closer to Harry as he handed you a fork, almost like nothing had happened the last few weeks. You watched him take a bite, anxiously awaiting the verdict. “Well....” you asked looking at him before taking a bite of your own.

“You tase better....BUT these are delicious as well.” Harry winked and you felt the familiar heat between your legs. You focused on the food with a smile, trying to shake the feeling that led to everything last night. Harry did the same, trying to figure out if that was crossing a line, or where the line even stood. You and him had definitely made some progress in your forgiveness path but neither of you were sure where it left you now. “Uhm...I know that this may be like weird to say but uh...I feel like..I feel like I just want you to know...that uh...that I really do love having you back home. The place just felt empty and lifeless without you here.”

“It feels good to be home.” you smile at him, placing your now empty and dirty plate into the sink. “I’ve missed yo- it. I’ve missed being home.”

Harry smiled but didn’t say anything. He was not about to ruin the progress being made. He set his plate in the sink and nodded towards the couch. “I’ll clean up.”

“I can help-” 

“No, seriously. You cooked (y/n)...let me clean up.”

You nodded and backed away. “I’m going to go grab a shower then...” Harry smiled and nodded back. Your phone buzzed and you picked it up. 

“Niall?” Harry guessed with a frown.

You shook your head. “Louis. He was just asking how things went and if he needed to come get me.”

“He doesn’t.” Harry quickly objected, earning an amused look from yourself. “Well what I mean is- uh I can always- um- I can..I’ll drive you back. There’s no need for him to come get you.”

“Actually.” you mumbled walking over towards him. You stopped a foot away and smiled, tracing the granite lines on the counter. “I was thinking....maybe that I could...I don’t know...stay a little longer?” you mumbled looking up at him, your lip between your teeth and your heart beating a little faster. Harry wasn’t answering, just staring at you.”I mean only if that’s okay with you! I can just go back to Lou-”

“No!” He jumped forward, startling you. He grabbed your hand and smiled. “I’d uh...I’d like it if you stayed....”

You just smiled and nodded before turning and walking to the bathroom. You were about to hit play on some music when the text came through. *Please....let me explain. I know I hurt you. I know I messed up but I can explain it. Just give me a chance too....* You sighed. You didn’t even know what to do about that. NIall’s text had you confused. You wanted an explanation. You needed to know what the hell he was thinking. You also had no intention of ever being around him again. There was just no excuse worth the time and energy you would spend on him. You ignored the message, hoping the shower would help. You tugged Harry’s shirt from your body, revealing the marks of last night. A few bruises on your neck, one on your chest, and one on your hip. Your thighs held marks from where his fingers had been. You couldn’t even imagine the markings on HIS body. He was probably bruised and scratched all along the lengths of his torso. You jumped in the water, closing your eyes and allowing the knots in your muscles to flow away. 

You wandered downstairs, looking for Harry. You had thrown on a short pair of athletic shorts and paired it with a sports bra. Nothing crazy, just some comfy clothes to lounge around in. You found him in his office, a frown on his face. You knocked and softly wandered in, sitting on the edge of his desk as he stared down at his phone. “Everything okay?” you asked.

He looked up and smiled before looking back down. Of course his eyes fluttered back up to the bruises with a slight smile. Harry had always loved the little love bites, as he called them, that remained after an evening of fun. They let everyone know you were his. Your eyes lingered on the long red and swollen marks on his chest that were caused by your fingernails. There was also a dark purple bruise on his collar bone that had caught your attention. Harry sighed and shook his head. “Niall texted me and I’ve been sitting here trying to reply.”

“He texted me too....I just don't know what to say.”

“What do you want to say?”

You sighed and shrugged. “I want to know why....but I feel like I already know why...”

“He’s in love with you.” Harry looked up, his green eyes catching on yours. You nodded, your lip between your teeth. “When did you figure that out?” he asked looking down at his phone again.

“I kind of just guessed. The way he showed up that day...the way he insisted on me knowing...the way he was so upset for me...then how he would defend me..he held my hand...took me golfing...At first I thought it was just a protection thing, kinda like with Louis. But I realized the feelings weren’t of brotherly love but instead was something more...” you looked up. Harry was just nodding, not saying anything. “When did you figure that out, last night?”

Harry shook his head. “No.” He looked up again and sighed. “I’ve known for years....we all have...we just thought he would get over it.” You nodded. You had never noticed before, but you were always SO in love with Harry you weren't surprised. He was the only one you ever really dreamed of being with. The rest of the guys were great, and you and Niall had flirted and all that in the beginning but it was always Harry. “Are you- I mean- do you- do you have feelings for him?” Harry’s voice stuttered and he bit his lip.

“I mean...” you watched Harry wipe a tear falling down his cheek. “I never loved him like...as more than a friend. I love all of the guys. I just always thought it was as a sibling-friend thing....not a romantic way. You- uh- you’re the only one I really ever wanted...the only one I do want...” 

Harry’s head snapped up and his mouth fell open. You looked away, nervous he was upset for saying that. It was true though. Harry had cheated on you and your body still ached for him. Your heart was still beating in synch with his. You still loved him. You never wanted anything more than him. He was the only one for you. That wasn’t going to change. Not now. Not ever. “Do you mean that?”

You nodded and sighed. “Harry-” You didn’t know how to explain it. You didn’t know what you wanted to say. “I love you. I always have. I always will.” He walked over, his body between your legs now. “I don’t know how long it will take to forgive you....but I know I can never move on from you. You’re always going to be the one...”

Harry grinned, pressing a kiss to your lips but then pulling you in for a hug. “I love you too. I know youre in pain right now. But I can and will wait. You’re the one...the only one for me as well.” 

You sighed and allowed yourself to enjoy the warmth from his body before pushing him away. “We need to talk to Niall..and probably the other guys.”

“Now?” Harry whined. “I just got you back.”

“And you’re not going to lose me.” you laughed. “But they are all involved and if we don’t say something...they are all going to keep medaling. I love them, but if last night proved anything...it was that we need to do this on our own. That’s why our agreement was in place originally remember?”

Harry sighed and kissed your forehead. “I know... I just wanted to enjoy us for a little longer before there’s a chance for anything to go wrong.”

“We have the rest of our lives.” You laughed gripping his shirt and pulling him in for a longer kiss, earning a slight groan and his length hardening and pressing against your shorts.

“I’d rather focus on now.” His voice was a low growl and you knew he was feeling needy. 

“Now is when we need to address this with the guys....” You smirked and reached your hands down into his sweatpants, your fingers grazing his length, and a hitched breath falling into the kiss. 

“I think you need to address my needs first...” His teeth moved to your earlobe and you shivered but held strong. You kissed him hard once more before tugging your hand out of his pants and looking into his eyes.

“Text them, and tell them we need to talk....after that’s all done...you can have your way.”

“My way? Any way I want?” You laughed and nodded. His smirk said it all. He shook his head and texted the guys, before returning his lips to yours. “I want to make more of these marks...and I want you sucking me off...on your hands and knees....”

You laughed and climbed off the desk and onto your knees. Your fingers tugged at the pant waistband and your eyes locked on his. “Like this?” you teased.

You were about to make a move when the doorbell rang. Harry cursed under his breath and both of you ran to the door. Louis stood there, pacing back and forth. He smiled when you opened the door and laughed at Harry as he took in the scene, causing your face to turn bright red. “You two seem to be doing quite well....I thought that life was ending after the text Harry sent.”

You turned to Harry confused. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing really....just that they needed to get their asses over here to talk.”

“No. Good try but I don’t think so. You said that there was an emergency, a life threatening emergency that needed to be discussed and that it revolved around.. you.” Louis tapped your nose walking into the house and looking around. “Harry this place is disgusting. Didn’t you think cleaning might be a good idea before even inviting her over. Is this what the emergency is? (y/n)’s threatening to leave again because of the disgustin state of your house.”

You laughed and Harry shook his head with annoyance, his eyes rolling and a breath of frustration falling from his mouth. Louis wrapped his arm around your shoulder and the two of you walked into the kitchen. Harry followed behind and sat on the couch. “You got here awfully quick Louis.”

“Yeah, yeah well ya know I wanted to check in on (y/n)...make sure she wasn’t being held at her will.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Harry snapped. He was annoyed. Annoyed Louis had interrupted the morning, annoyed at the comments, and assumptions.

You laughed and sat next to him, your fingers intertwining with his and your head resting on his shoulder. He smiled, breathing out the frustration and understanding that you were still there, not upset...at the moment at least...and doing much better. “I am in fact, not being held at will. I asked to stay longer this morning actually.” 

Liam wandered in, not bothering to knock or anything. “Hey, everyone okay?” he asked suspiciously looking at you and Harry cuddled up on the couch. “You both look....relatively close...”

Louis was grabbing a beer from the fridge, and ignoring Liam’s question shouted across the room “So then you two are...what back together, fuckin around, or?” 

Liam made himself comfortable on the couch as Louis joined him and you looked over at Harry with a smile. “We are taking things day by day.” you answered. “That’s the point of having everyone come over. We wanted to talk about moving forward.” “Why does that involve us?” Liam asked confused.

“Well....” you look at them with a smile. “Because I love you guys. And you have been there for me 110% through this whole break up, sex tape scandal, whatever you want to call it. And I appreciate it, and you. I could never ask for better friends...better family.”

“Why do I feel there’s a but somewhere in there?” Louis teased.

“But, there was always a reason we never brought our problems to the group in the past. We need to sort through everything together...and alone..” Harry finished.

“Not alone...just not with all the involvement and comments.” You stood up and moved to be next to the two boys. “I love the advice you guys give...but if there’s any hope for Harry and I to work everything out we need to do it all just the two of us. I can’t always be worried about upsetting one of you while trying to figure out my feelings towards Harry. I want everything to be my thoughts and not something someone placed in my head. I want what is best for-”

“Wait, are you pregnant? Is this what’s going on? Is that why youre back here?” Liam asked interrupting your explanation.

“What?” you looked surprised.

“I mean I guess the timing would be right...” Louis mumbled doing the math in his head. “She’s been so overly dramatic and hormonal as well.”

“Excuse me?” you looked over at them.

“Oh my god. Bear would be thrilled.”

“Yeah! Yeah, Freddie too.”

“(y/n)’s not pregnant.” Harry stood up and paced around the room.

You laughed and Liam looked around confused. “Wait, where’s Niall? Shouldn’t we be talking about this together?”

“Niall probably isn’t coming....” you stood up and joined Harry with a frown.

“Oh no. What did you do? I mean I knew he was pissed last night but wait! You two didn’t like get it on or anything did you because we all know how Niall would react if you did that and then went back to Ha-”

“Niall released the sex tape. My sex tape.” Harry shouted annoyed that no one was listening. Louis and Liam’s mouth fell open.

“No way.” Louis stood shaking his head. “We all had agreements-”

“He was pissed. He knew I cheated on (y/n)...he wanted me to tell her and when he found out I hadn’t done it yet he released the tape to the media.”

“What the hell. That doesn’t make any sense.” Liam was shaking his head.

“Yes it does. He’s been in love with (y/n) for years. He’s been waiting for Harry to screw up so he could take over. It makes complete sense. Think about that day. We were all at lunch and he kept checking his phone, waiting for something. Then he was like immediately onto the idea that we needed to go see them and check on (y/n). He’s always wanted to meddle in their relationship.” Louis shook his head and took another sip. “He always wanted (y/n).”

You didn’t like this. You didn’t like the fire being directed at Niall. He screwed up, sure, but everyone makes mistakes. You didn’t want the guys arguing with each other on account of you and your relationship with Harry. That was something you had always been adamant on since starting a relationship with Harry all those years ago. Especially now with a reunion on the brink...you didn't want to be the cause of the band breaking up. “We will obviously need to talk to Niall about everything. I don’t want everyone to get on him though, he clearly wasn’t thinking and made a massive mistake but it’s something that we need to handle privately and not in the spotlight in any kind of way...understand?.”

“You don’t have to defend him (y/n).” Louis grumbled standing up. “He cost you a lot.”

“Yeah, I mean the sex tape was the whole situation....it caused everything to blow up.” Liam agreed. “The hate, the drama, the pain...”

“No. Stop.” Harry was getting more frustrated. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who screwed up. I made the mistake. I mean, Niall also did but I caused it all in the beginning.” You smiled at him. Harry was never one to blame another person, he typically owned up but this was different. He was owning up to not only you, but also the guys he considered family. “Niall broke OUR agreement yeah, but I broke (y/n) and I’s agreement, the one that truly mattered. If anyone is to blame it’s me.”

No one said anything. They didn’t know what to say. It was all true. Harry had fucked up. Niall had fucked up. It was only between the three of you though. Liam and Louis really had no room to talk. They could voice their opinions but in the end you and Harry would have to figure out your relationship. You and Niall and Harry and Niall would need to figure out that part as well. You couldn’t tell Harry how to feel. He couldn’t tell you how to feel. It was a weird situation for everyone to be in. 

Liam and Louis hung out for a bit before leaving, giving you a tight hug as they walked out the door and wishing you goof luck. Louis hung back a little and pulled you to the side. “I know that there’s a lot going through your mind about Niall and about Harry. If you ever want to talk...”

“Thanks Lou.” You hugged him tightly and sighed. 

“My guest room is always open...always yours if you need it.”

“Hopefully I don’t.”

“Hopefully everything works out...go easy on him...he fucked himself but I never once doubted his love...and with Niall? Just be patient...he’s been in love with you for years...and has always blamed Harry for stealing you away...don’t let that drama come between what you really want.”

You nodded and sighed, watching him get in his car and drive away before closing the door and returning to where Harry was sprawled out on the floor in the living room. He sat up and opened his arms, allowing you to climb into them. “What are we going to do?”

Harry sighed and brushed your back away from your face. “I don’t know love.”

“We need to talk to Niall.”

“I don’t want to.” Harry looked at you shaking his head. He was not about to give in. He had nothing else to say to Niall at the moment, but you did. You wanted to hear him out, to try and salvage the little amounts of hope left for your friendship with him.

“That’s fine but I want you to know that I am going to.”

“(y/n)-”

“No. Harry. I know you don't want me talking to him. I know you think we should cut ties now. He’s your brother, your bandmate, and your friend. Hell he’s my brother and friend as well. We owe it to him to explain...to apologize.”

“I don’t know..”

“I’m not asking you to come. I’d prefer to go alone actually.”

“Go? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to his place. I’m going to get the answers I need and I need you to stay here.”

“But-” “Harry, if you don’t trust me...this relationship is never going to work.”

“I trust you but-”

“Don’t start an argument over this. I told you how I felt last night and nothing has changed from that moment..” You pressed your lips to his before standing up.

“You’re going now?”

“Yeah.” You gave him a smile. “I’ll be back soon though.”

“Don’t stay too long...I’ll miss you.”

You just laughed, blew him a kiss, and walked out to the car. 

The drive to Niall’s was nerve wracking. Your heart was beating through your chest and you tried to figure out and plan what to say, what you needed to say. But when you were knocking on his door, it all went out the window. And when he opened the door, the only thing you could think is what came out of your mouth. “Hi.”

“(y/n)?” Niall’s mouth was hanging open. His eyes were red from crying and he looked very very hungover. “What are ya doin here?”

“I thought maybe we could talk...” you bit your lip, shifting uncomfortably onto your other foot. After he said nothing you stumbled on, “I mean only if that’s okay with you...”

“Where’s Harry?” he spat.

“Home. It’s just me.”

“Come on in.” he sighed stepping out of the doorway. You followed him into the living room and anxiously sat a few feet away from him. Niall didn’t say anything he took another drink from the opened bottle of beer on the table next to him and watched you. After another minute he put his hands up to his face and groaned. “Want a drink?” He asked holding out a bottle. You shook your head and he set it down. “I’m sorry (y/n). It was never my intention to hurt you. I really thought that the tape would force Harry to talk to you...I never really considered the effect it would have on you. I know I caused you a lot of pain. I know it sucks that it happened but I had my own reasons for releasing it.”

“What were those? You wanted to hurt Harry? You wanted to me to know that he screwed up? You wanted to hurt me and my relationship?” your voice was a squeak...nerves and frustration eating away at you.

“No. Yes. It’s hard ta explain. You and Harry always had the perfect relationship, nothing was ever wrong. When I found out Harry had cheated on you, I got so frustrated. I just couldn’t understand how he could screw up something so amazing with someone as amazing as you. I wanted him to fess up. I wanted him to feel that pain that I knew you would feel when you found out. He kept sayin he was gonna do it and then he never did. I just felt like he was living a lie and someone needed ta do something about it. I really never considered the backlash on you. I never considered what the tape being out there would do to you until it was too late. I’m sorry for that. I’m not sorry for the truth finally coming out though.”

“But why. Why was it such a big deal? You knew it was a one night stand. You knew it was screwed up but you also knew why he did it. You knew things were not going well with us and that we were having issues. So why push it farther?”

“I wanted Harry to fuck things up with you. I wanted you to realize that he wasn't the one for you. I wanted you to finally realize and see the truth.”

“But why? What truth?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Niall looked at you and you looked back. He sighed and scooted closer. 

“I want to hear you say it.” you mumbled suddenly very aware of his close proximity but still nervous to move.

“I love you. That’s why I did it. I knew you and Harry were having problems. I knew he was lying to you. That killed me. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved to know exactly who Harry was at that time. I figured if the tape was out then maybe you would break up and maybe I would finally have a fuckin chonce.” He sighed again and scooted closer, his hand reaching up to your cheek. “I just wanted ta finally have a chonce with you.” He leaned in and you froze. “Is that so wrong?” You weren’t sure where it was going and you weren't sure what to say in response. Niall took the silence as an okay, his lips pressed to yours hungrily and desperate. His lips tugged at yours, begging for a reaction.

You snapped into motion. Your hands on his chest and you pushed him away with a shake of the head. “Niall stop.”

“Why can’t we just try this. Why can’t you just let someone who loves you be there for you?”

“Because I love Harry!�� You were crying now. “Don’t you get it! I know he screwed up. I screwed up too during the duration of our relationship. Niall I love you, but it’s not in the same way...not in this way...I just want to be your friend...I’ve never felt more than friendship towards you and I’m sorry if I led you to think differently.” 

Niall shook his head and sat back. “I’m sorry. I over stepped.” You nodded and looked back at him. “I know you’re here to see if I regret what I did, and to get answers, but truth is I don't. The longer I kept this secret, the longer Harry kept the secret. It was just eating away at both of us and I couldn’t even look at you without thinking that your relationship was a lie and I was a part of that. I love you too much to do that. I’m sorry but I’m also not. I’m sorry I hurt you and that I lied to you but you also needed to find out everything.” Niall was talking circles and it was confusing your head. He regretted it but didn’t? He wanted to hurt Harry which would in turn hurt you? None of it was okay.

You had tears running down your cheek and you looked away from him. You didn’t know what you were expecting but this wasn’t really it. You did understand where he was coming from, but that didn’t make it okay.  “I get it. I do. Media is never the answer though and you know that. I want us to be okay...I want you and Harry to be okay....but I can’t just automatically get there. And I don't about Harry but-”

“Harry and I are good.”

“What?”

“Yeah we talked earlier. We are good. I wouldn’t want anything to get in between somethin like the band.”

“But-”

“Clearly if you didn’t know about us being okay he’s lying about more things than you originally thought... Maybe it was a mistake to go running back to him so quickly after he fucking cheated on you.”

You shook your head standing up and walked towards the door. “Maybe my mistake was coming here and trying to save the friendship on the line.” You were almost to the door when you heard him yell your name. You didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say, in your mind, none of it mattered anymore.

---

So sorry its been a while but here it is! Part 6! I am thinking there will be 1 maybe 2 more parts before this series is complete. So stayed tuned! How do you think it will end? 

xoxo

#one direction #directioners #one direction fanfiction #one direction imagines #Harry Styles #harrystyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #liam payne fanfiction #liam payne #louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson fanfiction #niall horan fanfiction #Niall Horan #the tape

[nightowlfandom]

Yandere! School! Jeon Jungkook- be My Muse (Part 3) (SMUT TIME)

Heeeey, So did you guys know my birthday is this month on the 10th! SAGITTARIUS GANG WHAT UP! SO TO CELEBRATE, IMA SPAM POST FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS!

READ PART ONE HERE

READ PART TWO HERE

Okay so this one will have smut. Soo all those people coming into my inboxing literally ripping me a new hole, you can calm down now! LIKE DAMN SOME OF YALL WAS REALLY COMING FOR ME GOT ME ABOUT TO CRY. so here’s your smut ya jerks!

Leggo!

...

“Finally done.” you sighed, throwing down your pencil. “I can now relax.” you stood up. You walked over to your bed, just about to sit down. Your parents were out on a date night, which meant your house was all to yourself for who knew how long. Knowing those two lovebirds, you wouldn’t see them until sunrise. They were always taking spontaneous vacations.

Which is why you were surprised when  you heard a pounding on your door.

“Who the hell-” you raised an eyebrow. You walked right past your bed and rushed out your room. You ran to the front door, getting ready to snap at whoever was banging at your door the way they were.

“Alright I’m coming!” you yelled. You yanked the door open. “Can I help you-!” you began to snap. “Jungkook?” you raised an eyebrow. “Oh my-!” You gasp as Jungkook nearly fell into your arms. tightening his own around you. His nose was bleeding and his clothes were no better. His entire front was soaked in blood. He had a few scraps on his face.

“I...didn’t know where else to go.” he murmured. You didn’t question how Jungkook even knew your address, moreover focused on how and why he got here in such a condition.

“Jungkook come on!” you managed to shut the door and get him to the couch in your living room. “Who did this to you?!” you grabbed his cheeks and made him look at you.

“No one...did this to me. I...protected myself.” Jungkook groaned.

“W-what?” you made room for Jungkook to straighten himself up.

“The blood isn’t mine.” he finally gained the strength to open his eyes. “It’s his.” he found his composure.

“Whose?” you were still confused. “Your arm.” You gazed in horror as you saw a horrible bruise on his arm. You tried to think about who Jungkook would even have to fight. Last time you checked, no one had a problem with him except for-

“J-jino?” you found yourself whispering. “Jungkook, what happened?” you asked quietly. “I need to know.”

“Y/N.” he tried to talk.

“Tell me what happened.” you cut him off. “Jungkook, I need you to be honest with me.”

“I stayed behind after school to prepare for my art show the next week. It was getting dark when I left so I thought I would just talk the quickest way home. I guess Jino found out where I was.” he shook his head. “He began to threaten me. Talking about how he had no idea how I managed to charm you, but if he ever saw me around you again he would kick my ass.”

“What did you reply to him?” You rushed over to the book shelf to snatch the spare first aid kit.

“I told him that if he tried to raise his grades and desperately as he tried to get you to like him, then maybe he wouldn’t be the bottom of the class...then he tried to attack me.”

“Yeah?” you nodded, urging him to go on.

“He said the wrong thing to me.” Jungkook’s voice dropped several octaves. “He was about to get me, but then he opened his mouth.” a weird looking smile crossed his face, though his voice remained the same. “He just had to mention that one thing and then I completely blanked. I couldn’t control what happened and the next thing I know I’m stumbling out of the alleyway, vision blurry unable to form coherent thoughts.”

“Enough.” you shook your head. It didn’t register what Jungkook had said to you completely. In your mind, Jino attacked, Jungkook defended. “You should have called me! Even responding to that asshole was completely a dumb move!” you began lashing out. “You should have just brushed it off. People like Jino are a waste of skin.” you opened the first aid kit. “He’d be better off as tiger food.” you shook your head. How dare Jino even TRY to bully Jungkook like this! “Take off your shirt.”

“My shirt?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

“So I can inspect you!” you said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Shirt.” you snapped your fingers. “Off. Now!”

You tried to look for some alcohol or some hydrogen peroxide, something to clean whatever cuts he might have suffered. You heard the ruffle of his shirt and the plop of the fabric hit the floor. “There it is.” you grabbed the small bottle of rubbing alcohol. “I found it!” you looked up at Jungkook, your jaw going slack. Jungkook had did as you said and took his shirt off. You weren’t expecting to wind up gawking so closely. “Um...let me.” you grabbed some cloth from the box.

Jungkook only had minor cuts and scrapes, he probably fell down sometime along the line.

You didn’t stare at Jungkook’s face as you cleaned up his scratches. You made him clean his face and wipe his nose.

“Do you know?” Jungkook thoughts raced. “Do you know just how important and precious you are? It was worth it to get my hands dirty, but I can’t help but wonder just how silly and unaware you really are.” he mused. “Naive and oblivious, just like usual.”

“Um...I think you’ll be fine, I covered your bruise.” you began putting he supplied away, still avoiding Jungkook’s eyes. Don’t look at his body, don’t look at his body. DO NOT LOOK AT IT. “You don’t seem to have any deep scratches either.”

“Y/N.” Jungkook grabbed your attention. “Look at me.” You shyly looked up, shutting the first-aid kit. You couldn’t help but gaze. Jungkook’s body was amazing, his muscles flexed with each movement of his arms. “I’m sorry I scared you so much.”

“...Promise me you won’t do that anymore?” you asked. “Please?”

“No promises, people are stupid sometimes.” Jungkook’s thoughts raced. “I’ll try.” he said aloud.

“Good.” You sighed, standing up. Jungkook stood to his feet too, taking you by surprise. The way he towered over you made him seem so much more intimidating than how you perceived him to be before. He looked down at you almost amused. That same feeling you got that day at his house when you were helping him with that painting. You heart was racing so fast that you were certain it would escape from your chest. “Um...you wait here.” you mumbled. “I’ll go see if i can find you a shirt.” you said quickly before running off. 

...(A few minutes later)

You ran back into the living room to find Jungkook sitting down on the couch.

“Hey.” You came jogging around the corner. “I just found-” you went to hold up the spare shirt you had found in the back of your parents’ closet. “I hope it’s the right- AAH!” 

Leave it to you to leave your shoes in a place where you would obviously trip over them. Luckily Jungkook was there to stop you from stumbling.

Before you even know it, you were flush against Jungkook’s chest. His embrace was like a wool blanket. His arms tightened around you, hugging you close to him. You could feel his heart beating, it was like a metronome. Thump. Thump. Thump.

You could feel his fingertips run down the slope of your spine then trail back up. You were practically naked in front of his last time but now? Now felt like you were completely exposed. Forget all he other times. Now didn’t even begin to compare to how you were feeling. Suddenly, Jungkook grabbed the back of your head, tangling your hair in his fingertips. Pulling you even closer [assuming it was possible], he kissed you. Your breath hitched in your throat before expelling a shaky sigh just as he pulled himself away from you. Jungkook pushed you down on the couch, crawling over your to pin your arms above your head. Jungkook tipped his head into the crook of your neck, leaving hot kisses along a trail, down to your exposed collarbones.

Jungkook could feel the rush of your pulse beneath your skin. It made his heart clench and his pupils dilate. Your quiet moans made him want to hear what other sounds you could make. He wanted to hear you get louder and louder. 

“Are you sure you want to do this.” Jungkook looked up at you, about ready to yank/ rip off your jeans.

“Mhm.” you nodded. “You just have to hurry. My p-parents-”

Jungkook didn’t need to hear another word, not that he was planning on speeding up. Just knowing you were that needy for him. He silently promised to himself to make you go absolutely insane for him. You were already breathing heavily, he bare had gotten your pants off before you were clenching your legs together. Your first instinct was to grab a throw pillow off the couch and hug it to your chest tightly. Jungkook slowly traced his fingers over your panties, just only slightly touching. He looked up at you, smirking at your innocent disposition. It made him even more eager to rip your panties off. 

A gasp made Jungkook chuckle. “Are you ready for me?” he smirked.

You wordlessly nodded, only being able to wonder where the shy cutesy art student went before. Not that you were complaining. Jungkook ran his index finger up your slit, ghosting over that sensitive area which made you shake. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the pad of his fingers press down on your clitoris. You suddenly felt something wet spread apart your pussy lips. It was enough to make your eyes open wide and stare down in surprise.

Jungkook’s tongue was tracing up and down your slit, gently sucking on your clit every so often. Your grip on the pillow tightened, almost turning your knuckles a paler shade of your skin tone. You couldn’t take your eyes away from Jungkook, even if you could only see the back of his head at this point.  His tongue was lashing against your burning flesh.

 His arms hooked around you thighs and put your legs on both his shoulders. Jungkook moaned at your taste, it was like a drug that he was slowly but surely getting addicted to. 

“J-jungk-” you cut yourself off with a high pitched moan. You buried your face into the pillow to keep from getting any louder. Jungkook sucked your clit, making a loud sound which made your face heat up. A cute giggle escapes his lip as he delightedly moaned with satisfaction. “F-fu-!” you could feel tears of pleasure sting your eyes. You had never felt this way, even by yourself. 

Jungkook suddenly tore his tongue away from your dripping wet center. You didn’t even get to cum. You were still clutching onto the throw pillow when Jungkook moved your legs off his shoulders and began to crawl over your body. Frozen, you released the pillow and let it drop to the floor.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy, Y/N.” Jungkook groaned, unbuttoning his pants. Without your shield to hold onto you, you once again felt vulnerable and exposed. You didn’t dare look at the snake Jungkook had set free from his pants. However you found it hard to look him in the eye.

Jungkook didn’t give you much of a choice as he once again pinned your arms above your head, positioning himself against your slit. His rock hard member teased your entrance. Just to be even meaner, Jungkook even slowly grinded his dick against your slit, smothering his member in your essence.

You were forced to look him in the eye as he slowly eased his member into your tight little hole. Instantly as he slid in, you tightened around his throbbing length. Jungkook’s head feel forward, his lips capturing yours in a messy kiss as he began thrusting his hips forward. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck.

His mouth captured yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue as he proceeded to thrust himself deep into your tight pussy. You moaned against Jungkook’s mouth. A tangled mess of profanities, his name, and something else spilled from your lips. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook groaned, thrusting hard into you. “I love you so much.” he shook. “I’d do anything and everything for you.” he choked as your buried your head into his neck. “F-FUCK!” he grunted.

You could tell the both of you were on the verge of just giving out. 

“Jungkook.” you muffled. “I’m gonna-...F-fu. I’m about to-”

“Do it. I want you to cum all over me.” Jungkook growled. Jungkook began thrusting his hips even faster, hitting the depths of you even harder. Tears of pleasure were streaming down your face, or maybe it was sweat. Who knew.

“J-Jung-AAH!” you felt it. A strong orgasm, which made you lose all senses. Your sight? Gone. Your hearing? All you could hear was buzzing, Your sense of touch? Everything was numb. Jungkook was next, yanking his cock out of your pussy and basically exploding all over the front of your body, covering your entire front in his cum. What a shame, you loved that shirt...of course you didn’t care in that moment.

“Y/N.” he growled, tightening his arms around you. “My Y/N.” you could hear his voice wavering. Just as you senses came back to you, so did that pile of mush you called a brain.

“If we were gonna do this, we could have done it in my room.” you said breathlessly. “We’ve made a mess.” you whimpered.

“Hm, but we surely aren’t complaining.” he laughed, biting his lip. Jungkook reached his hand to moved stray hairs from your face. “Are you okay?” that cutesy voice came back.

“Y-yeah. I just need...to-”

“Yeah.” Jungkook agreed, knowing exactly what you meant. “Hm, we should probably get cleaned up and-...”

“Get you home?” you finished sheepishly.

“Hm, unless you’d like to come back with me?” he smiled. “You are my muse after all. This was just....a special type of art.”

“When you put it that way it sounds like messy.” you giggled, covering your mouth. Jungkook hummed thoughtfully, reluctantly sitting up with you still wrapped in his arms. 

Jungkook dwelled on what happened. He didn’t picture it happening this way, but it made him happy all the same.He knew deep down, you felt the exact same way. 

It made him relieved to know he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty too much for a while.

(Did I really just refer to his dick as a snake?...Probably. It’s almost 4 AM as I write this and i promised you people I would release it soon.)

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